Authors Notes: So there I was, sitting here, reading all the TPD fan fiction, when it dawned on me-- Not one of them was about Mia's son (Sorry if there is and I missed it) People, it's fifty-fifty chance that it could be either. A girl or a boy. Why do you all the sudden assume it would be a girl? So, here it is. My thoughts of her son.

Oh. I know it's not in diary form, but let's face it-- A guy wouldn't write a diary. And plus, I'm not good at writing in diary form.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from TDP. I wish I did, but I don't. But hey, don't we all wish we could write like Meg Cabot? Oooof course.

**This whole story is dedicated to my good friend Sarah, who's the most talkative person I have ever known.

From, me.

==

Title: Autumn Dreams Do Come True

Author: Charity

Rating: G

Genre: Romance

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"M-marry him?"

"Yes, it has to be done."

Mia's heart dropped to her stomach as her insides threatened to come up through her mouth. 'Marry him?' She thought in terror. Tears filled the inside of her eyes and spilled over the edges. Her knees collapsed on her, making her stumble forward a bit. "But…I couldn't…" All the words that came to mind flew out her ears as shock took over.

Her tear stricken eyes followed her Grandmother as she paced around the room. "No 'buts' about it, young lady. You have gotten yourself in this mess, now I will get you out."

Mia opened her mouth to say something but then snapped it shut to the stern look on the other women's face. Her eyes then dropped to her stomach. A troubled look crossed over her face as she laid a hand on her stomach. Her teeth came out to chew worriedly on her bottom lip.

Her Grandmother stopped and placed her hands on Mia's shoulders. "Oh honey. You know this is the best way to go." Mia's eyes filled with more tears, and as she shook her head the soft dews spilled down her checks. The other women shook her with such a force, that Mia almost lost her balance. "If you hadn't gone and got pregnant by that…!" The words trailed off at the appalled look on her face.

Then it happened. Mia's heart broke into a million different pieces. 'This isn't happening…' Her mind told herself over and over again. 'Please God, don't let this happen!' But it was happening. And there was nothing Mia could do about it. She had to try!

"Grandmere…I don't…love…." Mia stumbled over her words. She suddenly felt like a two-year-old pleading with her mom to let her have a cookie.

Her grandmother 'shushed' her with a stern look. "Love? Ha! Marriage is not about love! It's about holding our country together! And only a Prince can do that." She let go of Mia and turned to walk away, the click clink of her high heels on the marble floor sounding like a death sentence. When she reached the door she turned. "Your father and I will deal with the boy." Then she left.

Mia's tears suddenly went full-fledged into sobs. Her hands gripped her heart as she silently slid down the wall and onto the floor. 'Oh God!' her mind screamed. 'Michael! Please forgive me!'

==

Eighteen Years Later…

Oliver gently ran his hand over the railing, letting the wood slid under his fingertips like a cloud. A chandelier above him caught the sun and sparkled around the room, making rainbows on the rose painted walls. His green eyes were drawn to one of the rainbows. He watched it skitter up and down the wall, then through the window. A dim fist of wanting to be able to be as free as that light caught in his stomach. A soft sigh escaped his lips as his eyes scanned the area around him. One word came to mind:

Dull.

This palace, this castle- this prison was definitely getting to him. He felt like he was trapped inside a bubble and couldn't get out. It was like suffocating to death in front of a room full of people, and not a soul getting up to help.

Oliver lifted his hand to swipe a stray piece of brown hair out of his eyes. He had never asked to be Royal. No one was there when he was born to say 'Hey, Oliver. So you got a choice, Royal or No?' because he would have said no. Absolutely, it would have been a no.

He went past the dinning room full of plates from Egypt and Asia, full of chairs bought in France and Italy, where sat the table that had been bought in England. To the elaborate living room where pictures of his mom and dad when they were younger and pictures of him filled the walls. He plopped down in one of the Victorian chairs and stretched his legs, plating them on the glass coffee table and looked at all the photographs.

It stuck him odd that in most of the pictures with his parents, his mother wasn't smiling. She seemed to have a far away look that almost resembled longing. So, maybe she did understand.

It wasn't that he didn't love his family. Sure he did, everyone did. It was just, they didn't let him have freedom. He was to stay inside the palace unless he was to go to school, or to a friend's house.

Not that he had any friends.

Oliver leaned his head back on the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling.

Who would want to be friends with the rich boy? The boy who was basically followed around wherever he went, no matter how hard he tried not to be? The boy who's house is bigger than the school times twenty?

Oliver sighed again.

It just wasn't fair. He tried to be an individual, but his mother smothered him. It was like she didn't want him to go away, afraid he would leave. He wouldn't leave though, why didn't she understand that? He just wanted to actually have a life.

His green eyes sifted to the window. He stared out at the hills that seemed to go on forever. Out at the river that wound it's way down and across the property that stretched for miles. His eyes roamed the bright full-grown trees, that were now brown and orange from the autumn wind, that littered the shoreline like a fence outside a cottage. He loathed it all.

His mother said it was because of what happened to her when she was young. The people of her town had found out she was a Princess and made a fool out of her. She told him that she didn't want that to happen to him. But they already knew! Everyone knew he was a Prince.

He didn't understand why she kept him at such a close distance. He knew that she thought he would leave. His father had told him that numerous times, but he didn't know why she thought that. Never in his life had he done something to provoke this panic into her mind. His father told him that someone she had loved a long time ago had left. Mother? Grandmother? He did know his great Grandmother, and his Grandfather. That was all he knew.

Perhaps it was-

"Oliver Dunstorm! Get those feet off that table!"

Oliver jumped at the sound of her voice and quickly removed his feet, planting them firmly on the ground. His face lit into a smile seeing her. She looked simply lovely in her cream green pants, and soft white sweater.

"Do you happen to know how much that cost your father?" His mother brushed into the room, a concentrated look on her face. She eyed him out of the corner of her eye, making sure he did as she said. Seeing that he did, she gave him a small smile.

"Hey mom." Oliver sat forward in his seat and glanced down the hall that she had come from, then back.

His mother sighed softly from looking at him, then glided his way. "Oh, Oliver." Her eyes traveled down his body, her mouth made her annoyed tsk sound. "What are you wearing?" She reached out with her hand, her fingers grasping his blue shirt. "Didn't you see the outfit I set out for you on your bed?"

Oliver resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His head nodded on it's own accord. "Yes, but I didn't-"

"Never mind dear, it doesn't matter." She was looking down at her desk and moving around it as if looking for something. "Sweet Heart, do me a favor, will you?" She puckered her lips and brought her finger to them, glancing around the room.

Oliver removed himself from the chair and stood his full length. His head flicked quickly to the side so that his bangs would move out of his eyes. He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heals. "Anything."

Her head turned to the side, and then she crouched to look under the desk. "Go…" She stood and looked through a couple drawers before continuing. "…Ask your father if he has seen my files."

Oliver nodded.

He turned on his heal and strode out of the room.

His father.

When he was around his father it was like he didn't belong. Oliver always got this strange feeling inside his stomach when his father asked him to do something. He couldn't explain it, it was almost as if his father wasn't part of him.

His shoes clicked on the marble floor, and all too soon he stopped at his father's office door.

Knock.

There was a loud thump, followed by a curse. Oliver strained to hear, but he thought he could make out two people whispering. Then the door flew open and his father appeared.

He looked angry.

"Yes?" His eyes had a touch of red to them, and his mustache twitched, showing off his chubby cheeks. His enormous body filled the doorway.

Oliver felt his stomach fall out of his stomach. "Uh…"

His father rolled his eyes at him. "Don't just stand there all day looking ignorant. Get on with it."

Oliver clenched his jaw and stared narrowly at his father. "Mom wants to know where her "files" are."

His father shrugged then turned to shut the door, but spoke before totally shutting it. "Look in the attic."

Oliver sighed as he started at the now closed door.

The attic.

He then made his way up to the top of the house, going down hundred's of red carpeted halls, and tons of high vaulted ceilings that loomed over him ominously. His feet aching after the twenty staircases.

When Oliver reached the attic door he took a deep breath. It scared him to death. His father used to lock him in there when he was barely old enough to read. His mother's pleas echoed in his mind.

He shook his head roughly, then laid his hand gently on the door and pushed it open, only to reveal loads of dusk and trunks.

Great, he thought. Just Great.

His eyes swept across the room. Green trunks, red trunks, endless piles of books, and dusty crowns.

Files.

Ah.

He walked toward them, but stopped dead in his tracks.