Author's Note: This was originally requested on the Hetalia Kink Meme. Snippet of the original request: "My headcanon for cardverse [is] that Francis is actually the father of Alfred having been married before to Jeanne D'Arc. ... I like the idea of Francis bringing his youngest son to Spade because they discover he will be the new king and engaged to Arthur. Think father giving away the bride kinda thing"

Warnings: Nothing really. Mild "I'm a bad father" angst.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.

"I don't like purple."

Francis let out a soft sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bed and gently patting the space beside him. Too much was going through his head all at once, too many voices telling him to abandon ship, too many voices urging forward. It wasn't like he had this sort of situation happen before, There was no precedent for this, nothing to reflect back on and figure out how to work this out. It wasn't like every day he had to give his son away.

"It's not a matter of if you like it or not- it's a matter of you looking nice for your wedding." Francis coaxed the young boy onto the bed with him. His youngest seemed too young for this, far too young. Alfred was still small enough that when he sat on his father's lap, his feet didn't touch the floor. Small enough that he still stood on his toes when reaching for the window drapes. Small enough that he was just too small for this. Too small to get engaged. Yet, he was big enough that the Spade started to replace his Diamond.

Alfred sat down next to his father, but the idea of a wedding didn't sit right with Alfred. He always forgot to eat dinner without a napkin and yet he was expected to make sure someone else used a napkin too. "Purple is an icky color." He fussed with the tie around his neck, pulling it loose and pulling it over his head. Yellow and Purple were exact opposite on the color wheel. All his life he had been surrounded by yellows and oranges and golds, and to have them suddenly pulled and to have purples and blues and silvers thrust upon him- it wasn't right. "You don't wear purple either."

Francis allowed the tie to be discarded, and he gently reached over to pull his precious little one Into his lap. "You'll get used to it, Alfie, it's just a color." He hummed, running his hand through the boy's hair. "But it's not just purple- it's blue too, and the blue matches your eyes perfectly. You're such a handsome young man- Mama would swoon." He smiled softly, trying not to allow his heart to be tugged in too many directions. It hadn't been long since the Diamond Queen had passed and the King's heart still ached, but at the moment, he was losing his Prince too.

"Arthur has green eyes." Alfred muttered, adjusting how we sat and crossing his arms. "Why doesn't Arthur wear green? I want to wear yellow and gold- I want my cape-thingy to match my hair not my eyes." He reached up to hold a sprig of his bangs, to point out his hair color as if Francis didn't know. Their hair was the same color. The same golden waves, but Alfred's had straightened out since he as young. He and his older brother Mathew had looked so similar hen they were children. Well, they still were children, but when they were toddlers, they looked alike.

"Because green is sacred to Clover." Francis answered, enjoying the simplicity of his questions but also worrying about the childish nature of his thoughts. Alfred wasn't old enough for this. He wasn't old enough to be married off to some Spadian brat that couldn't sit still during dinner. Alfred deserved better than Arthur. Alfred deserved the finest spouse in the world, not a farmboy that got lucky with the Spade and was going though a 'punk phase'. Alfred deserved a better fiance, a better husband, a better father.

A better father.

Since Jeanne died, Francis hadn't been giving Alfred all the attention he was used to. He hadn't been able to raise him properly, to let Alfred know at every moment how much he was loved and how hard it would be to say goodbye. It wasn't like Francis was an alcoholic, but he fancied a good drink or two, and most of the free time he had was spent with a bottle of wine. Whenever Alfred had time off of lessons and such to see Francis, it was in the evening once Francis had already had a few. And it wasn't like Francis was a sort of player, but he enjoyed having women in his castle. He loved the delicate curves of their wrists and their soft touch, the way they walked on their toes and carried their weight in their hips. It was admiration of the female form, appreciation for the female mind, for the female beauty. Just that. Nothing more.

Alfred deserved someone that didn't do that.

Alfred was quiet for a while, squirming on Francis's lap. "I don't want to live in Spade." He announced, not so surprisingly. "I want to stay in Diamond and with you and Mattie." He turned himself around and stretched so he could give Francis a hug, burying his little face in Francis's chest. "I want you and Mattie and Lili and Vasch and Uncle Antonio and-" He started to ramble, his eyes welling up with water at the thought of leaving everyone. He didn't want to leave at all! "What if Art isn't nice to me?"

"I-" Francis was at a loss for words. He hadn't expected Alfred to suddenly go from Mr. Fussy-pants to Sir Clingy. Without words to say, Francis merely wrapped his arms around Alfred and held him close to his chest, afraid of loosening up. If he let go, who knew when he'd be able to hold him again? He'd open his mouth to try and comfort the now-crying child, but the words got stuck in his throat.

"I want to stay. Stay with you."

After a pause, Francis found his voice again. "I want you to stay, too."

"I will. I promise I will. I'll be a good son an' won't ever do anythin' bad again."

Shaking his head softly, Francis tucked his chin and planted a kiss somewhere in Alfred's hair. "You're a perfect son." He assured him, gently rocking him by now. He was just far from a perfect parent. "And you'll be a great King someday. You'll be the best King Spade has ever seen. But, in order to do that, you have to do this." He brought a hand to stroke the boy's face, caressing his soft, tear-stained cheek. "I'll visit every week. I'll make sure you're taken care of. You like Mr. Yao, right?"

Alfred nodded against Francis's shirt.

"Mr. Yao is in charge of Arthur. Mr. Yao will make sure you are safe and cared for and- and loved. Alright?"

Alfred hesitated, but nodded again.

"And if you behave for Mr. Yao, I will come see you more often."

"P-Promise?"

"Promise."

It was a harder promise to keep than Francis had thought.