Author's note: Gefeliciteerd met jouw verjaardag Wild Mei Ling! Below birthday present is not a merry story for this merry occasion but I added some C&J to make up for that.

Love without a lamb

'He's taking Emma to the rose garden,' King Rupert informed his wife. 'Nothing's blooming there yet, but it will count as a romantic spot won't it? It is about time our boy ties the knot.'

He heard Clarisse rise and walk over to the window where he stood spying on their son and his lady-friend.

'You didn't exactly set the right example Rupert.'

For a moment Rupert thought that his wife was commenting on his philandering ways but she seemed too happy for biting remarks. He reasoned that she was referring to the fact that he'd been in his thirties before he'd become a groom.

'But you did,' he replied just for the sake of saying something.

Clarisse shrugged. It was proof of her excellent mood that she linked hands with him. 'I do hope you're right,' she said.

'I questioned him yesterday and he admitted he had something of importance to tell Emma.'

Clarisse pressed his hand. 'They make a fine pair, don't they?'

Rupert agreed: his son and the Dutch princess made for a striking couple. 'Just like we did dear.'

Clarisse smiled indulgently at that and Rupert felt silly. He and the teenager he'd married had looked good together, but it had taken him years to acknowledge that. He caressed Clarisse's thumb.

'How long would it take to arrange for the wedding? Four months?' he asked.

'That's pushing it. Six months should be manageable.'

'She will accept him, won't she? They've been together for how long now? Two, three years? I don't know whether they've…'

Clarisse cocked an eyebrow.

'Yes,' Rupert admitted. 'I thought so too.'

The couple in the garden made it for the gazebo and Rupert enjoyed the look of joy on his wife's face as much as the prospect of soon having a suitable daughter-in-law and with that a future for the monarchy.

OoOoO

'It's a beautiful spot,' Emma said. She stood in the gazebo's entrance and smiled at the sight of a field of early tulips.

Philippe cleared his throat. 'It is. And there aren't any camera's here.'

He had told her so before but sensing that he was anxious Emma lightly replied: 'And the head of security allowed for that? Aunt Clarisse has him wrapped around her little finger, hasn't she? Don't Hound!'

Philippe's spaniel dropped to the grass and pretended she hadn't been interested in hunting down the starling that had invaded her territory. Emma watched the bird fly up and looked over her shoulder to see her partner glance at her in a way that made her feel cherished. She smiled at him but when that resulted in his expression changing into a grave one, her joyful feeling, partly sparkled by merry anticipation, left her.

'What is it?' she asked.

Philippe sighed and gestured toward a carved bench. Emma made it over there, feeling that she'd soon have a lasting dislike of gazebo's.

Philippe sat down next to her. 'I love you,' he started.

'And I you. But?'

'Straight to the point huh?'

Philippe inhaled deeply as if to braze himself. 'I would love to make you my wife.'

Emma's stomach became twice as heavy.

'It's …" Philippe shifted in his seat. "I thought things over again and again and as of yet I can't marry you.'

Blinking rapidly Emma looked at the garden. Hound was trailing her tail as if there was nothing wrong in the world. Feeling mocked by the dog's playfulness Emma faced Philippe again. 'Define "yet" and tell me why not.'

'I'll start with the latter. It's Mia. She is my first-born.'

It seemed to Emma that Philippe needed courage or perhaps encouragement to continue talking. 'You told me that Helen insisted in Genovia not knowing about Amelia because she wants her to be free.'

Philippe nodded. 'Helen agreed that when Mia turns eighteen I can inform her about my position. I see her as my heir Emma. I never told you so before, I know, but these past months I've come to think that it wouldn't be right to deprive her of her heritage. Therefore I can't start a family.'

In her distress Emma leaned against Philippe, who put his arm around her. Emma felt the warmth radiating from his frame but it did little to counter the chill that penetrated her bones on recalling that Mia was only six.

'Are you saying that we can be together if I promise not to bear you children?'

Philippe's reply sounded gruff. 'I won't demand a promise like that. It wouldn't be… You deserve to be happy.'

Lines from a song came up in Emma's mind, unbidden but forceful. In every life you have some trouble, if you worry you make it double. Don't worry. Be happy!

At a distance an ambulance or police car or fire truck made itself heard. When the sound of sirens died away Emma mumbled: 'I can never tell them apart.'

Philippe kept holding her but he didn't reply.

'I'm actually considering marriage without children.'

Emma felt Philippe tense and she longed to be home. Gently freeing herself from Philippe's hold she wanted to cry at the fact that he didn't resist her.

OoOoO

The couple entered the room. Philippe checked his cuff-links and Emma busied herself by patting Hound. Neither of them were smiling. Rupert shared a glance with his wife, who looked as if the country had been struck by disaster.

'So?' Rupert said after Philippe and Emma had seated themselves.

Clarisse offered them a selection of beautifully decorated cakes. Rupert glanced at Emma's hands as she placed her choice on a small plate. Both of her ring fingers lacked the Renaldi engagement ring. Rupert looked at his son, who looked at the floor.

'You said no Emma?'

'Amelia,' Emma replied.

'What about Amelia?' Rupert demanded. 'You don't like it that Philippe has a child by another woman?' A glance from his wife made Rupert soften his tone of voice. 'They were married, the girl isn't a bastard. Or is Helen ill and - '

'No Father.'

Philippe swallowed hard before continuing. 'I told Em that I see Mia as my heir.'

'She isn't. You didn't ask Parliament –'

'She is to me,' Philippe interrupted.

'Your point?'

'If Em and I marry, we can't…'

Rupert glanced at Emma, who sat as straight as a ballerina. She had a far-away look in her eyes. 'Can't what Philippe?' he urged.

'Have children. To Genovia they'd take preference over Mia.'

'You decided not to ask Parliament for permission to marry Helen. She was already with child then,' Clarisse said. Rupert, knowing that the circumstances of Philippe's marriage still didn't sit well with his wife, admired how calm she sounded. He nodded his support and reminded his son that according to the law of succession Amelia wasn't his first-born.

'To me she is. Back then I didn't… I may not have felt that way, but I do now. I won't deprive her of her heritage.'

'Have you and Helen decided that you may be in touch with her before she turns eighteen?' Clarisse asked.

'No, that agreement stands.'

'So Amelia will grow up a citizen in a republic, with no knowledge whatsoever of "her heritage",' Clarisse pointed out.

Philippe nodded defiantly. Emma drank some tea.

'I don't see why you can't marry. Children aside a king needs a queen,' Rupert changed the topic.

'This is between Em and me.'

'It would be if you weren't your father's heir,' Clarisse said.

'I never asked for this!'

'Really Philippe, don't play the poor spare,' Emma said while placing her empty cup on its saucer. Her voice sounded as if she were catching a cold.

'I apologize; that was an immature remark.'

Relieved to learn that his son was open to reason, Rupert asked: 'You love each other, don't you?'

'Yes,' Philippe and Emma said simultaneously.

'Then get married!'

'It's one of the alternatives I suggested: get married and start a family,' Emma said, looking from Rupert to Clarisse, who was pouring her more tea. 'When Mia turns eighteen – thank you aunt Clarisse – Philippe will meet her. She might resent him for not being his heir and he will live with that.'

Both Rupert and Clarisse expectantly eyed their son. Philippe reached out to touch Emma's hand. 'It doesn't seem harder than living without you. Leaving Genovia in the dark. Running the risk that Mia doesn't care for the throne of a country she's barely connected to. Everything you said is valid Em. And yet…'

Emma removed her hand from underneath Philippe's and sought solace in her tea once more. Rupert shared a glance with his wife, who was biting her lower lip. She gave him a tiny nod accompanied by an attempt at a smile. The good cop approach then. Rupert took a moment to calm himself.

'Don't deny yourself love Philippe,' he softly said. 'Don't make that mistake son.'

'Do you think I don't know what this will do to me? To Emma?'

'No!' Emma said in a low voice. It turned out she was addressing Hound, who'd slowly made her way to Emma's untouched chocolate cake and was close to stealing it. The dog whimpered and retreated. It would have been amusing, Rupert thought, something to relate during a wedding speech. Right now he wasn't sure that Emma's command couldn't serve as a comment to Philippe's question too.

'You'll both feel miserable without the other. Get married! Be happy!'

'And after marriage children will follow Father?'

'It's only natural,' Rupert smoothly replied.

Emma and Clarisse both took a sip of their tea. Folding her hands around her cup Emma said: 'If I were to become pregnant Philippe's trust in me would be gone and our marriage would fall apart.'

'Nonsense!' Rupert cried out. Once Emma was with child, surely Philippe would be thrilled, all this rubbish about Amelia forgotten.

OoOoO

'His Majesty thinks he'll change his mind,' Clarisse told Joseph. They were walking in the English garden, far away from the gazebo: Clarisse knew that that lovely spot wouldn't lift her spirits today.

'You don't ma'am?'

Clarisse shook her head, knowing that Joseph watched her every move. 'She's a dear girl Joseph and so attuned to him. She complements him. It's such a shame… She said that she'd thought of marrying without children despite the whole country blaming her for not becoming pregnant. However, there'd be political "challenges". Once she turns forty Von Troken will present himself as heir and Philippe will have to counter that.'

'He'll succeed,' Joseph said. 'He's a diplomat like his parents.'

Ignoring the compliment Clarisse said: 'Genovia might be relieved to be presented with an unknown heir, where first they had none.'

'I imagine so. And the prince would be happily married.'

Having given birth to Pierre a year and a half after her wedding day Clarisse had already had her share of people giving her tokens and herbs to help her conceive. It would be worse for Emma, who wouldn't be able to share why she didn't become pregnant. The stress would put a strain on her marriage.

'Like in a fairy tale… But even so Parliament could say "no" despite our best efforts. It's more likely though that Amelia rejects becoming a princess and a queen.'

Joseph took a moment to respond. "That's very well possible.'

Clarisse acknowledged Joseph's honesty with a nod.

'And that's why he can't marry princess Emma. She pointed out that without an approved heir to the throne he would have to "pull her a Soraya". She'll be forty-six by the time Amelia turns eighteen.'

Philippe had told his father and her that his love for Emma wouldn't bare that: he'd rather not marry her now than run the risk of hurting her in the future. But he'd known, and Rupert and she had known and sadly Emma, being a princess, had known that that wasn't the entire story: divorcing his wife of twelve years after having lost the battle of making Mia or Parliament agree to his plan, would reflect poorly on Philippe and as a result on the monarchy.

They neared a bifurcation. One path would take them into the forest, the other would lead them back to the castle. Clarisse slowed her pace. It frightened her how angry she was with her son. He might think that he was doing the honourable thing by considering his first born as his heir and he may consider it a sacrifice worth respecting not to marry Emma but Clarisse feared that he was afraid to commit, both to a suitable woman and to Genovia.

'That stupid boy!' she burst out, startling both herself and Joseph. She'd planned to remain silent for she was already sharing too much with Joseph and there was no need to bore him with her burdens. But whom could she tell? Pierre, feeling guilty for having chosen his own path in life, would support his brother. Her best friend happened to be Emma's mother, whose first priority would be her daughter and Rupert would only be more mad at Philippe when he learned of her anger. Joseph on the other hand led her into the forest and handed her his handkerchief. It caught the tears that had threatened to fall since the non-engagement tea.

OoOoO

Emma would have stayed for some more days and his father had warmly encouraged her to do so, but Philippe was glad that she couldn't be convinced: unlike his father she respected that his mind was made up and she announced she'd leave after an early dinner. Bread and soup, that was all they could stomach. It made for a conveniently short gathering yet Philippe feared that there was still time to address the elephant in the room. His father glared at him but remained silent on the topic. His mother and Emma held the fort by talking about projects to improve literacy rates. It made Philippe, who barely joined their conversation, long to be called names.

After dinner he escaped to his apartment where he went through a picture album filled with Amelia. He skipped the pages showing Helen heavy with child: the first thing he saw was eight month old Amelia screaming her longs out. Mia at age three, looking cute in her first bathing suit. Mia and a friend dressed as astronauts. A drawing of Mia's home with the text "MIaas tOwR". Philippe caressed his daughter's face. Two, three heartbeats from now she'd be eighteen. 'I'll tell you about Genovia my princess,' he whispered. 'It's got snow-covered mountains and green hills where thousands of pear trees grow. Its people are hardworking and fun loving. My father is their king and I'll follow in his footsteps.'

Without a queen, he thought, and he vowed that he'd never tell Mia about losing Emma, not even should Genovia not interest her at first. He'd simply show her the country and she wouldn't fail to fall in love with it. From now on he'd send her postcards along with her birthday letter. Antiem's medieval wall, the famous spring market in the capital: Genovia would come to mean something for his heir long before she'd meet him. It had to. A knock on the door made him close the album. It was time to face the music and see his would-be queen out.

As he watched his mother and Emma hug and sensed their pain in having to part this way, Philippe's protection mechanism switched on: he pictured that he was the male lead in a film about the doomed relationship between a Dutch princess and a Genovian prince. As he accompanied Emma through halls and corridors that could have been hers, he pictured a scene in the staff kitchen, where the butler who'd witnessed the queen say goodbye to the princess would be questioned by his colleagues. He'd shake his head: no, it didn't seem likely that there'd be a wedding anytime soon, if ever. Fast pacing close-ups of sad servants. Cut to Philippe and Emma, who'd arrived in the main hall where a footman awaited them with an umbrella.

'I'll take it, thank you,' Philippe said. The footman opened the door for them and out they stepped. Philippe focussed on Emma's travel clothes: a flared tweet skirt and a leather blazer that hugged her upper body. Her silk shawl was one of his first presents to her, chosen because it complimented her complexion. In the film there'd be a scene where it would become clear why she'd selected it: to remind him of what they'd had together or to express that she still liked him well enough not to have destroyed his gift. Whatever her thoughts had been, a costume designer couldn't have given her a better outfit. Emma's posture was regal and her expression didn't betray her feelings. Film-Emma would have to cry one discrete tear to make the viewers understand that she was deeply affected. It would be more fitting to Emma's character than a scene where she'd cry her eyes out in her room or in his mother's arms.

During the short walk to the car Philippe couldn't find the right words to say. He contemplated what back-ground music would be suitable for the scene. Something with a sax? Perhaps some notes from Officium?

They reached Emma's Ford and Philippe opened the backseat door. It barely rained but he kept holding the umbrella over Emma's head, as if that would offer her protection after the blow he'd delivered. To the viewers he'd no doubt look like a knight.

"Em…"

He cleared his throat, desperate to have a script. Emma's hair, the auburn glory he'd often caressed when spread out on his pillow (flashback), was arranged in a chignon that made it untouchable. Could he tell her that he couldn't imagine himself with another woman when he'd dumped her for a six year old? Did silence speak more powerful than words?

'Je bent een rund.'

Philippe had learned a bit of Dutch but the meaning of 'rund' was unknown to him. He accepted anything Emma called him so he inclined his head while wondering whether the line would be subtitled or that it was best to leave the viewers guessing too.

'And a loving father. If she says no, come to me for a hug all right? I won't gloat, I promise. You daft oaf.'

Defeated, Philippe bent his head and lifted Emma's cool hand to his lips. Without facing him she briefly patted his chest before disappearing in the car. He closed her door. The Ford and the accompanying cars slowly drove away. Philippe could neither think nor feel. He stood there until the lights from the cars had disappeared and then walked away from the castle.

The path through the forest was not lit, but using his umbrella for a walking stick he didn't stumble. As he neared his destination he heard the murmuring of water as well as barking. It moved Philippe and he instantly pictured a scene with Hound resting her head on his knee and gazing at him as if to express that she understood him. The dog was waiting for him on the boat-house's veranda. He bent to pat her back.

'How did you know I'd go this way?' he asked her.

'You always go here when you're sad,' a familiar voice replied. Philippe realised that he could have known Hound wasn't alone: the veranda lights were turned on, bathing his mother in a soft glow. Knowing he'd disappointed her, again, Philippe, though he longed to run away, anxiously seated himself next to her. The clouds parted to reveal a sliver of moon. Hound barked at it.

Philippe braced himself for what his mother would say, but she simply sat there, radiating comforting calmness. Hound settled herself at his mother's feet and Philippe thought of how the dog preferred to obey Emma rather than him.

'You think I'm not being…' He cleared his throat. 'You don't approve of what I've done, do you?'

'No I don't.'

There was no mistake that she meant it. Philippe blinked to contain his tears and told himself that he was a man grown who'd made up his mind. When no more criticism followed he cast a glance at his mother. She was eyeing him and if her expression didn't speak of respect for his choice, it did speak of compassion for his self-inflicted pain. The vest she wore felt soft against his cheek and her hands soothingly caressed his back as he sobbed his heart out.

'Shh,' she said. 'Shh.'