2 November 1959

"Your Majesty, please, be reasonable," Patrick said, his tone just this side of cajoling.

They were sitting together in the counsel room on a chilly Monday morning, and the Prime Minister, having completed his weekly run-through of all matters of state that required the king's attention, had turned the conversation to the matter of the succession, and the Princess. The last thing Lucien wanted was to indulge Sir Patrick and his concerns; what Li did, the choices she made were her own affair, and he staunchly refused to push her in one way or another.

"My own father sent soldiers to pull me out of my bed and drag me back here," Lucien reminded him through gritted teeth. "I will not do the same to my daughter. The choice is up to her, and when things are more settled-"

"Your Majesty, she's been here for over a month," Patrick protested. "She has given no indication that she wishes to leave. Your granddaughter's birth has been announced, and the kingdom is eager to see their Princess. How long do you expect them to wait? How long do you expect to drag this out?"

The truth was that Lucien had no idea. Sir Patrick wanted a formal announcement, wanted a photo opportunity with Li, Lucien, and little Lin all dressed in their finest and waving to reporters from the castle walls. Sir Patrick wanted a tutor for Li, to teach her English and everything that was expected of a princess. Sir Patrick wanted an ironclad succession, and a chance to take a deep breath for the first time since King Thomas died. All Lucien wanted, however, was for his daughter to be happy, and he would not risk alienating her, not even for the sake of the kingdom.

"Has she said anything to you, about what she intends?"

Lucien could do no more than stare at Sir Patrick helplessly. No, Li had not spoken of her plans for the future, but then again-

"Have you asked her, Your Majesty? Have you explained the situation to her?"

"No," Lucien said, finding his voice at last. "No, I haven't. But you're right, Patrick. Things can't go on as they are. At the very least, I ought to help her learn a bit more English. She's a young woman, and I worry about her being alone, without any company."

"As a princess she would be entitled to ladies-in-waiting. She could make friends, Your Majesty, and that might help her feel more at home here."

Though Patrick had hardly made the suggestion out of a sense of compassion Lucien was nonetheless grateful for the reminder that Li's life did not have to be a solitary one, should she choose to stay with him. The castle was full of court functionaries, and the apartments in the secondary house on the grounds were home all sorts of people, some of whom existed only to keep the royal family from becoming too lonesome. Surely there was someone out there, somewhere, who could be a friend to Li; surely, she could be happy there, in time.

"I will speak to her," Lucien promised. "And we will revisit the matter of the succession at another time."

"Soon, I hope, Your Majesty," Patrick told him grimly, and that was that.

The last month had been a strange one, and time had gotten away from Lucien, he realized as he walked out of the counsel room and meandered back towards his own suite. He had been so relieved to have Li back, and she had been so consumed by her duties as a new mother, that everything else seemed to have been forgotten. Even Joy's departure had faded from Lucien's mind, as thoughts of his family crowded out everything else. But there was no one else in the castle Li could speak to besides her father and her newborn daughter; her husband was gone, and she had left behind a familiar life for a world that was completely alien to her. How lonesome must she be, Lucien thought as he walked; how very isolated she must feel, adrift in a sea of people who could not understand her, some of whom were frightened of her. That state of affairs needed to change, and soon; he could hardly imagine that Li would choose to stay unless the castle truly began to feel like home, and so long as she was lonely and uncomfortable, that would never come to be. It would fall to Lucien, then, to help her in any way he could, and he resolved himself to make a start that very afternoon.

The rest of the morning was given over to work, the endless reams of paper that came with kingship, and then Lucien enjoyed a quick, private lunch in his own sitting room before heading down the stairs to check in on Li. It was in his mind to broach the topic of a tutor, and in so doing delicately assess his daughter's intentions as regarded the future, but the moment he opened the door the sound of Lin's wailing filled the air, and all thoughts of such discussions fled from his mind.

"Is everything all right, my darling?" Lucien asked as he stepped into the bedroom, and found Li sitting on the end of the bed with Lin in her arms and a haggard expression on her face.

"It's fine, papa," she said, though her voice was thin with exhaustion. "She's just a bit...unsettled. She wants to walk, but I'm so tired."

The day after Lin was born a nanny had been dispatched to assist with Lin's care; it was simply the way things were done in a royal household. The heir to the throne was not expected to spend her time with such mundane occupations as child-rearing, but Li would have none of it. She was too proud to ask for help, and too frightened to hand her precious daughter off to someone who did not even speak her own language. For now, Lucien supposed there was no real need for a nanny, given that Li had not assumed any royal duties nor given any indication that she intended to, and so he had given in to his daughter's request, and let the matter drop. Now, however, seeing how very worn out she looked, he could not help but wonder if that had been a mistake.

"Will you let me take her?" he asked gently. "Just for a little while, so you can rest?"

For a moment he thought she would refuse him, but in the end exhaustion won out over pride, and Li agreed. In a moment he had scooped Lin into his arms, holding her close and beginning to pace around the room, bouncing her gently as he went, and as he did she seemed to calm. Li had been much the same as a child, as he recalled; she had been happiest when she was walking, eager to see everything around her, wishing always to be held. Lucien had treasured those moments with his daughter when she was small, and he treasured them now with Lin.

"She's always happy when you hold her," Li said quietly from her position on the bed; she was watching him with a fond sort of expression in her dark eyes, and Lucien could not help but smile.

"I love her very much," Lucien answered. "Maybe she knows that already."

"Maybe she does," Li answered. "Would you mind to keep her, just for a little while? I think I need to lie down."

"Of course," Lucien answered at once. He crossed the room to her side, and kissed her forehead. "Get some sleep. Lin and I will take a walk, won't we, sweetheart?"

Lin did not respond, but then he had not really expected her to. Li shuffled under her duvet, and Lucien left her there, closing the door quietly behind him as he went. The pram was waiting for them in the sitting room, but Lucien passed it by, choosing instead to wrap Li up tight in a blanket before carrying her out of the room. He had no real destination in mind; he intended to go outside, to wander amongst the gardens and allow Lin the chance to take in some fresh air, but the day was a bit chilly, and he did not want to linger over long outside. Just a quick stroll, then, with no real goal other than to stretch his legs and get a chance to hold his granddaughter.

She really was a lovely little thing. Lin was putting on weight, and her dark hair was filling out, and her big, dark eyes drank in the sight of everything around her with an avid curiosity. Her little cheeks had grown a bit chubby in a way that made her smile all the more charming, and she had rather masterfully wrapped her grandfather around her little finger. Already Lucien felt he would give her anything she asked of him, and she hadn't even learned how to speak.

It was a gift, he thought, that his girls should find their way back to him. He'd lost his mother, lost Mei Lin, lost his father, lost Jean, and Li had lost her husband and her home; there had been so much grief, in their lives, so much loss, and yet now they had this beautiful new discovery to share, this joy to heal their wounded hearts. Having them here, all beneath the same roof, was everything he'd ever dreamed of, and as he walked he reminded himself of the decision he'd come to, the discussion he must have with Li. She would need to know what lay in store, should she choose to stay, but she needed to know, too, that her father would do everything he could to make her happy.

Quite without realizing it Lucien found himself stepping into the glasshouse. It was warmer inside, and the sunlight sent sparkling rays of diamond-bright radiance glittering down all around him. The flowers had been carefully tended, and the whole place smelled of dirt, and new growth, and life. As it was only early afternoon the fairy lights had not been turned on, but Lucien did not miss them, for there was beauty enough in that place. In that place he'd built for Jean, that place where her feet would never tread; his heart grew heavy with remembered sadness as he walked there. What would Jean have said, he wondered, if she'd been given the chance to meet Li, if she'd seen Lucien holding his granddaughter? How would she have treated these two girls who were so dear to Lucien's heart?

She would have treated them kindly, as she treats everyone, he thought sadly as he walked. She would have loved them, and I would have loved her, and we would have been content.

But Jean was gone, and she would not return, for she had made her choice. This was as close as he would come to introducing Jean to Lin, walking here in this place where he felt almost as if he could reach out and touch Jean's heart with his own fingertips.

"She was a wonderful lady," he said out loud. In his arms Lin blinked owlishly at him in response to his voice, and he took that as his cue to continue. "She was beautiful, and she was kind. She lost a great deal, too, you know. She lost her husband, just as we lost your grandmother. And she has a little granddaughter of her own, not much older than you. I don't think I realized that before, that we're both grandparents. I wonder what she'd make of that."

Perhaps it was fanciful to even think such a thing, but Lucien rather got the sense that Lin understood him. At least, she seemed to understand that his voice was nothing to be afraid of, and so he carried on.

"I suppose I shouldn't tell you about her, though," he mused. "I should tell you about your grandmother. Your mummy's mummy. Would you like that, sweetheart?"

And so it was that Lucien settled himself down on a bench with Lin laid out across his knees, speaking to her softly of the woman who had been his wife. It comforted him somewhat, to tell the story of how he'd met Mei Lin, what sort of woman she had been, how lovely the life they built together had been; it brought him some sense of peace, for though Mei Lin was gone he held on his lap a child whose face was the very echo of her own, and that was right, and good.

After a time, though he could not say quite how long, there came a quiet step behind him, and he looked up to find Li walking towards him. She wore a plain brown dress, one of the few pieces of clothing she'd brought with her from China; the cut was severe and the fabric thin, and as she drew near Lucien couldn't help but wonder whether the time had come for him to make a gift to her, to help her build a wardrobe that would sustain her through the looming winter, and befit her station as a princess. Despite the plainness of her clothes she was lovely; her dark hair shone in the afternoon sun, and she appeared refreshed after her short nap.

Charlie Davis trailed along silently behind her; he had been named the head of the Princess's Personal Guard, and he took his duties quite seriously. Every time Li stepped out of her room Charlie was there, walking just behind her, but Li did not seem to mind his presence, and for that Lucien was very grateful. The last thing he wanted was to fight with his daughter about her guards, to give her reason to think she and her child would not be safe in the castle, but the threats against his life would surely extend to his daughter, and her daughter, and so he wanted her, always, to be protected. And for that job there was no one better suited than Charlie, who had nearly given his own life to save his king.

"I thought I might find you here," Li said softly, coming to sit beside him on the bench. Lucien had told her once, during one of their many tours of the garden, that the glasshouse was quite his favorite place on the grounds, and she had taken his words to heart.

"It's warmer in here," Lucien answered, "and I think she wanted to see the flowers."

"I think you wanted to see the flowers," Li answered, a teasing glint in her eyes, but Lucien could not quite bring himself to smile in response. In truth he loved the flowers, but only because Jean had loved flowers, because he had built this place for her, because when he stood in the glasshouse he thought of her, and remembered.

"You seem sad," Li said then, her smile fading as she watched him closely. "Is it because your lady went away?"

"How did you know about that?" Lucien was completely caught off guard by her quiet question; he was quite certain that he had never spoken of Jean to his daughter.

"I was there when she left, papa," Li pointed out, and Lucien realized his mistake; she was not speaking of Jean, but of Joy. "And the maids talk to each other when they come to my rooms, because they think I can't understand them. I only know a few words, but I heard them say you must be sad, because you lost your joy."

"Clever girl," Lucien said ruefully. Of course Li had been listening, was always listening; it was easy to underestimate her, given her slight stature, her loose grasp of the language, her quiet nature, but she was a force to be reckoned with, and he could not have been more proud of her. "Her name was Joy," he said, "and yes, she's gone, but that's...that's not why I'm sad."

"Did I make trouble for you, papa? I did not mean-"

"No," Lucien said at once, for he did not want her to believe, even for a moment, that Joy had left because of her, "no, it's nothing like that. I was...we were...we were supposed to be married. But the truth is I didn't love her, and in the end she decided she would rather not be married to me."

"If you didn't love her, why would you marry her?"

It was an honest question, and Lucien felt it deserved an honest answer. More than that, he felt that Li had just provided him an opening to address his concerns regarding the future, and so he bulled ahead with his tale.

"A king must have an heir. Someone to pick up the crown after he's gone, someone to keep the country steady. I have you, my darling, and I could not ask for more, but you told me you did not want to leave China. I would never ask you to do something you didn't want to do. But that means I need an heir. It was decided that I should marry Joy. She would have been...a good fit."

"They would have forced you to marry against your will?" Li seemed shocked by the very idea; perhaps she thought that, as king, Lucien would be allowed a bit more freedom in his own life. If she did, she was mistaken.

"For the good of the kingdom, yes."

"So if I leave," Li said slowly, "you will have to marry and have another child, but if I stay, you won't have to?"

"It is entirely your choice, whether you stay or go," Lucien told her earnestly. He gathered Lin into his arms and held her close, turned on the bench so he could look in his daughter's face as he spoke. "I only want you to be happy, my darling. Don't worry about me."

"I do worry about you, papa," she told him sadly. "I want you to be happy, too."

"What a pair we make, eh?" Lucien said ruefully. Carefully he passed Lin to her mother, and then he leaned over, and kissed his daughter's cheek.

"This is how things are," he began to explain. "You have a choice to make. You do not have to be a Princess. You and Lin can go wherever you wish, or you could live here in the castle, and you can do as you please. But if you choose not to be a Princess, I will still need an heir. I will need to marry, and have a child, someone to follow after me. If you decide that you will be a Princess, that you will take up the crown when I'm gone, you will have a great many responsibilities. And I don't want you to take them on for my sake. It is a very serious decision."

"What sort of responsibilities?" Li asked him curiously. "It is a job, is it not? Like being a politician."

"Yes, it is rather," Lucien agreed. "If you like, you could come with me to work for a few days. I could show you what it is that I do."

"I think that would be nice," Li said firmly. "Whether I stay or go, I will need something to do with my time. I can't stay in those rooms all day. And it doesn't seem fair, for me to turn aside from my duty and force you to have another child, just to do what I could not. Let me see what it is you do, papa, and then I can decide for myself."

"Thank you," he told her earnestly. Her hands were occupied with holding her child, and so rather than reaching for her hand he draped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him.

"It is the right thing to do," she said simply. "But I want to know; if you did not love this Joy, if you are not sad that she has gone, then why do you look so sad now?"

"I was remembering," he told her then. For he had been; he had been remembering Mei Lin, her wicked wit, her sparkling smile, the delirious days of their marriage when everything between them had been full of love, and light. He had been remembering Jean, as well, the curve of her hip and her gentle wisdom, all the hope, the opportunities that seemed to open before them, and how cruelly those hopes had been dashed. The glasshouse was a place where memories stalked silent as ghosts beside him, but he did not want to think of them now, not now when he felt as if he had once more seized onto a piece of hope for his future. Li was curious about the possibilities before her, the path she might take, and he wanted to help guide her, to help her make a decision that would bring her happiness, and in so doing, perhaps lessen some of the grief he carried within his own heart.