Before we began anything, Happy Birthday to Donald Duck! Thank you for being with us these 79 years!

This chapter was written in celebration of the event mentioned above. Enjoy! X3

The Prince and His Valet

iii. – part 2

The object in question was a violet velvet box, tied shut with a red silk ribbon. There was no bow, just a simple knot that looked hastily tied. Donald picked it up and gave it a gentle shake, and was rewarded with a thumping sound that said that there was definitely something in there. He turned the box over and around to examine it, and found a plain white envelope tucked beneath the ribbon.

Wait a minute, is this-?

"So, I see you've found it."

Donald almost jumped in surprise. Instead, he just glanced back at the Prince standing in the entrance of the wardrobe. The young prince was glancing around the room. "And made a pretty big mess in finding it, too."

Donald scowled. "It's only because your wardrobe is way too enormous for a mouse your size, Your Highness."

"Now, now, Donald. Wouldn't want Horace to hear that, would you? He's only in the other wing of the palace."

Donald glared, but otherwise stayed silent. He didn't want to deal with the Prince right now. The smart thing to do right now would be to ignore the Prince completely, place the box down, and walk out-

"Well then, since you found it, you know what to do with it. Off you go, now."

Wait, what?

His confusion must been all over his face because His Highness frowned. "Go on. I don't think you have the time stare blankly into space right now." And with that, the Prince turned to pick up the clothes that were still on the floor.

"Uh…Your Highness?" Donald felt more confused than ever. He didn't remember the Prince ever telling him about any present to give to anyone. "Who do I give this to?"

To his surprise, the Prince turned back to glare at him. "Don't make me say it, you good-for-nothing duck. You know fully well to whom this box goes!"

Donald glared back. "Well, I'm sorry, Your Highness, for not being as up to date with your love life as you are. And besides, whichever girl that you're sending this to should be receiving it from your own hands, not from me-"

"It's for you, you bumbling fool!"

…What?!

Donald stared blankly at the Prince, who was now trying to hide his red face (from embarrassment or anger, the duck would never know). There was a period of awkward silence, as Donald tried to process that sentence to make sure that no, he wasn't hearing things, and as the Prince tried to look at everything in the wardrobe but his valet. Finally, the duckling pointed a finger towards himself, "Uh…for me?"

"Yes," the Prince grounded out through gritted teeth, "For your, you know, your birthday."

To be honest, the first thought that passed through Donald's mind was "That was today?" He quickly did a mental check on his calendar, and found that today was indeed the ninth of June. He'd forgotten all about it. What's more, the last time he checked, he hadn't told anyone about the date of his birth.

Another moment of silence passed, with Donald trying to figure out what to do. At last, he said the first thing that came to mind, "But…how-?"

"I asked Horace." His Highness cut him off before he could finish the question. "He had to dig around for a bit, but we managed to find out. So there. Happy birthday."

If there was an award for Most Awkward Silences in Ten Minutes, Donald was sure he and the Prince would win big time.

"A-anyway, if you don't have anything better to do, you'd best get going. Wouldn't want Horace to think you were slacking off now, would we?" The Prince muttered as he pushed Donald towards the doors to the hallway. The duckling, still too dumbstruck to do anything, let himself be pushed. Once he went through the door, the Prince began talking again. "Now then, so long! Go open that present whenever you feel like it, I don't really care if you ever do. Go take care of your duties, and I'll let you know when I need you. Good bye!" And with that, the door shut behind the valet.

Donald was still staring at the box in his hands. Gingerly he began picking at the knot, letting his hands go on autopilot. It took a while, but he was able to untie the knot (without tying his own hand with the ribbon; impressive), hold onto the envelope, and open the lid of the velvet box to see inside.

He frowned when he saw a necklace staring back at him.

A necklace? But why would- The thought stopped midsentence when he realized that the round, silver-casted and crystal-studded center piece could be opened up. So it was a locket. He wondered what image His Highness and Horace had placed in there even as he undid the metal clasp to see.

Donald let out a gasp, and then a choke. A surge of emotion washed through him as he tried to steady his trembling hands, only to fail as he continued to stare at the image.

Mother…

He had almost forgotten how she looked like. This was a gift that valued more than his most prized possessions (not that he had any). As he ran his thumb over the small portrait, he remembered the white envelope that was still in his other hand. Swiftly, he broke the seal and took out its contents.

It was a simple piece of lambskin, folded so that it would fit in the envelope. The young duck quickly read what was written on it.

Donald,

Happy Birthday. Horace managed to find an old drawing of your mother when he was looking through the possessions they had managed to salvage from your father's castle. We had Benjamin redraw it. So thank Horace when you have the chance.

It wasn't signed, but Donald could recognize that graceful and educated handwriting anywhere. He had seen it many times before when the Prince was made to practice during his studies.

He stared at it for a few more seconds, and then he let out a small laugh and pulled the locket close to his heart. Maybe His Highness wasn't as insufferable as he had thought.

Then the door opened behind him, making him lose his balance and fall back with a startled quack. He stared up at His Highness's annoyed face. "By the way, Donald, you still need to clean up that mess you made in the wardrobe!" The Prince all but shouted.

Then again, maybe Donald's being too generous with the compliments.

To be continued…

This chapter was originally part of the previous chapter, but it got way to long, so I chopped it in half. This may happen quite frequently with the following chapters as well. :/

I love writing their love/hate relationship, and I had taken full advantage of the fact that they are both still kids in this story. 12- and 11-year-olds are very fun to write. And I really liked writing the Prince, too. He's like the earlier versions of Mickey, when he wasn't tied down by being an icon and had a more mischievous side to him.

So it seems like the Prince does care after all. Where will their relationship go now?

~ruth~