Woo-hoo! Yay for the next chapter! :D

Many thanks to AmIDelis for her review!

WARNING: This chapter…well, you'd be (hopefully) bawling by the time you finish this chapter if I managed to do this correctly. So get a box of tissues ready just in case that I actually pulled this off.

Anyways, read and enjoy!

The Prince and His Valet

v. – part 4

When he entered Henry's bedroom, the already present feeling of foreboding only deepened, it that was at all possible. Donald gulped as he took in the sight before him. The royal physician was packing the bag he always carried with him. He could just make out the silhouette of Horace by the large bed in the dimly lit candlelight. The figure on the bed was still.

Absolutely still.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, unintentionally announcing his arrival to the occupants of the room. Horace turned around, saw him at the door, and motioned for the duck to come forward.

Donald suppressed the urge to bolt from the room and reluctantly made his way to the bed. Before entering the room, he had been desperate to check if Henry was all right, but now that he was here, he just wanted to get as far away as possible, fueled by the naivety that maybe if he didn't face it, it wouldn't happen.

Already he could feel the tears forming in his eyes when his eyes finally lay upon the King, deathly pale and weak. Donald wanted to scream. This didn't look at all like the King he remembered. Henry was always so full of energy. So happy. Always ready to race his son and the young valet down the hall. Always there to ambush the boys around the corner. Always smiling down at the boys as he listened to their bickering and fights. Always cheering both parties on during a duel.

He seemed so out of place now, lying so still on the bed, with his breathing so shallow that it was almost as if it wasn't there. Donald found himself wishing it was another prank from the King (though those were few and far between in comparison to the Prince's), and that any minute now Henry would pop up from the bed and laugh as the teenage duck shrieked.

He glanced nervously at Horace, and was at first surprised at how collected and emotionless the advisor looked. But then he immediately gave himself a mental slap in the face. How could he ever think that Horace didn't care? He knew beyond a doubt that Horace was the one taking the King's decline in health the hardest, but being Horace, he didn't show any of that. He's the level-headed, always rational royal advisor to the royal family. Donald often found himself frustrated that he was surrounded by people who were so good at hiding their own feelings that he was afraid that one day he'd find that the person he thought he knew wasn't that person at all.

Maybe that was why Mickey attracted him. The peasant boy never hid his own feelings, and was always sincere. Compared to Horace and the Prince, Mickey was like a breath of fresh air.

Horace looked down at him and calmly said that he was going to summon the Prince. Donald was too busy trying to look at anything but the bed in front of him to understand what that implied.

After Horace left the room, the King finally spoke.

"Donald…" He called weakly. The duck finally stopped letting his eyes wander and ended up staring at the covers on the king. He didn't have the courage to face His Majesty yet.

"My, you've really grown, haven't you?" The King said with a soft chuckle as he patted Donald on the head.

Just like he used to.

"I'm sorry that I haven't been able to see you more often." He continued softly. "And I'm sorry that I won't be able to see you continue to grow."

At this point, tears that had been pooling in Donald's eyes were finally threatening to spill over.

"I've always seen you as my other son, you know. I'd like to think that together with Horace, I've been able to set an example as a father figure for you to strive to." The King said with a smile. "And even though I honestly don't know how Quackmore would have treated his own child, I'd like to think that we've raised you into someone he can be proud of."

"You have." Donald replied with a choke. The tears were flowing freely now. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and grabbed the King's hand in his own, and for the first time since he entered the room he looked straight into the elder man's face. "Please, Henry, don't talk like that! You can still get better! There's still hope! Don't talk like this is the last time we're ever going to talk to each other! You can't…I can't…"

He trailed off as the King only looked back at him with a sad smile. The hand he had been holding shifted in an attempt to dry the duck's tears. "I'm sorry, Donald."

Donald cried all the harder and buried his face in the King's hand.

There was a period of silence as the King gently ran his fingers against the teen's face. Then he spoke again. "And I know Michael can be a handful, but you have to hang in there, alright? I'm leaving my son to you."

Suddenly, all sadness was washed away by a wave of rage. That sentence reminded Donald that Horace had gone out to summon the Prince, except the Prince wasn't here. He was out in the city, frolicking about as his own father lay dying. The Prince had gone out when the King needed him most, and now when the King was going to take his final breath, the Prince wouldn't be here.

He trembled in the wake of the anger and was slightly grateful that the King would probably assume his shaking to be from crying. Donald managed an "I will" as a response to the King's request before excusing himself. He then rushed for the door, his face still streamed with tears.

Once out of the room, he marched towards his room, angry at the Prince for leaving in the first place and angry at everyone else in the palace for not noticing that the Prince was gone. Mostly, he was angry at himself for not being able to do a doggone thing.

In the halls, he crossed path with Horace and Mickey, and in the heat of the moment, he threw Mickey one of his most hostile glares. Seeing the mouse reminded him again of the situation at hand and it made. Him. Mad.

He ignored Mickey's frightened flinch and Horace's questioning glance and marched right past them.

Finally, he made it to his room and proceeded to flop down on the bed and grab his pillow so he could scream and cry into it. He hated how he was so powerless and useless to the situation at hand and how pathetic he looked now.

"When he gets back," he grounded out through sobbing breaths. "I am going to murder him."

To be continued…

Well. Tissues, anyone? OwO

I 'm actually not so sure about this chapter. I hardly ever cry over literature anymore (though it's a completely different story when it comes to movies) so I'm not sure if this was enough to make someone sad? Have feels even? I don't know…I hope I managed to make at least one of you emotional. XD

I really liked writing Donald's relationship with Henry, and even though he didn't appear much in both the movie and my story, I hope I was able to show that he was a very much loved king during his reign. OwO

I…don't have a lead up sentence for the next chapter. Guess we'll have to wait and see, huh? XD

~ruth~