"Henry," said David, looking up after a few seconds, "you didn't do anything wrong. I did."

"What?" Henry stared at him, uncomprehending, and David hated the look of confused fear in his grandson's eyes.

"We never talked about that day in the stables," the prince continued, feeling more like a grandfather than he ever had before and hating the sickening feeling of failure in his stomach. "You were scared—and hurt—and it was my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone there. I've been wanting to talk to you about it for a while, but to be honest, Henry, I didn't know what to say. I don't know how you can still trust me. I let you down."

Henry smiled. That was strange, David thought, not at all what he'd expected. He also didn't expect his grandson to come over to his side of the table and stand in front of him with his arms folded, but that was what happened.

"Grandpa," said Henry, and David realized his grandson was mimicking the tone he used whenever the kid was a little bit in trouble, "that wasn't your fault, so stop acting like I'm upset when I'm not. You're doing a good job of taking care of me. Got it?"

For a split second, David wondered who was adult and who was child. "Got it," he said, smiling at the pint-sized psychologist in front of him.

Of course, there were still some advantages to being the grandpa, as he reminded Henry by tackling him and wrestling him into a tight embrace. The kid didn't seem to mind.