"Grandpa, what does it mean to be charming?" Henry was bobbing up and down on his toes while he watched his grandfather shave, a process he found endlessly fascinating and planned to start doing himself the moment he was old enough.
"Huh?" said the prince, looking less-than-regal with his face covered in shaving cream and his mouth contorted in a humorous position while he navigated the razor across his upper lip.
"You know," said Henry, "like the name Grandma gave you. What does it mean?"
His grandfather wiped his now-smooth skin with a washcloth and looked down at him. "Why don't you tell me what you think it means, and we'll go from there?"
"Ok," said Henry, smiling. He liked a challenge. He thought all the way to Granny's Diner, where the two were headed for Saturday breakfast. Once he had a huge plate of pancakes in front of him, he was ready.
"Let's see," he said. "You're tall, so it must mean being tall. And you're strong, so it must mean that, too. Maybe it means you're good at killing monsters? And fighting with a sword? And—(Henry blushed slightly)—really, really handsome."
"Ah," said his grandfather with mock seriousness. "That's quite a list. But what about you, Henry? You haven't killed any monsters yet, and you're not that tall." Henry couldn't help laughing as a big hand reached around the booth and poked him lightly in the stomach.
"I'm not charming," he said, shaking his head emphatically.
"Oh," said his grandpa, leaning his head close to Henry's, "you're wrong about that. Before they were sent away, I heard Emma and Mary Margaret talking about how you're the most charming kid in the whole world." This time, Henry blushed for real, and he stared down at his placemat.
