David wiped his face with his napkin and sat back, trying to figure out how to word what he wanted to say. He had a feeling this was one of those life lesson times, and he didn't want to blow it.

"Henry, when we first met, your grandmother called me Charming as a joke, because she didn't like me. She only started to call me that for real after we knew each other a lot better."

"I know," said his grandson, smiling. "It's in the story."

"Sure it is," said the prince, pausing for emphasis, "but do you really know what it means? When Snow met me, she could see that I was tall. She might have even known I'd killed a few monsters. That's not what made her think I was charming."

"That's—true," Henry agreed, his brow furrowed.

"What do you think did it?" asked David.

The little boy looked up after a while. "I don't know, Grandpa."

The prince smiled, and he didn't realize it, but for a split second he looked as old as he really was. "It was love, Henry. Grandma found me charming because she loved me. There are a lot of things we can do and be, like learning all we can to reach our potential and being kind and generous, but charm—well, that's another thing."

"What kind of thing?" Henry asked, obviously intrigued.

"Charm is in the eye of the beholder," said the prince, aware that his phrasing was old-fashioned, but meaning every word. "Grandma thinks I'm charming because when she looks at me, she sees someone she loves. That's why Emma thinks you're charming. It's not about your or me being perfect; it's because they love us the way we are."

"Oh," said Henry, staring at him in amazement. "You mean—somebody like Snow might think that about me some day, even if I'm just plain Henry?"

"Yep," said David, putting out a hand and brushing a stray hair from the little boy's forehead, "that's exactly what I mean."

"Cool," said Henry.

His grandfather thought so too.