Written for the 2011 Blue Skies Drabblethon at the Day_By_Drabble LJ community for the prompt: "One of these mornings / You're going to rise up singing / Then you'll spread your wings / And you'll take to the sky / But till that morning / There's a'nothing can harm you / With daddy and mamma standing by" (Summertime by George Gershwin).

Daddy's Little Girl

"Eugene?" Rapunzel's voice echoes from the opposite end of the long hall where I'm leaning out a window and drawing deep, cleansing breaths of air. "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, I'm fine, just fine!" I say in my most booming Prince Consort baritone when I hear the skitter of her feet and the swish of her skirts on the marble tile. It's nothing short of a heroic effort, I admit, when the voice I really want to be using right now is the one that sounds like I just got kicked in the nuts. Which is pretty much exactly what happened to me. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Luckily, I don't have to put any effort into affecting my most charming Prince Consort smile when I turn around, because I can't not smile at the sight of Rapunzel running toward me. All these years the Queen of Corona, and she still runs through the castle; not that I'm complaining, since all that exercise means that even after birthing six Royal Children, she's still got the eighteen year-old body I found locked away in a woodland tower.

Which, frankly, is more than can be said for me, with unlimited beer at my beck and call. Though I really do plan to start doing my own becking and calling, so I can drink my beer and not wear it, too. After the New Year. It's my Resolution. And this year, I'll keep it. Really.

"Are you sure?" Rapunzel's eyes narrow in scrutiny as she approaches. "You don't look fine. You look kind of green."

From the beginning The Look had a way of getting the truth out of me, but it's even more effective since we had kids. And it's so not fair. If I'd realized that by making her a mother meant I'd be making her my mother, I never would have-

No. I totally would have. In fact, I'd do it all over again, even if it means number seven. Maybe I'll do it tonight…

"Blondie," I say, standing up straight and puffing out my chest-and the gut, too, ugh-because the thing that really unnerves me about The Look is that somehow it feels like Rapunzel's looking down on me even though I'm brawny and she's teeny. "I always look fine, and even if I do have the slightest f chartreuse tinge, Pascal will vouch that a guy can still look fine in green. It ain't easy, but-"

"A diploma just brought a treaty agreement that includes the betrothal of Princess Eugenia to the Crown Prince of Heineken," Rapunzel interrupts. "You're so not fine."

Instantly, I wilt. That whole being kicked in the nuts feeling. And this time, I can't stop my voice from sounding exactly like that's what just happened to me.

"Daddy's little girl!"

Rapunzel wraps her arms around my shoulders. "She's a princess, Eugene. You knew this day would come."

No, I didn't. I mean, sure, the King warned me, but I assumed Rapunzel and I would speed the kingdom along the path toward modernity before we faced the choice of marrying off our kids for political alliances. I mean, we chose each other.

"She's only thirteen," I whimper into her shoulder. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"Because, Eugene, if you'd actually stayed to hear the poor man out, you'd have heard that they're only asking for a betrothal. And, if Eugenia and Prince Dirk should mutually decide they're incompatible with each other, or have found more suitable matches by the time they're eighteen, and our two countries should still have friendly relations, the betrothal may be dissolved without straining ties."

Something about that doesn't seem quite on the up-and-up with me-could be the name Dirk-but I nod anyway, realizing I'm probably not the most unbiased judge of the situation. And it's not like Rapunzel doesn't have an equal interest in Eugenia's future, and if she's comfortable with this…

I straighten up. And wipe my runny nose on the back of my hand. Not that I was crying or anything. Seasonal allergies.

"I think we need to ask Eugenia how she feels about this before we go signing any treaties," I say.

"Absolutely!" Rapunzel agrees, twining her arm with mine as we head toward the Royal Children's Apartments. "But I have a pretty good idea she's going to be all for it."

"You do?"

"Uh-huh. She met Prince Dirk at Flynn's birthday party, remember?"

Not really. Who remembers a kid named Dirk?

Eugenia, apparently.

I sigh. "Lemme guess-she thinks he's the most handsome and brave prince she ever met."

Rapunzel grins up at me. Maniacally. "Actually, she thinks he's scrawny and stupid, but she likes that because a scrawny, stupid king won't be able to boss her around and she'll be the true ruler of Heineken."

That's my girl, I think, my chest-and belly-puffing a little again. But I say, "Remind me when we agreed to raise megalomaniacs instead of sparkly pink ballerina princesses?"

At the tender age of seven, Goldie already wields a frying pan as well as her mother, and apparently inherited Rapunzel's mad escape artist skills, too. Or so we discovered at a state dinner when she tied up her governess and crashed the party, leaping on the high table to inform the Emperor of Peroni that she was relieving him of the burden of his crown. Or maybe she got that from me. Luckily the Peronian Emperor has a better sense of humor than Corona's palace guards.

"But the diplomat from Heineken says Prince Dirk has written an epic poem about Eugenia-which he's now adapting into a musical."

I explode. "SHE DOESN'T EVEN WEAR A BRA YET!"

"Just think what the boys will be like when she does," Rapunzel says, with a smirk. A smirk.

"I am thinking," I mutter. "Thinking a tower would come in handy about now."

And that trying for number seven's not such a brilliant idea, after all.

Those kind enough to review will get the chance to help Eugene calm down after his little freak out. ;)