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room. In fact, Brand's Jenny had slept in it a month or so ago. This floor had blossomed briefly to life then, with Bryght's Francis, and Hilda's children.

He set the other cradle rocking - an extra one had been made when the twins were born - remembering how much larger everything had seemed when he'd been a three-year-old, hovering fascinated over his new baby sister. She'd been tiny and wondrous, with delicate fingers and those huge, intent eyes which had seemed to look at him and recognize him.

Brother.

Mine.

People had always said he couldn't remember, but he remembered enough.

He remembered his mother, coming up from her bed that day instead of having the baby brought to her, still in her scarlet bedgown, her dark hair loose down her back. Dismissing the servants, but letting him stay. He'd always wondered why. But then, he didn't think she'd planned to do what she did. He'd give a great deal to know what she had planned when she came upstairs.

She'd picked up little Edith and walked with her, murmuring words he hadn't been able to hear. They hadn't sounded comforting. Not like the nurse's soothing, loving murmurs.

He remembered being worried.

Perhaps the baby had felt that way too, or perhaps his mother had held her too tightly. Edith had begun to cry, and it had rapidly built into the wavering squawk of the angry, frightened newborn. Ever since, that uniquely desperate sound had struck panic into him - a desperate need to act, to do something.

His mother had sat with the screaming, red-faced baby and quite calmly - he'd never forget the calm - closed her hand around little Edith's throat. The silence had been shocking.

He'd run over, crying, "No!" He'd tried to drag his mother's hand away. She'd looked at him blankly and buffeted him across the room with the full strength of her free hand.

He'd crawled to the door, blindly terrified, quiet as a mouse, then run screaming, hurtling past gawking servants, with only one thought. To get to his father, who could surely put all this right.

If he'd stopped, if he'd been in control of himself and explained to the nearby servants exactly what was going on, would they have acted sooner? Would they have been in time... ?

He came back to the present with a shudder, sweat cold down his back. The cradle still moved slightly from the rocking he'd started.

If he'd done the right thing, Edith would be a grown woman now, with husband and children of her own. Perhaps with a special smile for her brother. And he might be a different person. One able to -

Enough.

He looked around the room one last time, then left, closing the door. It had been a pilgrimage of sorts, and had served its purpose. There was no possibility of marriage for him. Ever. He must extricate the Countess of Arradale from her predicament, and despite her challenge, send her safely home.

Already he felt the pain of it. More than that, he knew her pain would be as great.

That was almost more than he could bear, but not quite.

He must never risk putting children in those empty cradles.

"It is a miracle to have a child, Lady Arradale," the queen said. "You do not want to miss it."

They were in the queen's gardens, the little one-year-old prince the center of attention for all the ladies. In sunshine, and helping the prince to make a daisy chain - making it for him, really - Diana was almost enjoying herself.

"I would like to have children, Your Majesty," she agreed, silently adding, but only Bey's.

"Lord Rothgar distresses my husband by his refusal to marry and sire children."

Diana looked up sharply, wondering if she'd spoken her thought out loud, but then she knew she had not. The connection was completely in the queen's mind. Was it possible that the king and queen would choose Bey for her?

Though she wanted nothing more, that had to stop. A forced marriage would be torture.

"I understand his mother was... afflicted, Your Majesty."

"She murdered her second babe," said the queen bluntly. "A terrible thing which has surely sent her to hell. It need not concern him, however."

A parent in hell might concern anyone, Diana thought, but said, "Perhaps he fears to carry the problem in his blood, ma'am."

"He has not spoken of it to you?"

Under the queen's scrutiny, Diana worked to appear cool and rather bored by the topic. "We know each other very little, ma'am. A few days last year, a