“As I recall, it concerned you,” Morgan replied. “I reminded her that you were nearly grown, that one day you’d be king.” His gaze lowered. “I never thought it would be so soon.”

Kelson snorted bitterly. “She thinks I’m still her little boy. How do you convince a mother you’re not a child any longer?”

Morgan considered the question as they came to a halt at the edge of the reflecting pool. “Frankly, I don’t know, my prince. Mine died when I was four. And the aunt who raised me, the Lady Vera McLain, had the good sense never to belabor the issue. When my father died and I came to your father’s court as a page, I was nine. And royal pages, even at that age, are no longer children.”

“I wonder why royal princes are different,” Kelson mused.

“Perhaps princes take longer,” Morgan observed. “After all, royal princes grow up to be kings, you know.”

“If they get to grow up,” Kelson muttered.

Rather dejectedly, the boy sank down on a smooth rock by the reflecting pool and began pitching pebbles into the water, one by one. As each pebble splashed, the brooding gray eyes followed the ripples until they vanished, watched as the concentric rings spread and dissipated into nothingness.

Morgan knew this mood, and knew better than to interfere. It was that air of concentration and deliberation, so hauntingly familiar in Brion, that was as much a part of the Haldane mold as gray eyes, or strength of arms, or diplomatic cunning. It had been Brion’s lot; his brother, Nigel, had it in full measure, and would have made a formidable king had it not been for the accident of birth that made him second son instead of first. And now, the youngest of the Haldane line stood ready to claim his birthright.

Patiently, Morgan sat down to wait. After a long, silent moment, the boy raised his head to gaze reflectively out across the water.

“Morgan,” he began quietly, “you’ve known me since I was born. You knew my father better than any man I know.” He pitched another pebble, then turned his head toward Morgan. “Do you—do you think I’ll ever be able to fill his place?”

Fill his place? Morgan thought, trying not to let his pain show. How do you fill an empty place in your heart? How do you replace someone who’s been father and brother for almost as long as you can remember?

Morgan picked up a handful of pebbles and rolled them in his hand, forcing himself once more to put aside his sorrow and concentrate on the matter at hand. Brion was gone. Kelson was here and now. Now he must be father and brother to the son, even as the father had been to him. That was how Brion would have wanted it.

He flipped a pebble into the pool, then turned to his . . . son.