:That’s not a child,: Caryo said testily. :It’s a stomach with a warhorn attached to one end, and a mechanism that produces more excrement than a full-grown cow attached to the other.:

Selenay was glad that there wasn’t anyone in the room to see her as she choked on a laugh. There was some truth to that, though Selenay herself seldom had to attend to the latter. Still. The former—

Elspeth’s wails scaled up a notch. Selenay’s own nurse, old Melidy, was in charge of the nursery, but she seemed to have her hands full with Elspeth, who had an awfully robust set of lungs for something so small, and the need to demand attention constantly.

Do all babies cry so much?

At least baby Elspeth’s demands were reasonable; milk, comfort, a clean napkin. Unlike her father…

Selenay’s irritation increased, as did her headache.

He’d been pouting again this morning. He didn’t even have to say anything anymore, just pout and look aggrieved and put-upon. His pouts didn’t seem quite so attractive anymore either, and his bereft-orphan pose was beginning to look a great deal more like a pose than like her own, real grief. She knew what true mourning looked like, from the inside, and—well, all his protestations to the contrary, it had begun to look to her as if his father’s death and brother’s estrangement were things he really didn’t feel deeply about.

If at all.

Oh, come now! said her conscience. You can’t blame him for wanting to be a King, now that his brother is King of Rethwellan. And he’s been thoroughly agreeable since Elspeth was born. Didn’t he say he had sent for his old nurse for her, so that old Melidy wouldn’t have to do all the looking-after by herself? And with two Chief Nursery Attendants on the job, there shouldn’t be any more of this howling while you’re trying to get some work done.

Agreeable he might be, but she couldn’t help the feeling that it was all on the surface. He certainly wasn’t about whenever something needed doing. When they retired for the evening and she wanted to tell him about the annoyances of the day, just to get them off her chest, he would launch off into some hunting story or other, ignoring her hints that another topic—any other topic—would be welcome. And what had happened to Karath the lover? All very well to speak tenderly of wanting to give her plenty of time to recover from Elspeth’s birth, but just how long did he think she needed?

Besides, it wouldn’t hurt her to be held and comforted, now and again. She could do with more of the commiseration about the burdens of the Crown that he used to give her, and less complaining that he wanted the crown himself.