She raises an eyebrow slightly. "I am surprised to hear you say so. He is not of an age to be introduced to a prince, and very few young men would wish to visit a nursery. But if you wish to see the future King - very well."

He smiles. “Thank you.”

The dinner continues – the maid returns, and the bards perform old epics of gods and titans.

“If I may so plainly ask,” the prince speaks again, “when did the King’s illness begin?”

A hush falls over the table. 

She dabs tears from her eyes - it's not really hard to cry on command. 

She stares at him until everyone else does too, holds it a beat too long to gloss over.

Is he going to squirm? Most people do, when they've made a situation this awkward. 

"Son of Hyranon," she says faintly, "I think it is not meet for me to speak of such things. It has been some time, and came upon us gradually- excuse me." She buries her face in her hands.