She thinks of Miles, his heir, for what it was worth. For what misery that might be, she could be assured of one thing and one thing alone in that. Piotr wasn't the only one making sure his family lined continued, even to their own detriment, it seemed. Because she knows the worry, she does, better than most. Gangadhar had gripped her hand so tightly, even as he faded from that hold. I have no son, Lakshmi, the Gods saw fit to take him quickly through this life, but what is to become of you all?

Careful, as she says it, "I do not think that shall be your fate, Count. I think your line shall be known for many years to come." It's murmured into her cup before she takes a mouthful. Warm, for what it is.

Then to keep from it being too in-depth of a thought, she carries along easily after she swallows, gesturing briefly with to him. "Perhaps you shall be like old King Chhatrasal, and have 56 sons."