The Queen had only to name the girl. Give her a name, and the child would be hers. So many lovely names, they crowded her mind, teetered on the tip of her tongue . . . but each time she tried to utter one, any one, a face popped into her mind’s eye. A small face with faded freckles, and eyes once as dark as the wild kelp that grew beyond the shore, now as dull as a spent penny.