Herbert carefully pulls the braid over his shoulder to look at it -- and if his heart were beating it would have stopped in his chest. It's the same braid Solin was constantly making in his hair.

The birthmark, the braid. Alfred calling him my dear. The overwhelming feeling of familiarity and comfort he feels around Alfred. It can't be.

Could it?

"Did you -- Alfred, this looks lovely," he says first, his voice slightly choked. "Did you tell me once, that you had dreams of being in this castle before?"