15 July, 1367. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten
Celia stared at her reflection in the large mirror, feeling curiously detached from her own body. It was like staring at a stranger. Two maids hovered around her, making final adjustments to her heavy gown.
She wondered if any other woman had felt such helpless dread on her wedding day. She felt like she was walking blindly towards an uncertain future.
Uncertain, but more than likely unhappy.
Celia looked at the bride in the mirror's polished surface, clad in a pearl encrusted ice blue gown to match her frightened eyes. Her pale gold hair had been softly curled but left loose under a lace veil, and her expression was haunted.
Oh my dear Mama, she thought. How I wish you were heard to hold my hand and guide me through this. I need your wisdom and your fortitude. Because I don't think there has ever been a more terrified woman on her wedding day.