16 March, 1369. Magdaline Castle, Islia.
Celia walked slowly and quietly, feeling like she was wandering around a part of the castle that she wasn't supposed to be in. She knew she wasn't, but still felt like an interloper.
She was still in the southern wing, only a couple of corridors over from where the bulk of the royal apartments were.
It could've been another country, for how different it felt.
There was none of the bustling movement and streams of conservation that filled the rest of the castle. Instead, everything around her was oddly peaceful, the few servants gliding past almost noiselessly. They all smiled and bowed as they crossed her path.
Celia found the doors she was looking for. She raised her hand to knock, then felt it freeze in midair. Shaking her head at her own cowardice, she quickly rapped with her knuckles and announced herself.