13 April, 1369. The plains of Southwest Islia.
It turned out rather easy for the two of them to fall into a new routine, as the Haviettenese party steadily worked their way towards the border.
Every night, Celia would tiptoe out of whatever bedchamber she'd been allocated, and straight into Lucas's arms. They would share secret hours of overwhelming joy, alternating between making love and just talking and laughing in whispers, until she was forced to sneak back to her own room before dawn.
Their daylight hours were a complete contrast - nothing but polite conversation and the occasional quick, heated glance.
It helped that Celia was served by a clutch of indifferent maids and had the two laziest women alive as her ladies-in-waiting. No one paid her any more attention than they absolutely needed to.