27 August, 1369. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
The summer, her third one in Havietten, continued sliding by. Celia gritted her teeth through the long, humid days. She'd never especially enjoyed the stifling weather, but discovered it even harder to bear while pregnant.
Every night, her maids would drench the curtains around her bed with lavender scented water, to try and help cool her. The water itself didn't help much but Celia grew to love the scent.
I'm one lucky girl, she'd tell herself on many nights as she lay in bed, alone with her thoughts. How much worse would my situation be if I was still stuck sharing the bedchamber with Tobin?
Ever since she'd been moved into her own apartments, the young couple had started leading quite separate lives. It suited Celia very well. It's not like she and Tobin had ever had much to say to each other, was it?