19 March, 1369. Magdaline Castle, Islia
The queen's gardens were still devoid of even a single blade of greenery. Nevertheless, there was something starkly beautiful about the sun bathing the bare branches in soft light.
It was a lovely late winter's day, the sky an intense cerulean blue. So different from the endless rain of St Ivan's. Celia leaned back in her seat under one of the smaller pavilions, just soaking in her surroundings.
Next to her sat Lauren Blackwell, though her old friend was now also a married woman and held the title of Viscountess Gerrard. Marriage hadn't at all tempered her volatile nature and sharp tongue, however.
Being with Lauren and her other friends over the last few days had made Celia feel like a silly young girl again. It also made her pine for years gone by, times when their tight knit group had quarreled and agonised over minor issues.
