23 March, 1369. Magdaline Castle, Islia.
Celia sat within a sunny courtyard, several sheets of parchment on her lap. She'd been reading the neatly written notes since the previous day, trying to absorb as much of their contents as possible. She'd even crammed the sheets with her own notes in the margins.
Whenever she'd come across any information that she didn't understand or had a question, she'd been forced to rely on the man sitting stiffly at her side to provide helpful answers.
Such was the way a princess had to prepare for important negotiations. Especially when the only person who had the knowledge in Islia to help her, seemed determined to speak to her as little as possible.
Who said diplomacy wasn't exciting, Celia sulked?
