23 June, 1369. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
Celia was standing in front of her full length mirror in only her chemise, while her maids held out several gowns for her to choose from.
She'd quickly grown to hate the tedious daily process of her morning bath and dress. With her bandaged wrist, it now took an absolute eternity.
Her maids were scared of bumping her arm even slightly, so they handled her as if she were on her deathbed. While Celia appreciated their consideration, she was sick of not being able to leave her apartments until noon, by the time her hair had been styled and jewellery added.
Still, she reasoned, their attentiveness made for a pleasant change from their past laziness. And at least now, she was no longer confined to her bed.
Since her week of bed rest had ended, she'd been expected to attend dinner in the grand hall every night. So she had, with her head held high and ignoring the whispers.
