16 February, 1369. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
"Celia! Celia!" A hot tempered voice jarred her from sleep. With a pounding heart and jerky movements, she raised herself onto her elbows, just in time to see Tobin stomp into their bedchamber.
For a moment, his expression switched from anger to bewilderment when he saw her on the bed.
"What the hell are you doing sleeping in the middle of the day?" he demanded.
Says the man who often sleeps until almost noon, she thought.
"I slept badly last night so thought I'd try to catch up a little." Despite her grogginess, the lie rolled easily enough from Celia's tongue. "But I'm guessing that's not the reason you want to talk to me?"
Tobin started to scowl again. "Correct. I want to know what the fuck your father thinks he's doing."
"My father?"
