10 November, 1368. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
"Your Grace…Your Grace!"
The deep voice jarred Celia out of her reverie. She'd been utterly engrossed in the book on her lap. When she looked up at the handsome lord across the table from her, his wry expression suggested he'd been trying to get her attention for a while.
"Sorry." she muttered sheepishly. "Were you trying to tell me something?"
Lucas grinned. "I've never seen anyone be quite as enthralled by historical records as you, my lady."
"It's all just so fascinating, though. These are all events and battles my tutors made me study as a girl. To now be able to read the written records from the chroniclers of those days, is incredible…" Celia's voice trailed off when she realised how incredibly dry she sounded.
