29 January, 1369. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
The bare, skeletal trees against the bright blue sky gave the gardens around her a stark beauty. Celia sat quietly on a bench, breathing in the bitterly cold, crisp air.
It was a rare clear winter's day. All she wanted was to be left alone but at the same time, she craved the sunshine and fresh air. Being cooped up inside seemed to make her queasiness and exhaustion worse.
She took another deep breath, welcoming how the cold seemed to almost burn in her lungs. It made her feel a little more alive.
The curious, dead feeling that had settled in her soul when she'd realised she was with child, hadn't left. It had grown stronger, making her feel oddly detached from everyday activities around her. Celia often found herself at chapel or at dinner surrounded by chattering courtiers, while feeling like a spectator in her own life.
