9 June, 1369. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
Celia could feel her eyelids drooping, practically begging for an excuse to close.
Unfortunately, an acceptable excuse was proving hard to come by.
"Sit up and look alert!" Tobin whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "And for fuck's sake, you should also try smiling once or twice. What are people supposed to think when they see you nodding off from boredom at your own husband's festivities?"
"It's not boredom, it's exhaustion!" she hissed back while plastering a smile on her face. "I'm tired from pregnancy and I would've hoped you'd be more understanding, giving you've been nagging me for an heir since our wedding day!"
Tobin made a clicking sound with his tongue. "You're not even showing yet, so stop exaggerating. You're just trying to spoil my celebrations with your dramatics."
