1 January, 1370. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
Celia muffled a groan as she lay on her left side and tried to stretch out her cramped legs along the bed. The muscles in her calves screeched in protest.
Her lower back had begun throbbing the night before. The ache hadn't that bad to begin with, though. It was just an annoyance that came and went, leaving her with long periods where she felt almost nothing at all.
She hadn't told her maids because they would've insisted on calling the midwives.
And Celia hadn't wanted the midwives around yet because she'd just wanted to spend her night in peace. She had very little patience for their their nonstop clucking and fussing.
Now Celia was wondering if she'd made a mistake. Her backache had grown steadily during the night and ruined her chances of being able to rest properly. The pain she felt was definitely sharper now, shooting from the base of her spine and up her rib cage.
