9 December, 1369. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
"Would you like me to hand you another book to browse, my lady?"
Celia shook her head.
"Would you like one of us to bring over your sewing again so that you can continue stitching?" Tamar persisted.
"No, I don't feel like sewing right now." Celia mumbled, trying not to sound so irritated. It wasn't her maids' fault she was so restless and bored.
She was sick of sewing new little baby tunics.
She was sick of reading. Especially since the only way for her to access fresh books was to send either a maid or a lady-in-waiting to choose some for her.
It turned out, sending illiterate women to a library to borrow books for you, didn't work out very well. Who would've thought it?
She was sick of napping. Whenever she'd feel herself finally drifting off, the baby would kick and she'd need to call for the chamber pot yet again.
