2 January, 1370. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
It was still dark. She wasn't sure what time it was exactly, having lost all track of the hours.
Celia shifted in her bed, careful to move slowly. Her body felt like a giant bruise. Next to her, swaddled in pale linen, was Gabriel.
She knew she wasn't supposed to have him in the bed next to her. One of the midwives had told her a terrible story about a woman who'd always insisted on having her baby share her bed. One night, the unlucky woman fell asleep and accidentally rolled onto her infant, smothering the life out of them.
But I'm not asleep, Celia thought. That makes all the difference. I refuse to sleep, because it's all time I can spend looking at my perfect little boy instead.
She lay curled up on her side, staring in quiet awe as Gabriel dozed. He was true perfection, from his dainty eyelashes to his button nose. She couldn't imagine a more beautiful child.
