Speaking Without Words

28 November, 1371. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.

Celia stepped into the dowager apartments and studied her surroundings with interest. She hadn't entered these particular rooms in months. Looking around, she noticed things were as neat and pretty as she remembered.

She strode forward.

"A very good morning to you, Mother. You haven't been down to dinner for a while. How have you been?" Celia's tone was merry as called out to the older woman at the far end of the presence chamber, staring out a window.

Maura whirled around at the sound of her voice. Her face was deeply lined, framed in a bleached white wimple.

The former queen was back to wearing mourning clothes. She'd been loudly declaring for weeks to anyone who'd listen, her intention to wear the garments until her son rose from his bed and retook his throne as Havietten's true ruler.

Very well but you'll be waiting a rather long time for that, madam, Celia thought wryly.