No Ordinary Morning

9 October, 1371. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten

A low, tortured sounding groan invaded Celia's slumbers.

At first, she thought the sound was just part of the dreams that had been tormenting her. Snippets of dreams about bloodshed, execution and being torn away from her little boys.

She opened her aching eyes and peered into the dimness around her. She saw she was in her bedchamber. The room was bathed in what looked like the grey of dawn's earliest light.

The groan broke through the silence again, low and anguished.

It was coming from very close by.

Celia turned slowly on the bed and found herself almost face to face with Tobin, startling her. He was still dressed in the previous evening's clothing, his beautifully pressed shirt now rumpled.

He spent the night here, just to make sure he could rub his triumph in my face for as long as possible.