Prosper

5 June, 1371. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten

"I'm going to assume that everything went as it should during Aron's baptism, given I haven't heard anything to the contrary?" Celia was sitting up in the bed with a portable desk resting on her lap, quill in hand. She signed her name with a flourish on the thank you note she'd just finished writing to the King of Irquis. "You know Tobin never tells me anything."

"I'd say you assumed rightly." Lucas asked, his attention on another letter. He'd stretched out in a nearby armchair so that he could use one foot to gently rock the cradle. "But given I wasn't important enough to receive an invite to said event, I guess neither of us will ever know for sure."

"I can't believe Sarai was chosen for godmother again. If Tobin had bothered asking for my input, I would've insisted my mother be given the honour. As if he'd ever ask me, though."