7 August, 1371. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten
Just as he'd loudly predicted, Tobin rose from his bed a few days later and returned to his regular routine. That meant he resumed napping, bellowing out orders that sent his servants scurrying in panic, and eating with gusto.
He seemed no worse for wear physically after his bout of illness. Celia thought that to be very unfair.
The court mindlessly followed suit by resuming its summertime activities without missing a beat. The days and nights at the palace settled back down to a veneer of normality.
Mostly normal but there were a few critical differences, if you knew where to look at least.
Celia did, and what she saw didn't fill her with a lot of reassurance.
Instead of learning some humility after being wholly in others' care for several days, being ill had made Tobin more short tempered. And even worse, he also seemed to become suspicious of everything around him.