That night, she knew Tobin was in foul spirits before he even entered her bedchamber. The cadence of his footsteps as he thumped through her presence chamber was enough to tell her of his ugly mood.
Celia hadn't even seen Tobin since early that morning, when his servants had almost carried him from her apartments. She'd learned long ago to avoid anyone nursing a hangover.
She'd given him a tentative smile when they'd met up before dinner to enter the banquet hall together, but he'd ignored her. He'd barely acknowledged her during the meal.
She couldn't have really talked to him if she'd tried. Tobin's had been seated with his back to her the entire time, while he talked and argued in equal measure with Lord Cade Heath.
No one said anything about a half drunk nobleman just pulling up a chair and sitting himself at the royal high table, monopolising the king's time. And normally, Celia wouldn't have cared either.