31 July, 1353. Magdaline Castle, Islia.
Violet walked slowly to the training grounds, two of her ladies-in-waiting following at a polite distance. It was another hot, still day.
She cursed under her breath as she felt the sun beating down on her black dress. She was already starting to sweat.
Such a pity this whole summer will have to be spent in dark drab clothes, she sighed. Why couldn't Johan have been more considerate and at least waited until autumn was upon us before dying? The selfish brute has now plunged the court into months of forced mourning during the hottest time of the year.
His lavish funeral had been two days earlier. It had been a somber procession that had lasted for hours and ended with a mass. Violet felt like she'd smelled enough incense and seen enough black silk and satin to last her for three lifetimes.
