25 June, 1353. Magdaline Castle, Islia.
Violet couldn't stop laughing. She'd spent most of her afternoon in the nursery, reveling in the antics of her children. She'd sung silly rhyming songs with Celia and arranged her hair in braids with pretty ribbons.
She'd helped little Edward stack wooden blocks into towers, only for his knight and horse figurines to then triumphantly storm the castle and knock them all down.
She'd walked around the nursery slowly, bent forward until her back ached, so that Augustin could toddle unsteadily around while clutching her fingers.
All in all, it had been a day of simple happiness for her. Those kinds of days were a luxury in a court full of sycophants and backstabbers.
