3 June 1370. St Ivan's Palace, Havietten.
Celia fidgeted with one of her bracelets as she watched the rain fall from the sky in sheets of grey. The late spring picnic that had been planned for the court that day, had been postponed.
If the endless rain didn't provide some respite very soon, the grand jousting tournament to celebrate to celebrate Tobin's upcoming birthday would also need postponing.
Even if the rain stops this moment, the tournament grounds are so waterlogged that the jousting will rapidly turn it into an utter mud pit, Celia sighed.
It had been the stormiest spring in living memory, according to the oldest nobles at court. Fields and villages had flooded, crops had rotted in the ground before they were ready to yield. Everyone knew it would be a scant harvest in the autumn to follow.
The entire kingdom seemed to be in a sullen mood. Tempers were frayed and patience was running low as the rains trapped almost everyone indoors.
