3 June, 1348. Magdaline Castle, Islia
Violet walked the busy corridors on her way to the jewellers' workshops. Queen Celia had sent her to collect her favourite rope of black pearls, which had needed the clasp repaired.
As she walked, Violet thought about her recent rise in prestige as a lady-in-waiting. The Thierre sisters were no longer the lowly newcomers.
As with any circle within the court, there was a definite pecking order amongst the queen's ladies. And for someone to rise in the ranks, it inevitably meant that someone else had to fall.
Violet wasn't phased by that - so long as she was on the rise, she knew she had to be indifferent to those that tumbled below her. Hell, she could use them as stepping stones on her upward climb, the same way they'd treat her if the roles were reversed.
Court life didn't breed lasting loyalty. Everyone knew that.