Sometime around midday, only a few days before the Yule celebrations, while the knights were taking a break from training in the cold to eat and try to warm their hands, a serving boy handed Mordred a note. The boy didn’t wait for an answer, only to see that the knight opened it before he ran off.
In a consciously elegant handwriting, it read, ‘I’ve a gift for you. Come to your rooms tonight after dinner, and try to let nothing keep you.’
Summer waited in the middle of the floor, head bowed, perfectly still. Her hands were clasped in front of her, wrists tied together by a pale satin ribbon. The green velvet corset accentuated the golden tone of her skin, highlighted by silver chains and swing clasps designed to be opened in a hurry. A silver silk-satin skirt fell in straight lines to the floor. Her abundance of hair was firmly braided and pinned up in a heavy swirl at the back of her neck, leaving throat and shoulders utterly bare.