A painstakingly written note lay sealed on the table by his bedside. The note within read, ‘Your Grace, I wished to let you know, the physician tells me it is merely a strain to my ankle, and though I must not stand upon it for some time I am permitted to hobble about if I take care and use a stick. I expect I shall be spending some time in the library. Might I hope to be favoured with a moment of your time tomorrow?
devotedly yours, Summer Rainault’
Henry lay on the bed as he read the note and he sighed as he fell against the bed, he had council in the evening but he knew it would be rude to not accept this invitation.
He undressed quickly and lay back on the bed as he fell asleep wondering what the girl would ask of him if she had wished to see him, for she had said that the palace was a bore and he could not help but agree with her on those words.
He sighed, he supposed he would see such things tomorrow.
The peace of the library was soothing after the way her maid and the castle servants had fluttered about getting her there. Bertha had pleaded with her not to leave her bed, in fact, but Summer was adamant: she’d not be holed up inside her rooms all day. She’d go mad if she couldn’t get out at least a little.
Fortunately, Henry’s library held copies of several manuscripts she had been wishing to read, including the Roman de la Rose and Lancelot, Knight of the Cart. Happily she submerged herself in the lyric writing.