Chapter 12
Penelope
My whole life, Morrigan has been composed.
She’s calm and controlled. Everything, and I do mean everything, is thought through, planned and strategised down to the most minute of details.
How she ended up falling for the living chaos that is Stirling, I’ll never quite know.
But as I open the door to her dressing room, I come to a grinding halt.
Morrigan, in her black lace wedding underwear is pacing back and forth.
Up and down she strides across the room, wearing a lovely line in the carpet.
The air is hot and sticky with a sweet sort of frazzle.
The room is just like any other in the palace, grand, with elegant furniture, oil paintings on the walls and in this particular space, a sofa, armchairs, a bar, a dressing table and long mirrors hung on the walls—perfect for getting ready.
Morrigan aggressively twiddles her fingers, bending her thumbs and shoving them in her face and around her head. Why is she using magic to do her makeup? Her hair moves and swirls. But it’s not until she turns to face me that I realise the problem.
Dahlia glances at me, her face taut as she peeks back into the room. “I think you’re safe in here, maybe I’ll leave you to handle this one on your own.”
“Wait just a second? I may need a favour,” I say and step inside. “What’s going on, Morrigan?”
My sister halts turning to us. Dahlia averts her eyes from a half naked Morrigan, and I try extremely hard not to show any reaction at the state of her appearance.
It’s… bad.
“I… I can’t do it,” she says and then flops on the floor and starts crying. Like hysterically sobbing.
What. The. Fuck? I mouth at our mother over Morrigan’s head. Mother stops chewing her nail and gesticulates wildly at the back of Morrigan’s head for me to do something. As if I can magically fix it, when we all know I can’t magically fix anything.
Mother gestures more aggressively so I skooch down and kneel by Morrigan, pulling her chin up to look at me. Her skin is a mess of blotchy red, smeared mascara and daubs of various shades of eyeshadow. There must be seven different colours, none of them matching.
Gods, it’s worse than I thought. Her hair, while dyed to perfection, is half in and half out of what was supposed to be her coiffed style for the day. There’s a bird’s nest on one side, a plait that’s partially tangled and still managing to fall loose.
Morrigan’s bottom lip wobbles but she finally answers my question.
“Daria said there was some issue with security clearance and given all the threats, she wouldn’t budge on it.
I told her it’s the same makeup artist that’s worked on Mother for a gazillion different events.
I tried begging but she put her foot down and said no. ”
“Okay, and how did we get to… ah, this…” I pull back and gesture at her face.
“I tried to do it myself—”
“Classic Morrigan,” I huff.
She glares at me.
I wave her off. “Sorry. Not helpful. I’m an arsehole. Continue.”
She pouts but says, “I tried to do it, but it didn’t look right. So, I tried to fix it, but I made it worse. And then I got stressed. I tried again but the more I tried to fix it, the more my magic fritzed because...”
“Because it’s a big important day and you’re emotional and lost control?” I say, running my fingers through her hair.
She purses her lips and then says, “Exactly. I can always fix things.” Her bottom lip wobbles, her eyes go watery. “But I can’t do it. I don’t have time to learn the magic.”
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
Her face scrunches into a pained expression. There’s a stagnant pause and then we both laugh. I get it. We’ve not exactly had the best sisterly relationship, have we? But on this I can help.
“I can’t do what you do, Morrigan. I’ve never been able to harness magic the way you do.
I can just about change my lipstick. I didn’t master hair colouring, or those cool outfit changes you do.
I had to learn everything the hard way. But it does mean I can fix this.
Will you let me help? I’ll even let you have my wedding present if it helps… ”
She lets out a little whimper, a couple of those unshed tears spill out. “You already loaned me Nana’s earrings.”
“Please? I can help.”
She purses her lips but finally accepts.
“Thank you.”
I spring into action. “Mother, will you show Dahlia where my makeup case is? I need my hair products, curling iron and straighteners too.”
Mother gathers herself up and mouths thank you at me as she gestures for Dahlia to follow her.
While we wait, I find Morrigan a dressing gown and help her into it so she’s semi decent. Then I gather up some moisturiser I find in the cupboard along with makeup pads and a hairbrush I dig up. I sweep Morrigan into the chair in front of the dressing table and mirrors.
“What are we thinking? Chic, moody, sultry or sexy?”
Morrigan pinches her mouth together and closes her eyes. “Classically beautiful, I think. My dress is wild enough.”
I dab some moisturiser on a makeup pad and wipe away the varying shades of eye shadow on her skin. The more I clear away, the smoother her face becomes, the blotches and redness fading along with her stress.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For… well, both things.”
I rub her shoulder but continue my work. The problem with not using magic is it all takes so much longer and there’s not a lot of time left before the ceremony.
Once her face is a blank canvas, I untwine the clusterfuck of hair styles she’s created, brushing it out until her long black locks are smooth and pin straight.
Dahlia and Mother return with my supplies just as I tug out the last knot in Morrigan’s hair.
Mother cracks open a bottle of fizzy Sangui Cupa, a new twist on the drink apparently.
I take a sip, and it tingles the entire way down my throat.
Morrigan necks her glass and then sags in her chair, a rather happier, albeit glazed look on her face.
“Thanks, I needed that,” she says and burp-hiccups. I have to suppress a laugh.
Dahlia practically squeaks in the corner.
“I thought you only drank blood,” Mother says.
Dahlia guffaws. “Then I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about vampires.”
Mother hands her a glass and makes to say something but stops herself.
“Is there something you’d like to ask?” Dahlia says.
“Actually, yes…” Mother and Dahlia slip into quiet conversation, exchanging information about magicians and vampires alike.
I layer a base coat of foundation over Morrigan’s skin and then get to work.
Smoky eyes, a sweeping flick of eyeliner and delicious lashes.
I had some spares in my case, so I lengthened hers at the corners.
I add a thick gloss to her lips; Morrigan’s eyes are extravagant enough, and I’m sure Stirling won’t want her mouth smeared in rouge.
Next is her hair. An elegant up-do ruched at the back with some curls I have to force into shape with my tongs—her hair does not like curling, and it takes practically half a can of spray, but I win eventually.
They spill around the sides of her head and frame her face to perfection.
I’m done.
She looks incredible, if I do say so myself. I step to the side and both Mother and Dahlia stop what they’re doing, their mouths dropping open.
“Wow,” Mother says. Dahlia just blinks.
“W-wow good?” Morrigan asks.
“You did well, Penelope,” Mother says, beaming at the pair of us.
Morrigan stands up, but I hold a hand over her face.
“Wait. Close your eyes,” I say and then spin her around to face the mirror and wait.
“Open,” I breathe.
Her expression goes stony and my stomach plummets. Oh gods, she’s upset. I ruined it. She hates it.
“If you don’t like it, I can change it, we still have time to—”
“How could you… you’re going to make me cry.”
My chest tightens, my eyes sting as my stomach falls the rest of the way through the floor. I thought she looked beautiful. Fucksake. I knew it wouldn’t be good enough. Nothing ever is.
“I’m so—” I start and turn to leave, but I’m hauled back, Morrigan’s arms flung around my neck as she face plants us into the sofa. All while still squeezing the life out of me.
“I look incredible. You have no idea how hard it is not to cry with gratitude,” she mumbles into my neck.
“Oh!” I say relief washing through me. “Gods, Morrigan, how about start with that next time. I thought you hated it.”
She shoves me in the arm before scrambling to get up. “Will you help me into my dress?”
“Of course.” I smile, and she extends her hand to pull me off the sofa and leads me into the side room where her dress hangs on a mannequin.
I gasp. “Gods. It’s stunning.” The bulk of her dress is black.
The corset has a sweetheart bustline, leaving her décolletage free of fabric.
It has a layer of lace and tiny black crystals stitched into the fabric giving it a gorgeous textured effect.
It cinches into a tiny waist and then poofs out into a stunning ruched skirt.
Most of the skirt is black, but there are folds of fabric in two different blue colours that swoop around and meet in the middle kind of like waves.
“It means something. Between Stirling and I, that is,” she says.
“The dress?” I ask, confused.
“No, the blue colours. I saw you looking at the wave-like ruches.”
I nod. “It’s kind of like your beach house.”
She smiles, her eyes soft. “You got it.”
I loosen the corset and help her step into the dress.
“This thing weighs a fucking tonne. I hope you’ve been working out,” I moan as I lift the dress up to sit on her hips.
We shuffle to the mirror, and I can’t help but let out another gasp.
She smiles at me. “Thank you for today.”
“Oh, shut up. You can pay me back by making sure I have the pinkest, most girly princess wedding any girl could dream of.”
She smiles. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
She wriggles into the dress, and I tug at the corset ribbons to cinch the waist in.
“Tighter, Pen.”
I pull and wrench, my face turning red with the effort.
“Tighter,” she whines.
“Fuck’s sake, Morrigan, you need to be able to breathe too.”
“Do I? Just make me look good.”
“Could you sound any more like me today?”
She laughs and I do too.
“Besides, I think I already made you look perfect.”
“Agreed.” She smiles at me through the mirror as I put my foot in the small of her back and yank one last time.
Her eyes bulge. “Yeah, that will do,” she chokes out.
I snort and have to wipe my eyes to stop the laughter tears. I tie up the ribbon, letting the two different blue silk threads trail down her back.
“Ma, we’re ready for you…” I say and our mother, our queen and our only remaining parent steps into the doorway.
She claps her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.
When she finally speaks, it’s soft. “I wasn’t the most supportive of you in this relationship at the start.
But I need you to understand that I am so proud of you, Morrigan.
And one day you will make a most ferocious queen.
But if Stirling ever hurts you, I swear I will serve her heart up in a jar to Scarlett. ”
Morrigan simultaneously sniffs and coughs out a garbled laugh. “And I suspect you told her this yourself?”
Mother smiles. “Every word of it… including the apology.”
Morrigan embraces Mother, who reaches out and tugs me in, smooshing the three of us together in a tight hug.
There’s a clearing of a throat and then a quiet knock on the dressing room door.
“Sorry to interrupt Your Majesties, but Benedict says it’s time,”Dahlia says.
“Ready?” I ask, and Morrigan nods. “Let’s get you hitched.”