42. Dress Fitting Jitters
CHAPTER 42
Dress Fitting Jitters
Melinda Mayweather
The dressing room bustles with activity as I stand atop a raised dais, arms outstretched. Queen Isolde’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she circles me, her gaze critical yet kind. The royal modiste, Lady Suriel, flits around us both, her fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air.
"Perhaps a deeper neckline?" the Queen suggests, gesturing towards my chest.
Lady Suriel nods, her brow furrowed in concentration. With a flick of her wrist, shimmering threads of magic dance through the air, coalescing around my torso. I gasp as the fabric takes shape, molding itself to my curves.
"Oh, that's lovely," I breathe, watching my reflection in the floor-length mirror. The bodice now hugs my figure, the neckline dipping just so.
Queen Isolde hums thoughtfully. "Indeed, but let's try something else.” She turns to a nearby table laden with swatches of fabric and intricate lace samples. "Suriel, could we see how it looks with this moon-lace on the sleeves?"
I watch, mesmerized, as the sleeves on my arms lengthen and shift, the fabric's texture morphing repeatedly as the two women debate. The skirt billows and contracts, the bodice reshapes itself–an endless dance of possibility. The entire experience leaves me dizzy.
Queen Isolde catches my eye in the mirror, her smile warm and knowing. "How are you holding up, dear?"
I inhale deeply, grounding myself as another set of delicate lace sleeves materializes. "Overwhelmed," I admit. "But not in a bad way."
Queen Isolde's smile softens, understanding in her eyes. "I remember my own fitting day before I married Theon.”
Gratitude washes over me at her empathy. "It's not just the dress," I confess. "Everything here is so... different. Magick flows freely, helping instead of hurting. On Earth, any magickal act comes with a terrible cost."
Lady Suriel pauses her spell-work, curiosity etched on her face. "A price? What do you mean, milady?"
The queen also waits expectantly for my answer.
Memories flood back, bringing a lump to my throat. "Where I'm from, magick drains life. Animals, plants... sometimes even people die every time it’s used. It's not... it's not like this. It’s not for fun or useful things."
The room falls silent. Queen Isolde steps closer, meeting my gaze with a kind expression. She places a gentle hand on my arm. "Oh, my dear girl," she says softly. "I can't imagine living in such a world. It must be frightening to look around and worry who the magick might hurt."
“It is, but I’m getting better. I’m more in control of my magick now than ever before.”
"What does your magic feel like, Melinda?" Isolde asks.
The question catches me off guard. I open my mouth to respond, and close it again. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment. How does it feel? "I... well, I've never really thought about it."
“To me, the world around me is malleable. Like there are little threads and handles on everything around me and I just have to tug on them to move or change them.” She turns to the modiste and points to the table. “Go grab that pair of slippers, Suriel.”
Lady Suriel retrieves a pair of exquisite white satin slippers, placing them reverently before me.
Isolde's voice takes on a teacher's tone. "Look beyond their surface, Melinda. See the threads that wove them, the goats whose wool became fabric, the dyes infusing color into the threads. Try to perceive the energy pulsing within each component."
I scrunch my face like that will help me think better. "Like at a molecular level? You mean atomic energy?"
Isolde’s face lights up. “I don’t know those particular terms, but everything in the universe is made of energy. And the Fae can see it and manipulate it.”
"But I'm not just Fae," I protest, squinting at the slippers. My eyes strain, searching for any hint of the magical threads Isolde describes. Frustration bubbles up inside me as I see nothing but ordinary, albeit beautiful, footwear. "I don't see anything special. No threads, no handles—just shoes."
"And therein lies the mystery," Isolde says, her voice tinged with excitement. "If you have Fae blood, you should be able to manipulate energy as I do, though perhaps not yet with the same finesse."
Shame washes over me. "I've only ever hurt people with my magick. I've never created anything beautiful."
Isolde's expression grows serious. "I've felt your power, Melinda. It's like you're grasping all the threads at once, trying to change everything and nothing simultaneously. It's raw, but there's immense potential there."
My mind reels, thoughts ricocheting like pinballs. "Isn't there some test for Fae heritage?" I blurt out, desperation edging my voice. "A spell or ritual to confirm it?" Images flash through my mind—blood tests, DNA sequencing, the cold certainty of scientific proof.
"Kellan and Ares both said I wasn't human, but on Earth, magick is binary—you either have it or you don't. We don't have distinct magical races." The words tumble out, each one underlining how far I am from everything familiar, how little I truly understand about myself.
The Queen shakes her head, and my heart sinks. "Fae abilities aren't so easily categorized," she explains. "Ancient bloodlines carry more power, strengthened through centuries of selective marriages. Even some common families possess remarkable gifts." She pauses, her eyes meeting mine with sympathy. "But there's no definitive test for Fae heritage."
I deflate, disappointment heavy on my shoulders..
Isolde reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with motherly affection. "Fae are unique among the eight worlds. We're indistinguishable from humans, save for Olympians–and their obsession with ambrosia makes them easy to identify. Fae and Olympians can also procreate with humans. I’ve always thought that humans used to be Fae… just that they had generationally lost whatever it was that allowed them to manipulate the energy of the world." She points to the slippers at my feet, her voice encouraging. "Now, focus on those white shoes. In your mind's eye, see them transform to vibrant red."
The Inquisitors would hate to learn they might have once been fae… but even as convincing as the Queen makes it sound, I struggle to believe it’s the truth. Not all magick on earth looks like Fae magick. And after being here and seeing the things I’ve seen, I now desire to question everything I thought I knew.
I stare at the delicate slippers once more, my heart pounding. I can’t control my magick. People get hurt when I use it. I’d seen my mother do it before. Change things. Manipulate reality. But only to protect us. Only when it was absolutely necessary. She’d even tried to teach me when I was younger. But I always hurt people.
And if I hurt Hawke’s mother he’d never forgive me and I’d never forgive myself.
I shake my head, my stomach clenching. "No, I... I can't." The words come out barely above a whisper. I force myself to meet Isolde's gaze, my own eyes pleading for understanding. "I can't risk hurting either of you. Not when I don't know what I'm doing."
A flicker of disappointment crosses Isolde's face, and guilt surges through me. Here she is, trying to help, and I'm refusing. But the memories of past accidents haunt me.
I swallow hard and turn back to the mirror, desperate to move past this moment. "Please, let's continue with the dress," I say quickly. "There's so much to prepare for the wedding and coronation tomorrow. I don't want to waste your time."
Isolde’s lips part like she’s going to say something, but instead she presses them closed again and nods.
I glance past her and my reflection looks back at me with such grief. Suddenly my view blurs. My parents' faces flash in my mind, vivid and achingly familiar, and my chest constricts painfully. They'll never see me walk down the aisle. They're gone, forever out of reach.
Except for Hawke, I'm utterly alone in this strange world. And even he... if we can't break this curse, I'll lose him too. The thought sends icy tendrils of fear crawling up my spine.
You are not alone, Domina. We are family. Siva’s voice rings out softly in my mind. The smartest minds in the universe are here. They will end your curse.
Thank you, Siva, I whisper back softly to the sweet little guardian.
Tears burn behind my eyes, and I blink furiously, fighting them back. I shouldn't cry. I have no right to feel sorry for myself. My very existence has thrown this realm into disorder, igniting a war.
And I want to believe you. But I can’t hug you Siva. You can’t comfort me when I need a mom. Or tell me what I need to hear like a dad. It’s not the same.
The dragon tattoo on my wrist writhes, coming to life. Siva leaps from my skin, her ethereal green wings unfurling as she lands between me and the mirror. She's the size of a Great Dane, her eyes fixed on me with an intensity that cuts through my sorrow.
"Melinda?" Isolde's speaks my name as a question.
"It's alright," I whisper. "It's Siva, my guardian."
I force a smile, but Siva's gaze pierces through my facade. Overwhelmed, I sink to the edge of the dais, no longer able to stand under the weight of my emotions.
You may not be able to hug me, but I am here for you. Kellan and I both are, Siva's voice resonates in my mind, fierce with loyalty.
As if summoned by her words, the door flies open. Kellan bursts in, his face shadowed with worry. " Domina , what's wrong? I felt Siva emerge." He's at my side in an instant, taking my hands into his. "Did you see something? Was it Aena again?"
"Aena? Again?" Isolde's voice sharpens with alarm. "What did Aena do? What's happening to Melinda?"
She needs a hug, Kellan. Before I can process Siva's words, strong arms wrap around me, pulling me against his massive chest. The dam breaks, and traitorous tears spill down my cheeks, hot and relentless.
"Melinda!" Hawke's voice carries from outside, panic evident. Melinda! What happened? His mental voice echoes his fear as he rushes in, dropping to his knees beside me.
Hawke reaches for me, but Kellan's embrace tightens. In this moment, Kellan's fatherly comfort is exactly what I need, and I cling to him.
A broken laugh escapes me between sobs. "I'm sorry," I choke out against Kellan's chest. "The dress... it made me think of my parents. How they'll never see me marry. I just... spiraled." My body shakes with sobs. Siva's presence is there, a comforting warmth as she settles back into her place on my wrist. "Siva was trying to help."
Kellan's hand strokes my hair, the gesture achingly familiar. "You are not alone, Domina . You have me, and Siva, and the Princeling."
Hawke bares his fangs at the nickname. Kellan continues to ignore him, but I can't. Our bond thrums with Hawke's desperation, his need to comfort me himself.
"Give me my mate," Hawke growls, his words grating between gritted teeth.
"You have us too, sweetheart." Isolde kneels before me, squeezing between Kellan and Hawke. "Theon and I could never replace your parents, but you are family now. A soul-match is precious beyond measure. You are special to us, Melinda. You are loved."
I lift my head from Kellan's chest, blinking away tears. The room swims into focus—Kellan's concerned frown, Hawke's anguished eyes, Isolde's compassionate gaze. Even Lady Suriel hovers at the edge of my vision, her hands clasped anxiously. The weight of their attention presses down on me, and I struggle to find my voice.
When I finally speak, the words scrape past the lump in my throat, emerging as a ragged whisper. "But I caused a war." I wince at the broken sound, acutely aware of how fragile I must appear. Still, I force myself to continue, each word a shard of glass in my mouth. "People are suffering because of me."
The confession hangs in the air, my deepest fear laid bare. I brace myself for their reaction, half-expecting condemnation, even as their expressions show nothing but concern.
"No, child, because you're important," Isolde's voice rings with conviction, steel beneath the velvet. "You're not just some girl my son stumbled upon. You're his soulmate. You made him whole." Her eyes blaze with intensity. "You're a miracle that hasn't graced the universe in centuries. Wars have been waged for far less."
She takes my hand, her grip firm and grounding. "And you will be a queen. That is no small thing. If you weren't struggling, I'd worry there was something wrong with you."
The air in the room shifts, charged with a new energy. The walls that seemed to close in on me moments ago now expand, revealing endless possibilities. I'm not adrift in this strange world–I'm surrounded by a fortress of love, strength, and unexpected family.
This realization doesn't magically erase the hollow ache of grief in my chest or banish the fear coiling in my gut. But it ignites something else within me: a fierce, burning determination.
I want this. I want them. And by all the powers that be, I will fight for them.
My eyes lock onto Hawke's, and the intensity of emotion I see there and sense through our bond nearly takes my breath away. Kellan's arms loosen, and I reach for my mate with trembling hands. As Kellan releases me, Hawke pulls me into his embrace, his touch both gentle and desperately possessive.
Hawke's lips find mine, and I taste the salt of my tears. He pulls back, his thumbs tenderly wiping away the tear tracks on my cheeks. His voice is a low, fervent whisper against my skin. "I love you, Melinda. More than life itself. And know that you will never be alone. Never."
My heart clenches at his promise. I press my forehead to his, drinking in his presence. "I love you too," I breathe, the words carrying the weight of a vow. "I'm scared, but I do believe this is where I belong."
“Good,” Hawke answers.
Drawing a deep breath, I tap Hawke’s arm and he helps me stand. I square my shoulders and face the mirror once more. The wedding dress shimmers around me, no longer feeling like a dream I don’t deserve, but a symbol of the future I'm choosing to embrace.