ONE DARK QUEEN ❖ (A Three Dark Crowns Tale)

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE: THE MURTRA ENCAMPMENT

"I look ridiculous," Morrigan states, looking at herself in the massive mirror that her younger sister Minerva had insisted on bringing with her for Beltane. For a warrior her little sister has grown quite vain these days.

She looks at her unbound dark red curls that cascade down her back and the ridiculous midnight blue dress that her mother insist that she wears for the Quickening that will commence in a couple of days. First the Hunt, where everyone will feast on their catches, then the Disembarking, where the suitors will present themselves to the queens, then finally the Quickening, where the queens will demonstrate their gifts. After that the Ascension begins. A whole year for the queens to kill one another, it can be as brutal or merciful as they wish.

If Morrigan was queen then it would be a brutal death fit for a warrior. A beheading perhaps but maybe that's a little too dramatic.
And when the next Beltane comes there will be a queen crowned. How unfortunate it is that there isn't a war gifted queen in this cycle. But at least her mother can retreat back to Bastian. The war gifted don't like Indrid Down. It's had too many generations of poisoners. A tainted capital.

The dress Morrigan wears is a blue so dark that it deceives you into thinking that it is black but if you look closer you can see that it is not truly a dress of darkness like the queens' dresses.

Morrigan looks at herself again and huffs. She wants to rip the stupid thing off and put on a loose shirt and trousers but for Beltane everyone wears their finery. For these few nights it must be dresses, for these are special celebrations.

Nimue, who hasn't been forced to try on her Beltane dress, sits on her bed and laughs at her friend, shaking her head of glossy black curls,

"It isn't that bad," Nimue says, "it's actually rather pretty in my opinion."

Morrigan looks at herself in disgust, "I absolutely hate dresses," she says, annoyed, "and I'm a warrior, I wasn't born to be pretty."

Nimue collapses back onto the fur blankets and lies down, relaxing, she looks like a lazy cat stretching her legs out and going for an afternoon nap. Nox, her familiar, lies down next to her looking like the lazy sleepy wolf that she is. The large wolf is quite content as Nimue strokes through her silvery coat and rubs her head fondly.

"Mother would have a fit and you know it, I don't like it either but this is the one day of the year that we must wear dresses," Nimue says, "we can survive just one night while wearing finery."

Yes, their mother. Pele Murtra, the fiery matriarch of the Murtra family of warriors. Nimue's and Morrigan's mother though Nimue isn't related through blood but is a Murtra in soul all the same.

She was born a naturalist but she has the heart of a true warrior. And since her familiar is a wolf, so fierce and strong, the warriors do tend to not mind her true gift.

Still annoyed, Morrigan tries a simple defensive stance and can barely do it because of the dress,

"I would rather go bare where I can move properly then wear this stupid thing and be more vulnerable to any threat," the red headed warrior says in distaste, seriously contemplating it as she stares at the monstrosity of clothing she wears.

Nimue laughs, rising up to adjust her position, "Mor, must you be so cynical all the time?" Nimue asks chuckling to herself, closing her eyes for a moment, "just relax, everything will be fine."

Morrigan purses her lips but says no retort back as she sighs begrudgingly, smoothing down her dress, "Alright Nimue."

Nimue nods, content with her answer, "Alright I'm going outside now," she says, opening her blue eyes and standing up from her fur blankets and flattening her black curls down.