“But from the day you walked into town and showcased that wolf of yours, we all knew it. Natasha had finally met her match.”
The room falls into silence. All I can think about is the time that Natasha pursued me through the forest after I was banished. She was prepared to kill me, and Chelsea and Annabel just watched.
I wonder if one of them would have swooped in and stopped her, but they were always too afraid of her wrath. Hence why they always laughed and cheered her along when she used to beat me to a pulp.
They were scared for themselves. While I don’t condone what they did, a part of me wonders if one of them wanted to help in the least.
Chelsea continues. “But it was so damn obvious you were going to win that match. You’ve pretty much already won. You don’t see Natasha going to the queen’s tent later, do you? Rumors spread after all. The other queens of the packs soon got wind of a new queen, one who even knocked Natasha off her pedestal, and about freaking time...”
Another pregnant pause. I don’t won’t to mess up my makeup, but tears slip from my eyes. I think I’m about to get an apology...
Chelsea sighs. “We’re sorry. It shouldn’t make any difference whether you’re a queen or a dud. We shouldn’t have stood by while she did all that shit to you. We were no better...”
No crying. I won’t cry. I’m actually surprised with how easy I am willing to forgive them, but they seem so genuine and earnest, especially Chelsea, the girl who once dowsed me in green paint.
Maybe she did remember all along.
“And... sorry for the paint. I’ll admit I actually forgot I did that to you. It was only when you reminded me at our fight when it all came back, and I regretted every moment. I shouldn’t have done that. Six or not.”
I have no idea what comes over me next. I burst out laughing, and now I’m crying for a very different reason. Chelsea and Annabel startle, wondering what’s gotten into me.
I soon calm down, and Annabel huffs when she sees my makeup. She whacks Chelsea. “Now look what you did!”
The girl has to start over, and now all three of us are laughing as we finish getting ready.
Chelsea ties up my hair in a long skull braid. While she has the two braids, I just have the one, and it really makes all the difference.
They help me into my dress. Just as I ask about heels, they pass me a pair of fighting boots, and I raise a brow.
“I thought it was formal wear?”
Annabel answers. “It is. But the queens believe in a combination of beauty and strength. That’s why we all have our weapons.”
I nod along with them, thinking that I follow. “So, we all turn up looking as if we’re going to war...?”
“While wearing pretty dresses!” Annabel squeaks.
“Sure... makes sense...”
I think I’ve just read one too many human fashion magazines. Both tomboys and feminine women were celebrated, but never anything in between. They never achieved that happy medium of beauty and strength. You were either a girly girl or a tomboy. You couldn’t wear a dress while fighting. And you couldn’t wear combat boots while dancing.
The queens are making a statement. They want to retain their femininity while showcasing their strength, and I think they’re on to something.
Chelsea and Annabel soon dress too, and I marvel at their gowns. Chelsea’s is made from leather. It tapers at her waist and widens into a skirt, which she teams with her weapons and boots. Annabel wears a blue tutu style dress, looking like a deadly pixie with knives.
I don my own knives too, and now I peer into the mirror, looking like a deadly princess embarking for war.
Bring it on.