In Which Dea's Sister Is Not Herself

December 25, 1199

"You look great, really. It's just..." Dea stretched out her arms, as if the gesture would distract from any unconscious cringing. Her sister was a pretty woman--and, more to the point, she'd always found great pleasure in showcasing that. Something wasn't quite right if Dea could notice that a dress wasn't quite right, but the woman Dea relied on to keep her own wardrobe beyond ridicule couldn't. Such an event would have most likely been brought on by Gennie's going blind, but no--Gennie had spent enough time adjusting herself according the mirror to eliminate that possibility.

"I mean--it's a nice dress, but it's not really... you."

"I'm not quite sure what you mean?" There was an obvious force behind Gennie's smile, but not the mischievous smirk some devious part of Dea might have been hoping for--like the real wedding dress was underneath this one, and no one would know until she shed the robe on her way down the aisle. "A wedding dress is supposed to be fancy, right? What's fancier than a white gown with a gold brocade?"

"No, it's not that it's a wedding dress! It's just not what I pictured you wearing. It's a little..." Dea curled back her lip, cursing herself for her failure to transfer basic diplomacy to personal conversations. "...matronly."

"Sorry?" Gennie turned back around and looked her reflection over--but, from what Dea could see of her face, it wasn't a critical inspection, nor a search for reassurance. More... feigned interest? That wasn't like Gennie. If Gennie wasn't interested, she made no effort to hide it.

And on her wedding day? Not everyone married for love, true... but even in a marriage of convenience or politics, surely some emotion stronger than apathy was merited.

"I don't think it's matronly."

"Are you blind?" Hollie groaned from the bed, the first time she'd bothered open her mouth since Dea had dragged her up to Gennie's new room. "Dea's showing more cleavage than you. Hell, I'm showing more cleavage than you, and I barely have any. You're not a forty-year-old widow getting remarried for her children's sake."

"Be nice, Hollie." Though, she did privately agree. "Maybe it's your hair? You have such lovely hair, and you usually wear it proudly; that snood might be suffocating it."

"Suffocating? Dea, I can't believe I'm the one saying this to you, but it's hair." That made two of them who didn't believe it. "Besides, I'm going to be a married lady. I don't want to dress like this all the time, but no one needs to ogling my cleavage on my wedding day."

"Sounds like Wolf's in for a dull night," Hollie muttered under her breath; Dea shot her a silencing glare before turning back her attentions to Gennie.

"You just don't seem like yourself today. I was more excited on my wedding day, and I barely knew Henry back then--and I'd never been one for weddings anyway. Out of the three of us, you're the girly one; I always figured that when you got married, I'd be jabbing knives in my ears to avoid all the gushing over the perfect dress and the perfect hairstyle and how this was going to be the best day of your life."

"Best day of my life? Give your future nieces and nephews the benefit of the doubt; would you really tell Sparron or Jedaline that the best day of your life happened before they were even thought of?"

Dea frowned. That might have been a decent point, had Gennie's reflection not twitched at the words 'nieces' and 'nephews'. "Look, Gennie: Wolf's a good man. If you don't want to marry him, I'm sure he'd understand if you just told--"

"I do want to marry him."

And, to prove it, she and the mirror parted with a scowl as she stormed toward Wolf's desk chair--their shared desk chair, soon.

"Just... give me today to make peace with that."

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