The following days principally consisted of doing research; scouring through an unimaginable quantity of books for something, anything that would offer Maebh a plausible explanation as to why her hair was turning white.

She had almost instantly ruled out the likelihood of it being the consequence of ageing. If that had been the predicament, it would have started at her roots and not blanched a single lock of hair overnight. Maebh was certain it stood in relation with the now healing bite at the slope of her neck.

She hoped that approaching Hèmène with the issue would be the answer. However, even after the queen had assigned a team of trainees to assist her search in the castle's enormous library, their efforts had yet to bear any fruits.

On the fifth day, Maebh tackled a new section of the library. By then, the bright hue had spread to other parts of her hair, leaving it littered with white highlights. She let the tips of her fingers skim over the spines of numerous volumes, mindlessly biting down on the chain of her Talisman. It had been returned to her by Hèmène –on behalf of the prince.

At the far left side of the bookcase was an imposing feature, a fireplace intricately sculpted with the figures of a bearded man holding a thunderbolt. Maebh walked over to have a look and on closer inspection, she could see it was depicting familiar scenes. This was the story of how Zeus overthrew his father, the titan Kronos and how him and his conquering brothers had divided the world among themselves. Hades, the underworld. Poseidon, the seas. Zeus, the skies –high above any other gods and thus making him the supreme deity.

Maebh reached out to touch the small temple engraved in the last carving and leapt back with a yelp as she was hit by what felt like an electric shock. Her eyes watered and she rubbed her hand furiously to try and get rid of the stinging sensation –noticing how her skin was already red and angry looking.

Ordinary fireplaces did not tend to electrocute people, of that much she was certain. The stone structure was protecting something and the person in charge of building it evidently did not want anyone poking about. Had Maebh been born a sensible girl, she would have taken heed to the painful warning and left. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case and thus she put out her uninjured hand and touched the temple again, this time pushing it.

Low and behold, an audible clunk reverberated and the sculptured portion of the fireplace slid open to reveal a small room that was seemingly being used as a place of worship. There was an altar set up with small bronze figures arranged at the back. In front of them were terracotta bowls filled with what looked like wine, bread and some dishes containing herbed meats and fish. Several candles were burning, offering evidence of someone having recently visited.

According to the lycanthrope myth that Maebh had practically memorised by now, the wolfish fate of the royal family and their ancestors had been sealed by none other than Zeus himself, so it came as a surprise that someone, or even several someones should still pray to the Olympian gods after all this time. Feeling like she was intruding on something private, she pushed the fireplace back in position and continued her search.

With the milestone of Fillin's claim on her, came certain responsibilities.

After years of being left in suspense, the news had officially been confirmed: Fillin Fyédhror Faoladh, the 37th prince of Arcadia and first in line for the throne, had found his childbearer. The next course of action would be to introduce his intended to court, which traditionally played out in the form of a ball.

The logistics of the event were unfathomable as more than a hundred high-ranking lycanthropes were set to arrive on the date of the ball, precisely 3 weeks after Maebh had been marked. All of these lycans would be staying at the castle for a long weekend. Rooms needed to be readied, multiple-course meal plans required to be written and many other tasks needed to be performed.

First and foremost, the occasion called for said lycans to be informed about the childbearer's introduction ball. For this reason, the prince had been sent to deliver all the invitations in person –as was customary.

It was something Maebh had come to learn hours after Fillin's departure –the morning of her white hair discovery– when she'd questioned his whereabouts and had eloquently been told that he'd gone on a 14-day trip. It was within this same breath that her lovely informer, his mother, had spilled the beans on the ball and given her the shock of life.

Regarding her hair, Maebh's hopes dwindled to nothing and by the time a week had passed, her face was symmetrically framed by snowy tendrils. Various blonde locks were still scattered about but Maebh mourned the loss of her golden tresses just the same. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and wallow in the depths of self-pity that threatened to consume her.

"Are you sure about this?" Olive had asked thoughtfully, with a bowl of dye balancing on the palm of her hand.

"Positive."

After that, it was only a matter of applying the dye, waiting and rinsing it out until she was back to being a blondie.

———————————————

"I feel like I want to murder someone and now I also want a box of donuts."

"Drop the storm cloud persona and keep your head straight." Hèmène tutted, impatiently tapping her foot. "And those things are horribly fattening!"

"I would rather gain weight than endure this load of ráiméis a second longer."

"What was that?"

"Nothing! Just mumbling."

Hèmène shot her a pointed look. "Mumbling is not an option, darling. Speak slowly and cl-"

"And clearly, I know, I know."

Maebh blew a loose strand of hair out of her face and corrected her posture.

Under the guise of blending in with the company of aristocrats that would be present at the ball, the queen had taken it upon herself to teach Maebh the rules of etiquette. She had agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Her current plight was another prime example of why she wasn't spun from the same monarch-cloth as Hèmène. She simply could not apprehend the gist of it.

Did it really matter? Who cares if a woman didn't cross her legs, or if she held a teacup in the crook of her finger instead of pinching the handle daintily.

"Do not bow over your plate. You are a lady, not a hunchback!"

"I don't want to spill the soup!"

"If you hold your spoon properly, you won't spill anything." Hèmène said, her mouth upturned in lofty disdain. "Now, let's centre our attention on not slurping."

"I was hardly making any noise.."

"Hardly is still too much."

Maebh placed the spoon back in the bowl, hesitant to make any other move in case it earned her a lecture. "I swear I'm doing my best."

The queen pursed her lips in thought. "Very well, we'll save this for later."

Grabbing a clipboard from a rolling cart, Hèmène sat down in the chair next to her and flipped through the stack of paperwork –enabling Maebh to notice two specific names in a list of many.

"Maggie and Coinín are coming too?" She asked, taken aback.

"Mr. Lowell was the one to find you, it is only appropriate to invite him and his wife." Hèmène dismissed, her fingers halting on a page. "Are you familiar with the term 'seating chart'?"

"It speaks for itself, I reckon."

"I'll take that as a no."

The queen gestured at the image of a lengthy rectangle, its borders aligned by a great number of squares with names written inside. The drawing depicted the table and its ensemble of chairs. She clarified why certain guests would sit at one end and why others –of higher rank– were to be seated more proximate to the king and queen, at the head of the table.

The guest of honour, Maebh herself, was going to sit diagonally to the right of Hèmène and Fillin, in turn, would sit opposite of her. Seeing his name inscribed in cursive letters made a swarm of butterflies gather in her stomach, taking wing and fluttering about.

Every night since returning from his travels, they had exchanged meaningful stares during dinner. Other than that, they hadn't had the chance to interact, too occupied with the preparations for the ball. In the course of his absence, Maebh had banned herself from going back to his room –even if it was just to have a browse through his extensive amassment of books. She feared just the bloody smell of him would make her unwanted feelings manifest and spiral out of control.

Shaking the memories from her head, she redirected her focus to the seating chart and noticed it showed two vacant squares next to her own. "Hey, can we transfer Maggie and Coinín to sit in those?" She asked, pointing down.

Hèmène exclaimed a laugh. "Don't be silly, darling. That would be tremendously improper. As I said, everyone will be seated according to rank."

"But they're my friends.."

Hèmène hiked her hands and shoulders in an apologetic shrug. "Perhaps, but they are also subordinates and you are going to be queen one day. The Curia Regis would have a field day if I allowed that to happen."

"The Curia Ragis?"

"The Curia Regis. The Royal Council.." Hèmène's answer was met with a face void of recognition. "Good grief, darling, you have much to learn. I suggest we continue your lessons after the ball."

Maebh groaned inwardly, just her luck. She'd much rather revise on her own terms with the aid of books than be subjected to the queen's unorthodox, hands-on teaching methods.

———————————————

Maebh had been stewing in a bath for hours, up to the point where her hands and feet had gone pruney. The clawfoot tub was filled to the brim, copiously perfumed with rose oil –a few petals floating around. Relishing in the heat engulfing her body and the way the flower's properties made her skin feel so soft.

Finally, she rose to stand and writhed her hair from excess water. As the cool air begun nibbling at her, causing goosebumps to rise, she grabbed a towel. After drying down, Maebh went to the giant mirror in the tower's main area –her bedroom– and slipped on the fluffy bathrobe that had been dropped off by a stressed out Olive.

The castle staff had a thousand and one tasks to complete before the introduction ball planned for that night, half of them were running around like headless chickens. As one of the head maids, that included dear Olive.

In spite of Maebh insisting she was perfectly capable of pouring her own bath, a shy girl had been sent to assist in tempering the water. The young maid had done it without uttering a word or making eye contact and upheld this mousy response even after Maebh had thanked her for her help. She suspected the girl had been ordered to do so on the threat of execution, if her shaky hands were anything to go by –undoubtedly generated by one of Olive's stern colleagues.

Now standing in front of the mirror in the bathrobe, Maebh's eyes were drawn to her mark. It had been 3 weeks and though the puncture wounds had yet to fully heal, she could already conclude the scars were going to be noticable; not disturbingly prominent but not the epitome of comeliness either.

She combed her fingers through her wet hair, patiently easing some of the knots and massaging her scalp as she went –seeing as it was still a bit sensitive from the biting chemicals that had been rubbed on.

The permanent blonde dye had only lasted two meagre shampoo washes before it perished under the apparently strong nature of the cursed pearly tresses. She was at wits end and had temporarily put the whole quest for answers on hold as it was costing her an abundance of time and energy.

Maebh wandered back to the bathroom to brush her hair and to put moisturiser on her skin, in preparation of the hair and makeup team that were supposed to take care of her later. She wondered what they were going to do with those white locks. There was not a doubt in mind that like it had with the castle staff, the blinding colour would attract the unwanted attention of the invited guests too.

The thought had just popped into her head when a solid knock resounded at the door.

"Come on in, Olive, it's open!" Maebh hollered from the bathroom.

No retort came nor the extinctive creaking of a wooden plank being swung open. Figuring she hadn't heard her shout, she tied the ends of the bathrobe firmly around her waist and headed to the door.

"You don't need to knock, you can just com- Mam?!"

She narrowly registered her mother's presence before she was wrapped up in a bone-crushing hug.

"Dia dhuit, mo ghrá. Conas atá tú?" Saoirse kissed her daughter's temple and gave her a lung restricting squeeze.

Maebh inhaled the fragrance she associated with home, wild honeysuckle and chamomile, and buried her face in her mother's cardigan. "Tá mé go maith. Even better now that you are here, Mam. Chaill mé thú."

"As I missed ye, luv." she stroked her cheek affectionately and then cocked an eyebrow. "Loving the new hairdo, very edgy."

"It's a long story." Maebh sighed, not even wanting to get into this now. It served as a reminder of where they were. "How did you get here? Where is Da?"

Instead of replying, a suddenly serious expression formed as Saoirse sank down on the side of the bed, patting the space beside her. "Sit, mo ghrá. It's about time ye hear the truth."

Her Mam confessed the veracity of her life; from Saoirse's lineage, to the real reason her Da wasn't able to attend the ball, her Da's hatred for his mother and why her parents had taken their newborn daughter to Ireland.

Once the hair and makeup team showed up, accompanied by Olive. Her mother went back to the guest bedroom, to get dressed too. Throughout the entire process of people pulling at her hair and covering her face in cosmetics, Maebh had been distracted. The persistence of a dazed gleam in her lavender eyes hadn't gone past Olive, prompting her to be particularly inquisitive.

She had observed the far-off look as the girl stared out the window, preserving only a sliver of regard for a lost fly that buzzed around the sills, repeatedly bumping into the glass. It was difficult to tell where her mind was at. The upcoming introduction ball? A novel she had recently read? Or perhaps she wasn't thinking at all, but simply taken by the endless stretch of white peaked mountains beyond the castle, flawed only by a weak February sun.

The Irish girl stood her ground, insisting nothing to be amiss, but Olive sensed a cock and bull story from a mile away. Little did she know, Maebh's brain was wholly absorbed by her mother's words, and how they had changed her perception of everything she thought she knew.

Hèmène's boisterous entry was a welcome interference, causing Maebh to soar towards her and embrace her. "Thank you so much for inviting my parents, it means the world to me. Sorry my father was unable to accept the invitation."

"Don't you fret about that, darling. You are most welcome! And it's completely understandable, work is important. It's a delight to have your mother, I can see where you got the charm from." She winked and triumphantly held up a floor-length suit bag. "Now, shall we hoist you into this?"

The bag was laid on the bed to get unzipped but Maebh already knew what was inside; the highly anticipated gown Hèmène had been gushing about. Her measurements had been taken earlier that week but the queen had full on refused to give her any hints as to what the garment actually looked like. Maebh just hoped it wasn't hideous. 

As the bag came off, she realized there was no reason to worry: ethereal was the only fitting way to describe the dress. The train was long and sweeping, the bat sleeves 3/4 in length. The gown in its entirety emitted an overflowing opulence. It was a milky shade and coated in delicately placed, oval sequins that closely resembled the scales of a winter dragon.

"Well? Don't you stand there! Help the girl!"

A chorus of, "Yes, your Majesty." sounded through the air and Maebh was half-surprised the assembly of staff didn't make kissy noises too.

They succoured her into the extravagant gown within a minute and Maebh eyed the girl in the mirror.

A mix of disbelief and pure joy formed and escaped in the shape of a melodious laugh. Grinning from ear to ear, she twirled around and admired how the seemingly heavy fabric swirled around her in an effortless haze; the scales glimmered like mother of pearl in the early evening sunlight.

Most of her snowy tresses hung down her back in soft waves, enriched with dainty, gem encrusted pins that were braided into the waterfall plait. Her lips were painted velvety peach in a successful effort to highlight their plumpness, the rest of her makeup was very subtle.

"Holy shit, I- I look-"

Hèmène came to the rescue. "Striking? Gorgeous? Awe-inspiring?"

10 minutes later, Maebh descended the stone steps of the castle's main staircase and triggered the crown prince's mouth to fall agape along with an uncharismatic widening of the eyes. His reaction set every nerve in her body ablaze and she decided there and then that his mother must have been right.