Morrigan had arrived with the Irish contingent, more than early enough thanks to Lady Pansy's personal relationship with the Scottish king. She found herself seated between between her brothers, though she edged slightly closer to Jon. She and Marcus had gone rounds in the last few days when it came to the gown she was to wear to the event. Even as she pointed out, for what felt like the hundredth time, that he was not her father, he had rolled his eyes with a promise that he could arrange it so that she was unavailable for any social engagements for the next month and would she just wear the damned green dress. With that in mind, Morrigan had bestowed Jon with the title of favourite brother.
Just as the King was about sit on his throne there was a loud commotion. Turning with the rest of the crowd, her heavy skirts making it difficult to move quickly, Morrigan felt her heart leap into her throat, panic beginning to claw at her consciousness. Theoretically she had been trained for these situations, but this hardly felt theoretical to her now. Morrgian grasped her wand and tried to apparate to safety, but there were wards in place preventing her and the rest of the witnesses from doing so.
As she began to make her way to the floo, sure that her brothers were hot on her heels, she felt the first curse hit her, the stiff bodice of her dress taking the brunt of it. The second caused her to trip, with Morrigan landing hard on her wrist, hearing the sickening sound of bones snapping. Thankful that it had not been her wand arm, the young woman cradled the injured limb against her body as she tried to get back to her feet.