"Please take a seat, Your Highness, so we may begin your makeup."
The maids guided me away from the bed. That wandering hand finally let go.
I sat at the vanity, sneaking a glance toward the shadowy space beneath the bed. I could just barely see a pair of amber eyes gleaming in the dark — burning like fire, not with malice, but with an intense heat that threatened to melt me whole.
The moment the maid opened the cosmetics chest, I remembered something I'd once read back in the modern world. Victorian makeup often contained toxic substances — white lead, mercury, even arsenic.
The last time I wore makeup like that was at Killian's birthday. I'd broken out in a rash, but everything had been so chaotic, I'd brushed it off.
Now? If they slathered that stuff on my face again, I might genuinely drop dead.
Besides, I had no intention of dolling myself up just to please a king. Once the makeup fades, all that's left is bare, flawed humanity.
