I got requested to write a part three to I'm Going to Hell (Bathtub Scene Smut) and I started but I don't really think I can finish so here's what I wrote:
“There’s a hickey on your neck.”
I jolt, almost swallowing the pin in my mouth. Iris doesn’t flinch, merely gesturing to the paints beside the mirror. “I have some makeup.” She studies her nails. “So he doesn’t hunt the poor soul.”
Beside me, Evangeline laughs. “First Cal, then this.” A pin floats beside her, but it doesn’t move to help me. “You’ve no self-preservation, but I can’t say it isn’t funny.”
I spit out the pin. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me?”
“No.” She waves a hand. “Just to supervise.”
Iris turns, black hair cascading over immaculate white silk. “I don’t suppose your shadow can do my makeup? I’ve heard House Haven specializes in beauty.”
Evangeline flicks her earrings, twinkling stars I know she can turn to daggers. “She left.”
“Hmm.” Her lips purse. “What terrible hospitality. I’ll make a note of it to my husband.”
“We’re at war, Your Highness. I’m sure he has more important things to worry about.” Her dress ripples, coins upon coins layered atop lace. “Your maids will have to do.”
She eyes us in the mirror, smiling. “And my ladies.”
I stab a pin through silver ribbon, scowling. “I’m no lady.”
“You dress like one.” Iris dabs a brush in the nearest tin. “And sometimes you even behave.”
I have no answer to that. Was I behaving, when I bed Maven that night? Was I behaving, when I gave him what he wanted?
Iris softens. “Come.” She rises from her chair, patting the cushion. “And sit still.”
I’m not a dog, I almost say, but I’ve found less and less truth in it by the day. The cushion is no finer than the ones in my chambers, and it disconcerts me. In some ways, I’m like a princess. In most, I’m like a ghost.
Her hand nudges my cheek, and I flinch. Evangeline huffs. “It doesn’t matter how you paint her–”
