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Despite knowing that Nova works hard for all she has, I can’t help the small pang of jealousy I feel at these little luxuries. Rouge, powder, kohl, and a couple of tins of tinted balms, along with an assortment of brushes whose uses I can only guess at, are all at my disposal. The only personal effects I have for beauty uses, if you can even call them that, are ointments intended to stave off infections from Mosar’s ministrations.
I run my fingers through the brushes in wonder, admiring their different shapes and textures. I have no clue what all of these could possibly be used for, but despite Nova’s clear reticence in assisting me with this plan, she still left me more than I could ever hope for. I make a mental note to thank her for her generosity before settling into the creaky wooden chair, returning my focus to the mission at hand.
The mirror, while aged and chipped, serves its purpose as I turn a critical eye on myself. Faded gray-yellow bruising still blooms around my eye, but thankfully, my split lip is almost entirely healed. All in all, my injuries should be easy enough to disguise, as long as I can figure out what I’m doing.
After a few minutes and several products later, I beam with pride at myself in the mirror. I look like the best version of myself– kohl smudged around my lashes, making them look fuller than they truly are, my skin smoothed and the bruising disguised with powder, my lips full and glistening from the tinted balm, and a kiss of rouge to highlight my high cheekbones. My hair looks soft, the spun gold strands fanning out around my face like a halo.
These cosmetics willdefinitelymake my job easier tonight.
I push up from the chair, taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle my pounding heart. For all of my gusto concerning this plan, a part of me feels nervous about what I’m about to do. What if no male even glances my way? What if they can sense that I don’t belong here, that I’m just another forgotten Indentured masquerading as someone worthy of respect?
Youareworthy of respect,I chastise myself mentally, shoving that thought down. Mosar is the worst kind of male, and I refuse to let him get into my head, and let his words and feelings inform how I feel about myself. No, tonight will be perfect, and everything is going to fall into place.
I take another deep breath, trying to catch sight of my smooth slip of a dress in the mirror. It was easy enough to pinch, and while it hangs a little awkwardly at my shoulders, it truly is beautiful, even in its simplicity. I look every part like I belong here– now, I just have to act like it.
Before I can think twice about it, I’m shoving back out of the back room and onto the street, and then striding through the front door of the Broken Horn. As usual, the tavern is bustling, laughter and conversations booming in the small space as patrons sip their drinks and chatter with one another.
The tavern feels likelife,all the best parts of it, and as I sidle up to the bar, I let the energy of the room propel me forward. Resting my elbows on the bar, I glance around, my eyes immediately snagging on a handsome, intimidating minotaur seated a few stools down.
The male stares into the bottom of his cup, seemingly lost in thought– and alone. His silver fur shimmers in the low light, patches of black peeking out from beneath the unfastened collar of his guard’s uniform.
Even sitting on the stool, I can tell he’s massive, the muscles in his shoulders rippling as he tips the mug back up to his lips. His horns are thicker than usual, curving gracefully out of his scalp.
He’s beautiful, and for a second, all thoughts of my little plan flee my mind as I watch him.
Another male in a guard’s uniform wanders up, breaking me from my reverie as he leans closer to the male I’ve been admiring and says something. It’s only as the minotaur looks up and lets out a loud, velvety bark of laughter that I catch sight of his eyes, a startling mossy green that has my breath catching in my throat.
If there was any question before about who I would be spending my evening with, it’s gone now.
The minotaur’s friend wanders off, setting his sights on a female dancing near the band, and I steel my resolve. It’s now or never.
I paste on a coy, seductive smile, and saunter up, letting my hips swish a little more than usual beneath the silky fabric of my dress. My mouth is open as I come to stop beside the minotaur, ready to introduce myself, when he looks up at me and the words on my tongue dissipate.
His eyes are an even more startling green upclose, strands of gold woven through them like rays of sunlight. I could swear my heart stops for a moment, and I simply stand there in silence, staring at him slack-jawed for an embarrassingly long amount of time.
It’s only when the minotaur cocks his head curiously at me that I remember myself, clearing my throat and trying to remember to smile again.
“Hi,” I manage to get out, and then immediately curse myself.Hi? What kind of flirty banter is ‘hi’?
“Hi,” the minotaur replies, a hint of laughter dancing in his deep, velvety voice.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask, motioning toward the stool next to him. He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips as I take a seat and lean toward him, whispering conspiratorially, “Does that mean you’re here by yourself?”
The minotaur’s smile breaks into a full grin, his eyes raking over me and leaving a prickling trail of heat in their wake.
“It does,” he replies as his eyes meet mine again. “And you? Are you here by yourself?”
“Luckily for you, I am,” I say with a grin. The minotaur laughs, shaking his head and motioning to the bartender to bring over two drinks. The fact that he ordered me one without asking doesn’t escape my notice, sending a flare of heat licking up my belly. A male that knows what he’s doing, then, and does it with confidence– he’s perfect.
“So, to what do I owe this pleasure, Miss…?”
“Kyra, no miss. Your formalities are wasted on me.” He grins again as the bartender drops off our drinks, and he slides mine to me with a casual grace I can’t help but envy.
“I’m Zykhus, or Zy to my friends,” he says, taking a sip of ale.
“Well, Zy, what brings you to the Broken Horn? Looking for a night of revelry and drink?”
Zy arches an eyebrow at my use of his nickname, but his smile only widens. “Mostly the drink. Hard shift.”
