Today our carriage is unmarked. It lacks the gold trim, leather seats, plush carpet, and finer details I’ve become accustomed to. I bounce against what I can only describe as a thin cotton sheet over poorly stuffed pillows, also known as my seat, at every single bump in the road.
Outside, small fires burn amongst the small crowds of people that gather daily. The small ounce of rebellion that endures. Snow falls around them, yet they remain.
Specks of mud dot the windows obscuring my view of the citizens. But I can still hear their cries. Mourning so loud, weeping so palpable, I find myself shrinking inward.
Miranda’s stern gaze has remained fixed out the window since we left. His legs are crossed and his boots bounce against the door, the only noise other than the grief.
“You haven't seen Nalerpera since the attempted siege, have you?” His solemn voice breaks the silence.
“No.” My voice cracks within the whisper.
“You should be glad these windows are so disgusting. The image is just as bad as their sad serenade.” He finally pulls his attention toward me. “Don’t look out the windows anymore—look at me.”
Iwant to try to look away to avoid taking in all of their pain and making it my own. But I can’t. It just isn’t in me. Not anymore.
“No, seriously,” Miranda says in a lighter tone. “Look at me. Is my hair okay? Do you think I should put on eyeliner?”
“What?” I cough, twisting on the thin cushion to face him.
Raking his fingers through his hair, he fidgets. His hands dance over his curls, pinch at his cheeks, then reach into his pants pocket to pull out a skinny charcoal stick.
“Ididn’t have time to get ready. I thought I could get you to change your mind, and we wouldn’t get this far.” He holds out the onyx pencil.
Itake it, looking between the small object and Miranda. His green eyes stare back at me wide. He does look pretty good with eyeliner...
“Do you really think I know how to put this on you?” I laugh, trying to hand it back. “I’m a princess. People do that for me.”
He puts his hands up, pushing the pencil back toward me. “Well, it’s time you start trying. It’s not hard. Literally just smudge it into my eyelashes. You can wipe away any bumps above it.”
Blinking, I look down at my hands and the way they shake.
“Please, I don’t have a mirror to do it myself,” he pleads.
“Gah,” I gasp, his large puppy dog eyes pulling on my heartstrings. “You fucking know your audience.” I sniffle, holding the pencil up to his face. “Close your eyes.”
Miranda beams.
“You better wipe that smug look off your face before I accidentally draw the male genitalia across your entire face. Your witch wouldn’t find you quite so handsome like that, would she?”
His smile falters. “Actually, she is quite... eccentric. It’s one of her good qualities.”
Goddess above, I hope she isn’t my mother. Nothing like having one of your best friends fall in love with your potential mother. Literally a motherfucker. Yuck.
Black spreads smoothly over his eyelids, better than I thought it might. I leave a thick line across his eyelid then ask him to look up, as my handmaidens do for me, and continue to cover his bottom eyelashes.
“Is she a good person? This witch?” I manage as I begin lining his other eye.
The carriage hits another bump. A wicked black smudge spikes up unattractively across his eyelid. Damn it. I scrub my finger over the mistake.
“She’s a woman of her word,” Miranda finally says as I pull away and admire my work.
Goddess, he really is so much more handsome in eyeliner. He looks like some sort of devilish fae warrior from some unknown land.
“But you wouldn’t describe her as good?”
“That’s subjective.”
Wow. He’s really talking her up right now. All this kindness is too much.
