"Do you think aliens have fairytales?" she asked. “And bedtime stories? Or is it all just war stories and conquering planets? " She tipped her head back slightly. "Maybe it’s just tactical manuals or something?" She’d have to ask Kirr. It seemed like the kind of cultural exchange she should be doing if she was going to be the plus-one of a War-Commander.
She sat at the vanity table, feeling the silk whisper against her legs, and pulled the tray of cosmetics closer. She didn’t recognize the brands or even what some of it was for, but some things were universal. Pigments were pigments. Brushes were brushes.
She popped open the first container with a decisive click. "Alright. Time to pretend I know what I'm doing with this shit."
She worked quickly, hands steady despite the knot in her stomach. She kept it simple—a bit of dark liner to make her eyes pop, a sheer gloss on her lips, a dusting of something shimmering on her cheekbones. Sweeping her hair up, she twisted it into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and secured it with jeweled pins she found in a small box.
When she was done, she sat back and studied herself in the mirror. A different woman stared back at her. Someone beautiful, sexy and confident. She glanced at the makeup again. Shit, it must be magic or something.
The silver bracelet gleamed against her wrist, the only piece of jewelry she wore. It was perfect. The cool metal played off the midnight blue of the dress, tying the whole look together.
"Okay, Dee," she said, reaching for the device. "I'm going in. Wish me luck. If I trip and fall on my face in front of the station dignitaries, I'm blaming you for not being there to teach me how to walk in these shoes."
She tapped the screen to end the recording, and silence filled the room.
Taking a deep breath, she stood.
“Showtime,” she murmured as she walked to the bedroom door. Her hand hovered over the panel for a second. She felt like an imposter. Like the girl who scraped together change for subway fare was playing dress-up in a castle she didn't belong in.
Fuck. That.
She was dressed like a princess, and by God, she was going to have her night.
She hit the panel, and the door hissed open.
Kirr was standing by the viewport, looking out at the starfield beyond as she stepped into the main room. He turned at the sound of the door. He was in formal dress—black on black, the severe cut of his uniform jacket emphasizing the terrifying width of his shoulders, the silver insignia at his collar gleaming under the lights.
He froze, golden eyes locked onto her.
He didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stared at her, his gaze sweeping from the top of her pinned-up hair down to the hem of the midnight blue gown and back up to her face. It wasn’t a polite look. It wasn’t casual approval.
Instead, heat exploded in his eyes, the gold swallowed up by burnished copper, awareness prickling across her skin.
That look pinned her in place, and the imposter syndrome just... evaporated. He wasn't looking at the dress. He was looking at her.
"Harper," he breathed.
"You're staring," Harper said, hiding a smile. The midnight blue silk swished against her legs as they walked the industrial gray corridors toward the function hall.
Kirr's gaze slid sideways again. It felt like a warm hand stroking over the bare curve of her shoulder.
"I’m appreciating," he rumbled. "There’s a difference."
"Is there?" She bit her lip, refusing to look at him.
"It would be a failure of discipline not to."
She laughed, the sound escaping before she could stop it. She touched the silver bracelet on her wrist again, feeling the cool metal against her skin. It caught the overhead lights, sparkling like captured starlight.
"I feel like a princess," she admitted, the words slipping out before her cynicism could catch them. "Like I stepped into a fairytale." She glanced up at him. "Do Latharians have fairytales? Or do you just have war stories?"
His lips quirked, his eyes warm as he looked down at her. "We have stories. Though perhaps they differ from yours."
She bumped her arm lightly against his, baiting him. "Give me the big one. What’s the classic Latharian fairytale?"
He considered the question as they rounded a corner, his brow furrowing. "We tell the younglings of Kayan Vorr. The First Emperor."
"Let me guess," Harper said. "He conquered a galaxy?"
