The Riorson castle corridors were silent and you were cross-legged before the mirror, lipstick tubes and stained tissues scattered around you, you swiped another shade on—then wiped it off.

The door creaked. You turned as Ridoc stepped in, curls falling into his eyes, smirk already there. Your order to leave was ignored; the door clicked shut behind him as he crossed the room, deliberate and unhurried.

He plucked the tube from your hand, thumb brushing the faint stain on your lips. Tilting your chin, his voice dropped, “Open a little.”

The lipstick glided softly over your mouth, his focus steady, careful—so unlike him. His thumb traced the corner, staining them with red.

“There. Miss a spot?”