Makeup, Masquerades, and Marquez

Amara leaned close to Elara, dabbing carefully at the hickey on her neck with a sponge and concealer. They'd taken over the bathroom, which was quickly turning into a miniature makeup counter, with brushes, powders, and every shade of concealer known to humankind scattered across the sink.

"Hold still," Amara muttered, squinting in concentration. "I'm trying to hide this masterpiece, and your wiggling isn't helping."

Elara smirked. "Oh, my bad. Didn't know the 'aggressive artist' was so delicate with her touch."

Amara rolled her eyes. "Delicate? I'm hiding a scandal here, Elara. People are already giving us suspicious looks."

"Just don't mess up my neck," Elara retorted, tilting her head to give Amara better access. "I need that for the whole 'I'm a pure, dignified princess' look."

Amara gave her a wry smile, brushing a little more concealer over the mark. "Pure, dignified, and utterly smitten, huh?"