A smile graced Lance’s lips as he caught a glance of his reflection in the small mirror. “You are an artist, Midnight,” he purred, flipping his long, luxurious mane over his shoulders. “I do so wish I could wear it in public.”
Midnight grin waned, and she tilted her head. “Why not?”
“If my father ever saw me wearing makeup in front of the Canterlot elite,” Lance chuckled, a list of awful scenarios running through his head. “Well…let’s just say that it would not be good for my reputation.”
“I think you look quite fabulous, pretty boy!” Midnight stated, sticking her tongue out at him. “Besides, I don’t think the stallions of Canterlot could handle you. Just one glance and they’d be in love.”
All Lance could do was chuckle in response.