The Crown Prophecy

Chapter 6

I t didn’t take long for serving duty to become a highlight in my routine. Whether it was the absence of Serena’s vitriol or the ability to watch the Wielders that made it so enjoyable, I didn’t know, but I found myself looking forward to my shifts in the ballroom.

Every afternoon, some of the contestants piled in to practice their skills in preparation for the second task, which was now three weeks away. Queen Evalina’s efforts to strengthen magic within the castle produced almost instant results, and within a matter of days, the Fork Girl evolved from shattering plates to flinging dinner knives into the wall with a satisfying thud.

The woman who had summoned the flock of birds at the first trial was in the process of training a rather wild-looking wolf to heed her commands, while the Wielder who utilized light had moved onto creating floating luminaries that followed her wherever she went.

Vanessa still showed up every day looking unimpressed, but she never seemed to do anything besides watch Colette, who was still working diligently on her vines. I observed, slack jawed, when she constructed an entire tower of greenery, complete with giant venus fly traps that snapped at anyone who got too close.

Thankfully, Marisol was rarely in attendance and hadn’t approached the refreshment table on the few occasions I had seen her. From what I could tell, the maneuver she was working on was meant to utilize a long bolt of cloth to strangle one of the practice dummies, but it usually just ended with the mannequin draped in fabric reminiscent of a robe. I pitied her; her Gift was not a skill I imagined would translate well into the type of test the Crown had planned.

No information was given about the specifics of the trial, but the older ice-Wielder, who went by the name of Algernon Finch, dropped by every few days to remind the ladies to be “ready for anything.” Their frustration seemed to multiply with his every appearance.

Towards the end of the week, Colette approached me to ask if I would help her with a new exercise she wanted to practice.

It wasn’t as though I were doing anything important. The food went untouched most afternoons, but Mellie and Helga insisted on sending up the same quantity day after day. Whether it was a matter of pride or an instruction from the Crown, I didn’t know.

When I agreed, Colette led me to a tile on the floor she had marked with a petal.

“This might be a little alarming, but I promise it won’t hurt,” she said. My expression must’ve betrayed my nerves, because she expounded.

“I’ve been working a lot with vines, but my specialty is actually flowers, and I need to see if I can find a way to make them more practical for . . . well, whatever is coming,” she said, a line appearing between her brows.

She backed up a few feet, raising her arms into a casting position with her elbows slightly bent. As she concentrated, a ring of roses grew around my feet, bolting up about a foot before shriveling.

Colette deflated. “Those were meant to create a sort of web around you to keep you from moving,” she said, shoulders bowed in defeat.

“Keep practicing,” I encouraged. “It’s only been a week.”

The smile she offered was watery, and she was clearly dejected.

“Have you tried wisteria?” I asked. Her brows perked up at the suggestion. “If you’re used to flowers, maybe it would provide a happy compromise?”

She darted forward and squeezed me without reservation. “Quinn, you’re brilliant!”

“Happy to help.” I chuckled and took a step back to watch her dive into the mechanics of her new medium. As I suspected, the wisteria offered her the confidence of working with her blooms and paired well with the utility of the vines she had been conjuring.

“The structure is sturdier too,” she chirped excitedly as she tested the hardiness of the elaborate birdcage she had woven about two feet high. “Now I just need to work on scaling it.”

Along the wall, the corner of Vanessa’s mouth twitched in an expression that looked a lot like pride.

The heavy double doors groaned open and Jacques entered, beckoning me to switch roles. Thankfully, Serena had been roped into serving duty in another part of the castle, and Mellie had seen to it that our shifts were aligned so I had a few hours of reprieve from her constant irritability, which hadn’t eased at all over the past week.

The kitchen was quiet, caught between the frantic preparation for lunch and the looming demands of dinner. I checked on my proofing dough and circled the room a few times, collecting spare whisks and bowls and bringing them to the washing station.

Turning the water on, I got to work cleaning them, resuming my old habit and humming a song I remembered Father singing when I was young. I didn’t remember the words, but I could recall the way his face lit up as he sang it. He always loved music, and our home was full of it in my first memories.

When he began to travel to more distant ports, Mother said it was a blessing that business was so steady, but I wasn’t sure. I just missed my father.

“Hello,” came a tentative voice from behind me, snapping me out of my reverie. I turned to find a pair of soft brown eyes darting around, checking to be sure we were alone.

“Hello, James,” I ventured, unsure what to say.

“I just, uh . . .well, I wanted to apologize for Serena. I’ve told her to lay off you but she’s stubborn as an ox.”

Well, that was putting it mildly.

“Oh,” I replied lamely. “Thank you?”

“She’s got some issues to work through, but you shouldn’t bear the brunt of her anger when you aren’t the cause of it.”

He stood there for a moment, shifting back and forth on his feet as if there were something else he wanted to say but hadn’t quite made up his mind on whether to say it. Something like resolve hardened in his eyes.

“I was wondering if you might sit with us at dinner tonight?” he asked.

“Us?”

“Jacques, Lucas, and Claire from the cooking side usually sit with Serena and I for meals since we work together and all. I know Permelia hasn’t been around as much lately.”

He was right. Mellie was constantly running around like a beheaded chicken, trying to keep all the literal and figurative fires under control. Since my mishap, she’d been the one taking the queen’s meals up to her chambers every evening, and I could only guess that she was dining in her company as well, which left her spot next to me on the bench cold and empty.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, James,” I said, though part of me wanted to accept the offer. “I appreciate the gesture, but I doubt Serena would want me there, and I don’t need any more drama from her.”

James’s eyes widened for a moment before he cast them downward. He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked.

“All right,” he faltered. “I understand that. If you change your mind,” he shrugged.

“Thank you, James, really.”

He turned to go, but abandoned the motion about halfway through.

“For what it’s worth, I think you belong here,” he said. “I know some people aren’t thrilled you jumped rank, but I can see why. Your glazed cardamom buns might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

I grinned at that. They were my favorite, too.

“Thank you, James,” I repeated.

He returned to his work and I to mine, but the kitchen felt a little less hostile after that.

. . .

All too soon it was six o’clock and I was marching up the four flights of stairs, which hadn’t gotten any easier in the last week.

The prince met me at the door, opening it before I had the chance to knock.

Prompt, I thought, even as my heart raced when he flashed me a dazzling smile and bade me to come in.

This time he sank into the settee in the antechamber, offering me a seat in one of the two brocade chairs opposite. A small marble table separated us. Once again it felt strange to sit in his presence, like I should be constantly at attention. After all, I was working.

“So,” he began, holding up The Eriargen Encounter. It looked miniscule in his hand. It must be smaller than my copy, I reasoned. “I finished it.”

Digging in the pocket of my apron, a sage green today, I retrieved my own copy. I wasn’t sure why I had brought it, but it felt better to be prepared. If nothing else, it would be a useful tool for avoiding eye contact.

“And you’re right. Galadaer is a foolish ass,” Prince Evander said.

I barked a loud laugh; I certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

“He doesn’t stop to think about the tactical disadvantages of staging a battle at The Hold of Traitors, and the fact that he didn’t even tell Astrid his plan before marching off in her name, well,” he scoffed. “He would’ve deserved the capture had Astrid not unleashed her lightning on the field.”

“I agree!”

The prince’s expression turned thoughtful.

“In the latter half of the novel, he lacked the complexity that the author wrote so well in Astrid,” he continued. “I understood that he was Good and Worthy, but he couldn’t boast of much else. Edmund would’ve been a better choice for her.”

“A more compelling one, surely,” I said. “But I think the heart of the story was the love Astrid had for her kingdom, not a romantic love.”

“Hmm,” he hummed. “A love I know all too well.”

Was that a hint of sadness? Bitterness, even?

Aware that he had left himself vulnerable, he changed the subject. “And what did you make of Son of the Marked One?”

Truthfully, I was loving it. Though I’d been skeptical at first, by about a hundred and twenty pages in I was truly enjoying the novel. A part of that may have been the dark-haired, morally grey sorcerer central to the story, but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“It’s excellent,” I said, a bit begrudgingly.

“High praise, coming from you,” he teased.

Teased. Teased me. What world was I living in where the Crown Prince was cracking jokes about my literary taste?

Unable to back down from the challenge, I lifted my chin. “I know what I enjoy. It isn’t a terrible thing for a woman to have an opinion.” A bit combative, but not personally offensive at least. When had that become my bar for a successful conversation?

“Not at all.” He shook his head earnestly. “We would be lost without the wisdom of our women.”

“Indeed.” There he went again, surprising me.

“And what,” he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “is your opinion of me?”

I swallowed. What was the right answer here?

“I’m sure you’ll be a fair and just leader, your Highness,” I postulated.

“Evander,” he reminded me.

Uncomfortable, I shifted in my seat, turning my attention back to the book in my hands.

“The juxtaposition of Elara’s Mark of the Ancients and Thorne’s heritage with his father’s mark was interesting. I thought it made for a compelling structure, especially since she spends the first few chapters subverting the audience’s expectations about what being Chosen means about a person.”

“What are your thoughts on Thorne’s revelation about the spell?”

“I haven’t gotten there yet,” I confessed. “But I don’t want to keep your copy from you any longer.” I slid the book across the table, offering it to him.

He placed his palm on the top of the volume, gently pushing it back. Our fingers brushed for a moment and sparks shot up my arm. What was wrong with me?

“Keep it,” he said.

“Thank you, your–Prince Evander,” I corrected myself, “but really, it would be selfish of me–”

“The selfishness is decidedly on my side. There aren’t many fiction readers in my circle and I need to speak with someone about the plot twist.” A cheeky half smile lit up his face, and I found myself mirroring his grin.

“All right then. Thank you.”

“Now,” he said, as if getting down to business, “are we going to discuss Alastair?”

“ Yes! ” I exclaimed, my restraint failing. “I had absolutely no idea he was in league with the Eldorian King!”

“I don’t believe he was the true Conspirator though. Doesn’t it make more sense that he’s being puppeteered by the Captain on the Dolinean Front?” Evander offered, arching an eyebrow.

The evening progressed as we swapped theories and argued over whether Edmund’s protection of Astrid was justified. It was disconcertingly comfortable. I’d always wished to have a friend with whom to discuss my books, but I certainly hadn’t expected it to be the crown prince. Nevertheless, I found myself smiling without reserve as he told me what he expected in the next volume. It wasn't until well after the sun had set that I headed home with a smile on my face and a promise to return that I gave far too easily. I was in trouble.

. . .

On my day off, I devoured the first part of the book Prince Evander had given me and tiptoed around my mother, who complained incessantly of how selfish I was to leave her alone in the cottage.

When I returned to work, it seemed Serena had backed off a bit. James must have spoken to her again after our conversation. The atmosphere in the kitchens improved markedly for everyone as a result of this shift, and I began to get to know my coworkers.

I was worried about Mellie, who was gone from the kitchen for several hours each time a meal was served, coming back with red-rimmed eyes. When I asked, she said couldn’t discuss it, but it was clear from my friend’s distress that Queen Evalina’s condition wasn’t improving.

The work hadn’t slowed, but we had acclimated to the new volume and things no longer felt as frantic as they had in the past few weeks.

Almost a week after his offer, I finally drew up the courage to sit with James and his friends for a meal. Serena was busy upstairs, so it felt like a good time to test the waters. The little group turned out to be wonderful.

Jacques clearly saw James as a little brother and was always finding ways to bolster him up and teach him how to succeed in the castle. Lucas and Claire’s preferred style of communication was good-humored quips at the other’s expense, and it was nice to be included in the group instead of being the subject of the joke.

Claire was sharing a story about how Lucas had once made a whole batch of tomato soup with half a cup of sugar instead of half a tablespoon, and I found myself laughing out loud.

“What the hells?”

My head snapped up at Serena’s voice, and I shrank into my seat like a child caught stealing sweets from the jar. Giving myself a mental shake, I fought to remember Mellie’s words and straightened back up. I had as much right to be here as she did.

“Quinn is part of our team, and I thought we should include her,” James said. Serena glared at him until Jacques stepped in.

“Come off it, Serena. Lunch isn’t going to kill you. Plus, Parry isn’t half bad.” He threw a wink in my direction.

“Fine,” she huffed, setting her plate down on the opposite side of the table, as far away from me as she could get.

Claire rolled her eyes. “As I was saying,” she continued, “none of us caught it before it was sent upstairs. Jacques said the queen managed three bites before mentioning something.”

Lucas’s face turned red. “The writing on the recipe was smudged,” he mumbled, bumping Claire with his shoulder.

“Besides,” he drew himself to his full height, “it’s not like you haven’t made your fair share of mistakes. Remember the chicken stew?”

“Don’t remind me!” Claire groaned, throwing her hands over her face.

“She put the chicken breasts in whole and they were still raw when she went to serve it,” James filled me in conspiratorially.

“At least it was only a staff meal!” she defended herself, pointing her fork at Lucas.

I dissolved into a fit of giggles, earning me a pout from her.

“Don’t worry, I’ve had my fair share of accidents too,” I said. “When I was ten, I forgot to put the oven fire out for almost an entire day after I finished making some cookies. Everyone in the house was sweating and we couldn’t figure out why for the longest time. My mother never let me use it again after that.”

James’s brows shot up. “Never again? That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“That’s my mother for you. She’s very . . . authoritarian. She didn’t allow me a lot of independence growing up,” I managed.

“Then how did you learn to bake so well?” James asked.

“I wandered into Mellie’s shop one afternoon about nine years ago,” I said, smiling at the memory. “She just sort of adopted me, and I would sneak off to the bakery after school when I was supposed to be studying.”

“That sounds like Permelia,” James said, chuckling.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t decide to bring in any stray dogs next.” Serena rolled her eyes. I chose to ignore her.

“She’s been like a mother to me ever since,” I said. “Things at home are . . . complicated.” I winced.

Why did I just say that?

“Yes, well, at least you can go back and visit your home,” Serena shot back.

“Sometimes I wish I couldn’t,” I admitted, more to myself than anyone else at the table.

The group settled into an awkward silence that was only interrupted by the ringing of the bell that announced the end of the meal. It was time to start preparing dinner. After clearing our places, we got to work on the foie gras bread pudding that would be served this evening.

The pang of disappointment I felt when I remembered there would be no visit to Evander tonight took me by surprise.

I had been summoned to serve the prince every few days for the last week, sometimes resulting in lengthy debates about our current reads, while other times he only had time for a few words of thanks. Apparently, my sense of self-preservation had gone completely out the window, because I found myself looking forward to dinner each night, and I was becoming irritatingly comfortable around him.

It was just as well, I told myself. Tonight’s evening meal was a team effort that would have both the cooking side and baking side of the kitchen busy enough as it was, so I knew I needed to focus on my work.

The loaves of bread I had started this morning had been baking while we all ate lunch. Now I pulled one out, careful not to burn myself, and tested the crust. Crackly perfection. I turned over one of the boules and knocked on the bottom. The resulting sound was hollow, which meant the loaves were ready to come out.

They would need at least an hour on a cooling rack before we could cut them into cubes for the bread pudding, or else the texture would become gummy.

I inhaled deeply as I used the push-pull tool to move the rack so I could reach the rest of the loaves. The smell of freshly baked bread never lost its charm to me. It smelled like safety and love and home.

Once the bread was safely on the rack, I looked around to see who else might need assistance while I waited.

James was shaping a loaf on the center island, about an hour behind where I was in my bake, and Franc was sifting powdered sugar over the tops of the orange chocolate torte that would be served as dessert.

I didn’t see Mellie anywhere, so I headed into the next room to look for her.

Instead, I found Serena, her head disappearing into the icebox as she balanced precariously on a small wooden crate.

Not so threatening now, are you? I couldn’t help but laugh watching her struggle to reach the back contents of the rack, the tray in her free hand wobbling.

The sound must’ve startled her, because she hit her head on the top of the icebox, causing her to lose her footing and slip backwards.

Unable to stabilize herself on her makeshift footstool, she came tumbling to the ground, dropping her tray and raining unbaked dough onto the floor as she hit the ground with a thump. I cringed. That couldn’t have felt good.

“What is wrong with you?” she yelled, turning on me.

“I didn’t mean to startle you! Why weren’t you using a proper stool?”

Instead of answering my question, she reached for one of the pastries that had fallen to the floor, wincing as she picked it up. From what was left of its original form, it looked like it had been a croissant.

“These are RUINED. And I landed on my wrist, so I have no idea how I’m going to roll out all the layers again in time to proof for breakfast.” She glared at me. “You did this on purpose.”

“Look, Serena, I’m sorry, but this was an accident.,” I said, throwing my hands up. “We may not be on the best terms, but I’m not going to sacrifice a meal just to settle a petty grudge.”

“Well it’s going to be ruined regardless, so I hope you’re satisfied. I’m going to get sacked.”

I rolled my eyes. So dramatic. There was no way she was getting released for one missing pastry. Her wrist was already swelling, though, and I looked at it pointedly. “You’ve got more pressing problems right now. That needs a healer immediately.”

“Absolutely not,” she countered. “I have to start these over now, thanks to you .”

“Serena,” I sighed in exasperation, “stop being so stubborn and go get that fixed before it’s beyond the healer’s capabilities. We’re too busy around here to be missing a baker indefinitely, and you’re pretty useless in here with only one hand.”

She shot me another glare.

“I’ll make sure the croissants are ready for tomorrow,” I promised begrudgingly. “Just go.”

Ignoring my outstretched hand, she got to her feet. I didn’t know why I even tried.

“Well, it’s the least you could do,” she huffed and stomped out.

I bent down to pick up the would-be croissants from the ground, now just sad, squashed lumps of dough. There weren’t enough here to be the full batch, so there must be another tray hiding somewhere.

As I suspected, another bowl of dough sat abandoned on the counter outside the pantry.

“James,” I asked, “do you know if this is Serena’s?”

“I think so. Why?”

“It’s a long story, but I’m taking over for her while she goes to the infirmary.” His eyes widened in alarm and I clarified quickly. “Nothing serious, just a swollen wrist. Can you handle cubing my loaves when they’ve cooled? They’re on the racks there,” I said, pointing to my workstation.

He nodded, a trace of confusion lingering on his face.

I tossed the dirty dough in the garbage, cringing at the waste of it, and set out to determine where Serena was in her prep. I couldn’t see a recipe card nearby, so she likely knew it by heart.

I should’ve asked for more details before she left. Maybe I could track her down in the infirmary . . .

No. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t made croissants before, and the gods knew I didn’t need to give Serena any more reasons to mock me. I could do this myself.

If she was at nearly the same stage in both batches, I reasoned, she was about to roll out this dough and start laminating. Judging from how I found her, she must’ve needed something from the icebox to continue. Using a real stool, I confirmed my suspicions in the form of a thin sheet of butter in the back.

I got to work finishing the second batch so the dough didn’t overproof. I doubt she’d thank me if we ended up with dense, collapsed pastries.

After rolling out the dough, I added the butter slab I’d found prepared in the ice box.

Next came the lamination process. I folded the dough into thirds and rolled it out before repeating the process again and again and again. When the slab was appropriately layered, I cut it into long triangles and rolled them into shape.

Then I started a new second batch of croissant dough and set it aside for its first rise. Rubbing the back of my neck, I tried to massage out some of the tension from staring down at the workspace for so long and sighed. I was going to be here late again tonight. The small hand was already just shy of six. Almost time for dinner.

At least the two-hour proofing period the dough needed gave me plenty of time to help everybody get the foie-gras bread pudding and sides into the dining hall upstairs. It smelled delicious.

Mellie and Helga had outdone themselves on the dish. This was the first time since I had started working here that both teams had worked together on the same entrée, and judging by the aroma that was wafting its way to me, the collaboration had been worth it.

The staff had a simpler version of the same meal, made with pork sausage instead of duck liver, and it tasted just as good as it smelled.

It was nine o’clock by the time dinner cleanup had ended and I was able to get back to the second batch of croissants.

One good thing about being in the kitchen after hours was that you got your pick of all the best tools and utensils. Running my fingers along the contents of a cabinet below the workspace, I extracted a large wooden cutting board with no warping or cracks and began to flatten the dough, humming to myself.

As I was working, the hair on the back of my neck stood up and I got the unmistakable sense that someone was coming. Looking around the kitchens, I grabbed the largest rolling pin I could find, hiking it up to my shoulder.

A moment later I could hear heavy footsteps and the door opened to reveal–

Prince Evander. He froze in place, obviously not expecting anyone to be here at this time of night. It took a moment for him to shed his surprise as he looked me up and down.

“Were you going to hit me with a rolling pin?” he asked, a smirk on his face.

“Not you, ” I floundered, embarrassed. “I just–I heard someone coming and panicked. The dark unsettles me a bit.”

“At least you’re armed,” he joked, jutting his chin at my weapon of choice.

“I’m just going to die of embarrassment now,” I declared with resolve.

“No need.” His chuckle had my cheeks flushing even further. “I’ll leave you to your–” he stopped, taking in the empty room and the ingredients on the counter. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Making croissants,” I said. “One of the other bakers dropped a batch earlier today when I frightened her.”

“Yes, you can be very intimidating,” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “Is there any way I can be of assistance?”

My mind went absolutely blank. I didn’t understand this man at all.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m fine.” I curtsied.

“If you’re sure,” he said. “Between the two of us, I’m a terrible cook anyway.”

That at least made sense. The man had probably had a dozen chefs since before he could eat solid food.

“Goodnight, Ms. Parry.”

I was returning his farewell when I realized he was retreating without getting whatever he had come for. “Wait!” I blurted. “Why did you come down here in the first place?”

He looked up at the ceiling as if I had caught him doing something he shouldn’t. “I was hoping to find something to settle my stomach. I didn’t eat much at dinner.”

“And you didn’t ring the bell for one of your manservants to get it for you?” I arched an eyebrow.

“Apparently not.” The smirk was back.

Interesting. I waited to see if he would explain himself.

“Being royal does have its advantages, to be sure,” he started, “but I often find myself wishing for something simpler. To have some agency in my day-to-day affairs. As it stands, I feel like an intruder in my own home’s kitchen. I doubt I could make so much as a slice of toast without burning it,” he laughed sadly. If he was hoping for pity, I wouldn’t give it to him.

“That’s ridiculous.” I stood with my hands on my hips.

“It is, a bit.”

“You can have as much agency as you take. It’s not as if anyone around here is going to tell you no,” I pointed out.

“A sound argument. Though I’m afraid my own pride may be the obstacle at times. Princes aren’t exactly lauded for showing their weaknesses.”

“You just admitted to me that you can’t make a piece of toast.” I eyed him pointedly.

“You have me there.” His hands came up, palms facing me in mock defeat.

Turning on my heel, I stalked to the pantry. Earlier in the day, I had left a loaf of bread to become slightly stale for tomorrow’s cinnamon fried toast, but this was a more pressing issue.

When I reached the workstation again, Evander had his head cocked to one side and wore a slightly concerned expression on his face, as if he wasn’t sure if I had stormed out and wouldn’t be returning.

“Here,” I said, sliding the bread across the countertop to him.

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. “You want me to make toast?”

“Please,” I scoffed. “Have some faith in yourself. At least try a cheese toastie.”

He laughed, but to his credit, he took the bread and began looking around for a knife.

“Over here.” I nodded toward a drawer by my left hip and continued to work on the croissants. The butter was still a bit too cold, but I knew Mother would already be livid that I was arriving home late, so I tried to wrestle it into the first fold.

I felt a hand reach for the drawer and swiveled around to make sure Evander found what he needed. My heart seized as I found myself only a breath away from him. He took up more space than Mellie, that was certain. Time seemed to slow as I had the disconcerting realization that I had never been this close to him before. I could count the individual eyelashes framing his sapphire eyes if I wanted to.

Where the hells did that thought come from?

His mouth parted slightly, as if he were about to say something, but he must’ve thought better of it, because he closed it slowly and began worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. Something in my core heated at the sight. I needed to get a hold of myself. He reached for the knife, his hand flexing in a way that I certainly did not notice.

I cleared my throat and stepped away, hoping he couldn’t tell where my mind had gone.

Was I imagining that his face was flushed too? I noticed his gaze trail down to my mouth for a split second before his eyes snapped up to stare at a point beyond me.

Holding up the knife in silent triumph, he smiled tensely, pressing his lips together so they all but disappeared.

I watched as he swung back over to the other side of the worktop and earnestly began trying to crush my poor loaf of bread to death.

My loud laugh cut the tension in the room.

“You’ve honestly never cut a loaf of bread.”

His only response was a sheepish grin.

“Use a sawing motion so it doesn’t flatten.” I instructed, miming the act to demonstrate the technique.

He caught on, and we worked in silence for a few moments. Four layers of lamination were finished before I realized he was watching me, his two slices of bread sitting contentedly next to the loaf.

“You’re humming again,” he observed. “You do that a lot.”

“I didn’t realize.”

“Don’t stop,” he encouraged. “It’s nice.”

This, of course, made it impossible to continue. My pastry dough had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world as I endeavored to hide my blush.

“I recognize that song. ‘The Ballad of Brynne,’ I believe,’” he said.

“Really? I didn’t know the name or even the words. My father used to sing it when I was young.”

“Is he a baker as well?” he asked.

“No, a merchant. He travels most of the year, so I haven’t seen him in a long time. I miss him,” I confided.

“It must be difficult to be away from him. Thank you for your sacrifice.” With a start, I remembered that the prince was still under the impression that I was confined to the castle and unable to see my family.

“My mother . . .” he started, and for a moment I was sure he was going to bring up our conversation on the stairwell, but he continued on, “well, she loves the Head Baker’s tarts, and from what I hear, Permelia wouldn’t stop talking about you until you arrived here.”

“I’m very lucky to have her,” I said, still rolling out the dough. I didn’t miss his use of Mellie’s given name. She and Evalina must be very close for him to know it.

The silence stretched on before I realized he no longer had anything to do.

“Cheese!” I exclaimed, thankful for an excuse to run to the ice box. Returning with a wedge of cheddar, I handed it to him along with a paring knife.

“This bit I know how to do,” he assured me, gracefully slicing off pieces of cheese with one hand.

“I miss my father too,” he said, staring down at the countertop. The grief in his voice was deep and raw.

“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing I had more to offer than the feeble words.

“Thank you.” He blinked to clear his eyes, then held up his piece of bread piled with cheese shavings to steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

“You’ll want butter too,” I said. “Makes the outside crispy.”

He nodded, heading into the next room in search of some, and I was grateful for a moment alone to gather myself. My croissants were almost done. The butter was still cold, though, and my arms were tired from all the rolling. I massaged my forearm and stared down the rectangle, willing it to behave.

When I went to pick up the rolling pin, I found Evander had made his way back and was already holding it.

“Allow me,” he offered. “I don’t wish to offend you by suggesting you’re incapable, but it’s been difficult to watch you wrestle that thing into submission.” His laugh sounded like sunshine.

I nodded, my mouth dry. “Thank you.”

He pushed his sleeves up in preparation for the task, and I watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he rolled out the dough. After making quick work of it, he handed back the wooden tool and finished up the preparation of his toastie.

“You can use this to get it in the oven,” I said, grabbing a wooden paddle off its hook. “Watch it closely to make sure it doesn’t burn, and flip it over after a few minutes.”

I cut my laminated dough into triangles again, stretched and rolled them into shape, then carried them to the icebox, placing them gingerly next to my tart crusts from earlier in the day.

Poking my head through the door, I took my own moment of stealthy observation. The prince stood in front of the oven, biting his lower lip, his brow furrowed as he concentrated. It was . . . endearing.

My shoulders shook with silent laughter as I watched him pull out the toastie, smiling like a proud child who had just completed an art project. I handed him a plate and he slid the gooey, lopsided sandwich onto it and cut it in two.

“This requires your professional assessment,” he said seriously, offering me half.

I took a bite and pretended to consider it thoughtfully. “The presentation could use some work, but I’ll give this a passing score,” I concluded.

He took a bite of his own, beaming from ear to ear.

“You know,” he said when he finished chewing, “this might be the thing I’m proudest of doing all week.”

“You’re running a kingdom,” I laughed, “and this is what you’re proud of?”

“ This, ” he said, holding it up, “is the most useful thing I’ve done today. Besides, I’m fairly certain it might be the best cheese toastie known to man.”

I rolled my eyes again at that. His eyes crinkled as he smiled and we stood looking at each other for a heartbeat.

Unable to sustain the eye contact, I took a bite of my sandwich.

“You’d better not put me out of a job,” I warned.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

A few minutes passed in a silence that was far more comfortable than it should have been. When I glanced at the clock, I found it was nearly the next day.

“I need to get h–to bed.” I caught myself at the last moment. “The kitchen wakes early.”

“Of course,” he said, rising from his stool.

I left our dishes in the sink, feeling too frenetic to clean up properly. Mellie might chastise me for it tomorrow, but I needed to get some distance from whatever this situation was and give myself time to think. I headed toward the door, unsure if I should wait for him.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly, “for allowing me to do something. So often these days I feel useless.”

“You’re welcome, Prince Evander,” I murmured.

When I arrived the next morning, the dirty dishes were gone.