The first morning Lavinia opened the doors of Steam & Sugar Café, the fog clung low to the cobblestones like whipped cream on hot cider.
She stood in the doorway of the newly-painted timber building, a tray of almond rose buns balanced on one hip and a battered copper kettle in her hand. Her apron was dusted with flour, her chestnut hair tied in a low ribboned braid that still smelled faintly of orange zest and cinnamon. Behind her, the café smelled like home, even though nothing here was.
She was no longer Princess Lavinia Kathryn Deveraux of Hazeldale.
Here, she was just Miss Lavinia, the stranger with a quiet smile and strange coffee machines the villagers had never seen.
The kingdom of Amarynth was small, cradled in a valley rich with lavender, sheep, and secrets. The people were cautious but curious, and Lavinia had learned to respect that.
After months of traveling in disguise—sleeping under birch trees, hiding her accent, trading her late mother's jewels for flour and eggs—she had chosen this forgotten corner of the continent to start again.
A bell tinkled softly as the first customer stepped through the door.
It was an old man with a crooked cane and eyebrows like wind-swept snow.
"You're the new lass!" He exclaimed, squinting at the bun in her tray like it might bite him. "They say you serve steam-drinks. Witchcraft?"
Lavinia grinned. "Not at all. Just good, honest brew."
He sniffed. "Got tea?"
"I have something better." She turned and beckoned him to a seat beside the hearth.
The café was small but bright, filled with polished wood tables, hand-stitched cushions, and walls lined with drying herbs. Behind the counter sat a gleaming brass contraption—her pride and joy—the last gift from the castle kitchens before she ran.
"Try this." She said, pouring him a cup of Café Lavande, her current signature blend.
He raised a suspicious brow but took a sip.
His eyes widened.
"Stars above…" He muttered. "What is that?"
"A blend of roasted beans from Aurelian coast, steeped with dried lavender, a hint of clove, and just a breath of cardamom."
"Fancy words, young girl." He grunted. "But it tastes like sunrise."
Lavinia smiled. "That's the idea."
He glanced at the bun, then took a bite. His chewing slowed, eyes glazing in bliss.
"You put dreams in this, girl?"
"No dreams…" She said, chuckling. "Just rosewater and love."
He licked sugar from his thumb. "You'll do well here. But be warned, Rosevale Town of Amarynth is quiet, but it watches. Folk don't forget what comes from the mountains. Or the north."
Lavinia's smile faltered for a breath. She nodded once.
"I'm not running anymore." She said softly but firmly. "This is where I stay."
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Recipe from Steam & Sugar Café: Almond Rose Buns
Ingredients:
- 2½ cups flour
- ¼ cup sugar
- 2 tsp dry yeast
- ½ tsp salt
- ¾ cup warm milk
- 1 egg
- ¼ cup softened butter
- ½ tsp rosewater
- ½ cup almond paste or finely chopped almonds
- 1 tbsp honey (optional glaze)
Instructions:
Combine flour, sugar, yeast, and salt. Stir in warm milk, egg, butter, and rosewater. Knead into soft dough. Let rise in a warm spot for 1 hour. Roll out dough, spread almond paste, and roll into a log. Slice into buns. Let rise 30 more minutes. Bake at 375°F (190°C) for 18–20 minutes until golden. Optional: Brush with honey while warm.
Serve with Café Lavande, or your favourite warm brew.
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By the time the clock on the café wall struck nine, Steam & Sugar had three more visitors: a mother with twin boys who tried to steal sugar cubes, a farmer looking for warmth after a night tending frostbitten vines, and a plump baker's wife who pretended not to be scouting the competition.
Lavinia served them all with practiced grace and soft-spoken charm, her movements fluid as melted butter. Her royal tutors had taught her embroidery, etiquette, and four dead languages—but none of that had ever stirred her soul like this.
She loved the rhythm of a working kitchen.
The hiss of boiling water, the clink of cups, the aromatic embrace of cardamom and chocolate.
Here, no one bowed. No one whispered about alliances or heirs. Here, she could build something of her own. Something real…
She wiped her hands on her apron and stepped outside to sweep the front stoop, humming a tune once sung in the palace nursery.
The mountain air was crisp, edged with frost, and the scent of fresh baking mingled with the sharp scent of pine from the forest beyond.
That was when she saw him.
A tall figure leaned against the fountain across the square, half in shadow, half bathed in pale sunlight.
His cloak was worn but well-made, dark as molasses, with a silver clasp in the shape of a flame. His face was sharp—a nose built for scowling, icy eyes like smoke and steel. He held a travel mug in one gloved hand.
Lavinia frowned.
He hadn't bought that mug from her.
"Trouble already?" She muttered, brushing flour from her sleeve.
As if sensing her gaze, he pushed off the stone and approached. His boots made no sound on the cobbles.
"Coffee." He uttered, stopping at her threshold.
She blinked. "Pardon?"
"You serve coffee. I need some."
He spoke like someone used to command. Lavinia raised an eyebrow.
"Of course," she said lightly, "though you'll have to give me a name or I'll write Grumpy Stranger on your cup."
His lip twitched. Possibly a smile. Possibly a threat.
"Elias." He said. "Alchemist."
That explained the strange shimmer in his mug—alchemic glass, resistant to both heat and poison.
She gestured him inside and poured him a cup of her boldest blend: Stormwake Roast, infused with cinnamon bark and a dash of fire-pepper for heat.
He took one sip and closed his eyes.
"Stars. I thought they stopped making coffee like this after the Third Brew War."
Lavinia blinked. "You know about the Brew Wars?"
He cracked one eye open. "You don't get caught in a siege without learning to grind your own beans with a mortar and desperation."
Something flickered in her memory—her father's war stories, the siege of Dellemoor, soldiers boiling bark when the beans ran out.
"You're not from here…" She raised her brows.
"Neither are you."
They stared at each other. A silent agreement passed between them like steam curling off a teacup.
He held out a coin. "Keep it hot."
She took it, but her fingers brushed his gloved ones, and a strange sensation pulsed through her—like the tingle of magic before a storm.
She watched him take the seat near the fireplace, pull out a notebook full of runes, and sip with the reverence of a monk at prayer.
The café, still and warm, felt fuller than it had moments before.
Lavinia returned to her counter and began kneading dough for the next batch of buns. Flour clung to her lashes. Her cheeks flushed with heat—not just from the oven.
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☕ Bonus Recipe: Stormwake Roast – Spicy Magical Coffee
Ingredients:
- 2 tbsp ground dark-roast coffee
- ½ tsp cinnamon bark (ground)
- 1 pinch dried chili flakes or cayenne
- 1 tsp brown sugar
- Small dash of salt
- Brew with boiling water (or magically infused spring water for flavour)
Optional Additions:
- Splash of cream with vanilla essence
- Stir clockwise three times while humming something sweet
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