One beautiful morning, Steam & Sugar bloomed with the hum of life.
Villagers arrived in pairs and trios, drawn by the scent of honeyed brioche and fresh espresso. Children pressed their noses to the glass, pointing at rows of delicate lavender-honey scones and chocolate-chestnut tarts under enchanted domes that kept them warm and glistening.
Lavinia moved like a dancer behind the counter, her hands quick, her eyes always watching. She had learned to read people the same way she once read political treaties—every gesture, every silence, a story.
And Elias?
He's right at the café.
Again.
He's been coming to Steam & Sugar for two weeks straight now, without absence.
Sometimes with blood on his clothes, or with ink on his fingers and soot on his collar.
He slid into his seat without a word and pushed a silver token onto the counter.
Lavinia raised a brow. "Bribing me for your usual?"
He gave a tight nod. "And the tarts. If you haven't poisoned them that is."
"Not yet…" She said sweetly, handing him a warm almond-honey scone. "But I'm open to requests."
He took it and smirked—barely.
As she made his coffee, her mind wandered. She'd seen that token before. Not in Amarynth. Not even in Hazeldale. It was minted in the Guild of Outer Flame, a secretive order of scholars and alchemists from the Southern Wastes, ruled by Mandara Empire. Their members were rare, and rarely welcome in peaceful towns.
What was he doing here?
More importantly, what was she doing letting him stay?
She carried his cup to the table. He was scribbling in a notebook filled with complex sigils and caffeine rings.
"Your writing smells like burnt thyme." She voiced out.
He glanced up. "It's a protective draft. Meant to mask scent trails. From hounds."
"Hunting hounds?"
"Hound-spirits." He stated, deadpan. "Worse."
Lavinia frowned. "You're on the run?"
"Aren't we all?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. He had her there.
He took a sip. "This is better than yesterday."
She raised her chin. "I infused the beans with moonmilk this time."
His brows lifted. "Moonmilk? That rare fungus from the Silver Glade? Softly luminescent, grows only under full moons?"
She nodded. "Soaked the beans overnight. It softens the bitterness. Adds... something."
He took another long sip, then set the cup down with reverence.
"You don't just run a café," he said slowly, "you practice culinary alchemy."
She gasped. Momentarily.
He said it like a compliment. Like he meant it.
Maybe he did.
Just then, the bell jingled at the door. Lavinia looked up—and her spine stiffened.
A man in polished uniform stepped inside. Not a local. Not even a trader. He bore the emblem of the Crown's Whisper, the shadow network of her father's court. She recognized the silver falcon pin at once. He didn't look her way—yet—but his eyes were sharp and sweeping.
Lavinia felt her pulse tick upward. Her past had come sniffing.
She turned quickly to Elias.
"Take your coffee to go."
He looked up, registering the shift in her tone. He stood, swept up his mug and notebook, and said softly… "Basement door?"
She nodded toward the kitchen.
He was gone in seconds.
She smoothed her apron, put on her best smile, and approached the man at the door.
"Welcome to Steam & Sugar!" She greeted the man brightly. "Can I interest you in our signature cardamom cocoa?"
The man looked her over, too slowly. "You're new in town."
"Three months now, Sir." She replied, keeping her voice light. "Would you like a table by the fire?"
He nodded slowly. "And a coffee. Strong."
"Of course."
She moved to the counter, heart thudding like a rolling pin over crust.
Back in the kitchen, she could just hear Elias muttering—some spell, perhaps. Or a curse. Or both.
She poured the coffee, added a few grains of calming herb, and forced her smile to stay steady.
She didn't know how long she could keep this up.
But she'd survived royal etiquette, her royal family, assassination plots, and magical poisoning classes.
She could out-brew a Whisper.
Maybe.
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Recipe from the Hidden Grimoire: Moonmilk Cold Brew
Ingredients:
- 2 tbsp dark roast beans, coarsely ground
- 1 tsp dried moonmilk shavings (or substitute with chamomile and a drop of edible shimmer for non-magical version)
- 1.5 cups cold water
- Pinch of vanilla salt
- 1 tbsp honey (optional)
Instructions:
In a glass jar, mix beans, moonmilk, and water. Let steep overnight (12–16 hours) in the cold moonlight, if possible. Strain through cheesecloth. Stir in honey and salt. Serve over ice with a twist of orange peel.
Caution: May cause mild dreams of flight or distant music. Avoid mixing with truth potions.
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The man in the royal uniform sat by the hearth, boots polished to a shine, eyes sharper than a duellist's blade.
Lavinia could feel his presence like smoke seeping under a door—uninvited and suffocating.
She placed the mug before him with practiced ease.
"Cardamom cocoa for the gentleman…" She smiled, keeping her voice light. "And a cinnamon-twisted shortbread, on the house."
The man looked up at her, dark eyes assessing. "That's kind. Not many would offer sweets to a stranger."
Lavinia furthered her smile. "Then you've been going to the wrong cafés."
He chuckled once. "What's your name?"
She didn't flinch. "Miss Lavinia."
"A foreign name for a small kingdom like this."
"My parents were traders." She lied smoothly. "Moved around often."
He sipped the cocoa. His expression didn't change, but she saw his shoulders relax, just slightly.
"I'm looking for someone." He said. "A noblewoman. Went missing a few months ago. Fled her kingdom. There are whispers she crossed the marshlands."
"Oh?" Lavinia leaned on the counter, wiping at an invisible stain. "Sounds dramatic. Princess, is she?"
"Something like that."
She gave a small, amused hum. "Well, we don't get many noblewomen here. Unless you count Madame Trissie, who insists her cats are descended from elven royalty."
The man cracked a reluctant smile. "This woman has a distinctive mark. A burn on her left shoulder. From an assassin's firebomb years ago. She survived, but the scar never healed clean."
Lavinia's smile never wavered. "That's very specific. But I haven't seen anyone like that."
She turned slightly, letting her thick braid fall over the shoulder in question. Her burn, hidden beneath linen and enchantment, pulsed faintly beneath her clothes as if it, too, recognized danger.
The man studied her. "If you do see her, there's a reward."
"I'll keep that in mind."
He finished the cocoa and stood, brushing crumbs from his lapel. "This is a lovely place. Too lovely for someone to disappear in."
Lavinia gave a graceful shrug. "Everyone disappears somewhere, eventually. Might as well be over warm bread and good coffee."
He left with a final glance over his shoulder, boots echoing against cobblestones. Only when the bell above the door stilled did Lavinia exhale.
From the back room, Elias emerged, wiping soot from his hands.
"That was a Whisper. From Hazeldale." He uttered, voice low.
"I know."
"You handled him."
"I used to host teas with three foreign ambassadors and a blood mage at the same time." She mumbled. "This was easier."
He watched her, thoughtful. "Why did you run?"
"Why did you?" Lavinia countered.
His lips twitched. "Fair."
She sat on the barstool beside him, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This isn't just a café, you know. It's my last chance to make something without war, without duty, without blood."
He nodded. "Then we protect it. Quietly. Cleverly. And with excellent pastry."
"We?" She raised her brows.
"Yes. We." He answered rather flatly.
Lavinia then gave a soft laugh in response. "You're not half bad for a dangerous alchemist."
"And you're not half bad for a runaway royal with a knife tucked in her garter."
She raised a brow. "How did you—?"
"I guessed. Now I know."
She rolled her eyes and stood. "Help me prep for tomorrow. If that Whisper comes back, I want him too full of brioche to remember why he came."
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☕ Bonus Recipe from Lavinia's Café: Cinnamon-Twisted Shortbread
Ingredients:
- 1 cup unsalted butter, room temp
- ½ cup powdered sugar
- 2 cups flour
- 1 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1 tsp vanilla extract
- Pinch of salt
- Raw sugar for sprinkling
Instructions:
Beat butter until creamy. Add sugar and vanilla. Stir in flour, cinnamon, and salt until soft dough forms. Roll into ropes, twist like a braid or knot. Sprinkle with raw sugar. Bake at 325°F (160°C) for 20–25 minutes until lightly golden.
Perfect with dark coffee.
Best served with secrets.
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