Ilaria had been told the honeyed chestnut tarts were Stormlow's pride, and after the first bite she understood why.
The pastry was delicate enough to crumble at the slightest pressure, its golden crust giving way to a soft filling that carried the warmth of roasted chestnuts and winter honey. For a brief, blissful moment, the noise of the ballroom faded entirely as she closed her eyes and savoured it.
"Oh," she murmured softly, almost to herself.
Across the table, the Marchioness Elowyn laughed behind her fan. "I take it the Countess was not exaggerating?"
"Not at all," Ilaria admitted, taking another small bite with the kind of quiet delight she rarely bothered hiding. "This might be the best thing I've tasted since arriving in Noctharis."
I have to ask the chef for the ratio of salt in this, she thought. Levan would love this with a dark roast coffee.
