The morning sun shimmered softly over the capital's marketplace, bathing the cobblestones in gold.
Voices rose and mingled, laughter, haggling, the rhythmic beat of daily life.
"Eliora, child, mind the bread! It'll burn again if you keep staring into the crowd," her mother called, brushing flour from her apron.
Eliora blinked and turned back to the stall, pulling the flatbread from the pan.
Steam curled upward, carrying the scent of spice and warmth. "It's not burning, Mama," she said with a faint smile. "I was only watching that little boy trying to bargain for an apple."
Her mother followed her gaze, shaking her head. "You and that soft heart. If you ran this stall alone, you'd give everything away before noon."
Eliora grinned under the light scarf tied over her nose and mouth. "Maybe kindness brings better luck than coin."
"Kindness doesn't buy flour," her mother retorted, though her eyes softened. "Now wrap that bread, and for heaven's sake, keep the scarf up. I don't want trouble."
Eliora sighed but obeyed, pulling the scarf higher until only her eyes showed.
She'd worn it for years, first for the dust, then because her mother said it was safer that way.
Beauty, her mother often said, could be a curse when mixed with powerlessness.
"Morning, Mistress Rhea!" a voice called.
A slim looking approached, a basket balanced on her hip. "And good morning to you, Eliora," she added with a grin. "Still hiding behind that scarf?"
Eliora laughed softly. "I think I'd feel strange without it now."
"Strange or not, you've got the prettiest eyes in the whole market," the woman said, winking.
Her mother chuckled. "Don't fill her head with nonsense, Mira. She has bread to sell, not suitors to chase."
"Ah, pity," Mira said cheerfully. "If I had a son her age, I'd marry her off in a heartbeat."
Eliora smiled, shaking her head. "Then it's good you don't, or I'd never escape your matchmaking."
The women laughed together.
It was a simple world, but it was hers, and she loved it for that.
"Your usual?" Eliora asked.
"Two honey rolls and a wheat loaf," Mira said brightly, leaning over the counter. "And make it quick, I've the most wonderful gossip!"
Rhea raised a brow. "Oh? Whose wedding this time?"
Mira's grin widened. "The Crown Prince's bride, or rather, the lack of one! Haven't you heard? He has only five months to find a bride, or the court will choose one for him!"
Gasps rippled through the shop. Two older women by the window exchanged wide-eyed looks.
"It's true!" Mira went on eagerly. "The royal decree says the coronation cannot be delayed. The prince must be wed before the crown is placed on his head, whether by his choice or the council's."
"That old tradition again," muttered one of the older women. "No king without a queen. It's how it's always been."
Mira nodded. "And you can imagine the frenzy in the noble circles! Every family wants their daughter to be the one. Lady Gina most of all."
"Lady Gina?" Rhea asked. "The Archduke's daughter?"
"The very same," Mira said, rolling her eyes.
"They say she's already having gowns made, convinced it's just a matter of time before she becomes the next queen."
The second old woman scoffed. "That girl's as proud as a peacock. The prince will freeze her out like the rest."
"Freeze her?"Eliora asked
Mira grinned. "Oh, you haven't heard? They call him the Ice Prince. Beautiful, brilliant, and cold as the northern snow. Refuses every lady his mother presents."
Eliora paused in her work, curiosity flickering in her dark eyes. "But if he refuses all of them," she said softly, "won't that mean he'll have no say in his own marriage?"
"Exactly," Mira said, delighted. "If he doesn't choose, they'll choose for him. And everyone knows who the council favors."
She winked. "Lady Gina."
Rhea sighed, shaking her head. "A man can rule a kingdom, but not his own heart."
"Or his own mother," Mira added, giggling.
Laughter swept through the bakery.
.
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.
By late morning, another familiar voice called from the doorway, strong and cheerful.
"Smells like heaven in here!"
"Isaac!" Eliora exclaimed, rushing to her brother.
She hugged him tightly, flour smudging his polished armor.
He laughed, ruffling her hair. "You'll ruin my uniform before I even make it back to the palace."
"You just got here," Rhea scolded playfully. "Sit. Eat. Tell us what trouble you've been up to."
Isaac grinned and took a seat. "Trouble? Only the usual drills. The Prince's inspection begins tomorrow."
Eliora blinked. "The Crown Prince himself?"
"Aye." Isaac tore into a roll. "He's fair but fearsome. Doesn't waste words. The men respect him, but he's… distant. Always watching, never showing much."
Rhea poured him tea. "Is it true he dislikes Lady Gina?"
Isaac snorted. "Dislikes is too soft a word. The Prince barely tolerates her. She tried to follow him around the gardens once, he handed her off to a servant before she finished a sentence."
Eliora giggled behind her veil. "Maybe he prefers silence."
"Or sanity," Isaac said, grinning. "Still, I'd follow him anywhere. He's the kind of man you trust with your life, even if he won't share a smile."
Rhea looked at him fondly. "And you still adore him."
Isaac nodded. "He's everything I hope to be, Mother. Strong, disciplined, untouchable."
Eliora smiled beneath her veil. "Maybe he just prefers quiet company."
Isaac winked. "Then you'd be perfect for him, little dove."
Eliora flushed. "Don't be ridiculous."
He finished his tea and stood, brushing crumbs from his uniform. "I have to go, but I'll come again soon."
Eliora handed him a wrapped loaf. "For your journey."
He smiled, touching her veil gently. "You're too kind for this world, Eliora. Don't ever let it change you."
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That afternoon, the market outside the bakery filled with chatter and light.
Vendors called, children ran, and the air shimmered with the warmth of midsummer.
Then...
the sound of hooves.
The laughter stilled.
Heads turned as a line of royal guards rode down the cobblestone street, red and silver armour gleaming in the sun.
Behind them rolled several carriages, each marked with the royal crest of Valoria, the silver hawk in flight.
Eliora stepped closer to the window. "What's happening?"
A herald unfurled a scroll, his voice carrying across the square.
"By decree of the Royal Kitchens of Valoria, the following establishments are requested to provide their finest breads and pastries for evaluation in preparation for the Coronation Banquet."
He began to read names aloud.
"The Gilded Oven. Honeybell Confections. Marella's Pastries…" He paused. "…and The Sunrise Loaf."
Rhea gasped, pressing a flour-dusted hand to her chest. "Our bakery?"
The herald nodded toward the door, and a guard stepped forward. "Mistress Rhea?"
"Yes," she said quickly, steadying herself.
"You are to deliver a full sample of your best goods to the palace kitchens at dawn tomorrow. All selected shops will be reviewed by the royal staff. The finest vendors will be retained for the royal wedding and coronation."
"The royal wedding…" Rhea echoed. "So soon?"
The guard's expression didn't change. "Whether His Highness chooses his bride or one is chosen for him, the wedding will proceed as planned."
Eliora's gaze lifted slightly at those words, though she said nothing.
The guard bowed. "Prepare well. The palace expects excellence."
As he left, murmurs filled the shop.
"The palace!"
"Our bread at the coronation!"
"Imagine that, a royal table tasting our rolls!"
Rhea clapped her hands together, both nervous and thrilled. "Eliora, we must prepare through the night. Everything must be perfect."
Eliora smiled softly beneath her veil. "It will be."