The bell over the bakery door creaked as Justin set the empty delivery crates on the kitchen table.
The kitchen was warm and smelled of honey. Rhea paused in her kneading and looked up with a hopeful smile.
"You're back," she said. "How did it go?"
Justin wiped his hands on his apron and grinned despite the fatigue. "Well enough. The royal tasters sampled everything. They praised the Gilded Oven's raspberry tarts and Marella's almond cakes, but they singled out one thing; Eliora's honey rolls."
Rhea's hands stilled. "Eliora's?"
"Aye." Justin nodded. "Comforting, they said. Light, not too sweet. 'Worthy of a royal table,' the head taster wrote in his notes."
Eliora, loosening her veil, blinked and felt her cheeks heat. "They liked them?"
"They did," Justin said, proud and a little amazed. "They marked us for review. If the palace calls again… we'll have work, my girl."
Rhea laughed softly, a sound full of relief. "You always said your hands had luck in them."
Eliora smiled, but a flurry of other thoughts tugged at her, the palace, the wide stone courtyard, the rows of banners.
"We saw the prince's carriage as we entered the gates," she said, hardly sure why she was saying it aloud. "Only for a second. The curtains were drawn, but the carriage was so grand."
Justin set down a crate and folded his arms. "A glimpse is enough to make a person hold their breath," he said. "Palace life presses on a different rhythm altogether."
At that moment Isaac came in from the street, brushing dust from his cloak.
He'd been late because of duty; when he saw their faces, something like excitement moved him.
"You sold out?" he asked, slipping off his glove.
"We did," Justin answered. "And...the kitchen liked the honey rolls."
Isaac's grin widened. "Good. You deserve it. But that's not the only big news." He dropped his voice conspiratorially. "You heard about the council?"
Rhea exchanged a look with Justin. "They were talking in the market. What happened?"
Isaac took a breath as if savoring the tell. "Prince Reginald rejected Lady Gina today, right before the King, the Queen, and the ministers. In the council chamber. He told them he would not be married for appearance or alliance."
Rhea's spoon clattered into the basin. "He said that aloud?"
"In front of them all," Isaac said. "Her father, well, you can imagine the Archduke's face. The hall was nearly a storm by the time it ended."
Justin rubbed his forehead. "Bold. Dangerous. But honest if that's what he means."
Eliora's hand drifted to the edge of the table, tracing the grain of the wood. "He rejected her?" she repeated softly. "In front of his parents?"
"In front of everyone," Isaac confirmed.
"They say the Queen was at a loss for words. It's all anyone's talking about."
.
.
.
.
The city sprawled beyond the tall window of Reginald's study, roofs catching the last glimmer of light.
He stood there a while, gloved hands clasped behind his back.
Five months.
Five months until the crown.
Five months until duty demanded a queen.
Papers were long forgotten behind him.
He'd dismissed his attendants hours ago, but he could not focus. His quill rested unused, ink drying at its tip.
His thoughts were vexingly uncooperative, circling back, again and again, to that fleeting image of the veiled girl.
Her eyes.
He could still see them, soft, unguarded, nothing like the sharp gazes of court women.
There had been something… still, about her. Like the calm before snow.
Reginald closed his eyes, forcing the thought away.
This is nonsense.
He hated distractions. He prided himself on discipline, on order.
Love was a weakness, a complication that turned kings into fools.
What he wanted was a queen who would know her place, fulfill her duties, and leave his peace unbroken.
And yet, somehow, he could not stop seeing her.
Her eyes, her quiet composure, the faint curl of light around her veil, they haunted him like a song he had heard once and could not forget.
Reginald's jaw tightened.
He turned sharply from the window and returned to his desk.
"Ridiculous," he muttered. "Utterly ridiculous."
A knock came at the door, brisk, confident.
"Enter," Reginald said.
The door swung open, and a familiar voice carried through the room. "And here I thought I'd find you buried beneath council scrolls. How dreary it must be to live like a ghost."
Reginald turned, his gaze softening just slightly. "Lysander."
The young Duke of Lareth stepped inside, unfastening his cloak with a grin.
"You sound surprised, my prince. Did you think I'd return to the capital and not visit my oldest friend?"
"Oldest," Reginald repeated, arching a brow. "We're the same age, Lysander. And you look as though you've been rolling through the countryside."
Lysander laughed, running a hand through his travel-ruffled hair.
"That's because I have. My wife insists on sending me off with half our household packed in one carriage. Between her and the children, I'm lucky to have escaped with my sanity."
Reginald allowed a faint smirk. "Two children, is it now?"
"Three years and one," Lysander said proudly. "And both determined to drive their father mad. You'd adore them."
"Doubtful," Reginald murmured.
"Ah, there it is. The chill I missed. Do you never tire of that tone?"
Reginald sank into the chair beside the fire. "Not when it keeps people quiet."
"Except me," Lysander teased, dropping into the opposite seat. "And I intend to be very loud. You've caused quite the uproar, my friend."
Reginald looked up from the glass of wine he'd just poured. "Uproar?"
"Oh, don't play innocent," Lysander said, grinning. "You rejected the Archduke's daughter before half the court. They say Lady Gina nearly fainted into her own jewels when she was told. The nobles are whispering, the servants are gossiping, and the city's merchants are already wagering on who the next victim will be."
Reginald's jaw tightened slightly. "I made my decision. That's all."
Lysander chuckled. "And now the King's decree has made you every maiden's hopeless dream, five months to find a bride or risk your coronation. Tell me, how does it feel being the most sought-after man in Valoria?"
"Exhausting," Reginald replied flatly.
"You might try smiling. It would confuse them." Lysander teased.
"I prefer they remain cautious," he said.
Lysander studied him for a moment, the mirth in his eyes dimming just a little.
"You don't mean to take this seriously, do you? Choosing any woman simply to please the crown?"
"At this point," Reginald said quietly, "I might as well. I've no interest in pretending to care for love. It's a distraction I cannot afford."
Lysander leaned back, swirling his wine. "You speak as though love were a disease."
"Perhaps it is," Reginald said. "It weakens men. Makes them reckless."
The duke smiled faintly. "And yet it's the only reason I ever grew up. My wife, she keeps me sane. She says she married me because I looked lost without her."
Reginald's gaze turned to the fire. "You did."
Lysander laughed. "Perhaps. But tell me, Reginald, have you never once wondered what it would be like? To wake beside someone who knows you not as a prince, but as a man?"
"I doubt such a person exists."
"Oh, she doess," Lysander said softly. "You just haven't let yourself see her."
Reginald's expression didn't change, but for the faintest flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
"Seeing is not the same as wanting."
"True," the duke replied, rising to his feet. "But sometimes, want begins where sight refuses to look."
Reginald's heart skipped.
Lysander set his cup aside and gave a half-smile. "Five months, my friend. Choose wisely. Or perhaps, for once, let your heart choose for you."
"I told you," Reginald said, his voice cool and final. "I don't believe in hearts."
Lysander grinned, adjusting his cloak. "Then may yours surprise you."
He left with a low chuckle echoing in the corridor.
When the door closed, Reginald turned back to the window. The city lights shimmered below, a thousand lives he would never know.
And somewhere among them, though he would never admit it, a single face lingered in his thoughts , a girl's calm eyes in the sunlight, the quiet grace of her bow.
He exhaled sharply and turned away.
Foolishness, he thought.
Just a moment. Nothing more.
But when he closed his eyes, the image returned, and for the first time in years, Prince Reginald of Valoria could not will it away.