The stern, graying woman regarded him severely, one hand on her hip, the other in possession of a long wooden spoon which seemed to be her staff of office. Her presence loomed large, due in no small part to her height, which must have been more than six feet. The princess was not a short woman, standing practically at Baron’s own height, yet Cook rose another half-head above them both.
“If you’re here to chatter, boy, you can march right back to the other mouths in the ballroom. It’s hands I need in my kitchen.”
Leon made a show of clamping his mouth shut, then lifted both hands, palms out.
Baron smiled—as did the princess, he noticed.
Cook grunted. “Let’s see how fast you ruin bread.”
“Hey!” Corvin barked. “Leon’s bread is the best! Probably in the whole kingdom.”
Baron tried to remember the last time he’d heard either twin compliment the other.
“Then prove it.” Cook shoved a large bowl into Leon’s hands. “I need a batch of dough for six loaves. You’ll be at this station with me.” With the tip of her spoon, she pushed Corvin toward a kitchen hand. “You’ll gather ingredients.”
Then she turned on Baron, wooden spoon held like an unsheathed knife. He tensed.
“No Casters in my kitchen.”
Both twins bristled. Leon set down his bowl, opening his mouth to speak.
Princess Aria beat him to it.
“Lord Guillaume is my personal guest, and I’m sure he’ll keep his hands to himself.”
Cook grumbled a bit, then dismissed the whole matter with a wave.
The princess took one limping step toward the wall, then sank down onto a wooden bench as if she could no longer stand. She pushed a stack of spare aprons to the side to give herself space.
After a moment’s hesitation, Baron sat beside her.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
The crown princess was not what he’d expected. In the ballroom, she’d seemed every bit the royal heir—speaking commandingly before court, gliding on the dance floor, giving aloof nods in interaction.
Outside the ballroom, she was a different person entirely. Her shoulders bore a tired slump, and her conversation staggered between frazzled and curt. Yet she seemed earnest. Not once had she censured the twins for their improprieties; a few times, Baron had even caught her smiling at one of their comments.The twins were both quite witty when they wanted to be. It was a shame that wit displayed itself most in argument.
“I always like it here.” Princess Aria offered a faint smile. “Cook finds a place for anyone. It’s like a big family.”
“You come here often?” Baron raised his eyebrows.
“I know. How very un-princessly of me.”
Her smile vanished. Despite his best efforts to be polite and courteous, he seemed to have a negative effect on her. The same was true with most people—the curse of being a Caster.
“It smells nice,” Baron managed, then wished he hadn’t spoken at all.
The princess gave a single laugh, just a small burst of air. “That too.”
Foremost was the heavy smell of yeast and fresh bread, deep and warm. Behind that came a sweet tangle of smoke and spices. Movement bustled in every direction, servants calling out jovially, Cook barking orders. Leon had fallen right into the rhythm, soaking in every command with eagerness. Corvin carried more hesitation but the same wide-eyed wonder, and the tension had finally drained from his shoulders as if, for the first time since the king’s declaration, the boy was not thinking about the Reeves title.
Unfortunately, Baron couldn’t say the same for himself.
“Leon enjoys cooking?” The princess leaned her head back against the wall, eyelids drooping as if simply watching the frantic motion of the kitchen made her weary.
“Yes, he’s an excellent chef. He spends most of his days in the kitchen at home while Corvin uses his time to train messenger falcons. They’re both remarkably diligent in the things they enjoy.”
“And you’re remarkably proud of them.” She smiled as she said it, glancing at him.
