“I can cook, though…” she murmured.
“I know,” Alain said, grabbing a bread knife from one of the drawers and cutting into the soft, white center. “But it’s nice, isn’t it?”
He offered her a slice, and she took it gingerly. The sourdough had the perfect amount of fluffiness, balanced by a faint tang and a deep, nutty warmth.
Memories of her mother's skillful hands working the dough to achieve the perfect texture came flooding back as she chewed. Even when Mother worked all day scrubbing clothes and mixing lye for mere coppers, she found time to rise early before dawn to ensure Nin and Alain had bread for the day. It had been years since she’d sampled anything similar.
Of all the delicacies she’d been surrounded by over the past month, this was the mostcomforting of all.
Alain indulged himself in a slice, stuffing his mouth like a grinning fool. “I’ve been woodcarving again, too,” he informed her after he swallowed, thankfully. “You should see the collection I’ve made while you’ve been gone.”
He looked at the clock on the wall. “I’ll have to show you later, though. Monsieur Roche gets upset if I’m not resting.” He sighed dramatically. “Every two hours.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged.
“And you’re following orders?” she asked teasingly.
“Only because he’s right,” he muttered. “I still get tired.”
Nin ushered him out, reassuring him they could catch up later, and he soon disappeared up the stairs.
Silence descended upon the cottage at his departure. The scent of sourdough lingered in the air, and she rested her hand against the table.
She exhaled a long, slow breath.
A knock sounded at the door.
Her heart stumbled, knowing the rhythm and weight of it, but there was no possible way it would be…
She rushed to the door, peeking through the window, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. With trembling fingers, she twisted the handle.
Cedric stood there with a small box in his hands. She recognized the sky-blue and pink ribbon from the pâtisserie, where she’d frequently pressed her dirty face against the pristine window, dreaming and longing for a taste of one of the confections within.
“I brought these,” he said in stiff greeting, extending the box toward her.
Nin could only stare at the offering, then at him. Sunlight spilled over his broad shoulders, warming the dark fall of his hair into a deep, rich brown that curled around his face in effortless, tousled waves, softening the lines she’d seen drawn tight for duty. The simple navy wool coat he opted for suited the cozy and serene backdrop behind him, as though he belonged there despite the uncertainty in his eyes.
It had been less than twenty-four hours since she had bid him farewell, yet a lifetime seemed to fill the space within her aching heart.
Her throat tightened as she took the box, the ribbon smooth and silky against her skin. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”
Silence grew between them. Not the oppressive hush of the empty palace corridors, but something soft and warm, like the buds of springtime anticipating their full blooms.
Cedric cleared his throat. “To be frank, I didn’t know if you would open the door.”
“And I didn’t think you would be on the other side of it,” she said softly, with an amused chuckle.
A secret joyful rhythm pulsed in her heart.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, straightening.
“No, of course not! Come in!”
She stepped back, allowing him entrance, but paused at how easily the words had come, how much her stomach fluttered when his coat brushed her hand as he crossed the threshold. The space changed with his presence, not all at once, but subtle enough that her pulsethrummed.
Instead of taking a seat, he opted to stand before the fireplace, crackling softly in the silence.
“I came because Their Majesties asked me to deliver a message,” he said, his tone ever dutiful.
