Page 13 of A Cake of Cherries and Charm

“Are you sure he’s really a prince?” Rosie teased. “I’m not sure how the queen could really be his mother. He’s too sweet.”

Snow chuckled. “I’m of the firm belief that he took after his father.”

At these words, the crown prince’s face flashed across Rosie’s mind, and she blushed just thinking about his curt parting words the night before. Ignoring the sudden urge to bury her head in one of the raised beds and cover herself with dirt, Rosie raised her chin as though any courage found in the gardens now might help heal last night’s wounds.

What right did he have to judge her? She’d never wanted to come to a place like this, where catty snobs seemed to occupy every corner of existence. She’d lived in the real world, working the ground with her hands and surviving winters near foreboding woods. She had never wanted an existence where she had to compete with people fighting like cats to be at the top. She just wanted to be there for her mother and sister, just as she had always done.

But then again, maybe this was what she was supposed to protect her mother and sister from, she thought as she walked slowly down a row of herbs, lightly brushing her fingers along the tips of the cilantro leaves. Well, she would do it. And she would do it without help from people like him–people who seemed genuine at first, but were just as bad as everyone else in the end.

He could take his handsome, judgmental face and stick it in the mud for all she cared.

“Rosie,” Snow called her. “Wake up! I have one more place to show you before I go! Follow me!”

As Rosie followed Snow back into the castle, she secretly studied her sister.

Snow seemed happy. Frederick had truly done all he could to see to her happiness. But becoming a princess was undeniably a challenge Rosie would never be able to understand. Snow might receive fewer snubs to her face than Rosie, but she was also in a position to be scrutinized by every person she came into contact with.

Not that Snow couldn’t handle herself. She seemed to be doing far better than Rosie in that aspect. Rosie smiled wryly to herself. Snow had always been better with people.

“Here we are!” Snow announced as she led Rosie into a large room. “I present to you the baking kitchen!”

Rosie’s mouth dropped open, and she laughed with delight. “Oh! Oh, how wonderful!”

And it truly was. There were two long wooden tables placed at the center of the room. Against the walls were stacked barrels and crates labeled Flour, Sugar, Salt, and other ingredients, and jars of golden honey stood just under one of the three windows. A small balcony jutted out from the far corner of the room, where there were no less than two dozen loaves of bread rising in the morning sun, and six servants hurried around, taking turns kneading dough, mixing large bowls of batter, and pairing fruit. Then, of course, there was a woman who could only be the baker, ordering the servants around and tasting whatever it was that they were making.

“Madame Nadine,” Snow called, approaching the baker with her hands clasped demurely over her skirts.

The woman looked up and smiled when she saw Snow. She dropped a deep curtsy.

“My Lady,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

“I am a bit hungry, actually.” Snow smiled. “I was also hoping to introduce you to my sister, Lady Rose.”

Lady Rose. That would take some getting used to.

The baker curtsied to Rosie as well, then she turned back to Snow. “What are you hungry for?” she asked pleasantly.

“I would love some honey-sweetened fruit,” Snow said. “What you served at supper last night was delightful!”

The baker grinned. “Good. I have some left over. Let me get it.” She glanced at Rosie. “Would you like some as well?”

Rosie nearly said no, but Snow nudged her. So Rosie immediately plastered a smile on and nodded. “Um, yes, please.”

Of course. Snow was winning the woman’s good graces. Why couldn’t Rosie think to do things like that?

“While we’re here,” Snow said as the baker began to spoon some honey-covered strawberries into two bowls, “I was hoping you might show my sister around the kitchen.”

The baker paused before resuming her work. “Surely her ladyship wouldn’t be interested in kitchen work,” she said, her voice slightly less warm.

“Actually,” Snow continued. “I have asked her to bake my wedding cake.”

This time, the clouds that appeared in the woman’s eyes were undeniable. “The wedding cake,” she echoed. “For the royal wedding.”

“Yes. It’s something I’ve wanted her to do since we were very small,” Snow said, her smile still sweet, but her voice uncompromising.

The woman glanced at Rosie before frowning. “And the queen approves of this?”

“She said it’s my wedding,” Snow said. “So I may choose the cake as I please.”