Page 17

CHAPTER 17

ROSALYN

I slammed another ball of dough onto my flour-dusted counter with perhaps more force than necessary.

The kitchen was hot, even with the door open to the cool evening air.

I’d flown straight back from the Whispering Woods and immediately started baking, my favorite way of coping with emotional turmoil.

The Sconery was filled with the scent of my Forget Me scones, a recipe I’d created for customers suffering from heartache.

“Stupid royal runes,” I muttered, pounding the dough with my fist.

“Stupid prince. Stupid me for not realizing the absurdly handsome man with perfect manners might possibly be more than a unicorn expert.”

Merry watched from his perch on top of the flour canister, his tail swishing back and forth, sending up little clouds of white with each movement.

“Don’t judge me,” I told him.

“You didn’t figure it out either.”

He meowed in what sounded suspiciously like disagreement.

“Oh, so now you’re claiming you knew all along? Funny, I don’t recall you warning me before I made a fool of myself.”

The recipe had taken me months to perfect.

A pinch of ground starshade petals collected during a waning moon for dulling painful memories, crushed strawberry blossom crystal for sweetening bitter thoughts, and just a hint of silverleaf dust for bringing clarity.

They wouldn’t make anyone truly forget, of course.

That kind of magic was both dangerous and dishonest.

But they eased the sharp edges of heartbreak, making the pain more bearable until time could do its work.

“Maybe I need to eat the entire batch myself,” I said, violently shaping the dough.

“One for every minute I spent thinking about his lips, one for every time I imagined our future together, and at least three for that night in the cabin that I am definitely not thinking about right now.”

I sighed.

“ Prince Bjorn,” I repeated for the hundredth time, testing how the words felt in my mouth.

“I slept with a prince.” I groaned, dropping my head onto the counter with a soft thud, not caring about the flour in my hair.

“And now I’m talking to myself. Great. Clearly going insane is the next logical step.”

Prince Bjorn.

Not Bjorn Runeson, Master of Horse, but Prince Bjorn of Frostfjord.

The blue runes blazing on his skin, the same ones that had glowed when we made love, weren’t just any Rune elf markings—they were royal markings.

Everything made sense now: his formal manners, careful speech, and reluctance to talk about his family.

The mother.

She was a freaking queen, not just an overbearing mom.

“Ugh! Burnt ends!”

“Dear me,” Winifred called, her voice cutting through my internal tirade.

She took one look at me—flour-dusted, red-eyed, surrounded by enough scones to feed half of Moonshine Hollow—and sighed.

Winifred hung her enormous hat on a peg by the door and rolled up her sleeves.

“Put the kettle on. You look like you could use some tea.”

I didn’t argue, just set a pot of water to boil with a flick of my fingers.

Winifred busied herself clearing a space at the counter, moving aside bowls and baking sheets with brisk efficiency.

“I’m guessing you’ve been at this since you returned from the Whispering Woods?” she asked.

I nodded, wiping my hands on my apron.

“How did you know I was there?”

“Small town, big ears,” she said with a shrug.

“Word travels fast, especially when it involves fairies, magical disturbances, and secret royalty.”

I winced at the last part.

“So, everyone knows?”

“That you and our mysterious visitor from the north fixed the Ley lines? Yes. That the man who’s been making eyes at you since he arrived is actually Prince Bjorn of Frostfjord? Also yes. Did you really think Elder Thornberry would keep that to himself?” She paused, fixing me with a pointed look.

“That the two of you spent a night together at Woodsong Cabin? Not yet, but give it time.”

My face flushed so hot I was surprised the flour on my cheeks didn’t bake right off.

“That’s—we didn’t—well, we did, but—oh, burnt ends!”

The kettle whistled, and I gratefully turned away to make the tea.

“Forget Me scones?” Winifred asked, eyeing them with an arched brow.

“Rather drastic, don’t you think?”

“I needed to bake something,” I said then fixed us both a cup of tea, setting Winnie’s before her.

“Mmm.” She took a sip of her tea.

“You know, I’ve been suspicious of our northern friend since I first saw him lurking outside your shop.”

“Yes, I know. I should have listened.”

“I saw him at the market with a big man who called him Prince Bjorn…”

I nearly choked on my tea.

“You knew?”

“That he was royal? Not at first. But that he was hiding something? Absolutely.” Winifred helped herself to a scone, breaking it in half and watching the blue magic curl like smoke from its center.

“So, I kept an eye on him. That’s how I learned the truth. I confronted him about it, right out there in the street.”

My heart thumped painfully in my chest.

“What did he say?”

“Not much, directly.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, unable to keep the hurt from my voice.

“Because I was still gathering intelligence,” Winifred said matter-of-factly.

“Also, I needed to determine whether he was a threat or just an idiot.”

“And your conclusion?”

“Idiot,” she said promptly.

“But not a malicious one. Just a man who’s made a mess of things because he’s scared.”

“Royal Prince Bjorn, scared of a pixie baker?”

“Terrified,” Winifred said.

“Absolutely petrified. You should have seen his face when I confronted him. He looked like he’d rather face a fire-breathing dragon than risk you finding out who he really was.”

“But why? It makes no sense. He lied. To everyone. To me. He let me think he was just…just a normal person. Just Bjorn.”

“And you wish he’d told you he was a prince?”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, then hesitated.

“Wait. Wait… Okay, no. I don’t know.” I paced the small kitchen, narrowly avoiding knocking over a jar of dried lavender.

“I mean, if he’d introduced himself as Prince Bjorn of Frostfjord, wielder of royal magic, owner of fifty fancy fur-trimmed cloaks, I’d have—” I stopped short, realizing what I was saying.

“You’d have what?” Winifred prompted, looking amused.

“I’d have acted differently with him,” I admitted.

I groaned, covering my face with my hands, forgetting they were covered in flour.

“Oh, gods. I had a one-night stand with a prince. My mother would faint dead away.”

“Knowing he was a prince, would you have flirted with him, invited him to dinner, been yourself with him?”

I opened my mouth to say “of course I would have,” then closed it again.

Would I?

Or would I have been intimidated, formal, careful?

Would I have asked all the same questions, shared all the same stories, kissed him in the rain-soaked cabin with the same abandon?

“I think he wanted you to know him ,” Winifred continued.

“Not his title. Just him.”

“But who is he? The real Bjorn?” I sank onto a stool.

“Was any of it real?”

“My dear,” Winifred said dryly, “I may be the town gossip, but even I don’t have the supernatural ability to determine a man’s sincerity. Though if I did, I’d be much richer and probably married to that handsome merchant who passed through last summer. That said, I think it’s possible that the Bjorn you know is far more real than whatever princely version exists in Frostfjord. From what I can tell, he came here to escape all that.”

I thought about our time together.

The way he’d smiled when I made him dinner, how he’d asked genuine questions about my baking, the tender way he’d touched me in the darkness of the cabin.

The vulnerability in his eyes when he’d told me there were things about him I didn’t know.

“When we first met at Elder Thornberry’s,” I said quietly, “he seemed so uncomfortable with all the attention.” I paused, remembering the moment.

“That is telling.”

“But then his glowing runes. I mean… That was over the top in terms of a lie.”

“His runes glowed when he was with you?”

I nodded.

“Dear, that’s not something he can control. That’s a sign of love.”

“I thought he was just excited to see me. You know, in a state of…undress.” I felt my cheeks heat again.

“But his arms practically lit up the whole cabin when we, um… Well, you know.”

“Did they now? My, my.”

“Not helping, Winifred!”

“On the contrary, I’m providing valuable context for your romantic crisis,” she said.

“That’s more than just attraction, dear.”

“I didn’t fall in love with a prince,” I murmured, more to myself than to Winifred.

“I fell in love with a man who helped unicorns, who was kind to Merry, who fixed my teacup when it broke.”

Winifred’s eyes widened.

“Love, is it? We’ve progressed from ‘that handsome Rune elf’ to love rather quickly.”

I hadn’t meant to say that word aloud, but I couldn’t take it back now that it was out.

And I didn’t want to.

Because it was true.

Somewhere between that first meeting at Elder Thornberry’s and our night in the cabin.

I had fallen completely in love with Bjorn.

Not Prince Bjorn.

Just Bjorn.

I sighed heavily.

“You’ve seen him, Winnie. Those shoulders alone could inspire sonnets.”

“I’m old, dear, not blind,” Winifred said.

“Though I suspect your feelings run deeper than an appreciation for his physique.”

I sighed, tracing the rim of my teacup with one finger.

“He still should have told me.”

“Yes, he should have,” Winifred agreed.

“But secrets have a way of becoming harder to tell the longer they’re kept.”

I thought about the fear in his eyes this morning, the way he’d said there were things about him I didn’t know, his promise that he would tell me soon.

He’d been working up to it.

“What would you have done?” Winifred asked.

“If you were a royal, tired of being seen only for your title, and you’d found someone who saw you for yourself?”

I tried to imagine it—the weight of a crown, the expectations, the loneliness of being surrounded by people who saw only your position.

How tempting would it be to pretend for a little while that you were free?

“I’d probably do exactly what he did,” I admitted reluctantly.

“Though I’d like to think I’d have come clean before…well, you know. Before things got complicated.”

“Complicated meaning horizontal?” Winifred suggested innocently.

“Winifred!”

“What? I was young once, too, you know. But with your wings, would it be vertical?”

“Please stop.”

Winifred chuckled.

“So, what will you do?”

“I don’t know.” I turned my teacup in my hands, watching the leaves swirl at the bottom.

“He’s still a prince. His life is in Frostfjord. Mine is here.”

“Sometimes,” Winifred said softly, “love requires us to reimagine what we thought our lives would be.”

I looked around my kitchen: flour-dusted counters, shelves of spices and magical ingredients, stacks of recipe books.

The Sconery was everything I’d worked for, my dream realized.

Could I leave it behind for love?

Would Bjorn even ask me to?

“He probably thinks I hate him now,” I said with a sigh.

“Then you should tell him otherwise,” Winifred suggested.

“Don’t be prideful like Miss Beth,” she said with a grin, referring to the heroine of Crown and Crumpets.

She was right, as usual.

If there was any chance for Bjorn and me, one of us would have to be brave enough to reach out first.

And since he’d probably convinced himself he’d ruined everything…

“I’ll go see him tomorrow,” I decided.

“I deserve an explanation, and he deserves a chance to give one.”

Winifred smiled, satisfied.

“Good. Now, what are you going to do with all these scones?”

For the first time in hours, I laughed.

“I may have gotten a bit carried away.”

“A bit?” Winifred raised an eyebrow, looking around at the dozens of glowing pastries.

“Fine, I got a lot carried away.” I stood, feeling lighter than I had since Elder Thornberry exposed Bjorn’s secret.

“Would you like to take some home? I’ll sell the rest tomorrow at a discount.”

As we wrapped up a few scones for Winifred, I felt a strange sense of peace settling over me.

The hurt hadn’t disappeared but had transformed into something more nuanced.

“Winifred,” I said suddenly, “thank you.”

She waved a dismissive hand.

“For what? Sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong? I do that for everyone in town.”

“For caring enough to stick your nose in,” I corrected her with a smile.

“And for helping me see past my hurt to what really matters.”

“Well, someone has to keep you young people from making a mess of things. Life is too short for foolish pride and unnecessary misunderstandings.” She paused at the door.

“And if you do marry him, I expect an invitation to the royal wedding. Front row, not stuck behind some giant ambassador from the Northern Reach.”

“I promise, Winnie.”

Winifred winked and then departed.

I locked up the shop and made my way upstairs to my apartment.

Merry was curled up on my bed, his little horn still occasionally shooting tiny sparks—an aftereffect of the wild magic from earlier.

“What do you think, Mer-Mer?” I asked, scratching under his chin.

“Should I give our prince another chance?”

Merry purred, his blue eyes blinking slowly at me.

“Very helpful.”

I caught sight of myself in the mirror and grimaced.

Flour dusted my hair, cheeks, and apron.

I looked like I’d lost a fight with a bakery.

“If I’m going to confront royalty tomorrow, I should probably look less like a disaster area,” I murmured, heading for the bath.

Running the water into my claw-footed bathtub, I sprinkled in some relaxing bath salts mixed with dried flower petals, one of Juniper’s creations.

Pulling off my clothes, I stepped into the bath, letting the warm water envelope me.

Deep sensations of relaxation washed over me as I inhaled the floral scents of the flowers mixed with the steam.

Snapping my wet fingers, I set the candles sitting around the room to light.

As I washed away the evidence of my stress-baking, I rehearsed what I would say to Bjorn tomorrow.

There were still so many questions.

He said he didn’t have a girlfriend.

Was he being honest?

Why had he really come to Moonshine Hollow?

What did his royal duties entail?

Could there be any future for us across such different worlds?

“Your Royal Highness,” I addressed the absent man.

“I kindly request an explanation for your deception.”

I sighed.

This was ridiculous.

I was ridiculous.

The whole situation was ridiculous.

But beneath all the jokes and questions, there was a simpler truth: I missed him.

I missed his quiet strength, his gentle humor, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

I missed the man who had held me through the night as if I were something precious.

I could imagine him in my bathtub, sitting across from me, the pair of us grinning stupidly at one another.

Prince or not, I loved the man behind the title.

And tomorrow, I would find out the truth.

I could only hope that he wanted me as much as I wanted him.