Page 25

A WEEK CERTAINLY wasn’t long enough to call anything part of a routine.

Karl knew that. He was also perfectly aware that the entire week had been very lenient on him.

As baron, there were social engagements and actual responsibilities he had been shamelessly shirking, using the excuse he was still setting up his household.

That excuse wouldn’t last for much longer, especially since he was basically done hiring servants and secretaries and all the other people he now needed to employ, thanks to being one of the wealthiest and most influential nobles in the kingdom.

He hadn’t really gotten to delve into what that meant in terms of estates and the taxes he collected from the port; his focus this week was mainly on what he needed for the city house and to be able to move through the court like he belonged.

Casmir and Lyric had both conspired to update Karl’s wardrobe, including his jewelry, and the massive attached closet in his bedroom was slowly filling with all kinds of outfits as the tailors Casmir commissioned delivered their work.

Shan had gone from sous chef to head chef, mostly due to the fact that he was the only one aside from Karl who actually knew how to run a kitchen, and he was thriving.

In addition to Leslie, Shan had hired two more staff for cooking and two for serving, plus a pastry chef in training since Karl spent a couple hours every day baking.

Somehow, amid all of that chaos, Karl managed to develop a routine that wasn’t old enough or solidified enough to actually be called a routine.

Around three every morning, Karl woke and snuck out of the house, heading to Mama Poma’s.

She was a phenomenal teacher, giving him some one-on-one, hands-on depth Timmonsville had never been able to offer.

When the shop girl arrived around six, Karl left, returning home to his own kitchen, where he scared Leslie and made Shan roll his eyes because he made the bread for breakfast. And muffins, and some pastry crust when Shan and Michael—the assistant pastry chef—thought some sort of pie might be needed that day.

Karl also made rolls for lunch and something sweet so everyone in the household could have a bit of yum.

Breakfast was next, in the dining room with whomever was awake—usually Lyric and Casmir.

After, Karl went to his office where he reviewed and signed paperwork, interviewed for open positions, and did whatever other office work was needed.

Then lunch, and afterward Casmir dragged him into the backyard, which had somehow gotten cleared and re-sodded, where they sparred for a bit to make up for all the desk work.

There really was nothing quite like the gleam in Casmir’s eyes—or, technically Ama’s eyes, since he dropped Casmir and became Ama whenever they were facing each other, wooden training knives in hand.

Karl dreamed about that gleam in those so very bright hazel eyes, dreams he muffled into his pillow to keep anyone from overhearing, particularly Casmir.

Somehow, Casmir had conned his way into getting the spouse’s suite of rooms, which shared an attached door to Karl’s suite.

Finding out Casmir had heard Karl whenever Karl had one of those dreams would be mortifying.

Particularly since the implications of why Casmir had chosen the spouse’s rooms was…

something Karl wouldn’t dwell on at the moment.

He had too much else to worry about than where his feelings for Casmir might be going.

Karl sighed and rolled over in bed. At least, he ought to have too much else to worry about, and yet his thoughts on the matter had jolted him awake a full twenty minutes early.

He could have slept for longer, yet here he was, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Casmir sleeping comfortably in the next room.

What would Casmir say if Karl tried to proposition him?

Karl stifled a gasp, his cheeks heating at just the thought, and he buried his face into his pillow.

Karl could already imagine how awkward and stuttering he would be if he ever found the gumption to try.

Besides, he liked the friendship they had now and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it.

What was best for them both was for Karl to stick to the routine, which meant he might as well get up and go to the bakery.

Karl rubbed one hand down his face and then sat up, the blankets pooling in his lap.

His bedroom was dark, the shades over the window drawn to block the moonlight and any streetlamps.

The curtains around his four-poster were tied back, though, since he didn’t need their protective warmth as spring began to heat into summer.

The room wasn’t too different to the room he had back in the palace: opulent by his standards but simple in comparison to what he assumed most nobles wanted.

The bed dominated the room, a massive mattress set into the four-poster frame.

In the darkness, Karl couldn’t see the pale wood that matched perfectly with the green blanket he chose, nor the matching pale wood tables on either side of the bed where he had some mage-light lamps.

The windows were on the wall to Karl’s right, and on his left, the door into his sitting room and the rest of the house.

Directly across was a wide fireplace with doors on either side.

The left door led into his closet and dressing room, and a door inside there led into Casmir’s closet and dressing room.

The right door led into his private bathing room.

At some point, plumbing had been added to the house but no running water.

Karl had to pump his own water, but the fact that there was even a pump at all put this house eons ahead most others in the city.

It wouldn’t cost too much more to hire magical engineers to turn the pumps into running water spigots, so that was the first item on his renovations list now that all the old furniture from the previous owner had been removed and Karl’s preferred furniture delivered.

There was still so much to do. Too much.

Karl didn’t want to dwell on it, so instead, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, heading to his dressing room where Jeff, Karl’s new manservant, had laid out the nondescript clothing Karl wore to the bakery.

He only took a few minutes to get dressed and then quietly went through his sitting room and out into the hallway outside the bedrooms. Karl had the largest room, followed by Casmir’s, whose door was next on the hallway.

Shan and Lyric shared the room directly across from Casmir’s.

Lyric originally had the now-empty room next to Shan’s, but he never used it and had eventually given up the pretense.

The servants had their own private wing, much better for the kids who had been sleeping in the gardener’s shed, and the rest of the rooms were empty, set up as guest rooms. Braxton had stayed over once, but aside from him, any other visitors Karl would have welcomed were still off somewhere mysterious.

He stayed quiet as he padded down the carpeted hallway and down the stairs, nodding to the guards stationed inside the doors, one of whom pulled the front door open for him.

Outside the doors, gentle night air blew and clouds scudded across the star-strewn sky.

Another pair of guards stood outside the doors, two more were stationed inside the closed and locked gates, and another two were outside the gates, and that was only the guards in the front of the house.

Plus, there were additional guards not in plain sight.

Braxton wasn’t taking any chances. Karl felt safe in assuming the route he took to and from the bakery every morning was well-guarded as well.

He still kept his eyes and ears open as the guards relocked the gate behind him.

He walked through the night-darkened streets, but only the crickets greeted him for the couple blocks he needed to travel.

He climbed the stairs and let himself into the bakery, the door unlocked like usual. The lights were off in the storefront, but the back was well lit.

“There you are,” Mama Poma grumbled at him, scowling, as he walked through the entryway and into the bright lights of the kitchen.

“Thanks to you, we’ve been going through the stock in the pantry.

I did some reorganizing last night, and I found these.

” She thrust a bowl at him, the contents sloshing.

Slices of partially rehydrated dried apples soaking in what smelled like water, nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, and a touch of wine filled the bowl almost to the brim.

“Another hour and those will be useable again,” she continued, walking over to the prep station Karl preferred.

“Which means I get to teach you my world-famous apple bread recipe today.”

“You can?” Karl asked, excitement growing as he joined her at the counter.

He placed the bowl carefully out of the way, his attention fixed on her.

She had said over and over that she was famous for any baked recipes that included apples, and he believed her.

The first apples wouldn’t be ready for picking for months, so Karl had instead focused on learning the rest of her techniques so he would be ready to absorb the remainder this fall.

She was a master, and Karl was honored she was willing to teach him.

Finding dried apples in the spring was an unlooked for but very welcome bonus!

She snorted at him. “No, I’m reconstituting apples to make another strawberry pie.” She rolled her eyes and pulled over an empty bowl. “Dry ingredients.” She pulled over a larger bowl. “Wet ingredients. Let’s do this.”

Karl quickly washed his hands, found an apron, and then started measuring out the dry ingredients. He started with the flour, carefully leveling out the measuring cup.

“No yeast?” he asked, surprised, when the next two ingredients proved to be baking soda and baking powder, which, along with the eggs, were all that would provide leavening in this recipe.

“Not in this recipe,” she replied, passing him the ginger and cinnamon. “It’s an easy recipe that anyone can make but tastes like it’s professional bakery level. That’s why I’m showing it to you now, then waiting until we have real apples for the rest of my repertoire.”

“Then I’ll look forward to autumn,” Karl said, grinning as he added the salt and carefully mixed all the dry ingredients together.

He switched to the larger bowl and started cracking eggs.

White sugar, brown sugar, vanilla, and oil, and the second bowl was ready too. All that was left were the apples.

“They’re already peeled and cored. We just need to chop them into chunks. I’ll start on that if you want to work on incorporating the dry ingredients into the wet?” She pulled out a paring knife and reached into the bowl to find one of the plumper chunks of rehydrated apple.

“Sounds good.” Karl grinned, humming to himself as he located a spatula and poured some of the flour mixture into the egg mixture and got to work.