By the time the church bells rang nine, the bakery was filled with the scent of honey and cinnamon.
The royal guard arrived soon after, six men in silver-plated armor, the crest of Valoria shining on their chests.
"The royal kitchens thank you for your cooperation," one said briskly. "Deliver your goods by midday to the palace. Use the east gate."
Justin bowed slightly. "We'll be there, sir."
The guard nodded and moved on to the next shop, his polished boots striking the cobblestones.
When they were gone, Rhea adjusted Eliora's veil. "Keep this on, my dear. The palace is no place for stares."
"Yes, Mother."
Justin grinned. "Come now, Eliora. Let's show them what Valoria's best bakers can do."
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The palace gates loomed high, guarded by men in crimson and steel.
Eliora's heart fluttered as their cart rolled over the marble bridge, baskets of pastries stacked carefully in the back.
The palace was grand beyond imagination, high towers of white stone, banners fluttering gold and scarlet.
"Stay close," Justin murmured, lifting one basket. "We'll just deliver these to the kitchens and be gone."
Eliora nodded, keeping her gaze down as they approached the courtyard.
Dozens of other vendors were there, confectioners, brewers, butchers, and florists, all bustling with deliveries.
The air was alive with voices, laughter, and the faint hum of palace musicians rehearsing somewhere within.
Then, a sharp sound broke the noise, the rolling of wheels over stone.
"Make way!" cried a voice.
The crowd parted instantly as a sleek black carriage approached, drawn by white horses.
Guards flanked it on both sides, banners snapping in the wind.
Eliora stepped back beside her father, lowering her gaze.
She didn't need to ask who it was, no one else in Valoria rode a carriage that elegant.
The carriage wheels clattered softly over the palace road, echoing in the afternoon quiet.
Prince Reginald sat rigid, gloved hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed beyond the window.
Across from him, Captain Rowan, head of his private knights sat. "We are bound for the city square, Your Highness."
Reginald didn't answer.
His eyes followed the moving blur of the merchants bowing, every head lowered.
Silence followed him everywhere; even beyond the glass, it seemed to bend the air.
"Your Highness?" Rowan tried again.
"I heard you," Reginald said evenly.
Rowan bowed his head, "Forgive me, my prince."
They continued in silence.
And then he saw her.
A girl in simple linen, her face half-veiled, standing in the sunlight with a basket of bread against her arm.
He saw only a glimpse, the curve of her cheek, the faint shimmer of her eyes before she lowered them in respect, yet something in his chest shifted, sharp and sudden.
He had seen countless women, jeweled and perfumed, bowing at court with practiced smiles.
But this was different.
There was no performance in her; no fear, no attempt to be seen.
Only quiet dignity.
It startled him.
Then the carriage passed, and she was gone.
He sat back instantly, frowning. What was that?
The carriage rolled on, leaving her behind.
Eliora, unaware of the gaze that had followed her, bowed her head as the royal insignia passed. "That was the...?" she began softly.
Justin nodded. "The crown prince himself."
Her heart fluttered for reasons she could not name.
In the carriage, the faintest crease formed between Reginald's brows.
Strange, he thought. Why look twice?
He turned his eyes away, but they drifted back, unbidden, just as the wind lifted the corner of her scarf.
For a heartbeat, he caught a glimpse of her eyes, clear, steady, framed by sunlight. And then she straightened, turned.
Reginald exhaled slowly, as though shaking off a spell.
By noon, the palace kitchens were buzzing.
Long tables overflowed with pastries, cakes, and savory pies from every corner of Valoria. Royal tasters moved among them, murmuring to one another as they sampled and took notes.
One paused at Justin's table, lifting a honey roll with curious fingers.
"This one," he said after a bite, "is… comforting. Warm, not too sweet. Tastes like home."
Another nodded. "Mark it. The flavor is genuine. The Queen will like this."
Eliora blushed beneath her veil as they moved on.
Justin chuckled quietly. "Well done, my girl."
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Later that evening, the carriage rolled into the palace courtyard.
When it halted, servants bowed low as Reginald stepped out, tall, expressionless, the air around him colder than the marble he walked on.
At the top of the stairway, Queen Seraphine waited, her smile polite but her eyes careful.
"Your father is in council," she said softly. "He asked for you."
"Then let us not keep him waiting."
When he entered the council chamber, King Aldrich rose slightly from his seat. "Ah. My son."
Reginald replied faintly. "Your Majesty."
Around them, ministers stiffened.
Their eyes flicked between the ice prince and the throne.
Between ice and reason.
"Sit, Reginald," Aldrich said, gesturing to the empty chair beside him.
He obeyed, movements precise.
The Archduke cleared his throat. "Your Highness, we've received inquiries from the western nobles. They wish to know when the announcement of your betrothal will be made."
"There will be no announcement," Reginald said without looking at him.
The minister blinked. "No? Your Highness, forgive me, but Lady Gina..."
"...is not under consideration."
The ministers gasped.
Seraphine spoke then, "Reginald" she said, voice gentle, careful.
"None wish to force you. We only wish to see you crowned."
Reginald's eyes flicked toward her. "And yet every word in this hall circles back to marriage."
"It must," Aldrich said quietly. "The crown demands a queen. That has always been the law."
"The law," Reginald murmured, "was written by men who thought marriage could be forced."
Aldrich's eyes softened. "You are too much like your mother," he whispered for only the queen and Reginald to hear.
At that, Seraphine's breath caught. Reginald said nothing.
Reginald rose smoothly, his expression unchanged.
"Reginald," Seraphine said carefully, "son..."
He turned to her, and though his tone was civil, the chill in his eyes froze her words. "Is there something more, Your Majesty?"
She hesitated, then bowed her head. "No, my son."
He inclined his head once. Respectful, distant, and left the chamber.
The heavy doors closed behind him, and the council collectively exhaled.
Seraphine pressed a hand to her chest, voice barely above a whisper. "He frightens them."
"He frightens us all," Aldrich said quietly.
She looked at him, eyes shadowed. "I miss the boy he was."
Aldrich nodded slowly. "So do I. But that boy died long ago and this is what remains."