It took Mirabelle a little while before she could truly settle into breakfast.
A servant poured her a fragrant herbal tea whose delicate aroma carried hints of mint, lemon balm, and something floral she couldn't quite place. She stirred in a spoonful of honey before taking her first cautious sip.
Warmth spread pleasantly through her stomach.
Almost against her own better judgment, she reached for one of Lonen's newest creations, a still-warm pastry whose buttery layers practically melted on her tongue.
It was...
ridiculously good.
And somehow, the conversation never drifted anywhere dangerous.
Three generations of Duchesses spent the late morning on the terrace of Castle Luchsenstein, contentedly eating their way through an absurd amount of pastries while discussing nothing more threatening than the journey from the coast, the unusually pleasant weather, and the ever-growing list of wheat recipes Lonen had apparently become obsessed with.
