Nevara
The dining room had disappeared beneath dessert.
The long oak table we ate all our meals at as a family now held more cakes than I thought could reasonably exist in one place. Tiered display examples stretched from one end to the other, each one decorated with handwritten cards describing flavors, fillings, frostings, and sponge combinations. Smaller tables had been wheeled in to accommodate trays, slices of cake, cookies, macarons, pastries, and little glass cups layered with mousses and fruit.
Someone had even arranged fresh flowers between the displays.
I stopped in the doorway.
“…Oh.”
The head pastry chef looked positively delighted by my reaction.
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
I didn’t answer immediately. I couldn’t, I was too busy staring.
Thoren came to a stop besid
