Chapter 10- Chocolate, chiffon, mille-feuille

  Frill stood in the kitchen at the back, replaying the image of the group in his head.

  The princess’s friend… she was pretty, though not in the way Ariel was. Ariel blazed like a torch, impossible to ignore. This one, though, her beauty crept up on you, softer, quieter, the kind you only noticed once you stopped and looked. Her short silver hair, pale as glass in sunlight, was left plain, just brushed down to her shoulders without the slightest care for polish. Even her clothes matched, simple, muted, the sort of outfit that let her vanish in a crowd. She carried herself small, shoulders tucked, almost as if she was afraid of taking up space.

  And yet… Frill found he remembered her face anyway. There was a gentleness to it, a softness that settled in the back of his mind, refusing to leave.

  The princess guard, on the other hand, was different and similar at the same time. His hair was dark, loose, and unkempt in a way that suggested he had little care for appearances, or perhaps too much else on his mind.

  His eyes, half-lidded and cool, carried a tired sharpness that made Frill wary; they were the sort of eyes that measured things without needing to say a word. His armor sat on him with the same plainness as her dress, but on him it seemed intentional, as if he chose anonymity over attention.

  Still, there was no denying a certain handsomeness about him; his sharp features and quiet composure lent him an austere kind of appeal that lingered on his soft, young face. Frill was slightly jealous of how easy the kid had it.

  Handsome without even trying… tch. Do you know how many expensive creams and tonics I had to scrub into my skin just to look this good? He thought bitterly, adjusting his posture. Meanwhile, the kid probably just drank water, scowled at a wall, and somehow ended up looking like that.

  Life was unfair.

  When Ariel asked for a table for three, the guard’s pause was slight, but it lingered differently than Frill expected. He caught the faintest crack in the mask of the stone-faced knight.

  Lady Ariel gave her heart so openly, sharp edges and all, drawing others in or out without thought, yet here stood someone who didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

  The bakery owner sighed

  He spun toward the chefs, who were assembled in a neat semicircle. He clasped his hands behind his back, chin lifted as though he stood before an army about to march into glorious battle. His voice rang out with the weight of a general.

  “Tonight, comrades of cuisine, we do not cook, no! We wage war upon mediocrity. At our tables sits an appointed guest and her chosen companions, and to them we shall deliver not mere food but a memory, one they will never forget!”

  The kitchen roared back in unison, some brandishing ladles like spears, others slamming pans together like shields. The clamor shook the very walls of the bakery, echoing like the rally of soldiers charging into war.

  Frill raised one arm high, as if signaling the advance. “Now—TO GLORY!”

  The chefs roared louder still, until it sounded less like a kitchen and more like a battlefield preparing for its decisive clash.

  ***

  As Ryn, Ariel, and Lilia settled into their seats, a sudden cry thundered from the kitchen, a roar so fierce it rattled the silverware. For a brief moment, all three froze.

  Ryn blinked. Ariel tilted her head. Lilia’s brow furrowed.

  “Did I just hear them scream ‘To glory’?” each thought, before dismissing it almost at once. Surely, it was just their imagination. After all, no respectable bakery should sound like a battlefield.

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  Minutes later, Frill arrived at their table, balancing a polished platter with three distinct cakes arranged like treasures.

  He set it down with a flourish, but his tone was calm now, his earlier theatrics nowhere to be found. Before each guest, he placed a slice with quiet precision: a sun-bright fruit mille-feuille layered with cream for Ariel, a pale lavender chiffon touched with sugared petals for Lilia, and a dense, rich chocolate torte for Ryn.

  “Each of these,” Frill said, straightening with a smile, “was chosen with care… I hope they suit your tastes.”

  All three looked at the cakes, almost mesmerized, then looked at each other. Ariel’s lips curved into the beginnings of a grin, Lilia’s wide eyes shimmered with quiet wonder, and even Ryn, usually stone-faced, felt the tug of reluctant intrigue.

  Ariel’s lips curved into a grin. “Well? Don’t just sit there staring, it’s not going to eat itself.”

  Lilia’s wide eyes shimmered with quiet wonder. “They look almost too pretty to touch…”

  Ariel hardly hesitated. She pressed her fork gently into the mille-feuille, the delicate layers giving way with the faintest crackle. The first bite was light and sour, the crisp pastry dissolving into buttery flakes that melted almost before she could chew. Sweet cream softened the texture, smooth and cool against her tongue, while bursts of tart fruit cut through with a sun-bright sharpness. It was the kind of dessert that didn’t weigh her down but seemed to lift her instead, fresh and bright, like a bite of summer hidden between folds of pastry.

  Watching Ariel savor the pastry, Ryn felt his mouth go warm. I shouldn’t — I really shouldn’t, he told himself, but his hand betrayed him, twitching toward the fork before his brain had a chance to protest.

  Ryn was the next to take a bite. The chocolate torte yielded beneath his fork with a soft crumble, and when he lifted it to his mouth, the cake was cool and dense at first. Then it began to melt slowly across his tongue, smooth and velvety, its sweetness deepened by a faint bitterness that lingered at the back of his throat. A whisper of cream cut through the richness, leaving behind a warmth that spread through his chest like a quiet comfort. For the first time all day, the weight in his body seemed to ease. He felt his face soften as he went back for bite after bite, each one disappearing faster than the last.

  Ariel glanced his way, faint amusement flickering across her face as she watched him devour the cake like it might escape his plate.

  Lilia glanced at the two, envying their enjoyment, before she too decided to go in for a bite.

  She lifted her fork with the same care she carried in everything, cutting through the pale lavender chiffon. The cake yielded like air, soft and weightless, the cream spreading in a whisper across the plate. She brought a bite to her lips, the flavor was gentle, almost shy, the kind of sweetness that didn’t demand attention but invited it quietly. A faint floral note, touched with sugared petals, lingered on her tongue, delicate yet persistent, like the trace of perfume after someone has left the room. It wasn’t bold or indulgent, but subtle, the sort of taste that stayed with you long after the bite was gone.

  The three ate in silence for a moment.

  Frill looked at each of his customers, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  “How is it?” he asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

  Before Ariel or Lilia could reply, Ryn piped up, his face already smudged with crumbs.

  “This is… the best thing I’ve ever had,” Ryn said, the words sharper than he intended. He kept going before he could stop himself. “It’s heavy at first, but then it—” he searched for the word, frustrated— “it melts. Like it shouldn’t, but it does. Warm. Strong, but not harsh. Not too sweet. Not too bitter. Just… right. Every bite makes you want the next—”

  He stopped. The words had slipped out too fast, too many.

  For a heartbeat there was silence. Then Lilia gave a quiet, startled giggle, barely there, but enough to crack the air. Ariel followed, laughter spilling over until the two of them were bright with it, unable to stop.

  Heat crawled up Ryn’s neck. He shut his mouth, scowling hard at the plate as he shoved another piece into his mouth, as if chewing could undo what he’d said.

  Their laughter spilled brighter, filling the shop.

  He tried to look indifferent, but his expression betrayed him.

  Frill watched them from the counter, the corners of his mouth lifting. He didn’t need to ask again; their laughter was an answer enough.

  Beyond the window, dusk had draped the streets in amber, the light thinning to twilight. The world outside moved on, vendors packing stalls, lanterns sparking to life.

  But within the little bakery, time slowed. The clink of forks on porcelain, the shared glances, the simple joy of sweetness after a long day, these were the kind of moments that stayed, quiet treasures stitched into memory.

  Ariel wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. “I can’t remember the last time something tasted this good.”

  Lilia’s smile softened, her voice quiet. “Or the last time something felt this light.”

  Ryn, crumbs still dusting his lips, gave a flat expression. “…It’s fine,” he muttered.

  And with their laughter lingering like an aftertaste, the day finally drew to a close.

  Frill stood a little taller, his chest swelling with quiet pride.

  “Another masterpiece… “he whispered.