Page 14 of A Cake of Cherries and Charm

The woman stared at her a moment longer before slowly nodding. “Of course,” she finally said. Then she turned to Rosie, her smile suddenly looking somewhat feral. “If you’ll come this way, then.”

“I’ll see you later,” Snow said, kissing Rosie’s cheek. “Have fun!” And then she was gone.

“I’m afraid,” the woman said when Snow was safely down the hall, “that it is time for my luncheon, as it is for my assistants.” She clapped, and the women and young men helping her immediately left their work where it was. “We shall return when we have finished eating. In the meantime, feel free to look around.”

Rosie blinked at her. “When… When do you think you’ll be back?”

The woman gave her a sardonic grin. “I don’t know.” And then she and her assistants left.

Rosie was certain she’d been snubbed. But as she walked slowly around the kitchen, peeking into cupboards and under the tables, she realized suddenly that she would happily take the baker’s snubbing if it meant she could bake in such a place. This kitchen held more supplies and ingredients than Rose had ever dreamed possible in one place. She could make anything here.

And I will, she decided with growing determination. Suddenly, it was hard to control the giddiness that bubbled up inside of her. She might have to come up with ways to offend the baker more often if it meant she got the kitchen to herself.

Unlimited flour, salt, honey, eggs, and even sugar–a very difficult ingredient to get in the village–combined with the fresh food from the gardens out back would allow Rosie to make her sister the most beautiful, decadent cake she could dream up using the parchments, pen, and writing table in her room. Her sister deserved that.

And Rosie suddenly couldn’t wait to begin.

Chapter

Six

Rosie bided her time that day after leaving the kitchens by wandering the gardens and getting to know as many of the gardeners as she could. The master gardener–Silas–was a sweet man who was just older than her father would have been. And after answering about a dozen questions from Rosie about the soil and their fertilizers, he personally took her on a tour of the gardens, giving her a far more thorough explanation of how the plants were laid out and how crops were rotated than she had dreamed possible of such a busy man. After two days of misery, her afternoon was pure bliss when he suggested she spend time with several of his men and women in the fields, asking them any questions she might have and watching their methods herself.

“How comes such a fine lady to be interested in growing food?” Silas asked with a smile.

Rosie blushed. “I’m not… That is, I wasn’t a fine lady until two days ago, sir.”

He studied her thoughtfully for a moment before realization lit his grizzled face. “You’re the new princess’s sister!” Immediately, he swept into a low bow, which embarrassed Rosie immensely.

“My father studied at the university in the capital,” she explained, hoping that continuing their conversation from earlier would distract him from court etiquette. “But he fell ill just before my sister and I were born. So he and my mother purchased a little cottage in the country where there was good soil, and he grew nearly every food imaginable there.” She looked around and laughed. “Well, not as much as this, of course. But far more than most people in our village could grow.”

“Well, My Lady,” the gardener said with a smile. “Though I’m sure you’ll find many pleasures to keep you busy within the castle walls, you’re always welcome here.”

Rosie thanked him from the bottom of her heart, and by the time she returned to her suite to prepare for supper, she was feeling so happy that she didn’t mind being expected in the dining hall once more.

Only the fear that Prince Jonathan would be the one to escort her again made her hesitate. But much to her relief, he was, according to Frederick, busy with a pressing matter, and one of his cousins appeared to escort her in his place. This cousin, Sir Milo, was lighthearted and amiable, and while he flirted with every woman he laid eyes on, he was a pleasant enough dinner companion. Lady Sandra and her daughter both eyed Rosie suspiciously, but to her relief, neither had an opportunity to come within distance to converse that night. And when all was said and done, and Snow had retired to her room to sleep, Rosie did what she had been dying to do all day.

She put on her apron and snuck back up to the kitchen.

To her great relief, the kitchen was clean and empty by the time she arrived. Looking around in wonder, she wandered the big room again.

“What shall I bake first?” she asked the empty room. “A little cake, perhaps? Or something simpler just to begin?”

After a moment of searching unsuccessfully for the large, round cake pans, Rosie decided that she would need to bake something simple until she was able to locate what she needed. After all, the wedding wasn’t for three weeks. She would have time to practice before then. So she grabbed a clean bowl and began to dump flour into it.

It was less than convenient to bake when the sky was dark, as Rosie was used to letting the bread rise in the window. But there were two ovens–one large and one small. She guessed that the small one was specifically for bread, as bread had been baking inside of it the last time she’d visited. Even now, though the ovens were empty, they were both still burning. Someone, she guessed, would come by in a few hours to stoke them and ensure their embers didn’t go out.

Thanks to her earlier study of the room, the rest of the ingredients–salt, honey, yeast, and oil–were easy to find, and soon Rosie was joyfully pounding on the dough, wishing all her problems could be so thoroughly beaten. But just when she was putting it back into the bowl to rise in the warmth just outside the oven, footsteps sounded on the stone floor, and she looked up to see the crown prince walk in.

Oh fantastic.

He saw her at about the same time, and they stood frozen, staring at one another for an eternal moment before she remembered her manners and dropped into a curtsy.

“Your Highness,” she said, willing her voice not to sound as frosty as she wanted it to.

He blinked at her and then looked down at the bowl of dough she held. In his hands were parchment, ink, pens, and several books.

“Worried we don’t have enough bread?” he finally asked. She frowned at him as he looked pointedly at a table in the corner, where several dozen round loaves were stacked, each wrapped carefully in a cheesecloth.