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Claire gasps with a humorous dramatic sense, scoffing. “Gracious.”

The three women laugh, revealing their close camaraderie with each other. A tightening sensation grips Elara’s chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt as she witnesses a warmth she has never known. A distraction appears in the shape of Kaera, who holds a tray of baked pastries while wearing thick black gloves to protect her palms from the heat.

“I see you are entertaining Elara,” Kaera smiles. “I baked some cookies with the pastry chefs.” She shrugs. “I was bored.”

The women bow, but instead of the nervousness they had earlier with Queen Maereth, they smile and enthusiastically greet Kaera.

Surprisingly, Kaera first turns to Elara to offer her a cookie. “I see you are overtaking my sister-in-law. I have made extra just in case. You should try some.”

Elara smiles, accepting a cookie and taking a bite. It is perfectly sweet, soft yet crunching beneath her teeth with warm chocolate that accompanies the rich flavor. “This is amazing,” she murmurs after she swallows the bite.

Kaera’s smile widens, almost shyly as her cheeks warm. “Thank you,” Kaera says, her expression turning thoughtful. “I find a certain peace in the work. The process can feel entirely burdensome when one is new to the craft, but it remains an entertaining pursuit when you know a delicious reward awaits at the end.”

Asma takes one, nodding. “Absolutely. Her Highness makes amazing cookies. She has been doing it for three years from what we are told, and they progressively improve.”

“You, Asma, simply wish to see my face turn into a strawberry,” Kaera says with a playful frown.

They all continue to smile, brightening the space amidst the muted tones of the oncoming winter. Elara watches their easy exchange with wonder. The stark reminder of her own isolation quickly makes her feel out of place amidst their effortless familiarity. Untying the gardening apron and removing the pins allows her skirt to fall back into its original shape as she steps away from the group. After removing her gloves, she folds the material carefully and places them upon a nearby bench beside the fountain, hoping the items will be found later.

Patting her hair to ensure her appearance is orderly, Elara turns away, desiring to return to her chamber and read Cael’s booklet further. Before she can take more than two steps, a frantic commotion pulls her up short as a young kitchen servant sprints into the path. Gravel flies as the boy comes to a stop in front of Kaera, his apron askew as he doubles over to catch his breath.

“Your Highnesses, please,” the boy gasps, his eyes wide. “A dispute has broken out in the lower kitchens between a female knight from the new garrison and a male vanguard. The argument is turning violent, and the guards are struggling to control it before the kitchen staff is harmed.”

The easy peace of the morning shatters. Elara freezes, her fingers tightening around the rough linen seed pouch hidden in her pocket as she looks over at Kaera.

Kaera’s playful demeanor vanishes, her jaw tightening into a fierce, commanding line as she hands the tray of cookies over to Asma. “Not inside our palace,” she says, her sharp gaze then landing onto Elara. “Accompany me.”

Any thought of returning to her quiet vanity drawer disappears. Elara’s pulse quickens as they hurry toward the shouting that echoes up from the subterranean depths of the palace. This is her first time being involved in something a princess must do. Control chaos, commit to her duties.

Kaera’s sudden sharpness shocks Elara. It is a different side of her than she has observed so far. In the kitchen, the chefs line the walls while a handful of guards try to calm two knights, screaming their heads off at each other.

“What is happening here?” Kaera demands, stepping directly into the path of the drawn blades. The reckless proximity to the swinging steel causes Elara to gasp, shocked by the sheer defiance in her sister-in-law’s posture. Kaera raises her hand, her fierce gaze slicing through the combatants and instantly forcing their weapons down into a silent surrender.

The two knights snap to attention, the angry words dying instantly upon their lips. They strike their right fists over their hearts in the traditional salute of the Riverath vanguard, forcing their postures straight. They face Kaera and Elara, attempting to look as though the heated encounter had never occurred.

The chaotic shouting resumes instantly, both men barking over one another until Kaera raises a hand to slice through the noise. “Gavin,” she commands, pointing directly at the chef, “tell me what the problem is.”

Gavin breaks beneath his simmering rage. He steps forward, his boots grinding against the stone floor as he gestures sharply at the empty wooden supply crates scattered near the preparation tables. “Your Highness, the lower city guards face a severe shortage because of sheer incompetence,” Gavin barks, his voice tight as he glares at his opponent. “Three full bundles of bread and dried meat vanished from the morning shipment under the watch of Iris and her squad. I refuse to let my vanguards go hungry while Iris permits thieves to plunder the palace stores.”

Iris’s jaw tightens. Her hand drops to the polished steel pommel of her sword, her posture locking into an imposing frame. Elara is unsure how Gavin maintains his defiance as Kaera towers over him. She would have shattered under such an intense gaze.

“Watch your tongue, Gavin,” Iris fires back, her voice dropping into a lethal hum that echoes through the kitchen. “My squad tracks every single delivery from the moment the wagons clear the outer gates. Your men are simply lazy, looking for someone to blame for their own carelessness instead of cross-checking their distribution tallies.” The female knights behind her nod.

Kaera steps forward, her gaze turning frosty as she looks between the two soldiers. “Stand down, both of you. Iris, present the morning ledgers to my quarters. Gavin, return to your post and wait for the overseers to count the remaining bundles. The palace kitchen is no place for steel.”

Gavin tightens his jaw, his pale face flushing deeper as he offers a stiff, barely respectful nod that looks more like defiance than compliance. “With all due respect, Princess, while you spend your mornings experimenting with sugar and flour, my vanguards are patrolling the lower boundaries on empty stomachs. Iris’s negligence compromises our guard lines, and a standard paper count does not feed my men.”

A suffocating silence grips the chamber as the kitchen staff shrinks back into the shadows. Kaera’s shoulders lock, her hands clenching into fists as the vanguard’s dismissive tone strikes her authority like a physical slap.

Before Gavin can step back, Elara moves into the open space between the knights, her green silk gown rustling against the flagstones as she addresses the vanguard directly. The sudden movement draws every eye in the kitchen toward her, the cold authority of her Veyrenn court upbringing bleeding into her posture.

“A thief does not steal food right from a kitchen where guards stand at every doorway,” Elara continues, stepping closer to the empty wooden crates. “Back in my father’s castle, when food went missing, it was never the fault of the guards tracking the records. The mistake always came from the vanguards who took the goods straight from the wagons before the counting even started at the gates. Tell me, Gavin, did your own men check the delivery carts before you brought your anger down to the kitchen?”

Iris lets out a low breath, her hand slowly leaving her sword as she tracks Elara’s logic. Gavin shifts his weight on his boots as her direct question leaves him without a defense in front of the others.

Beside her, Kaera looks down at Elara with wide surprise. The tense distance between the two princesses disappears in the light of the moment, a deep feeling of protection forming between them as Elara stands her ground.

Gavin opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He drops his gaze to the stone floor, his jaw tight with embarrassment.