Page 46 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

Out on the King’s glorious emerald lawn, lords and ladies wandered with glasses of champagne, awaiting the day’s samplings.

Beyond a velvet rope, the friends and family of the bakers sat on blankets on the ground, trying to catch a glimpse of their loved ones as they chased their dreams.

She knew her own parents were out there with Jericho, who had improved enough to sit on a blanket but still wasn’t well enough to bake. But she didn’t allow her eyes to search for them. It would only add to the pressure she had put on herself.

“Don’t think about it,” Blackthorn’s voice was a low purr. “Just focus on your ingredients.”

She looked down at the table in front of her. She had the beautiful sugar they had bought from the merchant in town, well sifted flour, a precious chunk of chocolate bought from a passing caravan, and the beautiful white blossom and blood-red pepper-berries, as well as half a dozen other ingredients to make her cake.

The one thing she didn’t have was a knife. No blades were allowed anywhere near the King. They weren’t taking any chances with the prophesy. Magic will bring a blade to the throat of the King. Even the guard carried only cudgels.

The lack of blades made it a challenge, but Farrow didn’t need to do much chopping. The real challenge for her was going to be getting the new flavor combination right on her first try. They had gotten home so late last night that she hadn’t even had the chance to make a single practice cake. In her daydreams, she always practiced her competition baking over and over.

But one of her regular treats wouldn’t win the King’s attention.

And she hadn’t even had this idea until yesterday. She had to trust her instincts.

“You’ve got this,” Blackthorn murmured.

She glanced up at him, grateful that her pretend assistant was here. He might not be all that useful as a baker, but he understood her.

And there was something between them that went beyond attraction, beyond friendship. She knew he couldn’t stay here with her any more than she could leave with him when Jericho was fully recovered.

But life was short. At least hers was. And if this was her small ration of love, wasn’t it better to appreciate it while she had it?

His eyes were a warm rich gray as he looked down at her. She felt a pulse in her belly, and a surge of regret that she hadn’t been able to visit him in the barn last night.

Maybe tonight…

A trumpet sounded, interrupting her thoughts.

The King’s crier had entered the tent, along with an elderly woman Farrow recognized immediately as Lady Gwinn.

Once upon a time, Lady Gwinn had just been plain Gwinn, a baker’s girl at the castle. She had been selected as the King’s nanny out of many applicants, and rose to her new position with great fanfare from the kitchen staff, who all adored her.

When the King was of age, Gwinn was given her title and offered the chance to retire to a lovely country estate in thanks for her service. Instead, she chose to go back to the King’s kitchens, where she sat by the fire and advised the baker and the cooks.

Lady Gwinn was beloved by everyone. It was a lovely surprise to learn she was the mistress of ceremonies today.

“Bakers all,” she called out, her arms outspread. “What a wonderful day this is, to see so many of you wanting to honor your King with your best desserts.”

Everyone clapped and cheered.

“You now have until the sand in the hourglass drops to prepare one special dessert for His Majesty and his esteemed guests,” Lady Gwinn went on. “May your labor bring you honor and joy.”

She spun the hourglass over with a flourish and the whole tent erupted in activity.

Farrow felt a shiver of excitement go down her spine and she smiled as she began her work, combining the dry ingredients for the cake while Blackthorn checked the great communal oven that was just outside the tent.

Though she didn’t dare use magic for her baking today, she still hoped the beauty of the flavor combination would be enough to get her to the second round.

Once she found her rhythm, Farrow lost herself in the process and the time flew by.

Nearly an hour later, she and Blackthorn stood by the ovens.

“Now?” he asked anxiously.

“We have another minute,” she told him, eyeing the rapidly dwindling sand in the upper half of the hourglass. “We don’t want it to be raw.”

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