There was nothing more tedious in the world than dusty tomes and scrolls, and nothing anyone said would ever convince Prince Theo otherwise.

  Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the worn wooden desk before him. With a quill in hand, Theo scribbled notes onto a yellowed parchment, his handwriting so atrocious his mom would have scolded him if she saw it.

  Theo’s father, King Frederick, had insisted on yet another afternoon of royal duties, poring over tedious legal documents and diplomatic correspondences. Each line seemed to carry the weight of countless lives, the importance of their kingdom’s everyday issues, and it was a burden Theo wasn’t sure he could bear.

  “I won’t be around forever, and then you will be king, Theodore. Try to act like it,” his father had snapped, words Theo had heard many times before.

  Theo had bitten the inside of his cheek, the pain of the present helping with the sting of his father’s words. “But I—”

  “No, Theodore,” the king had said, disappointment flashing in his eyes. That look cut deeper than any reprimand, and it flashed before him when he closed his eyes, a reminder of his shortcomings.

  Yet no matter how he tried to concentrate on the Very Important matters of state, his thoughts kept drifting to far more tantalizing pursuits.

  No, this wouldn’t do. He had done enough for one fine morning, and he deserved a break. He stood from his chair and stretched his arms above his head.

  “Giving up already, Your Highness?”

  Theo glanced up at Freya, who stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her long wheat blonde hair in a neat braid. Twenty-four years old, with her heart-shaped face and long lashes, she looked nothing like your typical knight, yet that was what she was—his own personal knight, following him around like a second shadow. The only female knight of Astoria, and proud of that fact.

  If she hadn’t been so lethal, he would have told her to go away, but he had always been a bit scared of her. Probably why his father had chosen her for the job. Theo was pretty sure she hated the job, but a knight did as told.

  “I’m taking a break,” he said. “I deserve it.”

  “The king won’t be pleased if you don’t do what he says,” Freya said. How could anyone stand so still? Theo’s body itched just watching her, and he scratched his neck with a grimace.

  “My father is never pleased anyway,” he said, trying for a flippant tone he didn’t feel. It was not like he wanted to disappoint his father–he just… he wasn’t what the king expected. Where his father was the King with a capital K, Theo was… well, he would have been better off as a commoner, really. Then he could have followed his dreams and become a baker, rather than be stuck with dusty tomes all day.

  She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Am I supposed to believe you don’t care, then?”

  Theo sighed. “I just need a break. Are you going to tattle on me?”

  “I’m your guard, not your babysitter.”

  “Good. Then we’re going to the kitchen.”

  “What a surprise.”

  Theo glared at her, but when she stared at him with her blue eyes—dark blue, like the winter ocean and just as unfathomable—he quickly looked away. It wasn’t like he could ever compete with her in a staring contest.

  They walked down the corridor together and no, Theo was not in any sense of the word sneaking, thank you very much. He was just… walking carefully, trying not to draw attention to himself.

  The tantalizing aromas of the kitchen wafted past his nose, and he couldn’t keep the smile off. Freshly baked bread, with a touch of rosemary—how could anyone stay away? If they could, they weren’t human. Or any other species with a nose and reasonable taste. Did dragons like sweets? Theo had no idea—though they lived in the nearby forests and mountains, he was lucky enough that in twenty years of life, he had never been close enough to one to ask.

  Some might call him sheltered, and say that his mother had been over protective. “Some” were mostly his father, who always said those things. Theo’s mother—the queen of Astoria, and the only woman the king had ever listened to—had only ever given her husband a cool look and he would leave, muttering under his breath.

  His mom had been awesome.

  Theo pushed open the doors to the kitchens and stepped into the bustling, culinary haven.

  “Ah, Prince Theo,” said Chef Gustav, a broad-built man with a bushy mustache and a twinkle in his only eye. Exactly how he had lost the other eye, Theo didn’t know because he hadn’t dared ask. The man turned to Freya and brought a fisted hand to his heart. “Knight Freya.”

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  She fisted her hand over her heart. “Chef Gustav.”

  “So, Your Highness, what brings you to our humble kitchens today?”

  Theo grinned, the tautness of his shoulders fading as he took in the familiar kitchen counters and the neat rows of ingredients. This was his place, surrounded by all he needed to make the most delicious foods possible. He took in the bags of flour. With just fifteen minutes, he would be able to set a dough… surely, the tomes could wait that long. It wasn’t like they would miss him.

  He glanced at Freya. Would she tell on him? But no, she never had—she may roll her eyes at his choices, but she had never betrayed him.

  Turning back to Chef Gustav, he said, “Just thought I’d see what deliciousness you are concocting today. Anything exciting?”

  Sometimes, he used the area at the back of the kitchen which was only his, but other times, like today, he enjoyed exploring with Chef Gustav.

  “Ah, you’re in luck, Your Highness,” Gustav said. “We’re experimenting with a new recipe for raspberry tarts, fresh from the royal orchard. Care to lend a hand?”

  Theo’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Of course!”

  “Weren’t you supposed to read legal documents, Your Highness?” Freya asked.

  “They can wait just fifteen minutes,” Theo said. He glanced at the bench where the ripe, red raspberries lay. “Half an hour, tops.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  With a spring in his step, Theo followed Gustav to the bustling workstations, eager to lose himself in the joy of baking once more.

  “These are delicious,” he said, tasting a raspberry.

  “They are,” Gustav replied.

  “Good thing the royal orchard is still untouched,” said Vella, one of the older kitchen maids who often had a new, exciting recipe to try out if Gustav didn’t have anything in mind. Theo liked her, but he noted that there was a droop to her shoulders that hadn’t been there before. “Worse with those fields in the north-west. My niece told me in her latest letter that they have hardly anything to harvest.”

  “And the dragons,” said another woman, her brown hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She must be new, because Theo didn’t know her. “They keep attacking.”

  Gustav stiffened at that, Theo noted with some curiosity.

  “Wonder what’s gotten up their bums,” Vella said, her words lilted in an accent like those from the western parts. “Not how they usually behave.”

  Gustav touched the scar where his eye should be. “They’re beasts, that’s what they are.”

  “Wonder when they’ll get to Brightfell,” the brunette said. “Sooner or later, they’ll come.”

  “Wish we’d had some people with magic,” Vella said. “’s not fair that they are so powerful, and we’ve gone more than half a century without any new magic.”

  “Well, there are people—” the brunette began.

  “Those people are gettin’ old by now,” Vella said. “Over sixty. And ever since that blasted witch was born…”

  Theo held up his hands, trying to placate them. “Regardless of all that, we’re safe in the castle, at least. And I’m sure it’s just a bad year with the harvest, right? There are years when we have hardly any apples here.”

  “Those are the years when the flowers freeze,” Vella said with an uncharacteristic scoff. “And what about them dragons?”

  “Maybe they’re hungry too?” Theo tried.

  Gustav shook his head. “Well, it’s not your problem, is it, Your Highness? Let your father deal with that, and you can focus on what you’re good at—baking!”

  Theo stiffened. Sure, he preferred to leave running the kingdom to his father (and his father preferred it that way too), but did Gustav really think him that incapable? That he shouldn’t even hear about the problems? Surely there was something he could do to help? He wanted to help. He swallowed, and dared a glance at Freya, but she didn’t look about to protest the chef’s exclamation.

  Perhaps it was true. Theo wouldn’t have the faintest idea of where to start with dragons.

  Still, it hurt.

  Gustav handed him flour and a measuring cup. “Let’s not talk any more about dragons, and instead get back to doing more important things. Duchess Rosewick is joining His Majesty for dinner, after all.”

  The older of the two women muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘that bitter hag’, but it was too quick and too low for him to be sure.

  “Wonder how long they’re staying,” Theo mumbled. Duchess Rosewick and her daughter Ariana had already been guests in the castle for a few weeks, though Theo wasn’t sure why. He didn’t mind, though, because Ariana was his friend. Astoria was no enormous kingdom, so there weren’t many nobles, and even fewer his own age—Ariana was one of the few exceptions, and the only one Theo really liked.

  “Now, let’s bake, shall we, Your Highness?” Gustav asked.

  Theo’s smile turned into a full-blown grin.

  As Theo immersed himself in the chaos of the kitchen, his worries melted away like butter on a warm scone. He relished the rhythmic kneading of dough between his fingers, the delicate dance of measuring ingredients, and the faint but lovely scent of raspberries mingling with the rich aroma of buttery pastry. With each fold of the dough and sprinkle of sugar, Theo felt a sense of purpose and contentment wash over him—this was where he should be, amidst flour-dusted countertops and bustling chefs, rather than getting an aching neck from being hunched over boring texts all day long. And he certainly shouldn’t be out facing dragons.

  But just as he was about to pop another raspberry into his mouth, a timid voice interrupted his reverie.

  “Your Highness, forgive the intrusion, but your presence is urgently requested in the throne room,” said a servant, bowing low with an apologetic expression.

  Theo glanced at him. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He really wanted to try the raspberry tart, to see if he had added just the right amount of vanilla to the dough this time.

  “His Majesty the King requested you come immediately,” the servant said.

  “Just a minute,” Theo said, this time with a hint of a whine to his voice. He already knew he wouldn’t be allowed to try the raspberry tarts—he would have to go with the servant to see his father. Duty called, and he could not ignore it even if he wanted to. His father would have his head (well, not really, because he was an only child and heir to the throne, but as the king, he could make Theo’s life very unpleasant if he wanted to) if he ignored orders. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly wiped his flour-covered hands on his apron before pulling it off and folding it.

  Then he, with Freya in tow as ever, followed the servant out of the kitchen and through the grand halls of the castle.

  What could his father possibly want that was so urgent?