The magnitude of the request settled over Faith like a warm blanket. This wasn’t about Kovrak or political maneuvering or the complex dance of royal courtship. This was about her hands, her craft, her worth as an artist. A quiet thread of pride tightened in her chest, straightening her spine.
“How much time do we have?” Faith asked, already mentally cataloging ingredients and techniques.
“Three hours,” Liora said with a grin that suggested she knew exactly how ambitious that timeline was.
Faith felt her pulse quicken—not with anxiety, but with the familiar thrill of a challenge that would push her skills to their limits. Three hours to create something worthy of a pride celebration, something that would showcase not just her technical ability but her understanding of this world she was slowly learning to navigate.
“Then we’d better not keep them waiting,” Faith said firmly.
The walk to the palace kitchen felt different this time. Instead of the nervous energy that had accompanied her previous visit, Faith felt a sense of purpose settling into her bones. Liora matched her brisk pace, chattering excitedly about the possibilities.
“I can help,” Liora offered, her voice bright with eagerness. “My mother and grandmother taught me plenty of baking techniques over the years. I might not have your innovation, but I know how our ingredients behave.”
“Perfect,” Faith said, her mind already spinning with possibilities. “We can blend Nova Aurora traditions with Earth techniques—create something that truly represents both worlds. A symbol of unity.”
“That’s exactly what they’re hoping for,” Liora agreed.
The palace kitchen welcomed them with familiar warmth, heat already curling in the air from ovens that had been preheating in anticipation of their arrival. Faith slipped into her rhythm with surprising ease, tying an apron with practiced motions and testing the weight of mixing bowls with the kind of muscle memory that came from years of dedication to her craft.
Liora proved to be an excellent assistant, matching Faith’s pace with an intuitive understanding of kitchendynamics that spoke of genuine experience. They fell into a comfortable partnership—Faith directing the overall vision while Liora provided invaluable insight into local ingredients and techniques.
“Five tiers,” Faith murmured, sketching quick notes on a piece of paper. “Each one representing a different aspect of the bond between our worlds.”
Butter softened beneath her knife with satisfying ease. Sugar dissolved beneath her whisk like morning frost touched by sunlight. Liora joined her in perfect rhythm, laughter bright as flour dusted the edge of her black braid. The familiarity of the work steadied Faith in ways nothing else could—in this room, surrounded by the tools of her trade, she wasn’t an outsider or a potential mate or a political risk. She was simply a baker, and her hands knew what to do even when her heart felt divided between worlds.
The scent of vanilla bloomed into the air as they worked, rich and comforting. Faith breathed it in deeply, letting the familiar aroma ground her in the present moment.
“So,” Liora said casually as she measured out flour with careful precision, “how did you sleep last night? After all the excitement at the feast, I mean.”
The simplicity of the question caught Faith off guard. She could deflect, laugh it off, redirect the conversation back to safer topics. Instead, she found herself pausing in her whisking, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
“I slept well,” she said quietly, but the warmth in her voice said far more than the simple words.
Liora’s hands stilled for a moment before a delighted grin spread across her face. “I knew it! I could sense something different about you today.”
Heat crept up Faith’s neck. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes, it really is. The pride will smell the claiming. Just like I did,” Liora said matter-of-factly, returning to her measuring. “Enhanced senses, you know. They’ll sense the change in your scent, and the way you carry yourself.”
“But he didn’t mark me,” Faith protested, her cheeks burning.
“Doesn’t matter,” Liora shrugged. “The physical intimacy alone creates a bond that other shifters can detect. The marking is just... confirmation.”
Faith’s hands trembled slightly as she continued whisking, the reality of exposure settling over her. She’d thought last night was private and sacred. Now it would be on full display for an entire pride to analyze and judge.
“Being with him feels different,” Faith admitted softly, unable to keep the words inside any longer. “Intimate in a way I hadn’t known was possible.”
Liora’s expression softened with understanding. “That’s the mate bond beginning to form. It’s... intense.”
“I think I’m falling in love with him,” Faith whispered, the words feeling both fragile and enormous. “Which is insane, considering I’ve only known him for two days.”
“The mate bond doesn’t see reason or time or species,” Liora replied gently. “It sees connection and truth. What you’re feeling isn’t crazy—it’s fate recognizing itself.”
Faith stared at the swirl of batter beneath her spoon, her chest tight with conflicting emotions. “But loving him, accepting this bond—it might mean leaving behind everything I fought to build. My bakery was my dream.”
Liora set down her measuring cup and turned to face Faith fully, her expression serious. “Dreams aren’t fragile glass that shatter when touched by change. They grow. They adapt. Why assume your bakery belongs only to one street in New Jersey? Why assume love demands sacrifice instead of expansion?”
The words hit Faith hard, reframing everything she’d been struggling with.