The evening dinner had begun.
The palace shimmered with golden light, nobles gliding across the marble floors like overdressed swans. The scent of roasted meats and citrus glaze hung in the air, but it was the dessert station that drew the most attention.
Marco arrived beside Colden, apron folded neatly, eyes steady. Just being near Colden gave him a quiet boost — a sense of grounding, of purpose. Colden gave him a nod, subtle but warm.
"You've got this," he said.
Marco smiled faintly and stepped into the kitchen.
He began preparing the pastries — almond tarts, citrus mousse, and his signature honey-mint glaze. The rhythm of baking calmed him, the precision of it like poetry in motion.
But peace didn't last.
A noble in a velvet coat and too many rings hovered nearby, arms crossed, nose wrinkled.
"That's too sweet," he said, watching Marco drizzle honey. "You'll rot their teeth."
Marco ignored him.
The noble leaned closer. "And don't overload the machine. It's not a peasant's oven."
Marco's hands trembled slightly.
He kept working.
"You know," the noble continued, "you could make simpler things. Less… indulgent. Nobles don't need comfort food."
Marco's jaw tightened.
He reached for the mint leaves.
"Mint again?" the noble scoffed. "How predictable."
Marco froze.
Then Colden appeared.
He stepped between Marco and the noble, eyes cold, voice sharp.
"Is there a problem?"
The noble blinked. "I was just offering advice."
Colden smiled — the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "Unsolicited advice. In my kitchen."
The noble straightened. "I didn't know it was yours."
"It is tonight," Colden said. "And Marco is the one making dessert. If you don't like it, you're welcome to skip it."
The noble scoffed. "I was only trying to help."
Colden leaned in. "Then help yourself to silence."
The noble flushed, turned, and walked away.
Marco exhaled.
Colden turned to him. "You alright?"
Marco nodded. "Thanks."
Colden smiled. "You make the best pastries in the kingdom. Let them choke on their bitterness."
Marco chuckled softly and returned to his station.
The glaze shimmered.
The mint was perfect.
And Colden stayed close — just in case.
To be continued…