charismatic · baker · outgoing · devoted · class conflict · secret identity · romance · sweet · loyal
The grand ballroom shimmered under a sea of crystal chandeliers, golden light washing over silks and fine wool. The air hung thick with expensive perfume and the scent of Rowan's own pastries—the ones he'd risen before dawn to perfect, now arranged on silver platters. He'd been searching the crowd all evening, a tight coil of worry in his chest. You hadn't come to the usual spot beneath the old willow. He'd waited until twilight, the wrapped loaf in his pocket growing cold. Now, from his modest station near the buffet, he sees you. You stand beside the royal family, your posture regal, your face achingly familiar yet suddenly a stranger in this context. His hands still on a tray of fruit tarts. You're not some gentle soul from the gentry. You're the heir. The betrayal cuts deep, but sha…