For Want Of A Macaron

Prince Landyn of Fenwick stood at attention for his father, King Henrod. The Silver Jubilee, mere weeks away, had stalled when the original designer, Count Philippe of Macadaria, eloped with the Countess Elltressa of Fenwick and gave up his profession. Edluard, the oldest son, attended Oxford University and spent his time being groomed to become King. Arantino, the second eldest son, had begun his first semester at Harvard in America, the Duchy of Fenwick's closest ally. That left Landyn, the third son in line. With no hope of ever inheriting the throne, Henrod decided not to neglect him. Important tasks awaited, providing Landyn an opportunity to prove his worthiness for the family crest.

“You see where this leaves us, Landyn?” asked Henrod.

“Yes, Father. You want me to take over your Jubilee arrangement.”

“Precisely. We have arranged for everything to take place in Juntline, on the southern coast.”

“I've been there.”

“Yes, you went to school there, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yes, I...”

“Well, since you know the area, you're to go down there this evening and begin where Philippe left off.”

“And where was he, father?”

“He has the ballroom and the ceremony completed. You have to make the food, drink, and dancing arrangements.”

“But, Father, those things could take months.”

“Yes, they can. You have two weeks. You'd better get moving.”

“What should I do first, Auguste?” asked the prince. They rode along the streets of Juntline in a royal limo, searching the storefronts for ideas. Landyn had been in the famed village for an hour, and he already couldn't function. He couldn't let his father down.

“Well, Your Highness,” began Auguste, Landyn's personal valet, driver, and nose-wiper. “Your Father expects much from you, even if you have no prospect at inheriting the throne. He has his eye on you becoming Prime Minister.”

“Really?”

“Really. You didn't hear it from me. Right now, I would concentrate on getting the royal cake in order. That is what everyone will be looking at, sir.”

Landyn, not being the brightest son, thought for a moment before the light of an idea went off. Landyn smiled. “How about we find a cake first? That's very important.”

“Right, you are, sir. As usual. I know of a place.”

“Take me there.”

“On my way, sir.”

Callera, owner and manager of the Fenwick Bakehouse Emporium, stood back from her latest display. She knew the king was about to celebrate 50 years on the throne. Callera felt it her duty to promote the event as best she could. Her display, the Battle of Hastoran, showed King Henrod leading his men to victory over the dreaded Hasturi. It was a crowning achievement for the king and the people of Fenwick.

At the same moment Callera was stepping back, Prince Landyn stepped into the bakery. His riding crop hit the edge of Callera's heavy wooden spoon, sending the spoon flying at the battle scene. King Henrod lost his head, and his entire corps of cavalry lost their mounts.

“You jerk,” Callera shouted as she turned around.

“I beg your pardon,” said Landyn. “Do you know who you are talking to?”

“Yes, the idiot who's ruined two weeks of work.” Callera fumed, only now noticing the royal garments. She gulped. “Who are you?”

“I am Prince Landyn, son of King Henrod. I need not remind you again.”

“No, I caught it the first time. You are going to pay for the damage to my display, or do I have to take matters into my own hands?”

“And do what, exactly?” asked the prince. Auguste stepped out from behind Landyn.

“Uncle Auguste! You didn't tell me you were coming for a visit.”

“I am here on business, Callera.”

“I thought you had an important job in government, wiping the nose of some important personage,” she said, ignoring the prince.

“Well, yes, I do have an important job,” Auguste said, pointing at the prince with his thumb.

Callera's eyebrows shot up. “Him? Is that the best you can do?”

“I beg your pardon,” said Landyn.

“You be quiet,” said Callera. “I'll get to you in a minute. How's Maria?”

“She's fine,” said Auguste. “At least, she was before I stepped into your store.”

“Auguste, do you know this, person?” asked Landyn.

“Yes, sir. She's my niece. My sister's oldest.”

“Your sister raised disrespectful children. Come, we can do better.”

“Now, hold on, Prince whoever. You couldn't be more wrong. I make the best cakes in the entire kingdom. That's why the Jubilee is being held in Juntline.”

“You have a lot of confidence in your wares, I will give you that” sniffed Landyn.

“You know it. If you find a better bakery within a hundred miles of this place, I'll eat your shoes.”

“We'll see.” Landyn turned and left the store. Auguste hugged Callera and trotted after the prince.

“Really, Auguste, there must be a better place, with someone less loud. More respectful.”

“We can try, sir.” Auguste's phone beeped. “There's a text from the king, sir. Shall I read it to you?”

“Very well, if you must.” Landyn found the nearest shade to stand in. It would not do to get burned.

“Dear Auguste, please remind the prince that he is to get the Jubilee cake from the Fenwick Bakehouse Emporium. It's your Mother's favorite bakery, and she would be upset if you went anywhere else.”

Landyn was stunned. He turned around and saw Callera standing at the shop entrance, her arms folded and a big smile on her face. “You knew this would happen.” He looked at Callera, who shrugged.

“Your Dad is a prince among men, so to speak,” Callera said. “The king knows how to treat a lady. He's expecting to see the display you just destroyed when he comes down for the Jubilee. I just sent him photos of the battle display to him this morning. And I sent your Mom a box of her favorite cookies.”

“Does everyone know you but me?” asked a confused and hurt Landyn.

“Apparently, yes.” Callera raised one eyebrow at him.

Landyn paused to inspect his nemesis. Her dark, curly hair spilled over her shoulders. A sly smile and her mocking eyes gave him fits. She did not cover herself; Landyn could see the perfect roundness of every curve. The prince turned back to his aide.

“Auguste, must we endure these tortures by this woman? She shows no respect for my authority.” His throat tightened, his breathing rapid and short.

“Sir, if I may point out that your Father admires her very much. Perhaps one earns respect instead of receiving it like a title.

“You are impossible at times,” began the prince through his parched throat. “Tell her I will only do business with her if she addresses me as Your Highness.”

“Very well, sir.” Auguste brushed past the prince and stepped up to his niece. He smiled as he saw the mischievous look in her eyes. “I know that look, Callera. I plead with you to make this easy for all of us. We are doing it for the King, remember.”

Callera gazed into her uncle's eyes. Her face grew blank and serious. “Very well, for the king. Tell his Royal personage who I will be on my best behavior.”

“Very good, Callera.” He rolled his eyes and nodded toward the prince. “Thank you,” Auguste mouthed without a sound.

Auguste suppressed a smile as he stepped up to the prince. Prince Landyn had not yet gone off to college, and he had never been a model student as his brothers had been. Often confused and stubborn, the prince remained a good boy even to this day. A self-limited vocabulary and clumsy mannerisms had forced Auguste to be the perfect butler and chauffeur. He had never laughed at Landyn's many daily gaffes, and the king appreciated it to no end. In Auguste's eyes, Landyn deserved a place far from the chaos of the Royal Court, a place where the prince could live in peace at his own pace. Once one got past his stuffy exterior, he was an affable and witty sort. Few ever experienced this side of him; however, he had lived in the castle all his life.

Landyn entered the Bakehouse, slipping past the heavy wooden spoon clutched in Callera's fist. He detected the faint scent of honeysuckle as he moved past her. Landyn's mother, Jessylee, loved honeysuckle, and Landyn had planted an entire acre of the bush just off the royal patio. Jessylee loved the little garden the first year. And then the bees found the honeysuckle. Now, no one could go near the flowers without being stung. The Queen didn't get mad at her youngest son. He had tried his best, and she could still smell the flowers from a safe distance.

The shop impressed the prince at once. More than a simple bakery, he saw an area of tables and chairs behind a wall of glass off to his right. The center of the place held the bakery, lined with shelves of wares for sale. There were pies, cookies, napoleons, cakes, and baking supplies on display. On the left, he saw a flour-covered table holding dozens of sugar figurines. The Fenwick military uniform's colors adorned some of them. Others remained unpainted.

Landyn stepped over to the table, bending lower to view the tiny soldiers. The detailing brought a smile to the prince's face.

“Don't touch,” said Callera. She stepped up to the table and inserted herself between the prince and her work.

“I'm not going near them,” Landyn said, holding up both hands. “You're liable to run me through with a sharpened wooden spoon.”

Callera thought about giving him another tongue-lashing but thought for a second. “It's just that they're not dry yet.”

Auguste smiled at her softer tone. He didn't need any bloodshed while he was minding the prince.

“The details are incredible,” stated Landyn. Landyn looked at Callera and held out his hand toward the table. “May I?”

Callera nodded a bit and stepped away from the table. “You won't get a warning if you touch anything.”

“Understood.” Landyn looked at a cavalryman atop his horse, studying the detail of the saddle. “I have one of these battle saddles in my room at the palace. You even have the proper gold flanges here along the saddle horn,” he said, bringing his finger as close as he dared.

Callera took a deep breath and prayed he wouldn't touch her horse. When he didn't, she relaxed. “Well, yes, I used an authentic saddle. I keep it under lock and key and only bring it out at night after I've closed the Bakehouse for the night.”

“Where did you get the saddle, if I may ask?”

“It belonged to my Father. He rode this horse into the battle.” She pointed to a beautiful cavalry horse on the table. It was the most detailed of all the horses.

“I see,” said Landyn. “Normally, these saddles belong to the Army.”

“Your Father gave the saddle to me after my Father passed away.”

Landyn stood and looked into her eyes. “I am sorry for your loss. Should you require assistance with your project, please don't hesitate to ask. I have studied this battle my entire life, and my Father will be thrilled to see it on display.”

“You mustn't tell him or your Mother about this,” said Callera. “It's a surprise for the Jubilee.”

“It's safe with me,” said Landyn. He watched as she softened before him. The lines around her green eyes disappeared, and a warm smile lifted his spirits. An idea crept into his mind. “Tell me, how much time will you need to repair the soldiers I destroyed?”

“I'll have to work until the day of the Jubilee. Why?” Her eyes widened. “The cake for the Jubilee. That's why you're here, isn't it?”

“I'm afraid so,” said Landyn. “Both of my parents insisted on having one of your almond and coconut layer cakes, only a gigantic one.” He held his arms out wide.

Callera sank to the floor, tears raining down her face. “I've, no, you've ruined everything. I could be banished from Fenwick for this.” She glared at him, even angrier now.

Landyn held up his two hands, palms facing her. “Wait, I think we can fix this between the two of us if you'll give me a moment before you kill me.”

“I'll give you one minute, and then I may kill you.”

“If my idea doesn't sound like it will work, I'll let you kill me in any manner of your choosing.”

Callera smiled, her teeth gleaming in the light. “Uncle Auguste, you sure know how to pick 'em. All right, prince, start talking.”

Landyn backed up to the center of the room. “Well, you see, I'm quite an artist myself. Father doesn't approve, but I kept up my studies when he wasn't around, which is a lot.”

“All right, so you can paint.”

“Ah, but not just painting. I work in lead.”

“Lead?” She looked at her uncle.

“Lead soldiers, Callera. Three inches tall. Exquisite things, if I say so myself.”

A faint glimmer of hope grew inside Callera's heart. “I think I see. Go on.”

“If you can trust me, I will repair and paint these figures. Just help me with the reconstruction, and I will see to the exteriors.”

Callera blew a breath between her lips. She looked at her uncle. Auguste shrugged. “You don't want to be banished, right?”

“Correct,” said Callera. “Help me up,” she said to Landyn. The prince took her hands gently in hers and helped her stand. His hands were soft and tender.

Landyn brushed her off, being careful not to get too bold. Callera picked up a wide tray filled with half-finished figurines. She walked into the room filled with tables and chairs. Landyn stood watching her, admiring her form not covered by the apron. “Shall I come with you?” he asked.

Callera reached the door and stopped. “Of course. This is my teaching studio. We can work in there without being disturbed. There are curtains. You'll have to get my keys.”

“Where are they?”

“On my belt.” Callera shook her hips, and Landyn saw the small keychain.

“On my way.” Landyn moved like a big cat, moving around the obstacles with grace and speed. He kneeled to get a better look at her keychain. He undid the clasp and stood, his head filled with the aromas of vanilla, cinnamon, and rose.

“It's the silver key,” she said. “Hurry, these things are heavy.”

Landyn opened the door and let Callera in. She stepped up to the first table, with Landyn moving around to take the other side of the tray. As he did, Callera tripped on something. She fell forward. Landyn moved the tray to the table as gently as he could. His left hand reached out and grabbed Callera's elbow. She continued to fall, dragging Landyn with her.

They landed in a heap. Callera looked over and saw the tray safe on the table. The prince had flour in his hair and down one side of his face. Her grin became a hearty laugh. Landyn shook his head, and flour rained down on Callera's face. He found her spots amusing, and he laughed.

Callera wiped a bit of flour from Landyn's face. From where she lay, she saw a different person than the one who had barged into her establishment. A good, caring man hid beneath a phony, gruff exterior. On an impulse, she pulled his head to hers and kissed him.

Landyn, still a bit stunned from the fall, responded like a trapdoor opening. His hands filed through her auburn hair, and he returned the kiss.

Auguste, smiling bigger than he could ever recall, slipped out of the shop and placed a call. “Good afternoon, Your Highness. I'm calling to inform you that your plan has worked to perfection. It took a bit of maneuvering, but Landyn has finally gotten the hint.”

“I only hope they will find the time to finish the cake,” said the King.

“Oh, I do believe that is a certainty now.”

“I’ll make sure you receive a proper reward, Auguste.”

“Your Majesty. Seeing Callera happy is reward enough.”