The Velvet Cake For The King

Carmita’s cheeks were almost as rosy as her red velvet cakes. It was a mystery to the whole kingdom how she managed it. No one else could decipher the formula or the ingredients that could give that tone. It hinted that there was something about Carmita that didn’t quite make sense. Only a witch could achieve such a feat. Any other sorceress would be hanged or burned at the stake for such a display of heresy. But not Carmita. Her cakes were so delicious that the king ordered one daily to eat after each banquet. It wouldn’t be ridiculous to assume that the banquets were in honor of the cakes and not the other way around. Each afternoon, after Carmita delivered the order, she immediately set about preparing the next day’s. The bakery she owned in town was always stocked with other treats, which supported the suspicions that she relied on some kind of dark magic to sustain her business if she only made cakes for the king. Some would even say, though never aloud for fear of offending the king, that Carmita kept him under a spell she nurtured each day with every new cake.

To the king’s wizard, Isolde, who was the only one allowed to use magic, this caused uncontrollable rage. He could barely resist the urge to snatch the cake out of Carmita’s hands every time she came to deliver it to the castle. With that cheerful, knowing little smile of hers. I know a spell you don’t, her rosy cheeks seemed to say, the unbearable girl. No one could deny she had some kind of pact with the astral. The truth was that Carmita wasn’t a witch. Her cakes came about from something as casual as the spill of one of her turmeric jars into a chocolate cake for the king. At first, when Carmita noticed the reddish tint, she spent the rest of the day chewing on her cuticles. Hopefully the king eats it with his eyes closed. She didn’t have enough time to remake it, and it was better to give the king something different than nothing at all. What was confusing was when the king ate it in silence during the banquet. Carmita was ready to be cast out, hanged, or fired, each option worse than the last. She wasn’t ready for the king’s lips to glisten with salivation, or for him to ask, in a voice hard to hear through the food still in his mouth, about this mysterious flavor. Carmita asked him to excuse her, as she didn’t understand what he meant. It was the same chocolate cake as always. But her instinct took over. Her eyes focused on the red velvet carpet, and from there the story came out on its own. It was the most marvelous cake, the king said. And he asked for it every night without fail from that day on.

Isolde, the sorcerer, didn’t find it amusing. The king seemed to assume Carmita was a witch. But as his most beloved supplier, he turned a blind eye to her obvious abuse of magic. It was a direct offense to his royal wizard. But more than that, it would sow an image of incompetence in the court that he couldn’t allow. The cake’s spell should be his, not from some random village girl like her.

So one day, with a dark cloak to hide his face, Isolde went to Carmita’s bakery before delivery time. He wanted to witness the spell responsible, memorize it, and surprise the king the next day with his skill. Carmita would be unnecessary, no one would ever doubt his magical abilities again. Isolde, however, was the only one who entertained these thoughts. Since Carmita didn’t use magic, just luck, she couldn’t have cared less that Isolde appeared at her door. She barely remembered the image of the pale old man with the vein-covered face who always looked at her with disdain from the king’s side. Carmita’s bakery was cozy. The counter opened directly into a work table where Carmita was already folding the dough with the wet ingredients. Isolde had arrived on time. At that moment Carmita would transform the chocolate sponge into a crimson one. Though not knowing this, his entrance was anything but subtle.

"Where is the royal cake?" He tilted his staff toward Carmita.

She thought he looked like a confused old man come to pick up an order. She set the utensils down on the table to wipe her hands on her apron.

"Lovely to see you, which order are you picking up?" she smiled at the poor man. He looked so bewildered that Carmita almost offered him a jug of milk while packing his dessert.

"Don’t play with me, village girl. Hand me the cake so I may study it.” Carmita tilted her head a bit. Maybe it was a better idea to stay behind the counter in case the man turned violent.

"Pardon?”

"The royal velvet cake! Don’t make me attack you, I didn’t come to dawdle." Isolde gnashed his teeth. How dare Carmita mock him?

"Or better yet, give me the spellbook you got it from.”

"Oh, no. I’m not a witch." The baker let out a giggle upon realizing. "It’s a common mistake, but I take it as a compliment. Would you like me to offer you something?”

"Stop playing games!”

"Alright, but I don’t know what we’re playing.”

Isolde’s nose twitched, though not from the marvelous smells, but from the barely contained fury. He pointed at her with a wart-covered finger. "Fine, don’t tell me. I have other ways to find out.”

Isolde shook something off his cloak. A spider jumped from his mantle into a crack in the counter. He tried not to draw attention to it while it made its way to the work table. Excellent. With one last warning glance, he left the bakery, raising clouds of dust with each step back to the castle.

"How odd," muttered Carmita.

Back at her task, it was time to add the turmeric to the cake. When she reached for the jar, the spider was exposed on the table. Carmita looked it in the eyes, the spider trembled. The baker smiled before continuing with the cake.

That night, the baker brought two cakes to the palace. In front of the king, she felt a little embarrassed clarifying that one was for his advisor, Isolde. He didn’t know what to think at first. The witch couldn’t have given up so soon, could she? Well, Isolde could be very persuasive when he wanted. After the banquet, the slice staring at him was enormous. His mouth watered, but he pretended to focus. Maybe by tasting it, he could detect what kind of spell the girl used. The first bite distracted him, it was really good. The second bite had a little thread. And the third had something crunchy. Isolde frowned. It didn’t taste like nuts or fruit, it was something else. It did taste like magic, like a familiar spell he used. He rummaged between his teeth for the object until he reached it. He wasn’t quick to identify it, but once he did, he made sure to regurgitate every last crumb. It had been a spider leg.

***

Nothing goes right the first time. Isolde went the next day to the witch again. He was willing to get the truth out of her one way or another. If she thought she was cleverer than him, she’d soon realize no one could surpass him. Or so he hoped. Perhaps he was facing his greatest rival. In the bakery, he found her again preparing the cake for that night. This time he wouldn’t let her ensnare him with conversation. Just as Carmita lifted her eyes, the wizard pulled a pocket watch from his coat and held it before him like a shield.

"I will not waste my time with you anymore, young lady. I command you to finish the royal cake and show me your secret.”

Carmita, who was not a witch, yielded to the hypnosis. She continued the process as usual. When she picked up the turmeric jar as usual, Isolde panicked. Would she try to poison him with that powder instead of obeying? How could she even resist the hypnosis? Before he could panic further, Isolde ordered her to eat it herself before running back to the castle.

That night, Carmita returned with two cakes again. Isolde couldn’t believe she was still alive. She smiled with orange tinted teeth. He received her slack-jawed. When the girl handed him the second cake, he took it with trembling fingers. Still, he had to eat it. Maybe the answer would be there that night. However, when he tasted it, it tasted like vinegar. It was a sour sponge Carmita had given him to kill him. That witch must be more powerful than imaginable. Each cake was redder than the last, always alluding to her spells to hide the one she actually used. But maybe the spell was no more than her own magical essence, Isolde reasoned. Just like he could give life to screws with a touch, maybe Carmita could give color to her cakes with her blush. That must be it!

So that night, the sorcerer didn’t wait for the next cake. He would make that one for the king himself. He imagined the praise he would receive. He’d be the great archmage of the court. Yes, he would peel off her cheeks to make the most pigmented cake in history. He slithered through the town’s streets like a spider to Carmita’s bakery. Even at night, it smelled spectacular. Some treats were still on display for the next day. The shelf was crammed with fresh ingredients. There was no spellbook in sight. A door led him from the kitchen to Carmita’s bedroom, from which light breaths escaped. The girl was sleeping, unaware she had baked her last cake.

Isolde stood at the foot of her bed, staff in hand to do it more cleanly than with a butcher’s knife.

"Thank you for the help, witch.”

Carmita opened her eyes.

***

The following afternoon, a towering cake arrived at the castle. Tears fell down the king’s cheeks at the gesture.

"But what have I done to deserve such an overflow of your talent?”

Carmita, who had slept wonderfully, gave him a smile that revealed the dimples that formed on her cheeks.

"It’s a tribute to you, and your great advisor, your highness. You are both a great inspiration to me.”

The king didn’t even notice that Isolde wasn’t at the banquet. Nor that the red velvet cake actually did have red velvet in it that time