Chapter 2 Kael
KAEL
The way the dough had started to form beneath my fingers was perfection. I could literally feel the consistency, both soft and pliable which was perfect for the cinnamon nest buns that I'd been working to perfect for months.
For her.
I kneaded harder, trying to work out the frustration building in my chest. My dragon didn't like it when I held back. He didn't like that I'd been watching Amara Brooks walk into my bakery every single morning for six months and hadn't said a goddamn word about what she meant to me.
What she could mean, it seemed to whisper.
If I wasn't such a coward and could muster up a little more of a conversation with her, I might not be pining after her the way I was.
"You're going to overwork that dough," my assistant Marco called from across the kitchen.
I glanced down and instantly knew he was right. The dough had gone from perfect to tough under my grip.
Fuck.
"Take a break, boss," Marco said, not unkindly. "You've been at it since four a.m."
It was true, I'd been up since nearly 4 a.m. working and thinking.
My dragon had been restless all night, pacing inside my chest like a caged animal. It had wanted out, to fly, to hunt. It wanted to hunt her, knot her.
Claim her.
Down, I told it. Not happening.
I washed my hands and grabbed a clean apron, tying it around my waist as I headed out to the front of the bakery. The sun was just starting to rise, painting the sky in shades of pale pink and soft gray.
Late winter was giving way to early spring. Always my favorite time of year. Something about the cool air warming slowly and the first signs of new growth made everything feel... possible.
Or maybe that was just because Amara seemed to love this season too. I'd noticed the way she'd started wearing lighter layers, trading her heavy winter coat for that oversized cardigan. The way she'd ordered a rose-vanilla latte exactly once before going back to her usual black coffee.
She'd wrinkled her nose at the sweetness and I'd had to bite back a smile.
With her there was no sugar or frills. It was just her, just my sweet Amara.
And she was absolutely perfect.
I unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to OPEN, then went back behind the counter to start arranging the pastries in the display case.
I made sure that the honey-ember tarts front and center for her, just in case she came in. They were her favorite item in the shop.
I'd figured that out two months ago when she'd ordered one and her entire face had lit up. She'd closed her eyes on the first bite, this little sound escaping her throat that had made my dragon sit up and take notice.
Mine, it had whispered.
Not yet, I'd told it. Maybe not ever.
Because how the hell was I supposed to tell her the truth? That I wasn't just Kael, the soft-spoken baker who made her morning pastries. That I was Kael Solas, youngest son of one of the most powerful dragon-blood Alpha families in the region.
That I'd been hiding in plain sight because I couldn't stand the thought of her looking at me differently. Of her wanting the prince instead of the man as most females tended too. The bell above the door chimed and I looked up, my heart already starting to race.
Her.
Amara walked in, her cheeks flushed from the cool morning air. She had her leather crossbody bag slung over one shoulder and her hair was tucked behind her ears, a few curls escaping to frame her face.
She was so goddamn beautiful to me that it hurt to look at her because I couldn't have her.
"Morning," she said, her voice quiet.
Amara had this quietly shy way about her and it drew me to her.
I loved that about her. The way she seemed to fold into herself around other people but opened up just a little when it was just the two of us.
"Amara," I said, and I knew I was smiling too wide because I just couldn't help myself. "I was hoping you'd come by."
"You say that every morning," she pointed out, setting her bag on the counter.
"Because it's true every morning."
Her cheeks went pink and she looked down at the display case.
God, I wanted to reach across the counter and tilt her chin up. Wanted to tell her she didn't have to hide from me.
That I saw her, all of her.
"The honey-ember tarts are back," she said.
"I made extra today," I admitted. "Figured you might want one."
She paused, something flickering across her face. A hint of surprise rode across her features or maybe it was hope.
Please let it be hope.
"I'll take one," she said. "And a coffee. Black."
"No sugar?" I raised an eyebrow, teasing her just a little. "You sure you don't want to live a little?"
"I live plenty," she shot back, and there was a spark in her eyes that made my dragon rumble with approval.
There she is.
"Good," I said, my smile widening.
I turned to the coffee station, my hands working on autopilot. I could feel her watching me and it took everything I had not to turn around and stare back.
Her scent was stronger today. Lavender and old paper, with something sweeter underneath. Something that made my Alpha instincts sit up and pay attention.
Is she close to a heat?
The thought sent a jolt of possessiveness through me that I immediately shoved down.
Not your place. Not unless she asks.
I slid the tart and coffee across the counter, my fingers brushing hers as she reached for them.
The contact immediately sent a shock up my arm that had me reeling.
Claim her, my dragon whispered. She's ours.
Not yet, I told it again.
"Amara?" I said before I could stop myself.
She paused, the tart halfway to her mouth. "Yeah?"
I wanted to tell her. Wanted to lay it all out. The truth about who I was, what I felt, why I'd been baking for her like a lovesick fool for the past six months.
But the words stuck in my throat.
What if she didn't feel the same? What if she only wanted the baker, not the prince? Or worse, what if she only wanted the prince and couldn't care less about the man?
"Have a good day," I said instead.
Coward.
"You too."
She practically ran out the door and I stood there, gripping the edge of the counter.
Fucking coward.
Marco poked his head out from the kitchen. "You gonna tell her eventually or just keep pining?"
"Shut up," I muttered.
He laughed. "Your funeral, man."
It really did feel like it though. Sometimes, I thought I was going to die if I never saw her again, if I never smelled that scent of hers again.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of customers and pastries and small talk I barely registered.
My mind was stuck on Amara. I even handed the wrong change to a customer and nearly put salt on the scones.
Every time the bell above the door chimed, I whipped to see if it was her.
All I could think about was Amara and the way her eyes had lit up when she saw the honey-ember tarts.
On the way her fingers had felt against mine.
On the fact that I was running out of time.
My mother had sent word this morning. A formal summons, delivered by one of my brothers' assistants.
The annual Solas Valentine Gala was in two weeks.
And you guessed it, attendance was mandatory.
I'd tried to get out of it last year and the year before that. But my mother had made it clear this time: show up or she'd come drag me there herself.
And if Amara saw me there...
Fuck.
She'd know. She'd know I'd been lying to her. Or at least omitting the truth, which was basically the same thing.
I should tell her before the gala and give her a chance to process it without the shock of seeing me in a custom tux surrounded by my brothers.
The press would be there and the society pages.
Every eligible Omega and their mothers would be there hoping to catch the eye of at least one of my brothers.
Damon would be in his usual perfectly tailored Armani, probably with some blonde socialite on his arm.
Ryker, the one who looked the most like a male model would be looking like he stepped off a magazine cover.
Even Caspian, my brother who was a year older than me, who hated these things as much as I did, would clean up and play his part.
And me? I was the youngest Solas son, the one everyone whispered about. The one who'd chosen a bakery over the family business. The one who'd supposedly "wasted his potential." But every time I thought about telling Amara the truth, my throat closed up.
What if she hated me for it? What if she thought I was playing with her?
"Kael?" Marco's voice pulled me back. "You good?"
"Yeah," I lied. "Just thinking."
"About the librarian?"
I shot him a look that could have murdered him on the spot.
He held up his hands. "I'm just saying, man. You've been making those honey-ember tarts for months. You only make them when you know she's coming in. At some point, you gotta actually do something about it."
"I'm working on it," I muttered.
"Work faster," Marco said. "Before some other Alpha figures out what you already know."
My dragon snarled at the thought.
Mine.
I know, I told it. Believe me, I know.
The inside of the tailor's shop smelled like shoe polish and laundry detergent. It was a sharp contrast to the smell of fruits and breads and I hated it.
I stood on the raised platform in front of three mirrors, wearing dress pants and an undershirt while some guy named Laurent pinned and measured like my life depended on getting the fit exactly right.
My mother sat in one of the plush chairs nearby, looking pleased with herself as she ran part of the family business from her phone. Celestine Solas was a shrewd business woman but also a very loving mother.
"Stand up straight, Kael," she said.
I was standing straight but I straightened even further earning a smile from her.
The door to the shop opened and I heard them before I saw them. My brothers were loud, confident, and they took up any space like they owned it.
"There he is," Damon's voice boomed. "The prodigal baker."