Chapter 10
CASSIA
For Cassia, the best part of cooking was watching people enjoy her food. She could never get enough of it: the silent satisfaction, the way tension melted from their shoulders, how even the most guarded expression softened over a good meal.
But Varil Arkenoth made eating stew look . . . seductive.
How was that even possible?
Stew wasn’t elegant. It was thick. Messy. The epitome of humble, plebeian comfort food—slow-braised and hearty, meant to be slurped and devoured without ceremony. If possible, with a chunk of bread to mop up the gravy sticking to the sides of the bowl.
Yet, somehow, he made it look divine.
Cassia watched—helpless, unwilling—as he licked his spoon, the motion slow, unhurried, as if savouring every last trace of flavour.
He tilted his head back slightly, throat bobbing with a swallow, keeping the spoon resting lightly between his lips.
His sooty lashes fluttered shut, and for a moment—just a moment—a subtle, barely perceptible tremor coursed through him.
Then his golden eyes reopened.
And they found her.
Heat curled low in her stomach. Her fingers pressed into the dough beneath her hands, kneading harder, as if she could work that feeling out of herself the same way she worked air from the flour-dusted mass in front of her.
It didn’t help.
She realized then, with no small amount of dismay, that she could never sit across from him at a meal. Because she’d never enjoy her food, something she took particular comfort in.
She’d be too busy watching him.
For the next hour, Cassia was a whirlwind, moving seamlessly between the register, customers’ tables, and the kitchen. She carried out platter after platter, barely breaking stride, many of them destined for one particular table.
Elios Rhodes, as it turned out, had an appetite as prodigious as his physique.
Ark and Caius looked increasingly mortified each time she returned with yet another dish, but Rhodes remained completely unfazed.
If anything, he looked proud of himself, digging in with the unabashed enthusiasm of a man who saw no shame in fully enjoying his meal.
Cassia, personally, loved it.
By the time the plates were empty and the last crumbs of scones had disappeared, Cassia sensed the weight of well-fed contentment settling over the table.
Caius leaned back in his chair, as if too stuffed to bother with the proper posture. Ark had finished his meal long ago, hands wrapped around the last dregs of his cider, watching in silence as Rhodes—predictably still hungry—pushed back from the table and made his way toward the counter.
She was already totaling up receipts when he reached the register to pay for the entire meal.
“Everything was absolutely delicious, Miss Aura,” he declared as she gave him his change, the deep voice solemn. “Tell me—do you have more of those hand pies? And the scones too?”
Cassia glanced up, arching a brow. “Of course. How many would you like?”
He met her gaze, utterly sincere. “How many do you have?”
She chuckled, head shaking. “Let me pack them up for you.”
While she turned to gather the pastries, he leaned lazily against the counter, casting a glance back at the table. “Caius and Ark will complain that I embarrassed them.” He didn’t sound remotely sorry.
Cassia couldn’t stop a small smile as she tied up the first bundle. She exhaled, knotting the twine with a flick of her wrist, the weight in her chest a little easier to carry.
“You made me feel very appreciated today, Mr. Elios. Thank you.” Her hands stilled briefly over the parchment, her smile softening. “It hadn’t been a good day until you and your friends came in.”
She handed him his carefully wrapped packages and smiled, the day much brighter than it had seemed that morning.
Strange. She’d expected exhaustion by now, had braced for it the same way she always did on this day.
But instead, she felt . . . present. Less like she was just going through the motions, more like she had actually been here today, in her own skin.
All because a trio of mysterious men had come in and eaten more than half her inventory.
She shook her head, turning back to wipe down the counter just as Ark approached.
“I’m sorry that my friend”—he gestured vaguely toward Rhodes, who was now stuffing his parcels into his coat—“ate all your goods.”
Cassia raised a brow, propping her hip against the counter. “I know you’re pretty much royalty, but do you understand how retail works? You see, I make things, then I hope at some point today, people will come and buy all of them.”
Ark’s expression remained dry, but his eyes glimmered. “I understand how retail works, thank you very much.”
“Good,” she said breezily, finishing her cleaning with a flick of the rag. “Because thanks to you and your friends, I’ll be able to close early today. I’m in for an early night of relaxing on the sofa.”
She smiled as she said it, but her mind was already pulling her toward what that evening would actually look like.
The familiar routine came easily: the guilt about taking a night off from Starlight, the quiet of her sitting room, a book she wouldn’t read, a blanket too large for one person.
She would cook a meal meant for a family of three and not eat a bite.
It was what she did every year on this day. The same rhythm. The same solitude.
Because doing the same things felt easier than something new.
“Would you accompany me tonight, then?” he asked.
Cassia’s mind went blank. She spun around to face him just as he continued, as if it were the most natural question in the world.
“There’s an event I must attend tonight,” he explained. “It requires formal dress. It’s the perfect venue for your first public appearance as my Chosen.” He paused. “It’ll be a statement for us to be seen there together.”
“Tonight?” Her voice came out high-pitched. She bit her lip, scrambling for an excuse. “Well, tonight I can’t—”
“She’ll go!”
Cassia startled as two voices answered for her in unison.
Mrs. Potts and Mrs. Tilly stood by the shelves near the register, their all-knowing gazes fixed firmly on her.
“Of course she’ll go,” Mrs. Tilly added, arms folded as if daring Cassia to refuse.
Cassia opened her mouth, only to close it again.
Betrayal. Absolute betrayal.
Before she could muster a protest, another voice eagerly cut in. “Let me make her dress. Please.”
Cassia turned just in time to see Opalina staring at them, eyes practically gleaming with determination.
“I’ll make a beautiful one,” she promised. “You won’t regret it, I swear.”
Ark tilted his head, considering the suggestion. “Yes, that is a good idea.” His gaze slid back to Cassia, measured and far too calm compared to the palpable excitement radiating from Opalina and the murmurs of the room. “What do you think?”
She opened her mouth again, but he was already turning back to Opalina before she could say a word.
“If I pick Cassia up at six,” he said, “are you certain you can finish in time?”
“Yes.” Opalina was already moving, her chair legs scraping against the floor as she stood. “Yes, I’ll make it work.”
Cassia swallowed the tightness in her throat. She forced herself to speak before everyone else got carried away. “But tonight, I—”
Mrs. Tilly’s hand on her arm stopped her. The elderly woman looked at her with a softened expression. “It’ll be good for you to go, my dear.”
Cassia’s chest squeezed. “Mrs. Tilly, tonight is—”
Mrs. Potts’s voice was even softer. “That’s precisely why you must go, Cassia.” Her papery hand found Cassia’s cheek, gentle and knowing. “Don’t spend tonight alone again.”
Cassia’s breath caught.
There it was, the reason she had planned for an early night, had wanted solitude instead of company. The ladies knew. Of course, they all knew.
She turned only to see Ark quietly watching her. If he’d sensed how the room had shifted around her, he didn’t comment. His voice was quieter when he asked, “Is this alright with you, Cassia?”
She scanned the faces around her—Mrs. Tilly’s knowing smile, Mrs. Potts’s gentle hand, Opalina’s barely contained excitement. Even Lilibeth grinned approvingly, despite her earlier suspicion.
“Yes.” She finally relented. “It seems I have . . . an event to attend tonight.”
Her own acceptance hung in the air, still strange on her tongue. She had said yes, carried along by everyone else’s current. Now, the reality of it settled in.
“Where are we going?” she asked him.
“You’ll see.”
She tilted her head. “What kind of event requires that level of secrecy? Should I be preparing for a dinner? Theatre? Poetry reading?”
A slow smile touched Ark’s lips—the first truly unguarded expression she’d seen from him all afternoon. It made him look younger, almost mischievous.
“Consider it a surprise.” He leaned over the counter, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. “Wear the dress. Bring your wit. The rest . . .” He pulled back, that same devastating smile curving his mouth. “I’ll handle the rest.”
Cassia closed the bakery early. After Arkenoth and his friends left, there hadn’t been much left to sell anyway. Rhodes had seen to that with a terrifying level of efficiency. And with a high-society event looming on the horizon, she needed time to go home and brace herself.
Her home—a single-story cottage tucked just around the corner from The Witching Flour—was all soft lamplight and creaky charm. Creeping ivy framed the front windows, and the faint scent of cinnamon, dried lavender, and old books lingered in the air like a signature fragrance.
Inside, it was chaos.
Her bedroom had been overtaken by silk and satin. Every available surface was draped in fabric or occupied by shoes, accessories, and ribbon swatches in colours Cassia couldn’t even name.
Anuck lounged in the centre of the bed, entirely undisturbed by the chaos unfolding around him. He blinked once in their direction—mild interest, at best—then resumed his posture of feline indifference, tail flicking in a slow, judgmental rhythm.
Opalina emerged triumphantly from Cassia’s closet, holding aloft a dress wrapped in gauze and protective spells. Even through the wrapping, Cassia recognized the twilight-blue fabric—and her stomach clenched.
“I knew this would come in handy one day,” Opalina said, the pride evident in her voice.
Cassia, seated in front of the mirror, gave a flat look. “You mean the dress I insisted we burn?”
Opalina didn’t flinch. “And I, with my eternal wisdom, said no.”
Cassia stared at her reflection as Lilibeth gently towel-dried her hair from behind, soft curls springing back into place with each pass. Her eyes found the dress again in the mirror.
“I still wonder why we didn’t,” Cassia murmured.
Lilibeth’s hands settled gently on her shoulders. “It didn’t work for what we planned back then. But that doesn’t mean the dress doesn’t deserve its moment now.”
A pang twisted in Cassia’s chest. The dress was beautiful—achingly so. Then again, everything Opalina made seemed touched by magic.
What had once been a forgotten twilight-blue tea-length gown buried in the back of her closet slowly went through a transformation.
Opalina preserved its bones and nothing else—she’d kept the shape and built something entirely new atop it.
With a bowl of crushed lavender and rose petals, a shimmer of elf magic, and her steady, precise hands, she rendered the fabric a soft, luminous purple.
The off-shoulder neckline formed a silhouette both elegant and demure, while the bodice hugged her frame.
From the dropped waist, layers of silk organza spilled in airy folds to midcalf, catching the lamplight with every shift.
Iridescent pearls and crystals traced the neck and waistline like dew, and fine embroidery wove delicate silver-and-gold vines across the fabric, clusters of lilacs blooming quietly in their wake.
It was feminine without being precious. Sophisticated, but full of wonder. No one could look at it and not see that it had been made by an elf’s hands—and by an artist.
Her wild curls had been tamed under Lilibeth’s careful hands—pressed smooth with heated combs, then braided into a sleek plait coiled neatly at the back of her head. Sprigs of dried lavender had been threaded between the twists, subtle and fragrant.
Cassia looked at her reflection in the mirror and swallowed around the tightness in her throat.
It felt strange, standing here in something so beautiful. Unfair, almost. Like she’d put on someone else’s life for the night—someone who had no reason to mourn, who didn’t carry the weight of this particular day in her chest like a broken glass wrapped in silk.
But with Opalina and Lilibeth’s steady presence behind her, with the gown clinging like it belonged on her body and the pearls resting cool against her skin, Cassia looked at herself and saw someone she might have been. On another night. In another life.
Her parents would have loved her in this dress.
For once, just this once, maybe she could do something different.
Even if it hurt.