The first time you met him, you were kneading dough in the warm glow of your kitchen, the scent of flour and butter filling the air. It had been a long, tiring day, and you found yourself lost in the simple rhythm of your work. Baking wasn’t just a livelihood for you—it was your escape. The world outside could be harsh, but in the kitchen, with the soft, yielding dough in your hands, everything felt manageable. Life was simple, and it was in these quiet moments that you found peace.

Then the bell above the door chimed, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced up, surprised, to find a man standing at the threshold. He was tall and imposing, dressed in fine clothes—rich, dark fabrics that glimmered slightly under the light. His posture was perfect, almost regal, and his eyes, despite being a little weary, held a kind of quiet command. In his hand, he held a bouquet of flowers, the colors vivid and carefully arranged.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said, his voice steady but soft, with the faintest trace of an accent you couldn’t place. “I’ve walked past your shop many times and thought I might offer these to you.”

You blinked, unsure of how to respond. You weren’t used to visitors like him—people from beyond the common folk who wandered in, let alone someone dressed like he belonged to a different world entirely. “Thank you,” you managed, taking the flowers from him, your fingers brushing against his, and for a brief moment, you felt the weight of his presence in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

His eyes were cool and direct, studying you with an intensity that was almost too much. “I’m Duke Gabriel of Wycliffe,” he said, as if stating a simple fact, yet there was a quiet humility in his tone. “I’ve heard much about your bakery—your croissants, in particular. They’re said to be the finest in the region.”