You stood in the royal kitchen, surrounded by flour dusted counters and the unmistakable scent of something slightly burnt lingering in the air.

“Why won’t you flip?” You muttered through gritted teeth, glaring at the stubborn pancake as you shook the pan with just a little too much force. “I command you to behave.”

From the doorway, your husband, Prince Frédéric, leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched his queen go to battle with breakfast.

“Ma reine.” He said, barely holding back a laugh, “are you… threatening the food?”

You jumped, cheeks instantly flushing as you spun around. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet!”

He stepped into the room, smirking. “How could I sleep with my wife clearly declaring war in the kitchen?”