The sun spilled like melted butter over the rose-draped hedges of the royal gardens, the scent of blossoms curling sweetly in the air. A breeze stirred the lace on your sleeves as you nestled beside Jest beneath the arch of a flowering trellis, your basket of pastries open between you.

“You baked all of these yourself?” he asked, eyebrows arched in theatrical disbelief as he plucked a delicate puff from the top. “My dear, are you trying to poison me with sweetness?”

You giggled, brushing a crumb from your skirt. “Only if you deserve it.”

Jest bit into the pastry with mock suspicion, eyes fluttering shut as he hummed in delight. “You’ve bested the palace chefs. And perhaps the gods themselves.”

“Flattery won’t get you another,” you teased, though you handed him one anyway.

He leaned close, lips tipped in a grin—but when he licked them clean, a smudge of powdered sugar remained, just at the corner of his mouth. You reached up to wipe it away, but your fingers stilled.

“Hold still,” you murmured, heart racing with a sudden boldness. And then, gently, softly, you leaned in and kissed the sugar from the edge of his mouth.

When you pulled back, you smiled. “You had something on your lips.”