Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

”Y-Your Grace! Welcome to the Sun-Oven Pavilion! How may we serve the North today?”

Kaelus did not look at the baker. He looked at the massive glass display cases filled with towering, architecturally complex cakes, delicate tarts, and glistening, cream-filled eclairs.

He subjected the baked goods to the same intense, lethal glare he usually reserved for enemy troop formations.

”The Lady requires sustenance,” Kaelus declared, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that made the surrounding bakers sweat. ”I require your finest, softest creations. If I detect a single trace of industrial grit, burnt flour, or excessive, tooth-rotting sweetener in these confections, I will freeze your ovens solid and banish you to the Glacial Abyss.”

The baker turned the color of parchment. ”A-Absolutely, Your Grace! Only the purest, hand-milled Southern wheat and naturally sourced fruit nectars! Right away!”

Within three minutes, Kaelus and Seraphina were seated at a delicate table in a secluded, sun-dappled corner of the pavilion.

In front of Seraphina sat a plate holding two massive, exquisite pastries: one covered in a shimmering, vibrant pink strawberry glaze, and the other a flaky, butter-rich tart crowned with caramelized star-peaches.

Seraphina’s dark eyes widened to the size of saucers. Her soul, which remembered the tragic, soggy stale bread of the orphanage, wept tears of pure joy.

She didn’t wait for a fork. She grabbed the pink-glazed pastry with both of her small hands, opened her mouth as wide as her jaw would allow, and took a big bite.

The soft, pillowy dough gave way, and a rich, sweet, vanilla-bean cream exploded into her mouth.

Instantly, her cheeks bulged outward.

Because Seraphina’s six-year-old face was naturally round and soft, the volume of the pastry completely distorted her facial proportions. Her cheeks puffed out to maximum capacity, turning her into an incredibly cute human hamster. She chewed rapidly, her dark eyes blissfully half-closed in a state of pure sugar euphoria.

Kaelus sat across from her, a cup of dark tea resting untouched before him. He watched her chew, leaning his chin on his hand, the terrifying, homicidal aura of the warlord completely replaced by a puddle of warm, domestic fondness.

”Chew slowly, Mushroom,” Kaelus murmured, reaching out with a pristine linen napkin to dab a speck of pink frosting from the tip of her nose. ”The pastry is not attempting to escape your plate.”

Seraphina mumbled something incomprehensible around her mouthful of cream, kicking her feet under the table happily.

It was a scene of absolute, peaceful serenity.

Which meant, by the laws of the universe, it was about to be interrupted.

Click. Clack. Click.

The sharp, disciplined, highly rhythmic sound of silver-plated boots striking the tile floor approached their secluded table.

Seraphina, currently working on her second bite, slowly turned her head, her cheeks still completely stuffed.

Walking toward the pastry counter, holding a heavy leather-bound tome of holy scripture under one arm, was Cassian.

The twelve-year-old Paladin-in-training was, as always, an absolute vision of terrifying, prepubescent perfection.

His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, his pristine white tunic and azure cape were flawlessly pressed, and his sharp, icy-blue eyes radiated the arrogant, devout superiority of a boy who had spent his entire life being praised as a divine prodigy.

He was muttering to himself, his brow furrowed in pious concentration. ”...and the seventh tenet dictates absolute denial of earthly gluttony, for the flesh is weak, and the spirit must remain unburdened by—”

Cassian stopped walking.

He had intended to order a plain loaf of whole-grain bread, the only ration deemed acceptable for his strict, holy fasting regimen.

Instead, his icy-blue eyes drifted to the wrought-iron table.

They locked onto Seraphina.

For the twelve-year-old prodigy, whose entire existence was defined by rigid discipline, endless prayer, and the stoic rejection of all things frivolous, soft, and worldly, the sight before him was the equivalent of a catastrophic system error.

Seraphina was sitting in the oversized chair, wearing her gray linen training tunic. Her hair was a slightly messy, chaotic array of braids.

And her cheeks... her cheeks were so impossibly, aggressively stuffed with pink pastry and cream that she looked like a woodland creature preparing for a harsh winter.

A small smudge of cream lingered on her chin. She stared at him, blinking her large, innocent dark eyes, chewing with a rapid, rhythmic, adorable intensity.

Cassian’s brain simply stopped working.

The Holy Scriptures in his hand felt suddenly very heavy. The tenets of stoicism and asceticism evaporated from his mind.

’What... what is that?’ Cassian’s internal monologue stuttered, completely unable to categorize the visual data. ’Why are her cheeks so round? Why is she looking at me like that? It is... it is highly improper. It is gluttonous. It is...’

Cassian’s pale, flawless, porcelain skin betrayed him.

Starting from the very edge of his starched, pristine white collar, an expanding flush of brilliant, burning crimson began to creep up his neck. It surged past his jawline, completely overtaking his sharp cheekbones, turning the tips of his silver-framed ears practically radioactive.

The Ice Prince was blushing.

He wasn’t just blushing; he was short-circuiting in the face of innocent toddler cuteness.

”Y-You,” Cassian stammered, pointing a trembling, white-gloved finger at Seraphina. His icy-blue eyes were wide, frantic, and completely stripped of their arrogant composure. ”You are consuming an excess of processed sugar! It is... it is a violation of physical purity! A-And your face! Your face is expanding in an unnatural manner!”

Seraphina paused her chewing. She looked at the blushing, stammering tween.

Her mind, swimming in a sea of vanilla cream, found the situation absolutely hilarious.

’Oh, he’s malfunctioning,’ Seraphina giggled internally.

Seraphina didn’t apologize. She didn’t swallow.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, puffed her cheeks out even further, and offered Cassian an incredibly cheeky little wink.

Cassian actually gasped. He took a stumbling step backward, clutching his holy tome against his chest as if it were a physical shield against her charm. His face was now so red he vaguely resembled a ripe tomato wrapped in holy vestments.