Brother Maxmillian's birthday was less than a month away.
And I, Liliane von Hohenberg, the Crown Princess-to-be, reformed version of the goddess of love, was sitting at the dining table staring at cake.
Yes, cake.
Not one, not two—five.
Strawberry cake, chocolate cake, cheesecake, peanut cake, and one whose flavor I didn't even know… maybe depression flavor with a powdered sugar topping.
"A gift… a gift…" I mumbled, spooning cream into my mouth.
Every time I thought of Brother Max, my head immediately turned into an empty, echoing room, like a royal hall during a social gathering that failed to attract important nobles.
I knew I was supposed to give him something meaningful. But what?
Money? Undignified.
A painting? I can't even draw a straight line without a ruler and a prayer.
A love letter? Disgusting.
I stared at the tea, which was starting to get cold.
