The afternoon lull was short-lived. A commotion at the shop door made Leon look up—there, framed by the sunlight, stood a young girl in a white silk dress and brown velvet vest, her hair tied in two round buns. Behind her was a maid in plain clothing and two guards with swords at their hips.
"That's the Lord's second daughter," a customer whispered. "Dahlia Sainsbury."
Leon's stomach fluttered, but he stepped forward, smiling. "Welcome to Erika's Bakery, my lady."
The girl tilted her head, her eyes wide with curiosity. "I'm Dahlia. My steward buys your bread for the manor. Is this where you make it now?"
"Yes, Lady Dahlia," Leon said. "We just moved here. Today's our grand opening—we have discounted bread, and later, a special new treat."
Dahlia's maid, Carol, stepped forward. "Her lady mother sent her to see the new shop. She's fond of your honey bread."
"Then you're in luck," Leon said. "We have honey bread, and something even sweeter—cream-filled rolls. Have you ever had cream?"
Dahlia shook her head. "What is it?"
"Milk's finest treasure," Leon explained. "You boil milk, and the richest part rises to the top—we collect that, sweeten it with honey, and fill the rolls with it. It's rare—takes a whole bucket of milk to make just a little cream." He wasn't entirely truthful—skimmed milk was still good for baking—but the rarity made it feel special.
He handed her a cream-filled roll, and Dahlia took a small bite. Her face lit up. "This is amazing! How did you think of this?"
"My master taught me," Leon said softly. Eldrin's name still felt strange on his lips, but it was easier to say now. "He traveled a lot, learned all sorts of recipes."
Dahlia finished the roll, wiping crumbs from her mouth. "I want more. And what's the special treat you mentioned?"
"Cake," Leon said. "It's softer than bread, sweeter than rolls—made with eggs and cream. It's cooling now—you're welcome to stay and try it."
Carol glanced at the guards, who nodded. "We'd be happy to wait, young master."
Leon hurried to the kitchen, where Garin was struggling to whip egg whites into stiff peaks. "Need help?" Leon asked, rolling up his sleeves.
Garin grunted, stepping aside. "This is harder than kneading dough."
Leon laughed, taking the whisk. Years of chopping herbs and stirring potions had given him strong arms, and he worked the whisk fast, watching as the egg whites turned frothy, then thick, until they held their shape. He mixed in sugar, then folded in egg yolks, flour, and a splash of skimmed milk—leftover from making cream. Garin slid the mixture into the oven, and soon the kitchen filled with a rich, sweet scent.
By the time the cake was done, the shop was busy again. Leon carefully iced it with a thin layer of cream, then sliced it into neat pieces. He carried a plate to Dahlia, who was sitting at a small table they'd set up for guests.
"Cake," he said, setting it down. "Made with cream and eggs."
Dahlia took a bite, her eyes widening. "It's like eating clouds! How do you make it so soft?"
"Magic," Leon joked. "Or a lot of whisking."
Dahlia laughed—a bright, clear sound. "I want to take some back to the manor. My father and sister would love this."
Leon nodded, wrapping a slice in parchment paper. "It's our gift to you, Lady Dahlia. Thank you for coming."
As Dahlia and her entourage left, the shop buzzed with excitement. People pointed to the cake, asking to buy slices, and Leon smiled as Garin cut more pieces. The cake was a hit—richer than bread, more special than rolls, and perfect for celebrations.
By evening, the bakery was quiet again. Leon leaned against the counter, watching as Erika wiped down the tables and Garin stoked the oven for the next day's bread. His arms ached from whisking, his feet were sore from standing, but his heart was light.
"We did good," he said.
Garin nodded, clapping him on the back. "We did. And it's only the beginning."
Leon thought of Eldrin, of Bart and Walker, of the new friends they'd made in town. He thought of the cake, of the bread, of the legacy they were building. Eldrin had told him to see the world, to grow. As he looked around the warm, busy shop, he knew he was already on his way.
The future stretched out ahead, bright and sweet—like a slice of cake, fresh from the oven.