The Cursed Wish | ONC 2024

Bonus: The Prince of Sahar

Elowen de Nene threw her dough against the table with more veracity than necessary. She knew that it wasn't the poor dough's fault, but she didn't mind taking her frustration out on future bread. It would all bake out anyway. 

Cookie clicked her tongue in a disappointed chide. Elowen punched the dough again with equal parts frustration and anger. Her old mentor sighed, took Elowen's dough off the board, and placed it in a pan. 

"Calm down, El," she said. "Is this because that boy hasn't come around for a recipe?"

Elowen slumped against the pantry door. She knew it was too much to hope for. Fletcher de Cyra was a prince. She was a lady, but she never spent enough time around other nobles to be considered as having any status. She's always let her stepsisters be the show ponies and her brother, the heir, take the spotlight. 

"I told you not to get your hopes up," Cookie said. "But it's only been a week. Maybe he'll surprise you, cupcake."

"I know," Elowen groaned. "But I hoped..."

The door to the kitchen burst open. Her stepsister Tabitha walked in with a wild grin on her face. It was out of place with her pressed mint-colored gown and perfectly coiffed dark brown hair. 

"Lady Tabitha," Cookie held her hands on her hips. "We've talked about this. You cannot barge into the kitchen. Someone could have been hurt, young missy."

"But Cookie, the earl wants to see Elowen right away," Tabitha said. 

Elowen honestly didn't mind her stepsisters. Tabitha and Zola were only seventeen and eighteen years old, and although they constantly flirted with boys, they were harmless. Their mother didn't let them out of the house without a chaperone, and Elowen usually chose to stay in the kitchen rather than volunteer to take the girls out. 

Elowen looked down at her flour-covered apron, grateful that her dress was unscathed. "Do I need to dress?"

"I don't think so," Tabitha said. "Zola said they didn't have visitors."

That meant there weren't any potential suitors. Elowen dreaded the day when her father might demand her presence to present her as a marriage prospect, and she'd be covered with the day's baking remnants. That would be embarrassing. 

Cookie helped her out of her apron, careful to make sure none of the white powder was stuck to her skirt. "You look fine, honey. There's not even any flour on your face."

Elowen quickly washed her hands and followed Tabitha out of the kitchen and upstairs to her father's study. The Earl of Nene sat in the center of his personal library, looking over a dozen papers. He looked up as Tabitha and Elowen walked in and set aside a citywide report that probably involved their city's expenses. 

The earl was responsible for Nene as its steward and judge. Nene had won its right to be independent over three centuries before in a declaration by the Fairy Empress. Elowen's family had looked over the city-state ever since passing the title of earl from father to son. 

"Thank you, Tabitha," her father said. "You may go."

Tabitha squeaked and turned away. Elowen heard the door click closed behind her. Her father frowned and looked her up and down before retrieving another paper from his desk. 

"I received the strangest letter from a baker in Cyra," he said. "He's wondering how some pastries at a party were made because he's been told that his confections do not compare to a young baker girl employed at our manor and her assistant Cookie."

Elowen's jaw dropped. She hadn't told anyone except Cookie and Wryn about Fletcher. Her father would turn it into a big political issue, and it didn't need to be. After all, Fletcher hadn't even learned her name, so there was no way to trace her to the earl.