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.

He'd promised to ask for the recipe. She'd assumed either he or a servant would stop by her kitchens. Not that bakers from Cyra would demand a recipe from her father.

"I had a conversation with a Cyran at the party last week," she said. "It was innocent, and he really liked some of the pastries. I might have mentioned that I made them, but the man didn't get my name."

"So they don't know they were speaking to a lady of the house but instead think they were having friendly banter with my staff," the earl sighed. "Do you at least know who the man was?"

Elowen bit her lip and lied. "No, sir."

The fact that she'd spilled an entire plate of food all over the crown prince of Cyra would just make this worse. Her father never needed to know that the man was Fletcher. They could fulfill the request of the Cyran kitchen without involving the prince.

"Perhaps Tabitha or Zola might know," the earl said. "Whoever it was clearly works at the palace. I don't need more problems with Cyra right now. Their king is scheming, and I'm trying to make sure our family isn't caught in the crossfire. If they make their plans a reality, it will threaten our city."

Elowen generally stayed far away from politics. Her father didn't much care for either monarch of the two kingdoms that surrounded their city. The Cyran king was petty and had little regard for anyone else when he made royal decrees, while the Saharite queen was elderly, and sometimes, it took months to make decisions.

"Is there anything I can do?" She asked.

Her father shuffled his papers again. "I dread to ask anything of you, daughter, but if our position does not improve and Cyra continues with its plans, it may force me to consider marriage alliances. I've been looking into options for your brother. Brennon is elder, and he will need a partner to rule this city one day but I cannot forget you too are also of age."

Elowen didn't flinch. She always knew a political marriage was in her future. It didn't bother her anymore. She'd come of age a few months ago with minimal fanfare. She hadn't even asked for a big party thrown in her honor because, to her, it wasn't worth drawing attention to her age.

She would marry Nene when the time was right. She didn't need suitors like her stepsisters craved. Her father wouldn't make her marry anyone she couldn't at least find tolerable, and she enjoyed the idea of having children.

"What are you considering?" She asked.

The earl sighed. "I did hope you could marry for love like when I married your mother, but Nene may need more support in the coming days. While I'd rather marry you to someone like the Bine family in Sahar because your brother speaks highly of their eldest heir, it is more likely we'll need an alliance in Cyra. If we had time to wait for Prince Lorenzo to come of age, it would be preferable, but we may have to settle for the Marquis de Ryne."

"The king's bastard son?" Elowen frowned. "If our house needs an alliance with a Cyran prince, why not consider the Crown Prince Fletcher?"

The earl raised an eyebrow. "I never thought you an advantageous social climber, Elowen."

Elowen immediately realized how foolish she sounded. Just because she'd had a connection with the prince didn't make her entitled to him.

"I don't want to be a queen," she said. "I was wondering why you chose the Marquis. His position is a bit taboo in court even if he is a perfect gentleman."

Nathaniel de Ryne was thoughtful and a hard worker. When his rangers came through Nene, they often stayed at the manor. Brennon had often fantasized about taking off with Nathaniel's rangers in the past few years.

"We need Cyra to be mindful that we are here, and Nathaniel de Ryne has the ear of his half-brother, the crown prince," the earl said. "But we can discuss this more in the coming days. Right now, I need recipe cards to send to Cyra. Work with Cookie and arrange something we can send as soon as possible. We really do need the Cyrans on our side, and if pastries give us the edge, then by the gods, we'll play the hand we've got."

A knock came on the door. Brennon pushed his way in the room followed by his friend Zaxten de Bine of Sahar and a Saharite vizier named Kallia. It was an odd group for company and Elowen frowned at their stricken expressions.

"Father," Brennon said. "We've searched the city over again. He's still missing."

Elowen bit her lip to hold in a groan. Nene had been entrusted to house the prince of Sahar sixteen years ago. Bastien de Sahar was a charming young man, if a bit reclusive, but he'd been known to play hooky and disappear over the last two years.

Each time it happened, the prince's guardian, Vizier Kellia, came to the earl begging for his help locating her charge. Sometimes, it took days to find the prince. The standing record was Bastien missing for a week before the city guard found him squirreled away in a storage closet on the city wall.

"Zis is becoming a problem," Zaxten spoke with a heavy southern Saharite accent. "Ze queen sent me to observe her grandson, and we've come no closer to discovering ze reasons for his flights. We must locate Bastien at once."

"He may even turn up on his own in a few hours," Brennon said. "You know he prefers sleeping during the day. He's likely in some alcove, completely dead to the world."

"If zis is over a girl like I suspect-" Zaxten said.

Vizier Kallia interupted him. "Zis is not over a silly girl. Bastien knows ze rules. He's to stay in his room at our diplomatic villa unless chaperoned by me. I would know if zere was a woman in his life."

Elowen suspected that the rules were exactly why Bastien was so rebellious. She wouldn't want to be followed around constantly by a bitter old woman who talked of nothing but Sahar's superior lands. Bastien was a good man, but he needed freedom.

"Kallia," the earl said, smiling as he dealt with the diplomat, but sweat pooled at his temples. "Allow Brennon and the city guard to find Bastien. Elowen, please get me those recipes, and I need everyone out of my office."

Elowen could take a hint. She filed out of her father's office behind the Vizier and beside her brother. Zaxten took the elderly woman's hand and led her downstairs while Brennon hung back.

"What's got Father this worked up?" He asked her.

Elowen shook her head. "I think it has something to do with Cyra, but we didn't discuss specifics. Good luck with your hunt for the prince."

Brennon chuckled. "Any idea where he is?"

"Not a clue," Elowen said. "He turns up in the strangest places. Happy hunting, Bren. I've got to dig up some recipes for a prince?"

"What?" Brennon frowned.

Elowen laughed. "Don't worry about it, big brother. Just go find Bastien."

She hugged her brother and parted ways so that she could head back down to the kitchens, and he could return to search for the city's wayward prince. There were some recipes that she needed to cook up.