The carriage wheels clattered against the cobbled path as the group approached the gates of Velloria. The city loomed ahead, its towering archway wide enough to welcome elephants, its golden spires catching the morning sun like blades of light.
Carmine pulled her hood tighter. "We're here."
The city was a bouquet of celebration — garlands of marigold and rose draped across balconies, lanterns swaying in the breeze, musicians tuning their instruments in the square. The engagement of Princess Elaine had turned Velloria into a living festival.
Inside the carriage, Colden glanced at Marco, his eyes lingering.
Marco smiled softly. "I'll see you tonight."
Colden nodded. "Be careful."
They parted at the southern plaza, slipping into their disguises like masks. Carmine took the merchant's route toward the palace gates. Francis vanished into the crowd, already dressed as a butler. Colden adjusted his cloak and mask, blending into the noble procession.
Marco walked toward the bakery, apron folded under his arm.
The bakery was warm and bustling, the scent of cinnamon and fresh dough filling the air. Marco rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms dusted with flour and a small scar near his wrist — a mark from his inn days.
His hair, black and tousled, curled slightly from the heat. His green eyes shimmered like glass under the morning light, and his smile — soft, genuine — made the older bakers pause mid-whisk.
He baked sponge cakes with lavender glaze, stacked them with precision, and hummed quietly as he worked.
Later, he stepped out to visit a nearby shop for wholesale wheat, carrying a list and a pouch of coins.
That's when the carriage arrived.
Royal blue, trimmed in silver, with the crest of Velloria etched into the door.
Prince August stepped out.
Tall, sharp-featured, with golden curls and a gaze that scanned the crowd like a hawk. His eyes landed on Marco.
And stayed.
August tilted his head, intrigued.
He followed Marco discreetly — through the market, past the flower stalls, and into the bakery.
Marco turned, surprised. "Oh! Welcome, sir."
August stepped forward. "I was… admiring the cakes."
Marco smiled. "We have fresh ones. Would you like to try?"
August nodded, eyes still fixed on him.
Marco handed him a small tart and bowed slightly. "Here you go, master— I mean, sir."
August blinked.
"Master," he repeated, lips curling.
Marco flushed. "I meant—sorry, I didn't mean—"
August took the tart, clearly amused. "No need to apologize."
He turned and walked out, his cape fluttering behind him.
Marco stood there, confused.
"…What just happened?"
The other bakers giggled behind the counter.
And the city of Velloria kept blooming around them.
To be continued…