Chapter Forty-Eight
A Sweet Christmas
Snow slowly settled over rooftops and quiet streets as Christmas approached.
In Wilson, the small kitchen inside Clare's house was unusually busy.
Flour dusted the table, and a warm, sweet aroma began to fill the room.
Clare stood near the counter, carefully mixing ingredients while her mother watched with curiosity.
"You've been doing this for quite some time now," her mother said. "Are you sure it will turn out well?"
Clare smiled without looking up.
"It will. Just wait."
Her father stood near the doorway, arms crossed.
"This is the dessert you brought from France?"
"Yes," Clare replied. "It's called cake."
Her mother tilted her head slightly.
"It doesn't look very special."
Clare laughed softly.
"It will."
When the cake was finally ready, she placed it carefully on the table.
Her parents exchanged a glance before trying it.
Her mother took a bite first.
She paused.
Then her expression changed.
"It's… soft."
Her father followed, more cautiously.
A small but clear smile appeared.
"This is quite good."
Clare's smile widened.
Soon, word spread.
Neighbors began visiting, curious about the new dessert.
Clare patiently explained the steps, guiding them, correcting them, laughing with them.
The small house slowly filled with warmth, voices, and excitement.
And just like that, something new had begun in Wilson.
Not far from there, inside the royal palace, the atmosphere was far more controlled—but no less curious.
Daniel stood in the palace kitchen, sleeves slightly rolled up.
Elza stood beside him, watching closely.
"So the mixture has to remain light," Daniel explained. "If not, the texture changes."
Elza nodded seriously.
"And the timing?"
"Important," he said calmly.
Royal cooks stood at a distance, whispering among themselves.
"A prince… baking?"
Daniel ignored them.
Elza tried mixing, slightly clumsy at first.
Daniel corrected her hand gently.
"Not too fast."
She frowned.
"This is harder than it looks."
"That's why it's interesting."
When the cake was finally prepared, it was presented carefully.
Elza took the first bite.
Her eyes widened.
"This is wonderful!"
Daniel smiled faintly.
The royal cooks exchanged surprised looks.
Even within palace walls, something simple had quietly made its way in.
Far across the sea, inside a grand English palace, Christmas preparation was much louder.
Jack stood in the kitchen, focused, determined.
Behind him, his older brother leaned lazily against the wall.
"This should be entertaining," he said. "A prince attempting to cook."
Jack didn't respond.
"Careful," his brother continued, "you might drop the bowl like everything else."
Jack exhaled slowly.
"Just watch."
He continued.
Mixing carefully.
More carefully than usual.
When the cake was finally ready, he placed it on the table.
"Try it."
His brother smirked but took a bite.
Then paused.
"…It's not terrible."
Jack raised an eyebrow.
"That's high praise coming from you."
Others tasted it.
Servants whispered.
Nobles looked surprised.
Finally, his mother—the Queen of England—tasted a small piece.
She paused.
Then gave a small nod.
"Well done."
For a brief moment, Jack felt it.
Pride.
But then a royal official spoke from behind.
"A prince in the kitchen… how amusing."
A few quiet laughs followed.
The Queen's expression changed instantly.
"This is not appropriate conversation," she said coldly.
The room fell silent.
But the earlier warmth had faded.
Jack looked at the cake again.
This time, he didn't let it affect him.
---
In France, the café was glowing with warmth and life.
Candles flickered on every table as customers laughed and celebrated.
Noah moved quickly behind the counter while Emma arranged desserts.
A fresh cake sat proudly among them.
"So it has reached here too," Emma said with a smile.
Noah nodded.
"It's simple… but people love it."
She served a slice to a customer who immediately smiled.
Outside, snow fell softly.
Inside, the café was alive.
---