When Bennet was a boy, home was covered in snow, with crystal clear light and air so sharp it hurt to breathe.

He tries to see Euphonia through Archer’s eyes, tries to imagine how it compares to Archer’s definition of home: to Jadenvale’s heavy golden sunlight and tropical heat and air that Bennet experiences as a wet blanket.

He says ( Read more... )

“Nothing,” Archer said, staring at the many-tiered concoction.

Archer found his way to the castle kitchen, where the baker looked askance when he said he wanted to learn how to bake the night-and-day cake.

“Begging your pardon, Eminence, but it’s an extremely elaborate recipe. It takes a full week to bake.”

The Prince Consort should know ( Read more... )

Requested by anonymous ( Read more... )