The Honey Cake He like

"Y—Yes?" Lyla's eyes widened is disbelief. 

"Do you think I have time to be bothered by them?" Elara passed the two wine bottles in her grip to Lyla. 

"Th—that's not what I—" 

"Maids like them have their uses. Sometimes, their nonsense could be a blessing in disguise." 

The two bottles at the corner of the wine shelf made Elara stretch onto her toes to reach them.

"The last time I did charity work quietly, they spread malicious rumors. But in the end, it made my charity well-known, and suddenly, all the noble ladies wanted to join the hype." 

Lyla nodded, remembering the home sanitation charity. Originally, the royal court had banned it for the lower class, fear that nobles visiting the slums might catch infectious diseases.

Recalling the commotion that followed made Lyla smile—because, in the end, noblewomen became fascinated by Elara's handmade fragrances, which kept bath chambers free from pests while smelling like aromatherapy.

Now, Her Grace had an unexpectedly thriving trade in therapeutic scents. What started as an act of charity had turned into providing jobs for the people of Ravenswood. Before this, the March's economy had relied solely on the Crown's funding.

Elara sniffed the two bottles in her hands alternately before handing them to Lyla, who stared wide-eyed as she struggled to hold all four bottles in her arms.

"Give these wines to Rodrigo and tell him to serve the ale with the blue mark on its barrels first."

Lyla nodded and turned to head toward the hall.

"Lyla!"

Elara's call halted her steps, making her glance back.

"I wouldn't worry about the lizard-tongue sisters at all—not when I have a loyal confidante who will do me justice." She winked, flashing a bright smile before striding toward the kitchen.

That secret wink made Lyla smile knowingly. She understood the unspoken message behind it—and she promised to teach the lizard-tongue sisters a proper lesson.

Elara continued toward the kitchen, ensuring nothing went amiss with the food for the celebration. 

A deep, smoky aroma—rich with charred fat, sizzling juices, and the earthy bite of rosemary and garlic—assaulted her nostrils as she spotted three whole boars roasting over open flames. 

To her right, the savoury scent of lamb stew bubbling in two large pots stirred her stomach. She recalled that she hadn't eaten anything since her herbal tea this morning. 

The sight of stacked loaves on the table tempted her to pull out a chair and sit. A few attentive servants hurried over, ready to offer her a warm bowl of stew, but she only requested soft cheese and mulberry jam. 

For the past four years, Elara had made a habit of lingering in the kitchen, watching the cooks move with effortless skill. No matter how much she tried, her own cooking could likely only earn praise from Lyla. 

As long as the Head Maid didn't catch her like this, she and the kitchen staff could joke and chatter freely.

"Sir Edwig, the food for City Hall—" 

"No need to worry, Your Grace. All the soldiers' meals were distributed since dawn. We prepared the same menu as the castle's, just as you commanded." The burly, bearded man spoke with enthusiasm, his wide grin brimming with pride. 

Elara nodded. "Thank you for your hard work. You can meet me tomorrow for the kitchen crew's bonus, as I promised." She spread jam over her bread as a cheer erupted from the kitchen staff at the mention of their reward. 

"You all hear that, lads and gents? Now, get off your lazy arses and do some work!" Sir Edwig, the head chef, bellowed with gusto, his booming voice fueling the lively energy in the kitchen as the staff returned to their tasks. 

Really, Elara had no obligation to be this generous—not to the castle servants, nor the lower-rank soldiers. 

Tonight's feast was reserved only for knights and some of the elite warriors, yet she had arranged another banquet at City Hall, paid entirely from her own purse. 

It wasn't customary for a castle's kitchen to send noble-quality meals to common soldiers, but Elara did so gladly. In her eyes, they deserved no less than the knights. 

Even the promised bonuses came from her personal earnings—profits from trading her bath chamber fragrances with the noble ladies. 

People called her a saint, but deep down, she savored the power of giving. It made her feel in control and powerful.

"Your Grace, would you like to try this? I set aside a small portion for you." A middle-aged female kitchen staff member offered a small round cake, glazed with black mulberry jam and sprinkled with crushed almonds. 

Elara's eyes widened at the sight. The deep purple-black of the jam against the golden-brown sprinkles reminded her of stars scattered across the night sky. 

Hesitantly, she cut a small piece, almost reluctant to disturb its beauty. Yet when the spoonful touched her tongue, the cake melted like silk. 

The honeyed bread's sweetness blended seamlessly with the tart jam, while the crushed almonds added a satisfying, nutty crunch. 

One spoonful, then another—until she was practically devouring it, a broad grin spreading across her face. Judith, the baker, smiled just as widely, pleased by her reaction. 

This luxurious cake was made because Reynand favored it. Surprisingly, Agatha enjoyed it too—aside from the fact that she was allergic to nuts. The reason Elara had ordered two spare cakes. 

"You truly have magic hands, Judith. This is to die for." For someone who rarely indulged in sweets, Elara had left nothing but an empty plate in Judith's hands, licking her spoon one last time as if hoping the spoon could release the sweet taste that hypnotized her. 

"Glad you enjoyed it, Your Grace." Judith beamed as Elara finally set the spoon down. 

Rising to her feet, Elara resumed her rounds, ensuring everything was prepared to perfection and showering each cook with praise for their special dishes. 

As she neared the stove where lamb ribs roasted, the sound of children's laughter spilled in from the backyard, loud and brimming with excitement. It piqued her curiosity. 

Striding toward the door, she stepped outside—only to freeze in disbelief at the scene before her. 

"Agatha, what are you—"