Page 56 of Must Love Scones and Secrets
“PrinceBjorn,” I repeated for the hundredth time, testing how the words felt in my mouth. “I slept with a prince.” I groaned, dropping my head onto the counter with a soft thud, not caring about the flour in my hair. “And now I’m talking to myself. Great. Clearly going insane is the next logical step.”
Prince Bjorn. Not Bjorn Runeson, Master of Horse, but Prince Bjorn of Frostfjord. The blue runes blazing on his skin, the same ones that had glowed when we made love, weren’t just any Rune elf markings—they were royal markings. Everything made sense now: his formal manners, careful speech, and reluctance to talk about his family.
The mother.
She was a freaking queen, not just an overbearing mom.
“Ugh! Burnt ends!”
“Dear me,” Winifred called, her voice cutting through my internal tirade. She took one look at me—flour-dusted, red-eyed, surrounded by enough scones to feed half of Moonshine Hollow—and sighed. Winifred hung her enormous hat on a peg by the door and rolled up her sleeves. “Put the kettle on. You look like you could use some tea.”
I didn’t argue, just set a pot of water to boil with a flick of my fingers. Winifred busied herself clearing a space at the counter, moving aside bowls and baking sheets with brisk efficiency.
“I’m guessing you’ve been at this since you returned from the Whispering Woods?” she asked.
I nodded, wiping my hands on my apron. “How did you know I was there?”
“Small town, big ears,” she said with a shrug. “Word travels fast, especially when it involves fairies, magical disturbances, and secret royalty.”
I winced at the last part. “So, everyone knows?”
“That you and our mysterious visitor from the north fixed the Ley lines? Yes. That the man who’s been making eyes at you since he arrived is actually Prince Bjorn of Frostfjord? Also yes. Did you really think Elder Thornberry would keep that to himself?” She paused, fixing me with a pointed look. “That the two of you spent a night together at Woodsong Cabin? Not yet, but give it time.”
My face flushed so hot I was surprised the flour on my cheeks didn’t bake right off. “That’s—we didn’t—well, we did, but—oh, burnt ends!”
The kettle whistled, and I gratefully turned away to make the tea.
“Forget Me scones?” Winifred asked, eyeing them with an arched brow. “Rather drastic, don’t you think?”
“I needed to bake something,” I said then fixed us both a cup of tea, setting Winnie’s before her.
“Mmm.” She took a sip of her tea. “You know, I’ve been suspicious of our northern friend since I first saw him lurking outside your shop.”
“Yes, I know. I should have listened.”
“I saw him at the market with a big man who called himPrinceBjorn…”
I nearly choked on my tea. “You knew?”
“That he was royal? Not at first. But that he was hiding something? Absolutely.” Winifred helped herself to a scone, breaking it in half and watching the blue magic curl like smoke from its center. “So, I kept an eye on him. That’s how I learned the truth. I confronted him about it, right out there in the street.”
My heart thumped painfully in my chest. “What did he say?”
“Not much, directly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, unable to keep the hurt from my voice.
“Because I was still gathering intelligence,” Winifred said matter-of-factly. “Also, I needed to determine whether he was a threat or just an idiot.”
“And your conclusion?”
“Idiot,” she said promptly. “But not a malicious one. Just a man who’s made a mess of things because he’s scared.”
“RoyalPrinceBjorn, scared of a pixie baker?”
“Terrified,” Winifred said. “Absolutely petrified. You should have seen his face when I confronted him. He looked like he’d rather face a fire-breathing dragon than risk you finding out who he really was.”
“But why? It makes no sense. He lied. To everyone. To me. He let me think he was just…just a normal person. Just Bjorn.”
