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Chapter 97 - 97. Dael Kayef, part 3

The city of Dael Kayef glowed in the mild warmth of early dusk of lanterns flickering awake one by one along the cobblestone paths.

The smell of baked bread and sweetened dough drifted through the narrow streets, following the laughter of noble daughters wrapped in pastel gowns. Among them walked Humaia Kha, the Emperor's daughter, dressed in a soft pink bouffant gown stitched with petals and lace. Her cousins teased her endlessly about her obsession with the smell of vanilla and bread.

"Princess Humaia," one cousin whispered, elbowing her. "If Father sees you strolling in these streets again, he'll send ten guards next time."

Humaia smiled shyly, adjusting her gloves. "Then I'll just bake them something nice. They'll forgive me faster than light."

Their laughter filled the market square until it broke with a sharp cry. Humaia's foot caught a loose stone, her ankle twisting painfully beneath her weight. Her cousins rushed to help, but before they could, someone from a nearby shop door hurried forward.

"Careful there!" said a voice, rough but kind. A young man leaned, with flour dusted on his sleeves and streaks of ash on his cheek knelt beside her. "Don't move, miss. You'll hurt yourself."

Humaia winced, one hand gripping his arm for balance. "I—I think I just twisted it."

The man smiled, soft yet unpracticed. "Happens to the best of us. Wait here." He disappeared inside the bakery, returned with a clean cloth and a basket. "Wrap this around your ankle. It'll keep it steady. I'll walk you home if you like."

Her cousins exchanged glances scandalized but curious as the baker crouched, lifting her lightly.

"You don't need to—"

"Trust me," he interrupted, smiling faintly. "You'll thank me once we reach the gates."

He carried her through the winding streets toward the upper district, the pink layers of her gown brushing softly against his apron. Her cousins trailed behind, whispering furiously to each other about how insane this was, a royal lady in a baker's arms.

"Thank you," Humaia murmured as they approached the garden gates secretly. "Nevermind, thanks, I will make it further calling guards. What's your name, gentleman?"

"Jack," he said simply. "Jack Tim. Refugee from the western border. My shop is small, but I make good bread."

Humaia smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Then maybe I'll visit to make sure of that."

Jack chuckled. "If the Emperor allows that, I'll bake a cake in your honor."

From that day, she visited often. At first under pretense sending maids with royal orders for pastries, then arriving herself "by coincidence." The bakery was quiet, the air warm and soft, filled with the scent of sugar and melted butter. Jack never treated her like a princess and that, strangely, was what made her come back.

One afternoon, as she stood beside the counter watching him knead dough, she asked, "Do you miss your home, Jack?"

He paused, hands buried in flour. "Sometimes but people like me don't have homes. We just find places where the bread sells, and we stay until it bakes."

"That's a sad way to live," she said softly.

He smiled again, but his eyes didn't. "It's an honest one."

Days turned into weeks. She began to bring him flowers from her garden. Lilies, tulips, sometimes wild roses she found growing near the charm's roots. He'd tuck them behind his ear or stick them in empty bottles along the counter, saying they made the bread "taste happier."

The people of Dael Kayef soon began to whisper. A princess and a refugee baker? But Humaia didn't care as long it didn't spread to Emperor's brain. She'd laugh when her cousins teased her. She'd tell them, "He makes the best bread in the empire. That's reason enough to visit."

Though the Emperor's guards began to follow her at a distance, none of them dared to interrupt.

Humaia and Jack, one born of silk, one of ash, began to share their days in that little bakery. She'd read him poetry while he baked, and he'd tell her stories of the lands that no longer existed.

Neither of them knew that beneath the flowers she brought him, the ones that bloomed unnaturally fast, the charm she prayed to each morning was watching, pulsing faintly in the soil, feeding on every word they spoke.

It was late, too late for the bakery to have the smell of sweetness. The candles had long burned to crooked wax, and yet, faint smoke curled beneath a trapdoor near the counter.

Humaia had come unannounced that evening. She wanted to surprise Jack with roses from her garden, the first of the season, small and beautiful, still wet with dew. She called his name, but there was no answer. Only the sound of steel scraping stone from below.

Curiosity turned to dread. She found the handle half-hidden beneath a rug, pulled it open, and descended the narrow wooden steps.

The scent hit her first. Rotten. Her slippers stuck slightly to the floor. Then she saw the secret. The tables lined with torn clothes, bones piled in wooden crates, and blood-stained blades drying beside what looked like butchered limbs. Her flowers slipped from her hand, petals scattering across the dark floor like broken glass.

Her breath hitched. "Jack…."

A voice echoed behind her. Calm, trembling. "You weren't supposed to come here."

She turned. Jack stood at the base of the stairs, still in his flour-dusted apron, but his eyes once gentle were hollow now, rimmed red, like something inside had gone missing.

"You…." she whispered, backing away. "You kill them? You are a murderer!?"

He didn't answer at first. He stepped closer, hand reaching out. "I had to, Humaia. Refugees aren't given food here. They'd let us starve while your father's men were stealing our shelters."

Tears pooled at her eyes. "You lied to me."

"I didn't lie," he said, voice cracking. "I loved you more than any bread I ever baked, more than my own life. I had nothing else to do...." he gestured around, almost pleading, "....this is survival."

She turned to run. Jack called out, desperate. "Please, Humaia, don't tell anyone. Please...."

She was already gone, sprinting through the moonlit alleys, her gown catching on broken wood, the roses crushed in her hand. She reached the castle breathless, covered in soot and fear.

When the guards saw her, they rushed to the Emperor's chambers.

Inside, Emperor Hamish Kha sat on his throne, half-drunk, half-lost in royal papers. His daughter burst through the door, eyes wild.

"Father!"

He stood sharply. "Humaia? What happened? Where have you been?"

She fell to her knees before him. "I—It's Jack, that baker. He—" Her voice broke. "He's not what I thought. He kills people. He keeps them in his cellar."

The court fell silent. The air froze between father and daughter.

The Emperor's face shifted with confusion and disbelief. "Calm down, darling. Tell me what you saw there."

Humaia's lips trembled. "I only wanted—"

"Enough!" he thundered, striking his scepter on the floor. "You dare bring filth into this palace? Do you know what you've done?"

Tears streamed down her face. "I didn't know, Father. I swear it."

It was too late. The guards had already left the room, rushing to arrest the man she once called kind.

She fell into her father's arms, sobbing, guilt and terror mingled like poison. "Please, Father, don't hurt him. Just send him away. Please.…"

Hamish Kha looked down at his daughter, the same daughter he'd once sworn to protect and for the first time in years, his heart cracked with pity and rage together.

"Go to your room, Humaia," he said calmly. "And pray that your foolish heart has not doomed this family."

That night, she sat beside her window, clutching her knees as the sound of soldiers' boots resounded through the streets below until, far away, in the direction of the bakery, came one single, muffled gunshot.

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