The Villainous Princess Wants to Live in a Gingerbread House - Chapter 7

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

The Villainess Princess Wants to Live in a Pastry Shop
Chapter 7

“Your Majesty, if that is the case, then I shall…….”
“I’m weary of that matter now. Let us speak instead of the triumphal procession of the Imperial Military I sent to the Northern Region.”
The Emperor waved his hand. It was a signal that the previous topic was entirely closed. Aleksei found himself answering the Emperor’s questions as though moving pieces across a chessboard.
When their long exchange finally ended, an Attendant appeared bearing a tray. The presentation was striking—a cake dark as charcoal in white porcelain, contrasted sharply against white milk.
“A cake I’ve never seen before.”
The Emperor sipped the cold milk first, then lifted the white porcelain bowl. Warmth radiated through his hands. As he cut the cake in half with a teaspoon, a sauce the same dark color flowed out from within.
“Ah.”
He took a small breath of admiration, then lifted a spoonful of cake to his lips. His eyes widened sharply. In that moment, Aleksei too tasted a spoonful of the cake.

* * *

True to Pavel’s word, the Produce Storage awaited them with every manner of fresh fruit. The two of them selected an orange and returned to the Kitchen.
After washing the orange clean, they grated the skin gently against a microplane and placed it in an empty jar with a handful of sugar. This would create Orange Sugar infused with the most delicate essence.
In an instant, the Kitchen filled with the sweet scent of sugar, the bittersweet aroma of chocolate, and the bright fragrance of orange. Even this harmony of scents was enough to anticipate the rapturous taste of the Fondant Chocolat made with Orange Sugar.
Pavel affixed a label reading “Orange Sugar” to the jar with a solemn expression, then lifted his head.
“Wait—where did the cakes go? There should be four left……. Did you eat two already, Asha? Good heavens.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve been with you the whole time. Someone must have come by the Produce Storage while we were away—we were gone for quite a while.”
Asha popped a segment of orange flesh into her mouth and answered him with perfect composure, chewing thoughtfully. But as Pavel watched her casual movements, his face began to twist.
“You…… do you realize there’s another scatterbrain like you in the Imperial Palace?”
“The kitchen door was open and nobody was here. Of course someone would want to eat something delicious sitting out like that.”
“And where did these tiny hands of yours get the confidence that the cake you made was delicious?”
“From your face? You looked like you were dying to eat more.”
“That’s really…… No, that’s not the point. We have to find those cakes!”
Pavel yanked open every drawer and began frantically checking under and above the worktable. Asha stepped back and tilted her head.
“Are you that upset about sharing your work?”
“Listen here, Asha! Everything—down to a single grain of sugar—that leaves this kitchen is my responsibility! If someone ate them, I have to know exactly who did it……! You stay right there and don’t move.”
Pavel pressed the matter on her earnestly, tearing at his hair, then bolted from the Kitchen. He seemed determined to search for any trace of the cakes, checking anyone who might have passed through. In the suddenly empty Kitchen, Asha glanced around as well, but the two missing cakes appeared nowhere.
‘Should I just bake two more and tell him I found them?’
While Asha entertained this casual thought, unable to grasp the depth of Pavel’s distress, her Spirit slipped back into the embroidery on her nightclothes as though its business here was finished.
That was when it happened.
“Chef Pavel! About the refreshment you made—His Majesty…….”
The door flew open and an unfamiliar Attendant appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily from the haste of his arrival. The moment their eyes met, Asha felt her scattered thoughts bleach white, and instinct told her something.
Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
Asha asked carefully.
“Did you…… take the two cakes from here?”
“Y-yes, I did…….”
“Where to?”
“For the Emperor’s and the Imperial Grandson’s evening refreshment…….”
And this time, Asha’s face drained of color much as Pavel’s had moments before. Like a chain reaction, the Attendant’s face paled too as he watched her.
“R-r-r-right now, because of that, His Majesty is looking for the chef, and surely something…….”
Asha’s jaw fell open.
“His Majesty? The Emperor himself?”
“Yes, yes. He says he wants to see the face of whoever made these cakes…….”
The Attendant answered, his face trembling with fear. As Asha heard his words, color drained slowly from her face—already pale, it became nearly translucent.
“No, why? Why would he need to see the face of a pastry maker……?”
“I…… I don’t know either…….”
The Attendant shook his head. Asha’s mind spun in circles.
Was this good? Was this bad? If it were good, she’d be fortunate. But if—by any chance—it were bad…….
Clarity struck Asha all at once, and she spoke in a rush.
“I made it. I made the cakes.”
The Attendant stared at her, disbelief written across his face. But Asha stood firm.
“The dark cake—that’s what you mean, isn’t it? I made it.”
It was the Emperor, known by the epithet “Divine Thunder” from his sudden, violent temperament. If he wanted to see the chef because something had displeased him—if his wrath had been kindled—it would be cruelly unjust for Pavel, who had made pastries for a willful child simply unable to refuse her. Asha clenched her fists.

* * *

The Attendant, tasked with guiding the Emperor to his Study, bore the look of a man who had gathered every sorrow and worry in the world, only to discover that the world itself had already ended.
When the small girl with peach-tinted hair declared that she had baked the Cake herself—that she would go see His Majesty—the Attendant naturally shook his head in vigorous refusal.
If he did so, he would be the one delivering to the Emperor a Cake made by a child whose name he didn’t even know. The Emperor, bound by covenant to the Spirit King across generations, held immunity to all poisons; no matter what food he brought, nothing would happen. But that immunity applied only to him, not to the Attendant. It was as good as a death sentence.
And to that Attendant, a truly swift and certain execution fell without delay.

—Anastasia.
—Yes?
—I’m Anastasia Uriyevna Irinova Kaye Lusya. I wanted to bake sweets to give to Grandfather, so I tried making them.

It was then the Attendant understood what it meant for thought to stop dead when confronted with a fact too difficult to accept.
‘This scrawny little girl is the Imperial Grandson?’
He had suspected she was of noble birth. Though thin as a twig, her eyes spoke of love and careful upbringing, as did her graceful bearing and the fine fabric of her clothing.
Moreover, since she was in the Imperial Palace at this hour, he had assumed she must be one of the young attendants or companions kept by the various Imperial Grandchildren.
But the Imperial Grandson?
The thought seemed absurd, yet his doubt lasted only a moment. There was no way Pavel would have granted a child access to his Kitchen unless she were truly of Imperial blood. He was a man who wouldn’t spare a glance for all but the highest nobility.
Moreover, now that he thought back on it, those peachy-pink tinted locks and the greenish cast of her eyes matched perfectly the descriptions he’d heard of the Imperial Grandson Anastasia. Cursing his own dullness for not recognizing her sooner, the Attendant found himself with no choice but to guide Asha to the Study.
‘Would it not be better to throw myself into the Vichegda River this very moment?’
The Attendant’s hand trembled as he grasped the doorknob of the Study where the Emperor awaited. At last, the door swung open.
Asha’s eyes widened as she glanced uncertainly around. The dim Study grew gradually brighter the deeper she ventured inside.
The Emperor sat reclining in his chair, a great semi-translucent shawl draped across his shoulders. He did not lift his head as he spoke.
“I asked you to bring the Chef. Why have you brought the Imperial Grandson instead?”
The remark was directed not at Asha, but at the Attendant, and the Emperor’s hand never ceased turning the pages of his book. As the Attendant floundered, unsure whether to cry or laugh, Asha answered in his stead.
“Because I made it myself!”
“…What was that?”
Only then did the Emperor raise his head. Asha swallowed hard, her throat tight with nervousness, but she saw this instead as an opportunity—a chance to speak her desire while maintaining proper distance from the Imperial Throne.
“I wanted to give it to Your Majesty because I made it myself.”
Though that was hardly the truth, Asha launched into a stream of chatter before the Emperor could mount any counterargument.
“I was stubborn about it, so I borrowed Chef’s kitchen and worked hard to make them. Before I leave the Imperial Palace, I wanted to give you something. Baking sweets is something I really…”
“So Uriye taught you cake-baking instead of letters and learning?”
“No, no!”
Asha hurried to wave her hand in denial.
“At home I’d never even seen sugar or butter. All I ever ate was carrot gruel.”
“…Ahem.”
Asha smiled innocently, and the Emperor let out a low cough before changing the subject.
“So you, who had never seen sugar or butter before, made this?”
On the table the Emperor indicated stood two empty bowls. Asha nodded vigorously, and felt inwardly relieved at the sight of the gleaming, spotless dishes. Clearly the Cake she had made had been palatable.
“There was a pastry book at home, and I saw it once! It had lots of pictures and was so interesting that I studied it very carefully.”
She had meant to make her position clear: that she disliked studying, that she was unfit to succeed to the Imperial Throne, that she harbored no intention or desire to compete, and that all she wanted was to bake sweets. She had resolved to press this point earnestly.
But the Emperor seemed utterly uninterested in Asha’s underlying purpose and immediately asked something else.
“Hmm… What ingredient gives this Cake its deep color? I’ve never encountered such a thing before.”
Around the Emperor as he spoke flowed a faint pale-blue current. It reminded Asha somewhat of the orange current that had sprung like a fountain around Pavel after he ate the Fondant Chocolat.
“Ah, that… Chef said some Baron gave it to him…”
“A Baron? Do you mean Baron Sarato?”
“Yes! That’s the name!”
The Emperor continued to ask various other questions, but Asha could not fathom why he had summoned her at all.
‘Does the Cake seem useful for something…?’
“Good. As Emperor, I cannot merely receive from my granddaughter without giving in return.”
“Pardon?”

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————