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“Florence?” Alistair poked his head through the door, crown only just remaining on his head to find Florence Cousland, the love of his life, sulking like a oversized toddler.
“I’m sorry, okay? Please don’t block me out like this.” He told her, trying to elicit some response
“Sweetheart? Love of my life? World’s most beautiful Warrior-Goddess? Say something, please!”
There was a moment of silence before Florence finally spoke.
“Sorry doesn’t bring back my Plum Tart.”
“I know.” Alistair began, “And I know they’re your favourite and they’re special to you. So I brought something to make up for it.” He produced a small package from behind his back.
“Is that-”
“I found your cooks old recipe and I got our cooks to recreate it.” He told her, handing her the package. She tugged at the twine holding it together and the cloth surrounding the tart unfolded like a flower. Alistair gave her a weak smile.
“Am I forgiven?”
Florence returned the smile, setting the freshly-baked plum tart aside and pulling him into a hug.
“Only if I can have them on demand.” She said, releasing him from the hug to take a bite out of the pie. When Alistair saw the look of joy and pure wonder on her face, he nodded in agreement.
“Anything you want, my queen.”