TAYLOR’S POV
The long journey from the border left my body aching, but the thought of home had kept me moving. By the time I reached the palace, it was already dark and my stomach was doing its best impression of a growling bear. A snack sounded perfect, so I made a beeline for the kitchen, hoping to grab something before anyone noticed me.
I pushed open the kitchen door and the scent of freshly baked bread and roasting meat welcomed me like an old friend. But just as I reached for a basket of muffins sitting on the counter, I heard someone clear their throat behind me.
I froze, my hand halfway to the prize. Turning slowly, I found myself face-to-face with Chef Martin. His arms were crossed over his barrel chest.
“Beta” he said flatly.
“Caught red-handed,” I joked, raising my hands in
