"Killing a prince doesn't usually end well... but by all means. Go ahead and try."
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A conniving prince, a seductress, and a field of blazing red flames. Fate had never made a better match.
Izana x black reader.
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•••••
Zinnia worked at a local bakery just a few blocks away from her apartment. You pushed open the wooden door, inhaling the soft, warm aroma of freshly made cookies and uncooked dough.
"Hello" you called, the store had yet to open so the baker, Tom was still at the back of the store getting everything ready.
"In here Nia!" He called, you closed the door behind you, shrugging off your bag and coat and placing it at one of the chairs.
"Coming," you announced, walking to the back of the counter and through the door behind it. Tom was a tall, lanky man wearing the traditional loose dress shirt dirtied by floor and sleeves rolled up to showcase tanned ivory skin, he wore black pants but all of it was covered by an apron that was always tied around him from morning to noon. His thinning brown hair was pulled back in a hair-net and he required you to do the same with your braided hair that you already tied back before entering the store. He wasn't a fan of your hair, and made it abundantly clear the second you walked in for the job interview.
"Good morning boss!" You yelled rather loudly causing him to almost drop his plate of cookies. Luckily, your reflexes hadn't dulled and you stretched your body to catch it only letting one cookie hit the ground.
Tom scrunched his face up, "must you be so energetic so early?"
"Well, someone has to be." You shrugged, placing the plate on the counter and collection the one on the floor then throwing it at the trash can. "Rest in peace, cookie."
"Now she talks to food" Tom huffed, brushing the flour on his hands down his black apron.
"She has ears too." You countered.
"Whatever," he then pointed his hands towards the large packets of flour placed at the side of the wooden room. "I need you to make all of that into pastry batter by the end of the day. We have a big order to deliver."
"Got you" you said, snatching a cookie off the plate and stuffing it in your mouth before the man even formed one sentence to reprimand you.
"What did I say about eating the pastries?" He huffed.
"Who's eating the passhtieesh?" You tried your best to properly annunciate the word with the cookie in your mouth but failed miserably. The older man deadpanned, and you chuckled sheepishly. "My bad"
"Just get to work." He then went back out at the front of the store.
You did as told, making your way to the large bags of flour and effortlessly carrying them off the ground then placing them on the counter. Despite Tom's unapproachable disposition, his bakery was still the best in town, the large building with fancy nic-nacs told you so. He also had his flour imported from different countries to ensure that he stays at the pinnacle of baking standards in Tanbarun.
