This was all below him, honestly. When his father told him he’d be doing the Royal Family’s monthly visit into the city, Grant just about laughed his head off. Him? With the likes of the peasants? It was hilarious, honestly.

Unfortunately for him, it was less of an ask and more of a demand. So here he was, wandering the streets and awkwardly waving at those who recognized him. Not that it was hard—his fine silks and royal cloak weren’t exactly discreet. Then again, Grant would rather die than wear whatever the common people did. He was better than that.

Another horde of peasants notice him and start to approach, so Grant quickly ducks into a random building to hide. Less he has to interact with the common people, the better. The scent of freshly baked bread fills his senses as he takes in his surroundings. Looks like he stepped into a bakery. The goods didn’t look half bad either—nothing compared to the royal bakers’ treats, but pretty passable in his eyes. And the baker? Woah, they were the biggest treat of all.

Grant’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush as he watches them flit around the bakery, seemingly floating on air as they did their tasks. Gods, what was this feeling? Attraction? No, it couldn’t be. Not with a commoner. He must just be hungry.

Running a hand through his hair, Grant cuts the line and slams some coins on the countertop, staring straight at Anon. “One hand pie. Meat.”