Archive of Our Own ^beta

The rose macarons had turned out perfectly. The cookies had cooked at just the right temperature, for just the right time, so that they were fully cooked, but caress of light brown edges had not yet touched them. Cath had frosted them with a gentle vanilla bean and chocolate concoction, the frosting in a decadent swirl, only seen when when bitten into.
A gust of air blew up Cath’s apron, and a piece of hair drifted onto her face.
Cath blinked.
And, two macarons were missing from the baking sheet. Only crumbs left in it’s wake.
A mere second of silence, before Cath’s shrill scream, “JEST!”
When her husband didn’t respond, Catherine took a sharp intake of breath, preparing to yell again. A hand on lower back, the other resting on her hip. Cath shivered, like she was still a love-sick teenager staring out her chamber window, and swivelled in his arms.
“You, Sir Rook, are in trouble.”
Jest gave her an innocent look, eyes darting to the side as if in deep thought. “Why...Whatever for, my lady?”
Her heart stumbled at the endearment, “Some of my macarons are missing.”
“I’ve always loved your macarons.”
“I’m well aware, love. Which is why, I know you took them.”
“And if I did?” Jest’s mouth formed an uneven grin, dimples only appearing on one side.
“Well…” Cath grinned too, getting so close as to feel his breath on her face. Her hand idly swept a few stray crumbs off of Jest’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. She began to close the gap, his nose rubbing against her own.
“Mom!”
Catherine started, Jest catching her before she squashed the cookies. Mary Ann burst in through the bakery entrance, satchel thrown over one shoulder. Her head snapped from side to side, yellow eyes searching until she found her parents. She smiled, a visible gap where her front teeth should be.
Their daughter seemed out of breath, as if she’s run all the way here, and she scampered over to them, plopping down on a stool next to them. Catherine smiled. Mary Ann pulled up her top lip, showing a semi-full row of teeth.
“Papa. I lothst a thooth.” she said proudly.
Jest practically tripped over himself in the few steps he had to get to his daughter.
“Why, I’d hope you didn’t lose it. What use is it to the tooth fairy then?” he laughed, ruffling dark brown curls.
Mary Ann giggled, showing twin dimples identical to the ones her father currently wore. Before her attention snapped to the tray on the island counter behind them.
“Are those…”
“I knew you’d see them. Now here, before your mother has my head.” Jest dropped a single macaron in Mary Ann’s open palm. She squealed, popping the macaron whole in her mouth.
Catherine gasped, aghast, “My own husband? Such thievery, I cannot even fathom…” she pressed her hand to her mouth.
Jest laughed, shaking his head, and for a second, Cath remembered a time when such a movement would have caused the bells on a certain three pointed hat to jingle.
Mary Ann giggled again, pieces of cookie sticking to the rim of her lips. And, Cath with content at her small little family, hand pressed to the stomach that was going to get bigger in the next coming months.
Jest noticed her silence and squeezed her free hand, happy gaze following hers down to her own slightly bloated stomach. He lifted their connected knuckles to his lips, a ghost kiss brushing the back of her hand.
Small fingers, only a little lighter that Jest’s own, laid on top of their entangled hands.
“Kiss?” Mary Ann asked. Tiny white painted nails of Mary Ann’s free hand tapped on the side of Jest’s face, his lips still on Catherine’s fist. Lemon tart eyes darted up to his daughter, sparkling with glee.
Jest pulled back, exaggeratedly bowing down to Mary Ann’s seated form, “And, a kiss for the darling Lady Inksferd.” Jest announced, kissing her knuckles.
The five-year-old hugged him.

…..

Catherine’s eyes darted over her daughter’s sleeping form in between them, the work day having ended, the sun having set, Jest’s eyes having closed.
She sighed, all the tension of a famous baker fading from her muscles.
Jest exhaled, the shadow of a smile on his lips, his long legs wrapped around Mary Ann.
It had taken a lot, almost too much to get here, but she’d made it to Chess.
She was not a queen. Not a marchioness, or a fancy lady of the court.
Only Lady Catherine Inksferd, a baker in the village of Chess. And the wife of her Jester, the only kind of wife she’d ever wanted to be.
She didn't have a crown, or loads of dowry. She didn't have a kingdom a rule, or princess's role to fill. She had them, instead.
She had everything she needed.
She was happy at last.