"That's exactly what a pirate would say."
For the first time, something almost like confusion crossed his face. It made him look younger for half a second. Not harmless, never harmless. But less like a nightmare wearing designer leather.
I should have told him to leave. I should have called Derek. I should have called the police and explained very calmly that a 6-foot-8 man with dragon eyes had teleported into my bakery and wanted to buy a cursed wedding cake. Instead, I picked up the coin.
It was warm. Too warm. Heat sank into my palm, not painful but intimate. Like the coin knew me. Like it had been waiting for my skin. My breath caught.
Malachi's gaze dropped to my hand. The air changed. I felt it before I understood it. Pressure rolled through the bakery, deep and invisible. The old mixer in the kitchen gave one final sad cough and went silent. The sugar packets in their little jar rattled. Somewhere behind me, the cooling rack trembled against the wall.
Malachi took one step closer. "Say it," he said.
My common sense screamed. My bank account screamed louder.
"Say what? That I accept?" I gave him a look. "Do you need me to write you a receipt?"
His jaw flexed. "Words matter."
"Fine." I closed my fingers around the coin. "I accept your gold as payment for the wedding cake."
The lights went out. Only for a second. When they came back, Malachi was staring at me like I had just put a knife through his heart or a crown on his head. Maybe both. Before I could ask what the hell that meant, he bowed. Not a little nod. A full formal bow. It made no sense on a bakery floor dusted with flour and sprinkles, but somehow the room seemed to understand him better than I did.
"I will return at sunrise," he said.
"For the cake?"
His eyes lifted to mine. "For you."
My stomach dropped. Wrong answer. But he was already walking toward the door.
"It's locked," I snapped.
He touched the handle. The deadbolt turned by itself. The door opened. A breath of cold air swept in carrying the scent of rain, smoke, and something wilder underneath. Something that made every instinct in my body sit up and whisper, "Run."
Then he was gone.
I stood there for a long time holding the coin and the bread knife, listening to my own heart act like it wanted to file a complaint. Finally, I did what any reasonable woman would do. I locked the door again, shoved a prep table in front of it, and searched online. Antique gold coin dragon crown value not pirate. Nothing useful came up.
By 3:00 in the morning, I had finished the cake. By 4:00, I had fallen asleep in the office chair with my apron still on. By 6:00, Cindy was calling me non-stop.
I woke up with my neck bent wrong and my phone buzzing against my cheek.
"What?" I croaked.
"Belinda," Cindy whispered.
I sat up. "Why are you whispering?"
"Because there are people outside."
My eyes opened fully. "What people?"
"Rich people. Scary people. Some of them have bodyguards. Some of them might be bodyguards. One woman has a snake tattoo moving on her neck. I don't like that. Also, Derek is here and he said to tell you not to open the door."
My pulse kicked. I stumbled out of the office. Through the front windows, the sidewalk was packed. Men and women stood in neat, silent groups outside my bakery. Expensive coats, black cars, jewelry that looked older than the buildings around them. Their eyes were wrong. Too bright. Too focused. And every single one of them was staring at me.
Derek stood near the entrance holding a tire iron like he planned to fight the entire fashion section of a demon funeral. I moved the prep table and cracked the door.
"Belinda, don't you dare," Derek started.
The crowd dropped to one knee. All at once. My soul tried to leave my body. Cindy screamed from somewhere behind Derek. A woman with silver beads braided into her hair lowered her head.
"Bride of the First Flame," she said.
I stared at her. Then at Derek. Then at the kneeling crowd.
"Nope," I said. "No. I don't know what community theater mess this is, but I have pastries to sell and anxiety to manage."
A shadow fell over the street. The kneeling crowd went still. Not quiet. Still. Like even breathing had become illegal.
Malrek stepped between them. In daylight, he looked worse. Not ugly. Never that. Worse because now I could see the details. The faint scale-like markings along one side of his face. The gold in his eyes burning brighter than it had last night. The way every dangerous person outside my bakery leaned away from him without moving.
He stopped in front of me. I pulled the coin from my apron pocket and shoved it at his chest.
"Take it back."
His gaze sharpened. "Belinda—"
"No, you don't get to Belinda me." I grabbed his hand and tried to slap the coin into his palm. "Whatever weird rich cult thing you've got going on, I am not interested. I sold you a cake. That is all. Transaction finished."
The coin burned. I gasped, not because it was hot, because it melted. Liquid gold spilled between my fingers, wrapping around my ring finger like a living thing. I tried to shake it off, but it tightened, smooth and perfect, forming a band etched with tiny dragon scales.
The crowd inhaled. Derek cursed. My hand trembled. Malrek looked at the ring. Then he lowered himself to one knee before me. The most terrifying man I had ever seen bowed his head on the cracked sidewalk outside my struggling bakery. And in a voice that shook something ancient awake inside my bones, he said, "It is done, my queen."
For a full 10 seconds, nobody moved. Not me, not Derek with his tire iron, not Cindy, who had one hand over her mouth and the other clutching her phone like she was deciding whether to call the police, church, or TMZ. Not the crowd of beautiful, terrifying strangers kneeling on the cracked sidewalk outside my bakery. And definitely not Malrek, the massive man on one knee in front of me, his head bowed like I'd done something grand instead of accidentally accepting suspicious coin money from a supernatural lunatic.
My ring finger throbbed. The gold band sat there smooth and warm like it had always belonged on my hand. I hated that it fit perfectly.
"Get up," I said.
Malrek lifted his head. His gold eyes met mine and something possessive flashed through them so fast my breath caught.
"Not until they have witnessed."
"The sidewalk has gum on it."
His brows drew together. "That matters?"
"Yes, it matters. You are kneeling in public outside my bakery after turning my finger into jewelry. Get up."
A murmur moved through the crowd. Someone whispered, "She commands him." Someone else whispered, "And he obeys?"
Derek took one big step toward me. "Belinda."
"I'm okay," I said automatically.
I was not okay. I was standing in yesterday's jeans, an apron covered in buttercream, and a ring that had grown out of melted dragon gold while a crowd of rich monsters called me queen. My life had left common sense behind and taken the bus straight into [ __ ].
Malrek rose. He did not stand like normal people. He unfolded. 6 ft and 8 in of black leather, broad shoulders, dark hair, and that face that looked like trouble had prayed and gotten a body.
Derek pointed the tire iron at him. "You, back up."