THE BEAUTIFUL GIRL WHO MADE THE PRINCE FORGET HIS FEAST

He Was Served a Hundred Dishes—But He Could Think of Only One Bowl of Soup

Chapter 1 — The Prince Who Came to the Mountain Village

Snow had covered the mountain roads for three days when Prince Adrian finally reached the little village of Bellmere.

He had not intended to stop there.

His royal carriage had been traveling toward the northern fortress, where Adrian was expected to attend a winter council. But a sudden storm had buried the mountain pass, forcing his guards to seek shelter in the village.

Bellmere was nothing like the capital.

There were no marble halls, no golden chandeliers, and no servants waiting silently at every door.

There were only wooden houses, smoking chimneys, muddy paths, and villagers wrapped in patched wool coats.

Yet the mayor insisted on welcoming the prince properly.

By sunset, the village hall had been transformed into a banquet room.

The villagers had brought everything they could find.

Roasted mountain lamb.

Honey-glazed carrots.

Fresh bread.

Cheese.

Smoked trout.

Wild berries preserved in sugar.

Chestnuts roasted in butter.

Even a small cake decorated with the royal crest.

Adrian sat at the head of the table while musicians played in the corner.

“Your Highness,” the mayor said proudly, “Bellmere may be poor, but we know how to honor our prince.”

Adrian smiled politely.

“You have already done more than enough.”

The feast continued.

One dish followed another.

But Adrian barely noticed them.

His mind kept returning to something he had seen earlier that afternoon.

A girl.

She had been standing beside an old stone wall near the village road.

She wore a faded brown cloak.

Her dark hair was tied loosely behind her head, and snowflakes rested on her shoulders.

She had been kneeling beside a little boy who was coughing badly.

Instead of joining the crowd gathered to welcome the prince, she had taken a small wooden bowl from her basket.

Inside was a simple orange soup.

Pumpkin.

A few potatoes.

Onion.

Salt.

Nothing more.

She had blown gently across the surface before handing it to the boy.

“Slowly,” she had whispered. “It’s still hot.”

The boy had smiled.

Adrian had watched from his carriage window.

Then the carriage moved on.

Now, hours later, he was surrounded by the richest meal Bellmere could provide.

Yet he could remember only that little bowl.

He lifted his silver spoon.

He tasted the expensive soup placed before him.

It was perfectly seasoned.

Yet somehow, it tasted like nothing.

The prince frowned.

He looked toward the window.

Snow was still falling.

For reasons he could not explain, he wanted to find the girl again.