It was a hot and sticky August day. The sun shone down on all of the bustling village, seeping through cracks in wooden doors and shining through dusty windows. An Italian baker with long wavy chocolate hair, piercing hazel eyes and a little on the short side, was sat on a wobbly stool behind the front counter of her bakery. Although she wore a thin white cotton tunic, loose around the arms, with a cheap brown skirt that was worn out at the edges, sweat beaded at her hairline and under limbs. Adjusting the kerchief that held her hair back she let out a long, bored sigh and looked down at her co-worker who was in the middle of placing a plate of fresh bread at the front of the store . "Octavia," A strawberry blonde stood up from the crouched position she was in at the mention of her name. Octavia Ceausescu was a young woman with Romanian blood, born in the narrow streets of the small town, and one of the few working in the bakery. "Yes?" Octavia raised an eyebrow and turned towards the woman at the counter. "Closing time is near. You can take your leave, if you'd like." The brunette said and rummaged through her pockets to find the Romanian's pay for the day. Two small silver coins were dropped onto the counter, quickly swiped up by Octavia, who gave a toothy grin. "Thanks, Boss," The younger made her exit and closed the thick door of the bakery with a thump.

It had been a slow day; the regulars dropped in when the doors opened and left with their goods tucked under their arms and less coins then they had entered with. After that it was vacant, only the tired brunette and Octavia to keep each other company. A few had dropped in later in the afternoon, but that was it for the day. I wonder, the lone woman thought as she gathered the little belongings she had in the bakery, why I still bother with this damned bakery. A question she asked to herself each day, though she knew the answer. It was because she had nowhere else to go. After leaving her spot as heiress-yes, heiress- to the royal throne of the land and retreating to a humble life as a peasant, there was nowhere to return. No one had even bothered to search for her when she ran from her throne, no ripped posters plastered to brick walls or pinned to boat docks urging her to come back. It was enough to let her know that she wasn't going to be welcomed back with a warm hug from the King. Maybe kisses on the cheek from her sister, but especially not an embrace from her "mother", a fair Queen from the far away lands of Greece.

But… there was another thing that kept the hazel eyed maiden from abandoning everything and joining a crew of thieves.

The florist.

The florist was a happy Spaniard, with long caramel hair that when untucked from it's bun reached all the way to her waist and beautifully tanned skin. The florist who was always walking around with a bright smile that would even blind the mightiest of Gods, who left small daisies at the steps of the bakers home. Yes, she was definitely one of the reasons that the bakery was still open. Who, also, made her daily visits into the store with a hunger for some of the bread that hadn't been sold. Expectedly, just a few minutes after the poorly painted sign reading OPEN had been flipped to CLOSED, that florist appeared. "Hello, Chiara!" She cried and skipped over to to the Italian, causing her heart to skip a beat. "Carmen," Chiara greeted and handed her half a loaf of bread wrapped in grey cloth. The trade was illegal, as it was against law to simply hand out goods for free. There were taxes to be paid, after all. Taxes that did nothing but benefit those of the upper class and nothing for commoners.

The first few times they had exchanged their stock made Chiara nervous and afraid of being caught by royal guards (even though it was four into the evening and they rarely came down this street), but Carmen assured her it would be alright. Carmen pulled a lilac rose from her girdle. Scratching her head and offering a lopsided smile, "Sorry it's so... crumpled?" Holding it out to the Italian she apologised. Chiara looked at the rose and then into Spaniard's jade eyes in disbelief. "A-...A…. A rose?" She whispered loudly and Carmen looked at her in confusion. "Do you not like it?" Tilting her head she asked. Did she not like it? For Christ sake, she loved it, even if it it was a bit smushed and a petal had already fell to the floor. "No, no, I do. But Carmen, you can't just hand out roses! They cost a fortune! A whole god damn gold coin!" Chiara tried not yell at Carmen too loud, as it would attract the attention of neighbouring merchants and shopkeepers- or worse, the guards. "Eheh… I thought you would say so, mi querida, but it's okay! No one has to know," She reminded flustered girl who was holding the rose tightly to her chest, now letting out a scoff. Shaking her head and now standing with arms akimbo a tsk escaped her lips in disapproval.

Turning to the counter and delicately placing the flower down, something about one day and guards murmured which caused the older to chuckle in amusement. "Tch, what's so funny to you now?" Chiara narrowed her eyebrows once she was facing Carmen again, only to be answered with a shake of the head and wave of the hands and followed with a "Nothing, nothing, nada," But, truly, Carmen found the small Italian's reactions so cute, and amusing. She was then shooed out seconds after by Chiara, who looked tired. "Now leave before the dumber one comes to find you." 'Dumber' referred to Carmen's pasty brewer friend, Julchen, who lived a few streets over, tucked in an alley where most of the drunks came to get their alcohol when midnight hit. "She's not that bad, Ari!" 'Dumb' defended the German but followed her orders-Chiara looked like she could use some rest. The claim was shrugged off quickly with a 'whatever, pollen eater' and a final push out the door.

On one side, a florist hid half a loaf of bread under flowers once arranged neatly in a woven basket that rested outside the bakery. On the other, an Italian with a warm feeling in her heart glanced at a crumpled lilac rose before turning her head and blushing, creeping her way up creaking wooden stairs to her living quarters that was above the shop.

And both were madly in love.

First official fanfic! Octavia is F. Romania, Carmen is F. Spain and Chiara F. Romano. I have a lot planned for this series, so I'm very excited! Also, if there's anything off about fashion/jobs/etc. used in this story, I've been scrapping up anything I could find to use that took place in the Middle Ages, but correct me if I'm wrong on anything.

EDIT: Look at next chapters notes for the setting, instead!