Her Fair Maiden

If the Devil Won't Have Me, Who Will?

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The kitchen is in shambles when you arrive. Pots everywhere, a puddle of soapy water that's bound to make someone trip—food in hand—and to top it all off, there are fire hazards everywhere. You can't help but look at this mess in horror. That is, until someone grabs your arm and starts pulling you into the hall.
"You don't want to be in here while they prepare the main courses." It's Stefana.
"What, why?"
"It's very, how do I say... traumatic for a newcomer to see." You realize she's talking about the blood... or meat? Regardless, it's nauseating to think about. "I think you'll be better off in the kitchen down the hall."
     "What kitchen down the hall?"
     "You probably missed it. It hasn't been used in years," she explains. "Not to worry, I had it fixed up when I heard you might be staying with us."
    "Well, I appreciate the thought, but I doubt I'll be here much longer."
     She stops abruptly and faces you. "Why would you think such a thing?"
     "I'm not sure I can say freely."
     "At the lady's discretion, I presume?"
     "Yes," you admit. "She, in her words, 'made a mistake' this morning. I won't go into further detail, but I will say I'm no longer in her good graces. I don't think she wants me here."
     "I highly doubt that. She's not the type to discard a perfectly capable employee because of a personal issue. You may not see her around as much, but you'll still be here, under a roof, with warm food, and in a comfy bed."
So, the bare minimum. "And if I want to quit?"
     "I wouldn't advise it," she whispers.
     "What? Why not? Am I not allowed to leave?" you ask, becoming hysterical.
     "Of course you are. Don't be silly!" She leans in close to your ear. "Quiet down," she murmurs. "These walls may not talk, but they do listen."
     You nod, not knowing how to respond. Stefana continues down the hall until she reaches the small double doors. "Here we are!"
She pushes on the handles and reveals the most congenial kitchen you've ever laid your eyes upon. It has a large, rounded window above the sink looking over the village; cream-colored walls; wooden rafters; stone flooring; and oak cabinets. It's definitely you, but it's far from the ladies' taste. They prefer deep greens, golds, dark oak, and tile. The room looks far too lively to be here. It doesn't reek of fear or anguish.
"Stefana, did you stalk me to prepare for my arrival?" you ask lightheartedly.
"No, but I did walk by your bakery stand. It told me plenty about your taste, decor-wise."
"My two small tables, chair, and sign told you all you needed to know about what I like in a kitchen? I find that hard to believe."
"Okay, maybe I saw you walk into your house once while I was on my way back to the castle—but that's it."
"Now that explains more. Thank you for not technically stalking me," you smirk.
"Anytime, sweetheart," she says sarcastically. "Alright, I'll be on my way to finish up for the day. All the ingredients and supplies you might need can be found throughout the room. Find me in the dining room if you need help."
"Thanks, Stefana. I'll get on it now."
"I can't wait to see your skills—or rather taste them," she winks and walks back to the door.
"Oh, wait!" you call. She stops and turns back to you. "Can we discuss—"
"I'm going to stop you right there."
You're taken aback when she uses that tone. "Alright. Then do you have any recommendations for tonight's dessert?"
"Great question. The lady loves anything citrusy, and the girls love all things sweet."
"Wonderful! Thanks again."
"Mhm." She exits, and thus begins the fun.
You already have something in mind: Romanian-layered lemon cake. A perfect mix of bright citrus and delectable sweetness.
First you need to make the buttercream, a simple enough task. All you need is flour, cornstarch, sugar, and milk. The flour and sugar are on the counter in canisters, while the milk is in the fridge—or should be, at least. Now the million lei question is where the cornstarch hides. The only clue is that it's supposed to be kept away from direct light and moisture.
You try the main pantry first, making sure to look in the very back. There's nothing on the four shelves inside. Then you go to the smaller pantry on the opposite side of the room. Opening it, you see it sitting there like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
Right as you place the flour in the bowl, it occurs to you that you don't have time to let the cake sit. Romanian sweet cheese pie, it is!