ROYAL HIGHNESS

42. Let's do this

“Tumhe aaj ka khaana banana hai.” Amyardh crossed his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“No.” Ovie shook her head stubbornly, arms mirroring his stance. 

Amyardh sighed dramatically. “I won the bet, in case you forgot, Ms. Ovie.” His voice dripped with smugness. 

“Fine.” she huffed, rolling her eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

Truth was, she didn’t mind cooking with Amyardh. Spending time with him, even in the middle of kitchen chaos, was always fun. But she’d rather chew on a rock than admit it out loud. 

Amyardh, of course, was just as bad. He wouldn’t say it, but he loved teasing her, especially when it made her roll her eyes at him in that half-annoyed, half-endearing way. 

“Alright, what’s on the menu, Chef Ovie?” Amyardh asked, hopping onto the counter, swinging his legs like an overgrown child. 

“First of all, get down. You’re dirtying my kitchen.” 

“Your kitchen? Pretty sure it belongs to me.” 

“My kitchen when I’m cooking.” Ovie shoved his knee, making him hop down with a chuckle. 

“Fair enough,” he grinned. “Now, what’s for dinner?” 

Ovie walked to the pantry and scanned the shelves. “Something easy.” 

“Boring. Let’s make something grand—like (Amyardh's fav food)!”

She turned to him with a deadpan look. “Do you even know how to cook it?” 

“…No, but you do, right?” 

Ovie groaned. “We’re making something simple. (simple punjabi dish)” 

“Fine, but I’m helping.” 

“You? Help?” She snorted.

“I'm trying to be polite here, miss.” 

“Pfft. Fine.” Ovie shook her head but handed him a knife along with onions, tomatoes, carrot and green chilies. “Chop the vegetables. Try not to chop your fingers along with them.” 

“Rude.” 

She rolled her eyes and tossed him a knife. “Here.”

Amyardh nodded obediently and grabbed a carrot and started hacking at it like he was in battle. 

“STOP!” Ovie grabbed his wrist. “Have you never cut vegetables before?” 

“Why would I? I have chefs.” 

Ovie sighed. “Have you ever even seen a kitchen from the inside?” 

Amyardh paused, scratching his chin. “…Does walking past one count?” 

Ovie groaned. “Waheguru, give me patience.” She repositioned his hand. “Like this. Hold the knife steady, and slice, not chop like a lunatic.” 

Amyardh followed her instructions—sort of. His slices were uneven, some paper-thin, others thick enough to be bricks. 

Ovie groaned. “I give up.” She handed him a pot. “Fill this with water.” 

Amyardh took it and turned toward the sink, only to freeze. “…How much water?” 

“Oh my god,” Ovie muttered under her breath. “Three cups.” 

Amyardh, being the king, had absolutely no concept of kitchen measurements. He grabbed the biggest pot and filled it almost to the brim.

Ovie facepalmed. “Three cups, not three gallons, Your Highness.”