His Little Heir

Spilled Milk

     Her mother had always warned her of grease fires.

      Standing in the kitchen along side her, Daya labored, toiled, and entertained. From simple dinner parties to elaborate balls, the Savech girl knew every intricate social call by name. She simply had to know if each guest was right or left handed so that she could set their place accordingly. Though, she seldom understood why a guest couldn't lift the silverware to the desired side, but nevertheless, it was done.

     Daya's mother veiwed cooking as no different. Sure, there was nothing particularly wrong or impossible about frying bacon on high heat for eight minutes, but by no means was it recommended. Anything to do with grease techically allowed for rushing..

     If you survived.

     So groggy and disoriented, she had walked into her possible finace's kitchen to find bacon in all its glory.

     Savory, but very much deadly glory.

     Daya had pushed him out the way almost instinctively. Leon would be too confused to react, considering he had let the grease run rampid. The slick oil bubbled and hissed almost taunting her.

      She didn't have much time left.

     With her options severed by the hour's cruelty, the princess flung the still protesting pan into the sink. She lunged for the burner next. The strange knobs and handles dared defeat, and conflicted, time melted away. In a bitter haste, Daya turned each one the same direction and crossed her fingers.

     The light indicating hot surface flickered and died.

     "What in the hell were you thinking?" She didn't dare look away from the still hot grease remaining on the stovetop. Instead, she allowed her anger to seethe and evolve along with her focus.

     "That I was gonna make you bacon?" Leon rose, taking the position next to the princess.
     "Or burn your entire castle down you know, that too."
     "What?" His eyebrows twisted into a look of surprise.
     "You heard me, Leon."

     Looking at him again was tempting, but the grease etched a higher place in Daya's priorities.
    

     "I was just-"
    She pushed him again: "Causing a grease fire?"
     "Excuse me, a what fire?"
     "A grease fire."
     "Those exist?"

     She turned to Leon expecting a smile or some clue that he was joking, but instead, pure bewildrennt dominated his features.

     With a sigh, Daya pushed her anger down.

     "Didn't your mom or dad teach you?"

     She searched the emeralds for an answer. Inside the bulbs of green, clouds began to crowd and the sky darkened. What she had hoped to be a gleam of realization never came.

     The sea of green crested and closed. "My mom died when I was two."

    "O-Oh. I'm sorry, Leon." The princess turned away from him and again focused on the stove top.
     "Y-You mean you didn't know?"
      "I'm sorry?'
    The emeralds flickered alight: "Her death is a major part of Quishean history, and you- you're sure that you don't know?"
     "Leon, what are you even talking about? All I know is that our fathers had a disagreement way back, not that your mother died."
    
     Something within him pulsed and snapped. And like a bomb, the fuse had been ignited.

     "Stay right here, help yourself to whatever you like. I-I'm going to have a chat with your father."

     And with fists clenched, the Faye king left Daya's sight.

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     She had eaten breakfast in anxious solitude.

     Of course, the much anticipated bacon wasn't an option. That was her own fault, though; throwing the pan in the sink was not what one would call a finest moment.

     The eggs, however,  were their own breed of disaster. Undercooked and even raw blotches somehow coexisted with spots that if treated properly, could qualify as charcoal. Maybe, if she cherry picked, one tiny bite would be edible.

     It wasn't.

     In a panic, Daya's fingers clenched and clawed for something, anything to dispel the awful taste. They emerged with nothing. Rising from her chair and holding back bile, she made a mad dash for the fridge. Milk, orange juice, anything- anything at all to force it out of her.

     Milk.
     But no glass..

     Staring into the carton, the princess debated drinking the precious liquid straight from it. The carton became more and more appealing as the bile continued to climb. And with one final lurch, she took the plunge.

     "Daya!
     A furious Don Savech stood before her, red in the face.

     Her body jolted. The milk carton slipped, pivoted, and squandered. Worst of all, the egg's legacy still danced across her tastebuds.

     "Dining room, now!"

     And with that, Don left his daughter to cry over spilt milk.

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     Sorry this chapter is a teeny bit shorter, but here was a very good place for me to end. As you may know, the holiday season is underway! I hope you all have a very wonderful Christmas, Hanukkah, or whatever you may celebrate. And if you don't celebrate anything at all, have some you time! Personally, I celebrate Christmas. That being said, His Little Heir will take a little break. Definitely no update on the 22nd-25th. After that is still up in the air, but if there is no update around that time, I didn't disappear. Thank you for reading! Happy holidays! 💜