The Alcora Chronicles

Ember

Ember

"Mind where you're walking, Ilvan! By Mika! You have the grace of an ogre sometimes, I swear," I exclaimed, hands buried deep in a ball of dough, cursing to the goddess of elegance. Shaking my head at the incompetence of the labourers around me, I continued with my task.

I enjoyed working dough. I liked knowing that I could completely control the soft ball in my hands. It was mine to manipulate however I pleased. Mine to shape and mould and do whatever I liked with. It would be my invention.

"Where in creation is Haylia?" I wondered aloud. "That girl would be late to her own death ceremony!" In my annoyance, I threw the dough onto the bench, creating a cloud of flour around me. Dusting more flour on top of the ball, I continued kneading it.

I felt a draft as the door to the storeroom opened and a wondrous scent reached my nose. The elegance of rose, earth, and feminine sweat was a delectable combination that immediately stirred something within me; a desire to inhale as much of this scent as I could before it became sickening.

I heard the softness of high quality leather on the stone floor to my left and said with a smirk, "I wouldn't recommend doing that unless you like the cold, Princess."

She stopped. "Why? What lies through this door?" she asked.

I turned, removing some dough from my hands with my apron. It was Princess Merralie Goldstone, the heir to the throne of Alcora. "The ice room, Your Highness," I replied.

I watched the beautiful face of the princess contort into a frown. "Please, call me Merralie," she requested. "I truly hate the snobbishness of the name that has replaced my true self."

I tried but couldn't help the raising of my eyebrow at her invitation of familiarity. Walking toward her, I extended my arm and offered her my still-filthy hand to shake. "Miss Merralie," I called her, unable to feel worthy of simply calling her 'Merralie', "I am Ember Kell, head cook of Stone Castle."

She looked at my flour-coated hand for a moment before meeting my gaze with her startlingly green eyes and taking my large hand in her small one. I was surprised to feel hard calluses on the fingertips of her otherwise soft hands. She was very much unlike her sister. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Kell," she said.

The princess attempted to slide her hand from my grasp, but I wasn't yet ready to let go of it. "Your hands are so different to what I expected..." I trailed off, thinking of how she may have attained these abrasions.

She looked away and I briefly glimpsed upward to see that her fine cheeks were pink. It caused a swelling in my chest that was unfamiliar to me. "If you don't mind, Mister Kell," she said quietly, "could you tell me how to get back to my rooms? I wish to avoid a confrontation with my mother's guards."

I looked up from her hand again but I still did not let go. I was unaware of the thought forming in my mind before the whispered words left my lips. "Please, Miss Merralie, call me Ember." When I realised that I had surpassed the bounds of respectful conduct with a member of the royal family, I added, "In terms of your successful arrival in your rooms, if you follow the hall from the door on your right, take your first left and your second right, you will come to a wooden panel. This is the panel beside the fireplace in your bath room. If you push on it gently, it will open."

She murmured her thanks and moved past me. I finally allowed her delicate yet toughened hand to slip from my grasp. Though she had left, her scent lingered, tantalisingly sweet and rich and enticing. I shook thoughts of the princess from my mind and returned to kneading the dough for luncheon. However, my mind wandered to how it might feel if my hands were on Merralie.

"Mister Kell, Jemman is ill with the fever and Francis has an unsightly bruise on his face, sir," Haylia told me as I bustled around the kitchens, stirring, tasting, and ordering people about.

"What do you mean by telling me this, girl?" I questioned, snapping at her more harshly than I might have had I not been trying to prepare the royal luncheon.

"We are short two footmen, sir."

I huffed an annoyed breath and jerked a hand through my wavy hair. "Fetch me a livery," I barked at Haylia. "I'll serve in their place."

"But who will organise the kitchen?" she asked, handing me the appropriate attire.

Taking it and slipping off first my apron and then my shirt, I called out. "Keep things in order, Ilvan! Leave the ducks in the ovens during the appetiser but make sure to baste them in their juices twenty minutes before taking them out. Add chives to the duck sauce thirty seconds after removing it from the flame and two minutes before returning it. Then add the cheese and stir it. You know how to prepare the herb bread."

With that, I changed into the stuffy, uncomfortable footman's attire, which was slightly too small across the shoulders. In moments, the appetisers were ready and the other four servers and myself carried them through to the dining hall, where the royal family waited.

I was the last to enter, and when I did, I almost dropped the platter I was holding. Before me sat Princess Merralie in a fine gown of an eastern origin. The grey colour suited her tremendously well and the floral detailing lent it a feminine touch, without appearing something a girl would wear. Her lustrous black hair was pinned up elegantly and her green eyes were lined dramatically in a black charcoal paste.

She was stunning. And she was staring at me as I stared at her. She was the first to look away, focusing instead on her hands in her lap. I served quickly and disappeared back into the kitchens, trying to calm my racing heart. I had felt the allure of a beautiful woman before, but never had I been so struck by a woman so modestly dressed.

I was drawn to the Princess in a way that I could not describe. I finally removed the horrid livery, and tossed it carelessly into a corner of the kitchen. I knew that what I felt would likely be the death of me, but if Merralie felt a fraction of what I did, it would be worth dying for.