Spirits

Chapter 11

Fresh spring air was trickling in through the open window, shifting the muslin of the long purple curtains at the edges. Natural light lit up the room of the grand bedchamber, washing over the stone floor and the woven carpets that laid on it, along with the two figures standing together by the full length mirror that leaned against the wall.

Princess Emma sucked in a painful gasp and placed a hand to her waist.

She caught her handmaid's look in the mirror. "Princess..." Her handmaid said sternly. "Have you been sneaking down to the kitchens in the night again?"

"No, of course not!"

Another sharp tug on the laces of her corset made her gasp once more. "Well then you won't mind me lacing this like I always have then..." Her handmaid said with a dangerous squint.

"Alright, alright, Ruth!" Princess Emma caved, her face pained. "I admit it, now please let it out, or I shant be able to breathe!"

Ruth complied, her face smug. "I knew it." She made a few tut tut noises with her tongue. "You keep on like this and you'll be Emma, the Fat Princess."

Emma sighed. "I can't help it, Ruthie. I love food."

Ruth shook her head as she finished tying the bow at the top and motioned that she was done. Emma wanted to lean down and smooth the skirt of her purple gown but found that even though Ruth had let it out some, she still couldn't do so. Not wanting to give Ruth the satisfaction she merely turned and made to leave the room. "What have I got on my schedule today?"

Ruth quickly followed behind her. "Tea with Master Xiping from Jira at ten to discuss armaments, Fencing at one, and the convention of the generals at five, milady."

Emma hummed to herself thoughtfully as they strode through the halls. That would leave only a few hours for her to work in her beloved flower garden today. "Any interesting news going about?"

"Ah well, I suppose the only thing mildly exciting is the new chef that's coming in today."

"A new chef?" Emma asked, looking over at her handmaid with an intrigued expression.

"Yes, well since Chef Temble became so suddenly ill we've become rather shorthanded. One young man has shown up quite fortuitously and asked for the position."

Emma frowned. "What are his credentials?"

"He claims to have been a chef over in Lithopone, milady. And he seems quite capable."

He's from Lithopone? Emma's fine brows lowered. Could it be? Emma raised her nose into the air. "He will not be deemed suitable until I have vetted him. Ruth I wish to have this young man brought before me with a dish of his making."

Ruth raised an eyebrow but did not question the royal. "Very well, milady. I will make arrangements immediately."

Princess Emma waited in the dining room, which her family used when they were not having parties and big gatherings. She was a picture of regality, her ankles crossed beneath the table, her back straight, head held high and hands clasped on the table before her. Privately however, she was growing impatient.

How much longer will he be? I have things to be attending to. She thought as she eyed the doorway again. She'd received word through her handmaid that he would have something ready for her by a quarter before nine but it was past that now. Ruth's presence was behind her, by the wall, waiting to do her bidding. Emma was sorely tempted to ask her to see what was taking so long, but kept herself from doing so for fear of giving the wrong impression to the young cook. If he is who I think he is, I don't want to ruin this.

"Woo! Ok!" A young man said as he barged in the door. "The wait is over, ladies!" He was holding a steaming plate of something and looked a bit harried, his apron twisted to the side. "I present to you, The Paul Special!"

Emma stared, slightly aghast, at this young man that seemed completely bereft of etiquette. His blue eyes seemed devoid of even a drop of fear or timidity in the presence of a royal, instead overflowing with confidence and charm.

"Here you are, milady." He said as he set it before her and then gave a bow that did somehow not seem genuine.

Emma looked down at the plate before her and could not seem to comprehend what it was she was seeing. "What is this dish?" She looked up at him.

"The Paul Special." He replied, accompanied by a wink.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him before returning her gaze to her plate. It looked to be some sort of sandwich made with toasted bread, but the bread didn't look quite right. Furthermore, there was some sort of multicolored substance that was oozing out of the sides, varying in shades of white to yellow. She picked up her fork and knife and cut off a perfect square out of the corner. It pulled away with tendrils of the gooey substance stretching between the pieces. "Cheese?"

"Yup." Paul nodded. "Grated extra sharp cheddar and gruyere with a touch of seasonings."

Emma put the square of sandwich in her mouth and carefully chewed it. It was greasy, cheesy, crunchy, gooey and...absolutely delicious. She cut off an identical piece and ate it too. She went to look up and him and tell him how excellent it was but was stalled by the grin on his face.

"Absolutely delish, eh?" He said with a hop of his eyebrows. "I thought you'd like it. Two slices of Sour Spovian bread spread with fresh butter, grilled to perfection with two types of cheese pressed between them. It's getting pretty popular over in Lithopone."

"You...invented this?" Emma asked, suspicious.

"Yeah." Paul said with a shrug. "I'm a pretty respected cook back in my country."

"If I might say so..." Ruth said from the wall. "It sounds rather unhealthy."

"If you are so respected, what took you so long? It's not wise to keep a royal waiting." Emma said, ignoring Ruth's comment.

"Ah well." Paul scratched the back of his neck. "I'm kind of new to the kitchen. And I burnt the first one. Anyways, can't rush perfection, Princess."

Emma eyes widened in offense. How brash! Who does he think he is? "Sir Oakenfield, it is obvious that over in Lithopone one must be able to get away with speaking so loosely, but this is Spovia and you would do well to have some respect!"

"If you are late, it is only right that you apologize." Ruth said scoldingly. "Know your place."

Paul blinked. "But my reasons were legitimate."

"Royalty does not accept excuses as a reason to not apologize." Emma said, her cheeks beginning to match the shade of red in her hair.

Paul was staring at her now, one of his eyebrows raised. Emma wasn't sure she liked his gaze on her, and she was sure she didn't like the look on his face.

"Well...then I am truly sorry, Princess." Paul said with an incline of his head, his mischievous blue eyes still on her. "However may I make it up to you?"

Emma grit her teeth. He was mocking her now, using a Spovian accent. She felt strongly inclined to jump out of her seat and tell him to leave immediately and that he would have no job at the castle ever. But that, she felt, would be letting him win; letting him get under her skin. Think calmly now. The kitchen needs a new chef, and he does seem to be capable. If you hire him, that doesn't necessarily mean you'll ever have to see him again.

"Very well." Emma said, her voice icy as she rose carefully and with grace. "You can make it up to me by minding your manners in the future. You have the job...until Chef Temble is no longer ill." Ruth pulled the chair behind her away and she turned. "Let us go, Ruth." She swept out of the room with a rustle of her skirt, her brow taught. I couldn't have been more wrong about him. He's most certainly not the man who has been writing me letters with such grace. Emma shook her head at herself. How foolish of me, my secret correspondent is probably a much older man, not the young handsome man I keep imagining...