The kitchen was a mess, flour dusted the counters, pots and pans were scattered everywhere, and the fire crackled under a pot that seemed dangerously close to boiling over. Amidst the chaos, I stood in the thick of it, sleeves rolled up, stirring, chopping, and mixing with a focus I rarely gave anything outside of battle or planning. Cooking wasn't exactly what a king should be doing, especially not the morning after a fight like yesterday, but there was something oddly therapeutic about it. It let me tune out the noise, lose myself in the rhythm of the ingredients, and forget for a moment that I had a kingdom to defend and knights to lead.
I added a pinch of herbs, the steam rising from the pot as the smell filled the room. Around me, the cooks looked on with a mixture of confusion and amusement. They were used to their king being many things—a warrior, a tactician, even a bit of a recluse—but a cook? That was new. I gave them a lazy smile, shrugging off their bewilderment.
