Rodion caught up with the prince.
"Where are we going?" He asked, following behind.
They looked like a couple in their night robes, walking through the corridor early in the morning.
"To the kitchen, we'll eat first, I'm starving." answered the prince, his nerves finally calmed, and to his relief, his cheeks returned to their normal color.
Rodion didn't ask any further. Walking behind the prince allowed him to examine his physique. Lean and shorter than him, his silver-blue hair was messy from sleep, and he was not wearing any sandals or slippers.
"Have you been walking around barefooted? The floor's cold." He asked, feeling the coldness of the floor beneath his feet.
"I'm used to it already. I told you, I've been living here longer than you may think. This doesn't bother me anymore."
The prince led him to the kitchen, where Mikhail had restocked food and other necessities for the week. As they entered, the room was shrouded in darkness. Prince Nikolai moved through the shadows and effortlessly opened the window. As the light streamed in, Rodion could see the aged design of the kitchen come into view.
"So, what do you want to eat? I mostly just go with wine for breakfast, but I can't have you drinking wine early in the morning, can I? Especially that you're my guest, although you probably just sneaked in here last night."
The prince leaned against the wall by the window and glanced at him, offering a meaningful smile. Rodion felt a warm flush rise to his cheeks. He moved around the kitchen, avoiding the prince's gaze as he took in the entire room.
"I've asked my father about you," he began, walking up to the kitchen counter. "And he told me everything he knew about you." He paused by the other counter, just across the kitchen counter, and met the prince's gaze. Prince Nikolai was still wearing the smile, he slightly raised his brows to encourage Rodion to continue.
"How old are you now?"
The prince paused, unable to contain his laughter at the sudden question, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. Rodion watched him, a soft smile gradually spreading across his lips.
It's a relief that he can still laugh like this.
After a few moments, the prince calmed down and then made his way towards the counter, where he stood. Rodion's smile froze when a thumping in his chest began to make him slightly nervous.
"Try to guess," said the prince, and leaned forward against the counter, his hands resting on the surface, as Rodion stood opposite him.
"You're old—around 500 years," he replied candidly.
His answer made the prince frown ever so slightly, but his smile remained when he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Did I blab about that last night?" His eyes were fixed on Rodion.
The other didn't look away. He gazed back at the prince as he turned slightly serious and asked, "You don't really remember what happened last night?"
Prince Nikolai broke free from his gaze and pulled his night robe closer to his body as he stepped back from the counter. "That's what I said. Now, stop asking questions and help me prepare our breakfast instead."
Oh… I don't know how to cook.
With just a glance at Rodion, the prince could tell from his expression that he had no idea how to help. It seemed that the elder son of the Baron was not particularly skilled in the kitchen.
"I…I can wash the dishes after we eat."
A laugh escaped from the prince once more, amused but not surprised. What do you expect from the son of a wealthy family? "Stay at the table then; don't get in my way here. Shoo."
Rodion obediently followed the prince's command, striding toward the round table and taking a seat. He watched intently as the prince worked at the kitchen counter, his eyes fixed on every move. The way Nikolai's shoulders shifted, his head turned, and the back of his neck—exposed and clad only in a single night robe—made him look exceptionally vulnerable.
He had been alone for over 500 years in that very kitchen, standing in that familiar position, cooking for himself. The thought sent a twinge of pain through his heart.
"Kolya?"
His voice suddenly called out, echoing through the room. The thought of silence settling in was unbearable to him. He was there for the prince, and he wouldn't let the silence linger between them.
"Hmm?"
"Who cuts your hair?"
The prince paused and glanced at him over his shoulder, giving him a close look before returning to his preparation.
"Living alone for so long, I managed to learn to do things on my own. I cut my own hair once a month; isn't that amazing? Humans adapt to changes eventually and that's what happened to me."
The animated tone of his voice yet still carried a hint of nonchalance in his answer made Rodion regret imposing a question, but he was happy to engage in a casual conversation with him just for the sake of it.
"I'll make us *Kasha," Prince Nikolai said after cleaning the materials needed. "Would you mind helping me cut the ingredients?" He asked, returning to look at Rodion. He asked, turning back to Rodion, his smile unwavering.
Rodion nodded willingly and stood up from his chair.
"Perfect, I'll get the ingredients ready."
The prince began to gather the ingredients. His kitchen has all the food and materials needed. The baron always ensured that he had the best-quality food supply every week. From all kinds of meat and fish, vegetables and wheat, and fruits, down to all kinds of seasoning.
Preservation wasn't a concern for the prince. The servants employed salting, drying, and smoking methods to keep his food from spoiling. Rodion was amazed when Katerina explained the process to him.
Rodion approached the kitchen counter next to the prince. Although the kitchen was quite spacious, it felt cramped. In one corner, barrels and buckets were stacked high. Near the window stood a round mahogany table topped with a vintage vase holding a single, dried flower. Its petals had turned black, and fragments lay scattered across the table. Three wooden chairs were positioned around the table, while a counter stretched before the kitchen counter.
As the prince gathered the necessary ingredients, Rodion took the initiative to look for a chopping board and a knife. The atmosphere of the kitchen, filled with the promise of breakfast, made Rodion feel at home. Lost in thought, he momentarily forgot about the chopping board. When he turned to glance at the prince, he saw him placing the ingredients before him, finally producing a small fabric bag of buckwheat groats.
Unaware of his gazes, he focused on separating the seasoning and ingredients that needed to be chopped. "Grab me the chopping board along with the kitchen knife; it's on your left side." He requested it without looking at him.
"These mushrooms, onions...hmm, jerky meat..." The prince paused when he sensed that Rodion didn't stir on his side. He cocked his head up only to meet the other's amber-colored eyes closely staring at him.
"Rodya, did you hear me?" His voice was soft and familiar as if their current domestic setup was not new but rather meant to be for both of them.
Rodion smiled gently. "Right, the chopping board and the knife, of course," he toned, almost in a hum. His whole being was strangely filled with a sense of contentment.
He reached for the chopping board and knife. The prince watched as Rodion set the board in front of him, his right hand gripping the knife handle as if it were just a stick, gently tapping it on the board. Suddenly, he seemed to be in a much better mood.
"Do I chop these?" he asked, pointing the knife to the mushrooms and other ingredients he had sorted out from the rest.
"Yeah, be careful not to cut yourself," he cautioned him, deliberately not bothering to point out how he held the knife incorrectly.
He then grabbed two eggs, rinsing them in the sink before retrieving a small clay pot from the cabinet below. He filled it with enough water and carefully placed the eggs inside. Carrying the pot to the stove against the wall, he stoked the chopped wood and set the pot on top. Afterward, he glanced over at Rodion.
Rodion concentrated on his tasks, gripping the knife tightly. Occasionally, he raised the arm holding the knife to push back the stray strands of hair that kept falling into his face.
"Hey, hey. That's dangerous!" He called out with a reprimanding voice but was tender. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep moving your arms with a knife like that.
Rodion felt a pang of guilt for being careless. As he glanced at the approaching figure of the prince, he met his gaze with an expression reminiscent of a child caught in mischief. "I'm sorry; it's just that my hair keeps getting in the way," he tried to explain.
The prince clicked his tongue, and his eyes trailed down at the poor mushrooms, which looked like they had been mercilessly chopped by a child. "And look at your work. Tsk, tsk."
Rodion felt a little sad to hear his disappointed voice. He wanted to be of help, but it seemed like he couldn't do things right for the prince.
Sigh. I should have learned to cook in my previous life.
"Hey…pfft." The prince couldn't help but laugh; his disappointed tone was gone. "You're terrible in the kitchen, but don't be sad."
His mouth frowned. Hey now, offer me some validation, at least!
Prince Nikolai's grin widened at the sight of Rodion's frown. He stopped laughing and took the knife from Rodion's hand, causing Rodion to watch him with curiosity. To his surprise, the prince tore off a small piece from the hem of his sleeve. Rodion's gaze was drawn to Nikolai's slender wrist, the soft, porcelain skin appearing vulnerable and delicate. Yet, with one swift motion, the prince effortlessly ripped a piece from his night robe.
After setting the knife on the kitchen counter, Prince Nikolai gestured for Rodion to lean closer. Rodion complied without hesitation, turning to draw near, their faces once again just inches apart. His breath hitched as the prince wrapped his arms around Rodion's neck, their skin touching. Nikolai gently brushed Rodion's hair back with his fingers before securing it with the cloth he had torn from his sleeve.
"There you go. Your hair won't get in the way now."
As he pulled back his arms, Rodion immediately felt the absence of warmth on his skin. He wanted more of his warmth against his skin. The sudden thought made him hurriedly lean back and stand straight. He tersely expressed his thanks and reached for the knife to continue his task, but the prince stopped him.
"I'll finish it. Check the eggs instead, will you? I don't want it overcooked."
Rodion nodded eagerly, resembling a child excited to help. He moved past the prince and headed to the stove while Nikolai took over, expertly chopping the remaining ingredients.
"And please be careful, it's hot..." Before he could finish his warning, he had already heard Rodion hissing loudly.
**In English, Kasha usually refers to the pseudocereal buckwheat or its culinary preparations. In Eastern European cuisine, Kasha can be applied to any kind of cooked grain. It can be baked but most often is boiled, either in water or milk, and therefore the term coincides with the English definition of 'porridge', but the word can also refer to the grain before preparation, which corresponds to the definition of 'groats'. Ref. to Wikipedia