Page 16

CHAR WAS FINISHING a brunoise dice on yellow onions when Fen walked into the kitchen. He hadn’t been at breakfast or lunch, and there was still a good hour until dinner. He looked tired with pronounced circles under his eyes, but he smiled when he caught sight of Char.

“Hey, Char. Can I steal you away for ten minutes to talk?”

Fen looked serious, although he was still smiling, so Char knew he didn’t want to have a conversation about that kiss. Or, at least, not only about that kiss. Something more was on his mind.

“Yes. Let me just...” he trailed off as he went to the oven and checked the buns. Luckily, they were done. Char pulled them out and set the tray on the cooling rack. Since he didn’t know how long the meeting would take, Char didn’t put the next tray in to start cooking. A glance around the kitchen showed everyone else was still occupied by their current tasks and wouldn’t need anything from him for a while. Karl and Laura were by the sink, scrubbing potatoes. Mark was using the fry press to create fries from the cleaned potatoes. Char could cut the fries faster and better with a knife, but the press did an adequate job, so he focused his time on other tasks. Satisfied that he could leave for a while, Char left the onions on the cutting board, draped his apron over a clean bit of counter, and followed Fen out of the dining hall.

They went upstairs, an area Char didn’t explore often. The hallway to the right of the landing had more doors for bedrooms, going all the way to the front of the building. To the left—the area above the dining hall and Char’s kitchen—was another set of double doors, these propped open. Six desks filled the open area in the middle, all with what Char assumed were secretaries or aides working hard on the stacks of paperwork that appeared to be absolutely everywhere. The perimeter of the room had five closed doors, two each on the left and right, and one on the back wall. Fen led the way to the farthest door on the right. He held it open for Char and closed it after them before going to sit in the chair behind the desk dominating the center of the room. Char took one of the two chairs on the visitors’ side and waited for Fen to explain.

“My mother sent Second Minister Protus,” Fen blurted out in a sudden non-sequitur. “I wanted you to know that mystery has been solved—and dealt with,” he added, a growl in his voice. “My mother sends her apologies for frightening you.”

“Eh,” Char mumbled unsure what he really wanted to ask first, or if he even had the right to ask. As usual, Fen understood him anyway.

Fen let out a long sigh. “I told my family I had feelings for you,” he began, and Char’s cheeks immediately flared with heat. Fen chuckled, but thankfully didn’t comment. “My mother took it upon herself to test you and enlisted Protus. He’s a career politician. However, despite how he comes across or what Karl might say, he’s a good person. Karl might complain that he got six months for failing to pick Jensen’s pocket, but in Protus’s mind, six months is enough time for Karl to turn his life around. During that time, he’ll be well-fed, housed, clothed, and taught a profession. Many of the street waifs sent to us join up when they’ve served their sentence and start a military career that keeps them off the streets permanently. Something I doubt Karl understands right now. Protus is also a good judge of character. He told Jensen he didn’t notice any signs of subterfuge from you, nor the least bit of interest in his offer, which Protus then told my mother, who informed me she approved of you this morning when I met her for breakfast.”

“Oh. Um, that’s good?” Char got out, his cheeks flaming to the point they were probably measurable on the Scoville scale, his breath stuttering at the idea the queen knew all about him. Then, there was also the fact that Fen had told her about Char in the first place.

Fen’s eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile growing. “So you don’t need to worry about him any longer. We’re still investigating the second person who threatened you, the one from early the next morning. I hope to have that one resolved soon as well.

“Now, about Emily Mitely. She doesn’t have a legal guardian and her only family is Karl Mitely. If I send her back to the city, she’ll go into a crown-funded orphanage. Technically that’s better than being on the streets, but far too many of the orphans don’t do well while there or after they age out. My mother’s been fighting for improvements for the last decade, but it’s a painfully slow battle that she hasn’t won…yet. I figured Emily could stay here until we can find other arrangements, but I’m sorry I had to drop her in your lap.”

Char shrugged, glad he had a different topic to focus on as that helped his face cool down. “A busy kitchen is no place for a child. Luckily, Zain took one look at her, and Emily is now with Zain for the afternoon. Not that I think a military training yard is an appropriate place either, but Zain was insistent.”

Fen rubbed a hand over his eyes as he let out a sigh. “I see. Zain likes kids, particularly little girls. She has four boys; the fourth happened because she wanted to try one last time for a girl and failed. If Zain’s taken charge of Emily, I won’t worry about what to do about her any longer. Thanks for telling me.” He paused to look at Char and all mirth vanished from his face. “What I’m about to tell you next doesn’t leave this room, understand?” he asked.

Char nodded, gulping. “I understand.”

Fen pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers for a long moment before looking at Char again. Something sad lurked behind those usually vibrant hazel eyes, something that darkened them and made Char want to reach out to give Fen a hug or another form of comfort. Char could only listen and hope that even in silence he could convey his support.

“I don’t know if you remember, but when Roe killed herself, she said, ‘Randolph says hi.’ Prince Randolph was my father’s youngest sibling, born third in line for the throne. No one knows why or what might have instigated it, but Randolph was incredibly jealous and spiteful that he wasn’t slated to be the next king. My father was crowned fifteen years ago. Five years later, Randolph staged a coup. His forces killed Aunt Stephanie and Ayer—um, Crown Prince Ayer—spent six months under a healer’s care recovering from his injuries. The coup failed and Uncle Randolph fled. Braxton and I spent the next few years stomping out small rebellions all over the country. That’s how I became commander, actually, despite being the youngest of the captains at the time, by proving my abilities in all those skirmishes. About six years ago, Braxton’s unit finally found where Uncle Randolph was hiding, and Braxton killed him in the resulting battle. We thought that ended it, but over the last year or so we started hearing whispers that while Randolph might be dead, his cause isn’t. We believe Namin is behind it, since fomenting unrest in Toval would benefit them the most. We confirmed our suspicions when we captured Namin’s Prince Clament directing the mercenary groups. I believe—and the rest of my family agrees—the dark stranger who threatened you is part of whatever is left of Randolph’s coup.” He paused as if to gauge Char’s reaction, but Char was too stunned to respond.

He had been in school during the fighting, and Timmonsville considered itself neutral when it came to other countries’ politics. At the time, Char was much more interested in learning how to fillet fish than about Toval’s internal war, but he had heard there was some unrest. Plus, his cousin had gotten a job in Etoval around then, so some of the letters Char had received from his parents mentioned Terrance was safe in the palace kitchen, far away from any fighting. The majority of his family lived and worked in Toval, but in other cities and towns, so had stayed well away from the unrest. But that was all he really knew about any of it.

Now, he was apparently smack dab in the middle of the ongoing conflict.

“You shouldn’t have any reason to worry any longer,” Fen continued. He reached across the desk and took Char’s hand, the warmth of his touch soothing. “You’ll have a guard with you at all times during the day, and the soldiers on night duty have increased patrols around the barracks. As long as you let me or Jensen know any time you need to leave the military complex, no one can get to you here.”

Char swallowed hard but nodded. “I really appreciate having someone guarding me, so thank you for that. I was planning to go to the market in Etoval next week to pick up some supplies for winter prep, but I can postpone that.”

Fen grimaced before shaking his head. “No, hiding in fear won’t help either. We need to present a strong front and show we’re not going to cower behind our walls.” He squeezed Char’s hand. “We’ll double your guard that day, and I’ll put the city guards on notice. With a week to prepare, you should never be in danger.”

Fen let out a slow, heavy breath, looking down at the surface of the desk. When he looked up again, his eyes were blazing, twin hazel-colored flames like caramel bubbling as the sugar melted. He stood and walked around the desk without letting go of Char’s hand. He settled onto the corner next to Char and gripped Char’s hand in both of his.

“I refuse to let anything happen to you. You understand?”

Char couldn’t breathe, Fen’s words and the heat in his eyes stealing away any coherent thoughts as Char stared, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. Fen’s responding chuckle was deeper than normal, almost a growl from his chest. He bent forward and placed the barest peck on the corner of Char’s mouth. He lifted one hand and gently closed Char’s mouth and then bent close to press his lips square over Char’s. This time when Fen pulled away, he trailed his fingertips across Char’s cheek, and Char let out a mewling whimper.

Char surged forward, pressing his lips against Fen’s in a third kiss, this one heavy with want and emotion blasting between them. When Fen’s tongue brushed against Char’s lip, Char opened, glad to give everything he had and take everything Fen offered in turn.

They were both panting for breath, lips swollen and wet, when they pulled apart.

“Dinner,” Char explained, his voice breathy because he couldn’t get enough oxygen to form more than the barest sounds.

Fen growled but nodded. “Tonight instead? When you’re done for the night? My room is the door on the back wall of the outer office.”

Char wanted to lean forward and get lost in another kiss, but he knew if he did, dinner would be comprised of a few dozen baked buns, raw dough, and diced yellow onion. His duty to put food on the table came first, just as Fen’s duty as commander did as well. Char took in and let out two deep breaths, trying to calm his heartrate and libido. He dried his lips with the back of one hand and hoped his face didn’t look too obvious as to what he and Fen had just been doing, before resolutely walking out the door and returning to the kitchen.

He scrubbed his hands at the sink, redonned his apron, and got back to work. The next round of buns went into the oven, the onions were chopped, the garlic cleaned, and Char knew he was damned lucky his magic was basically automatic at this point, because he would have burned the crap out of his hand or chopped off a finger in his distraction without that protection. For the first time in Char’s memory, he couldn’t properly focus on cooking while in the kitchen in the midst of meal prep.

Every inch of him yearned to return upstairs and to see where those three brief kisses might lead if given plenty of time to explore those possibilities. Pulling pounds upon pounds of ground beef out of the cold box was a poor distraction, but that was all Char had.

He forced himself to refocus as he split the beef in half. For the first half, he pulled individual portions off the lump of meat and rolled each first into a loose ball and then flattened it into a disk, careful not to press too hard and turn the disk into a puck that wouldn’t cook properly. Each patty then got a light dusting of garlic and onion powder on both sides. A glance at the clock said Char was running late, so the patties went directly onto the grill. Once the grill was full, Char continued making and dusting patties, placing them onto a plate instead, until that half of the beef was gone. Then he moved onto the other half, which he dumped into a large bowl.

“Anything I can help with?” Karl asked as he wandered over.

“Mushrooms done?” Char asked, glancing over at the sink where a bowl of cleaned white button mushrooms was waiting for him to find five minutes to slice.

“All cleaned.”

Karl grinned at Char, but his smile turned into a quizzical look a moment later when Char dumped the onions into the bowl of meat. Char used a garlic press to mince the garlic cloves, added chopped basil and parsley and some salt, and then started cracking eggs into the bowl. Once he had enough eggs, Char added his lightly spiced tomato dipping sauce and topped it off with cracker meal—a substance made from finely ground crackers that served as a binder.

"Let me see your hands,” Char asked Karl as he measured the last of the cracker meal into the bowl.

Karl held his hands up for Char to see, a quizzical look on his face. His fingers were slightly damp, but clean after spending so much time at the sink. There was no need to make him wash them again.

“Can you mix this for me?” Char asked as he headed back to the grill to flip patties.

“Sure. Do you have a spoon?” Karl asked, glancing around to see if Char had left one nearby.

Char laughed. “No spoon for this recipe. Dig in with your hands so you can get everything properly incorporated.”

“Nice!” Karl exclaimed, immediately digging into the bowl with both hands, meat and liquids squelching between his fingers.

Char left him to it, moving on to the mushrooms. He diced the white buttons, pausing halfway through to remove the medium-rare patties from the grill, load up another round, and start oil heating for the potato fries. The mushrooms went into a pan with oil to start reducing. Once they had lost most of their water and were starting to darken, Char added red wine, Worcestershire sauce, onion, garlic, and a dash of red pepper powder, then covered the pan to let them simmer on low heat until Char was ready to serve. He exchanged cooked buns for raw in the oven and then pulled out a large bag full of gigantic portabella mushrooms marinating in oil, white wine vinegar, and spices. He filled the grill with those next, the trimmed stem side up to form a bowl for the marinade to pool as they cooked. While Char didn’t have any vegetarians to feed, some people liked the taste of a portabella either in addition to or instead of a beef burger.

Finally, Char was able to return to Karl, looking over Karl’s shoulder at the mixture in the bowl, which was slightly too wet. Char added more cracker meal for Karl to mix in. If it had been too dry, he would have added more tomato sauce. By the time the portabellas were flipped and fully cooked, Karl had finished mixing and Char was able to start forming patties. They went right on the flat iron—the consistency was too soft for the grill, since the meat would break apart and fall through the bars—where they would cook until well-done to ensure there was no chance of anyone eating raw eggs. These patties were meant to be eaten without a bun by using a fork to dip portions into tomato sauce.

And still, despite all the distractions, Char’s lips were tingling in memory, and his mind was upstairs. Dinner service couldn’t end soon enough.

Somehow, he did make it through. As the first rush of diners arrived and the scramble to keep the serving area full commenced, Char finally dragged his brain to focus on work. However, it only lasted until the final lull, when the compound began to quiet as people headed to their evening pursuits or to bed. Char started on his bread dough for the morning, his hands and wrists automatically going through the motions of mixing and kneading, the word “bed” echoing through his thoughts.

“Can I try?” Karl suddenly asked, breaking into Char’s thoughts. He looked earnest and hopeful, so Char smiled as he stepped to the side.

“We’re developing the glutens when we’re kneading,” Char explained. “Adding elasticity to our dough so it will rise better. Too little kneading and it won’t develop. Too much and the bread turns into a rock.” Char demonstrated the push, turn, push he used for this particular dough and then waved for Karl to try. “Not too hard; we don’t want to break the dough when we’re kneading either.”

Karl nodded, concentrating hard on pushing the dough far enough to stretch it without breaking. His hands were smaller and he didn’t have muscles built up in his forearms or wrists, so he was slower than Char, but he was working hard. Char left him to it, starting to mix together another dough. With Karl’s help, the last of the evening chores were done early. Char sent his helpers off to bed, thanked his nighttime guard, and went to grab a shower.

Clean and dressed in a fresh set of clothes, Char swallowed hard and started climbing the staircase up to an evening he hoped would be as good as those kisses portended.