Page 33 of Wayfinder (The Outlander Book Club… in Space! #5)

Mise en plas.

The kitchen technique where everything was in its place... ready and waiting. I’d always thought of the kitchen as a sort of battlefield, and the method of running a good kitchen was like preparing for combat.

Know your enemy. It was knowing what the diners were hungry for. Whether fish and chips, a five-star meal or alien chicken.

Be mentally prepared for hell on Earth. At the height of the dinner rush, the kitchen was physically exhausting and mentally demanding, but also exciting, with never a dull moment.

Master your weapons , be it knife, whisk, or strainer. The better one was with the tools, the better the food.

Always remember that everyone is an important part of a team. From the head chef to the server, everyone’s role was integral.

Plan how you’ll react, and what you’ll do in various circumstances . Even the best chef suffered a customer complaint from time to time.

Most importantly, take care of your feet because sitting down was not an option.

I was proud of my menu... especially the way the alien ingredients melded with the Earth recipes.

The Tomato Crostini was tart and crunchy, the boeuf bourguignon mouthwatering as usual, and I’d whipped the weird little alien potato to perfection, creating a dish that tasted like buttery mashed potatoes with bacon.

The greens I found to sauté didn’t turn out bitter thanks to the alien sweetener I’d found at the market.

My version of angel food cake with chocolate sauce was delicate, with just the perfect crust. But the thing that gave me the most pride was the Chili.

The dish turned out spicy and savory, perfectly camouflaging the taste of the behia.

I imagined my grandmother looking down on me from heaven with proud tears in her eyes.

I knew at least a couple of party guests who approved of the menu. Chancellor Qaimus and his obnoxious wife Ordeesia couldn’t resist stopping by earlier for a taste test. After which, Ordeesia pouted and whined for her husband to steal me for their kitchen.

When hell froze over.

Of course, I was grateful that the two of them begged for a taste of the Chili.

From Jala’s description, I thought the stroaig might taste a little like venison—which was my grandmother’s favorite for making the dish.

I simply added a few steps to tenderize the meat and give it a melt-on-the-tongue texture.

With the addition of alien tomatoes and the spices Jutuk and I purchased from the market, no one could taste the difference.

The Chancellor and his missus certainly couldn’t.

The market.

The gash on Jutuk’s shoulder had been to the bone, requiring several stitches and a rather stern tongue lashing from Jala about turning her station into a war zone. Personally, I couldn’t be prouder of how he fought to protect me.

My mate.

Mine.

My cheeks flushed even hotter remembering how I’d pounced on him, using my body to show my gratitude and affection again and again, until we both fell into a sweaty, sated sleep.

Jutuk was always a sight to behold, but in the midst of battle, he’d transformed into an otherworldly being, exuding power and grace like a deity.

With each movement, he radiated strength and elegance, not just a man, but a masterpiece in motion.

It was both thrilling and terrifying. Even surrounded by danger, he exuded an aura of safety and strength that was intoxicating.

It was a feeling I couldn’t shake off, like a fever that refused to break.

Never before had I been so consumed by someone, so overcome with passion and longing.

Jutuk was an exhilarating experience, igniting desires within me I never knew existed. I couldn’t get enough of him.

Of course, nervous anticipation assaulted me for an altogether different reason as I watched the servers carry out the last course of the evening.

I’d managed the chaos like a maestro conducting Flight of the Bumblebee s.

The rhythm of the kitchen was the heartbeat of a sentient organism, one that lived and breathed, and on occasion misbehaved.

Every plate required perfect appointment, and every display demanded a masterpiece of color, texture, and taste.

When the last dish left the kitchen, it was like a parent watching their child depart for college, and, just for a moment, came a flicker of emptiness before the invariable clean-up began.

The job done, the harem girls scattered to enjoy a moment of blessed freedom, all but Deema and Aqsa. They remained, keeping the kitchen door cracked open so they could watch the dining room beyond.

Jutuk left his perch on the stool. Seriously, how much did I love the way he sat quietly and just watched me do my thing? He came to my side, an arm going around my waist. I leaned against him. The adrenaline flooding my body from the last few hours abating.

“Oooh!” Deema squeaked happily. “Everyone looks to be enjoying the food.”

“What about the Duke?” I couldn’t help but ask. I might have avoided poisoning Duke Ako with the stroaig, but it hadn’t stopped me worrying the Baron would get to him some other way.

“He’s smiling,” Aqsa said, turning to me and doing the same, the quills on her head vibrating with pleasure.

“That’s good, right?” I glanced at Jutuk, who took the opportunity to kiss me on the forehead.

“Why are you worried? The Chili was delicious,” my mate gushed. He should know. He’d eaten three bowls earlier.

“I’m competitive,” I chuckled, poking Jutuk playfully in the chest. “I’ve got to be the best!”

He lowered his mouth to my ear, teeth sinking into my earlobe pleasurably before he growled in a husky, sexy tone. “You are the best.”

Desire seared through me. I went up on tiptoe, lightly brushing my lips across his, but the look in his eyes, while simmering with desire, held something more urgent.

It was time.

I glanced toward Deema and Aqsa, my heart twisting.

I’d miss those two, but hopefully not for long.

Jutuk promised that once we got to the Bardaga, he and his brethren would come up with a plan to liberate every single female from the Baron’s harem.

If I wasn’t already head over heels for the guy, that one promise would have tipped me over the edge.

Jutuk dropped his arm from my waist, his large, warm hand curling around my own. The plan was simple. We would leave the kitchen through the hatch in the storage room and make our way to the docking area, where Jala had a skiff waiting for us.

Fifteen minutes.

In fifteen minutes, we’d be on our way to the Bardaga and my friends. We just needed an excuse to cover our trip to the storage room first.

“Ladies.” My voice trembled, and I cleared my throat before continuing. “I’ll be in the storage room. Remember, we have to prepare breakfast in the morning, and I need to inventory the pantry. A chef’s work is never done.”

Deema turned from the door, giving Jutuk and me the once over.

Her saucy grin said plainly she expected us to use our time in the storage room for more pleasurable pursuits than counting eggs.

Once her attention returned to the dining room, Jutuk and I moved quietly toward the back of the kitchen.

Jutuk swung the door open, the faint, earthy scent of root vegetables assaulting my nose when a loud squawk turned my attention back to the kitchen.

Deema and Aqsa cowered together fearfully, considering the two huge, pale, horned guards that entered the kitchen.

The larger of the two surveyed the space with piercing green eyes, his gaze finally landing on me.

“The Duke wishes an audience with the chef.”

Shit!

I glanced at Jutuk, worried the interruption would throw our timetable out of whack. I watched a muscle twitch in his jawline, signaling his aggravation. Even so, he gave the guards a gracious nod.

“It is an honor to be requested by the Duke.” Jutuk gently patted my bottom to urge me forward. He smiled, but his expression carried a message. He could not accompany me. I’d have to face the Duke on my own.

I’d cooked for presidents, celebrities, and even a king and queen.

This wasn’t the first time I’d met royalty.

So why did my stomach flip as I moved toward the doorway?

Not nervousness, but all out fear, like I expected the guards to drag me into the dining room and behead me on the spot because the Duke face planted in his angel food cake.

Of course, the fact that Jutuk let the guards take me from his side without a fuss should have clued me about the lack of danger.

“My lady.” The smaller of the two held an arm out for me, which eased my trepidation somewhat.I glanced at Jutuk and at his faint nod, slipped my hand onto the guard’s arm.

Flanked on either side by the enormous guards, we stepped from the kitchen, moving through a short corridor and into the dining room.

It was like stepping into Tavern on the Green during dinner rush.

The room was enormous, three times the size of my largest restaurant.

Finery appointed the decoration, silky tablecloths along with plates and utensils that appeared carved from gleaming stone.

The sounds of utensils clinking against dinnerware were comforting, even with the addition of an errant slurp here and there.

For a moment, no one noticed my entry. Then everything stilled. Not even the sound of breathing was discernable for a moment before the room exploded with thunderous applause.

Startled, I stumbled, bumping into the larger guard. I glanced up to find him gazing at me. His lips curved into a faint smile.

“The Duke, my lady.”

He directed my attention toward the front of the room, to a table set upon a dais several feet higher than the floor.

Recognizing the Duke was easy. He wore silver slacks and a tunic, with a dark blue sash across his shoulder that was pinned with several heavily jeweled metals.

Even seated, I could tell he was tall, with pale skin, platinum hair, and piercing blue eyes.

The strange pearlescent horns protruding from just above his temples did little to quell his overall attractiveness or the confidence and power he exuded.

Behind him stood four guards, even larger than the two that flanked me.

At the Duke’s side, Baron Oappo rose to his feet, thumping his chest proudly, signaling for quiet.

“May I introduce my human chef, Pearl. My greatest acquisition.”

It might be my imagination, but it seemed like a faint frown crossed the Duke’s face at Oappo calling me an acquisition . The downturn in his expression didn’t last long, replaced by a dazzling, wide smile. Duke Ako rose to his feet—I was right, he was tall—and lifted his glass in my direction.

“My compliments to the chef. This is the most delicious food I have ever tasted.” His voice was deep and a little rough, like gravel topped with a dollop of honey and drenched with sincerity. His adulation helped me relax.

“Thank you,” I replied, sinking into a pitiful excuse for a curtsey. I’d only attempted the formal greeting once previously when meeting Prince William and Princess Kate at a state dinner.I’d sucked at it then, too.

“Pray tell me, what do you call this wonderful concoction?”

The Duke lifted a bowl that appeared licked clean.

“It is an Earth dish called Chili—my grandmother’s recipe.

“And this?” He lifted the dish that had held the angel food cake. Only a smear of chocolate sauce remained.

“Angel food cake with chocolate sauce, another Earth dish.”

“Aptly named,” the Duke chuckled. “It was like eating a cloud.”

“Thank you.” This time, I didn’t attempt another awkward curtsey, simply bowing from the waist.

The Duke raised his glass, and the guests followed suit.

“To human chef Pearl and this wonderful food!”

The diners raised a glass in a toast, and faint grunts and whistles coming through my translator as “ hear, hear.”

I managed another curt bow before the larger of the two guards offered his arm and turned us back toward the kitchen.

Deema and Aqsa lingered by the door, vibrating with excitement. Jutuk occupied his stool, appearing nonchalant at first glance. His eyes widened at my entrance, muscles tensing but relaxing when I issued a smile and a nod.

“Is the Duke really as handsome as they claim?”

“Was he nice?”

“Were you nervous?”

“What did he say about the food?”

Deema and Aqsa swarmed me the minute the guards retreated. I glanced at Jutuk for direction. My time in the dining room lasted only a few minutes, but the dinner was winding down. I didn’t spot a remaining bite of food on a single plate... and I looked.

He returned my gaze, the golden eyes holding such pride and affection I melted like ice cream on hot apple pie. His faint nod told me I had time to entertain the girls. I answered their excited questions and gave out hugs of goodbye, camouflaged as congratulations.

Jutuk was waiting by the storage room when I finally escaped.

“It’s okay, we still have time.” He promised, pulling me against him. “I’m very proud of you, and I can’t wait to give you, my congratulations .”

I giggled at the insinuation. “Maybe you need to wait until we make it aboard the Bardaga, and you can congratulate me for days.”

“That’s a promise.” Jutuk let his lips brush against mine, pulling me into the storage room and closing the door behind us.

As the barrier between slavery and freedom closed, I heard a ruckus. A slam followed by Deema and Aqsa’s frightened squeak and a high-pitched, angry voice I recognized immediately.

“Where is that bitch?”