The tavern was full of life. People ate their dishes and talked, making small talk among themselves. Some were merchants who came for lunch, others were laborers and soldiers who had just finished their shifts.
The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting warm shadows across the worn wooden floor. Plates clinked. Mugs clunked. Somewhere in the back, a cook was yelling orders.
Ji Hoon, Lior, and Yuliana sat at a small, secluded booth in the corner, waiting and chatting about the competition.
"Guys, I'm finished. Sorry if I kept you waiting," said Ansen, finally returning after his shift, his apron stained and his face flushed from the kitchen heat.
As the others turned to look at their friend, a bulky middle-aged woman came from behind Ansen.
She shared similar features with him—the same warm eyes, the same gentle slope of the nose—but had a more outgoing energy that filled the space around her.
She wiped her hands on her apron and looked at each of them in turn, measuring, approving.
"So," she said, her voice loud and cheerful, "you must be the lot my son has been talking about nonstop?"
The group stood from their seats and greeted her.
"Hello, ma'am. Thank you for having us," Ji Hoon said with a polite nod.
Yuliana gave a small bow. "Your son has been a great help to us during the competition."
Lior grinned wide. "Yeah, we couldn't have made it this far without him."
Ansen's mother beamed, her hands on her hips. She looked at them a moment longer, something soft passing over her face—gratitude, maybe, or relief that her boy had found good people.
"This is my place," she said proudly. "And I'm Ansen's mother. Call me Marga." She nodded firmly. "He's told me all about you three. Thank you for being such good friends to him." She wiped her hands again, a habit, and pointed a finger at them. "Now, you all sit tight. I'm gonna bring you something delicious myself."
She turned and headed back into the kitchen before anyone could argue, already shouting orders as she disappeared through the swinging door.
"Please, sit," Ansen said, settling in beside them. He let out a long breath, the tension of his shift finally leaving his shoulders. "Sorry for the wait. I had some unfinished business. What were you chatting about?"
"Oh, no problem, brother," Lior said, leaning back and stretching his arms. "We were just chatting about how Ji Hoon here actually made a miracle today. This guy literally came back at the last second after disappearing during the waiting round, and boom—he made the greatest show I have ever seen!"
Yuliana nodded in agreement, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup.
Ji Hoon blushed at the flattery.
"Oh, it wasn't that much," he tried to stay humble, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just baked a good set of cookies, is all."
"Just a good set of cookies?" Lior argued, slapping the table lightly. "Come on, you're trying to humble yourself too much. Even the Cook Killer herself yielded to your skill this time!"
Ansen, who was sitting across from Lior, leaned forward. "The Cook Killer? You mean the Fifth-Rank Minister, Mistress Albertine?"
"Exactly!" Lior's eyes went wide with the memory. "You should have seen her reaction, Ansen. She was wordless. Same for the Fourth-Rank Minister, Master Marcus, too." He closed his eyes, almost tasting the air. "I wonder what those cookies tasted like if people like them reacted like that. Even from the waiting room, the aroma was..."
He trailed off, unable to find the word.
'That's right,' Yuliana thought, glancing at Ji Hoon. 'To be honest, I was surprised by Minister Marcus's reaction at first. But to think that even Auntie Albertine reacted that way...' She pondered for a moment, watching the man across from her. The stoic woman she knew, rendered wordless by a dish he had made.
Meanwhile, Ji Hoon was already somewhere else. His mind had drifted to the next round. Patriotism. What could he make? What did that even mean for someone like him?
The table fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until the kitchen door swung open again.
Marga returned with two waiters behind her, their arms loaded with plates. The smell hit them before the food touched the table—rich, savory, earthy.
A thick stew with chunks of slow-cooked meat. Fresh bread still steaming from the oven. A plate of roasted vegetables glistening with butter. Simple food. Honest food.
The group smiled as the dishes were laid before them.
"Eat up," Marga said, crossing her arms with satisfaction. "You're too skinny, the lot of you."
They didn't need to be told twice. Hungry and tired from the day, they thanked her and dug in.
Lior was the first to grab bread, tearing it open with his hands. Ansen ladled stew into his bowl with the quiet efficiency of someone who had served a hundred plates himself. Ji Hoon reached for the vegetables, savoring the simple warmth of it.
And then, Yuliana lifted her mask.
Just halfway. Just enough.
Lior froze mid-bite. Ansen blinked. Even Ji Hoon, who had seen her face before, felt the weight of the moment. It was a small thing—a face, nothing more—but it was also trust. She was showing them something she didn't show the world.
She took a bite, chewed, and swallowed before looking up at their stares.
"What?" she asked, her voice cool but a small smile tugging at her lips.
"Nothing," Lior said quickly, shoving bread into his mouth. "Nothing at all."
Ansen just shook his head and kept eating, a quiet smile on his face.
They spent the rest of the meal like that—eating, chatting, laughing at Lior's terrible jokes. The warmth of the food and the company filled the small booth, and for a while, they weren't competitors or royals or cooks. They were just four friends sharing a meal.
Too soon, the plates were empty and the candles had burned low.
The four of them stood at the gate of the tavern. The evening air was cool against their flushed faces.
Ansen hesitated at the door, looking back at them. "Thanks for visiting," he said, his voice soft but sincere. "I'll come watch your match tomorrow, Yuliana. You too, Lior." He glanced at Ji Hoon. "And I'll be there for your semi-final too. Count on it."
He gave a small wave and disappeared inside.
Lior stretched his arms above his head, groaning. His stomach was a balloon, stuffed and satisfied. "Well," he said, clapping Ji Hoon on the shoulder, "I'm gonna roll myself back to the inn. See you two tomorrow."
He gave a lazy salute and walked off into the dimly lit street, whistling some tune from the Sand City.
Soon only Ji Hoon and Yuliana remained.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that held words waiting to be said.
They started walking toward the carriage stops, side by side, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestones.
"Today you were... reckless," Yuliana began, breaking the silence. Her voice was quiet, not scolding, just stating a fact. "Walking out of the competition at such a crucial moment. Continuing to use so many new and rare ingredients. It could have cost you greatly. If you had been late by even one minute, you know?"
Ji Hoon chuckled awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. I know."
"But it was also amazing." She glanced at him. "I may not know what it tasted like, but I can tell from their reactions that they were satisfied." She looked ahead again. "You are really full of wonders, Cook Cassian."
They stopped walking. The lantern light flickered above them. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, a voice cut through the quiet.
"Young master," said Haide, standing by one of the parked carriages. He bowed slightly. "The lady of the house calls for you. Shall we go?"
Ji Hoon blinked, pulled back to the present. "Mother wants to see me?" He turned to Yuliana. "Ah, well, it seems my ride is here." He gestured toward the carriage. "Do you need me to drop you at your palace?"
Yuliana showed a smile behind her mask. "Do not worry. Someone will come for me."
"Well then." He nodded. "I look forward to your match tomorrow. I hope you make it."
"Of course." Her voice was soft. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
He turned and walked to his carriage. The door closed. The horses began to move.
Yuliana stood there, watching as the carriage disappeared into the distance. The street grew quiet again. The lanterns flickered.
She waited until she was certain he was gone.
Then she spoke, her voice low and cold. "Come out, Lewis."
A silhouette detached itself from the shadows of a nearby alley. A man stepped into the lantern light—his body fit, wearing a hooded cape over a knight's armor. He moved with the silence of someone trained to be unseen.
Lewis got down on one knee, his head bowed. "Your royal princess. His Highness summons your arrival to the palace as soon as possible."
Yuliana sighed. A smile—not dissatisfied, not bitter, but knowing—appeared on her face.
"Well," she whispered to the empty street, watching the last trace of Cassian's carriage fade into the night, "I knew sooner or later he was bound to find out."
She pulled her mask tighter.
"It was fun while it lasted."
The warmth of the tavern felt a world away from the cold stone of the palace.
* * *
Up in the throne room, a man sat upon the high seat. His crown rested on golden hair streaked with silver. His fingers drummed once against the armrest, then stopped.
He listened to the report from his Chancellor, who stood at his right, speaking in measured, careful tones.
"...And so, from the reports of Knight Lewis, the princess is coming to us as we speak, Your Highness." The Chancellor paused. "On another matter, your cousin, the Grand Princess and Fifth-Rank Minister of Food, Mistress Albertine, wishes to have an audience with you."
Emperor Charles, who had been focused on his daughter, went still.
"Tell her I will be with her soon," he said, rising from his seat. His voice was calm, but his eyes were not.
He headed toward the waiting room.
In the waiting room, Mistress Albertine sat alone.
Her hands were folded in her lap, but her fingers were restless, pressing against each other in a rhythm she couldn't stop.
'When is he coming... when is he coming...' she kept thinking.
She stared at the door.
'I can't believe it. It was the same feeling. The same feeling I got from him. I just don't understand how it was possible, but even for a second, I...'
The door opened.
A figure stepped in.
"Mistress Albertine?" Emperor Charles began, walking past her toward his office chair. He did not sit. He turned to face her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Mistress Albertine stood. She bowed, her body lowering with practiced grace.
"This subject of yours gives her utmost greetings, Your Highness." She lifted her head. Her eyes were sharp, alive with something he had not seen in years. "Today, I have come to you because I saw—no, experienced—something only the two of us know of."
She paused.
"About that day. And him."
The Emperor's expression did not change, but something shifted behind his eyes. His focus sharpened. His posture straightened.
She nodded, seeing the recognition there.
"I think I have just found something you will truly appreciate this time," she said.
Outside the room, Princess Yuliana had just arrived. She stood in the hall, waiting for the hearing to end, unaware of what her father was discussing behind those closed doors.
She smoothed her dress, adjusted her dress, and waited.
The palace was silent.