Alpheo looked down at his dinner plate, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought to keep a snort of disgust from surfacing on his face.
Gods above… I miss my cook.
He had spent weeks drilling that poor man to elevate himself above the greasy stews and overly peppered meat, that seemed to sustain the whole Yarzat court.
And it had paid off magnificently. The court now dined on dishes so finely tuned that nobles had started referring to the new style as the Yarzat Palate. Even the Boy Emperor himself, had licked his fingers after sampling the dishes he had him taste and sent his cooks to learn from Alpheo's.
That had been the true triumph. For cuisine was never just cuisine, it was prestige. To have one's court's flavors imitated, admired, and spoken of beyond one's borders was as much a conquest as the capture of a fortress.
And now… this.
