Three days before the swordsmanship tournament, Mia and the girls were in the kitchen doing a rehearsal lunchbox preparation. Keithwood made his way there with the intention of inspecting their progress. When he arrived and witnessed their creations...
He almost had a heart attack.
"Your Highness, what is... Is this going to be made into bread?" he asked, staring at the mound of dough that Mia was beating at. She gave her sculpture a few more smacks before turning to him with a satisfied smile.
"Yes. Prince Abel loves horses enough to have joined the horsemanship club, so I'm sure he'd appreciate something like this," she said with a confident smile.
Hands on her hips and flour on her face, Mia proudly displayed her work to him.
"I see. It's true that the first step of cooking is to consider who you're cooking for. In that sense, you've done well." Keithwood nodded with feigned approval. "However, Your Highness, there is a fatal flaw to this creation. Miss Anne," he said, passing the torch. "Care to elaborate?"
She looked back at him and gave him a confident nod that seemed to say, "Leave it to me." He stepped back and gestured for her to continue. Being the resident baking expert, surely she knew exactly what was wrong with Mia's dough.
"Right. You see, Milady Mia, if you want it to look like a horse, the ear here has to be a little more—"
"Okay, no, eyes back here please," said Keithwood, picking the proverbial torch back up from where Anne had dropped it. "The problem with this dough is that it's too thick. You can't heat it all the way through. Also," he said, walking over to the massive piece of dough. The top of it reached his chest. "The damn thing is the size of an actual horse! You'd have to light a shed on fire in order to bake it!" He brought his fist down on the life-sized dough sculpture and it collapsed. Then, ignoring the shriek of grief that escaped Mia, he ripped it into little bits and threw the pieces on the table. "They need to be smaller and thinner! Like these! Do you understand, Your Highness?"
"..."
Mia gave him an angry pufferfish scowl.
"Do—You—Understand?!"
After a pause, Mia sighed.
"...Fine, we'll do it your way, then."
She shrugged and shook her head as though acquiescing to a particularly demanding child. A vein bulged in Keithwood's temple. He resisted the urge to scream.
"Keithwood, how are these vegetables I'm working on?"
"Ah, Lady Rudolvon..." he said, turning to Tiona with as friendly a smile as he could muster. The smile froze on his face. His cheek began to twitch. "I... I see you're quite good at chopping up vegetables." He looked at the plate of vegetables, all neatly cut into strips. Then, he looked at the next plate. And the next. And the next. "I do believe, however... that milord and Prince Abel are not herbivores, and thus, will not be able to consume such huge amounts of vegetables."
Four plates?! Four freaking plates?! What is this? Are we building a house out of vegetables?
Out of propriety, he kept his thoughts to himself. It wasn't easy, but once again, he resisted the urge to scream. This day had turned into the ultimate test of his patience.
"Hm? Wait... what's that smell?"
"I... Roasted... The Meat."
The back door of the kitchen swung open, and Liora came in.
"Ah... Well, that's certainly some well-roasted chicken there, Miss Liora."
The meat was still sizzling, and juices dripped from the browned skin. A few places were a tad singed, but it did look rather appetizing.
"Now, if only you had considered the circumstances under which this meat will be served..."
Why?! Why would you not use the oven! There's one in the kitchen, for heaven's sake! It's right there! Why did you have to go start a freaking fire in the courtyard and roast it on a spit?!
Not only was it a rather crude method of meat preparation, it was also questionable from a hygienic standpoint, not to mention awkward to use. Just as he was about to voice his concerns, however, someone else beat him to the punch.
"He's right, Liora. You do realize we're going to be serving these to princes, right?" said Chloe, who held a thick cookbook in one hand.
Oh thank the sun, at least the Forkroads' daughter has some common sense...
"Taste is best preserved when ingredients are served raw, so—"
"No! No raw meat!" snapped Keithwood, trying to prevent another crazy idea from taking root. Only then did it occur to him to glance at the book in Chloe's hand. The title read, "Exotic Recipes for Exotic Delicacies."
"Huh? But it said in the book that raw horse liver tastes really good. And considering Prince Abel is in the horsemanship club, I figured a recipe that used horse would be a good match..."
"Okay, look, the only time you should eat any sort of raw organ is when you're in a restaurant that specializes in it. Also, what is it with you people and putting horses into your food? It's the horsemanship club! They ride horses! Not eat them! First, Her Highness tries to make life-sized horse bread, and then you try to serve them raw horse. What is this? Are we trying to pick a fight with them or something?"
It had — far too late, but nevertheless — occurred to Keithwood that the most dangerous people in the kitchen weren't beginner cooks who knew nothing; it was beginner cooks who knew something but had no idea how any of it fit together.
Sweet sun high above, what have I gotten myself into?
Realizing that drastic measures were necessary, he immediately sprang to action.
"My dear princess and ladies, I need you to listen to what I'm about to say very carefully." He paused, allowing the silence to impart a certain gravitas to his next words, which he spoke in a soft but solemn voice. "On the day when we make the lunchboxes, you're all gonna f— follow my orders please."
He let slip a bit of his true feelings, but he didn't really care at the moment.
"No complicated recipes. We're going to keep things simple and just make sandwiches. Do you understand?"
"Aww, but then it's not special eno—"
"Do—You—Understand?!"
His patience failed him, and he slammed a hand onto the table as he gave them all the death stare.
"Eeeek! Y-Yes I do!"
He turned away with a grimace, partly because he somewhat regretted his outburst, but mostly because he realized he'd just jumped onto a burning ship with port nowhere in sight.