When the Queen said her kitchens were Marron's until the festival, she hadn't been kidding. If she thought the kitchen in the Seaglass Lounge was large, the royal kitchens were absolutely massive.
Even the two wolfkin sous chefs were speechless. "Is...she also feeding the entire community?"
A snakekin maid answered him. "Yes. But usually we have at least twelve chefs in the kitchens. She asked everyone to leave for Lady Marron."
The wolfkin in a spotless white apron had his mouth agape. "That is a serious show of trust."
"Isn't it? She must be really good. Please excuse me, I've other things to do."
Marron took a deep breath and pretended the pressure wasn't mounting.
"Let's make the most of the kitchen while we have it."
+
Silently, the wolfkin sous chefs arranged their station across from the snakekin. One female chef with gleaming emerald-scaled arms was already sharpening her knives.
The Queen's sous chef bowed low. "Her Majesty told me you blend techniques from both lands. I will observe carefully."
The wolf sous chef crossed his arms, tail flicking. "And I'll make sure nothing gets lost in translation."
Marron smiled. "We're all here to make sure the feast's dishes taste perfect—together."
She walked them through each menu item, from the delicate lemon poppyseed cakes to the hearty sausage apple rolls. The wolf took naturally to the meat prep, seasoning with steady, practiced hands, while the snakekin moved with precision through dough folding and citrus glazing.
Every so often, Marron would step back to watch them work side-by-side, the differences in rhythm and style already beginning to blend. That's the whole point, she thought, both crowns on the same table.
When the last dish was plated for tasting, she brought out a small wooden box. Inside, rows of honey-sweet sugar cookies dipped in glossy dark chocolate.
"For you both," Marron said. "A thank you for trusting me with your time—and your kitchens."
The snakekin sous chef blinked, but tasted a cookie, her iridescent scales rippling in pleasure. "I… didn't expect this. Honestly, I thought you'd be stuck-up and proud, like some visiting court chef."
The wolfkin gave a short laugh. "The wolfkin took a while to take to her as well. But after the market vendors talked about her so positively, it was worth a shot."
The snakekin's expression softened as she accepted the box. "If you cook like this for strangers, no wonder the market spoke well of you."
Marron grinned, cheeks warm. "Good food's meant to be shared. And a feast like this isn't just mine—it's ours."
By the time they left, she had their full commitment. The menu was locked, techniques memorized, and for the first time, she could see the Two Crowns' Feast taking shape not just in her mind, but in the hands of others.
+
The Queen's balcony overlooked the cove, silver light from the setting sun pooling over the waves. A low table stood between her and Marron, set with two delicate crystal cups and a dark, squat bottle.
The Queen's attendant uncorked it, the scent of ripe blueberries and something deeper—oak, perhaps—rolling through the air. "Her Majesty recommends this for your Two Crowns' Feast," he said, pouring a deep violet stream into the cups.
Beside the wine, he set a small platter of pale cheese, its rind dusted in fragrant herbs. "And if there are people who do not drink," he added smoothly, "we can always give them blueberry slush."
Marron blinked. "Blueberry… slush?"
The Queen's eyes curved with amusement. "Some of my people do not drink, and others are young. We willingly choose our poison, but it is not imposed on everyone."
Marron smiled warmly. "That's… incredibly considerate."
The Queen preened just a little, tilting her head so the emeralds in her crown caught the fading light. "I was reckless as a hatchling. They did not accept me for a time, the snakes."
Marron set her cup down, curiosity tugging. "Why?"
The Queen's gaze drifted toward the water. "I am a Lamia, but I was thrown out of my original home after losing a sparring match. Only the strongest Lamia are allowed to live." Her tail shifted, the scales glinting gold in the dusk. "I showed them I was capable of protecting them, and my face wasn't so repulsive, since it… is partly human."
She reached for a wedge of cheese, biting into it slowly before adding, "The Lord Jackal saw past that, and told me, 'Make them acknowledge you with your skills.'"
The Queen's voice softened, almost fond. "He was right. And so I did—first with my bow, and then with my wine."
Marron swirled the wine in her glass, the deep purple catching the light. She could already imagine how it would pair with the sausage apple rolls, the smoked fish, the citrus-glazed breads. But more than that, she could see the Queen in it—a blend of strength and refinement, boldness softened by patience.
+
Later that night, Marron sat at the writing desk in her Seaglass Lounge room, the moonlight spilling through the balcony doors. She uncorked her ink bottle and began her letter to the Lord Jackal.
She wrote about the Queen's choice of blueberry wine, how it balanced the feast's planned flavors.
Marron described the idea of offering blueberry slush for the non-drinkers, and—on impulse—she told him what the Queen had revealed about her past. She included the words the Queen had credited to him: Make them acknowledge you with your skills.
When she signed her name, she hesitated, tapping the feathered quill against her cheek. "They're both proud," she murmured. "But maybe they'd both like to hear what the other is saying about them."
She sealed the letter with the Snakewater crest and left it with the Queen's courier before bed.
By midmorning, a reply arrived—written in a bold, clean hand on parchment that smelled faintly of cedar smoke.
She flatters me too much. I was acting as a good friend does. And now we guide our beastkin to better things. I just don't understand how her great-grandmother—
The sentence trailed into a sharp line where it had been crossed out.
My sous chefs only have praise for you, and I thank you for that. I sampled the glazed breads and agree that Delilah's recommendation is well-suited.
Marron's brows lifted. "So she does have a name," she murmured. She tapped the page with one finger. "Surely he must too."
She folded the parchment carefully, slipping it into her satchel with the others.
We're trying to bring their clans together, but from these letters...hopefully they've been talking to each other too.
"There's barely a day left before the feast," Mokko said, peeking into her room and pulling her out of her thoughts. "are you happy with the menu?"
"I am, and the Queen's recommendation for wine pairings makes it even better. Did you know she made wine?"
Lucy bounced into the room, let out of her glass jar. "Peace! Peace!"
She bounced into Marron's arms, narrowly missing the remaining paper on her desk. "Oop!"
"That's okay Lucy, I finished writing for today." She petted Lucy's gelatinous head and marveled at how cold she was. It was like touching an icy swimming pool. For a second, Marron was tempted to add some toy fish inside Lucy.
"It's not gonna bring instant peace, but...hopefully it's a start to healing...whatever caused them to fight in the first place."