Before things could get awkward, Marron turned on her heel and retreated into the warmth and clatter of the kitchen. Her sous chefs weren't told about the second dish, since it was a completely experimental dessert menu.
Her mind, however, stayed at the high table.
What did she mean, 'the wrong ears' ? And why did the Lord Jackal look like he swallowed a poisoned arrow instead of tea?
She frowned as she helped the other chefs clean, with a meringue tray still warm from her palms. When she aggressively put a dish away, it made one of the snakekin chefs look up in surprise.
"E-everything alright, Chef?"
"Yes," Marron lied. "Please get the pastry station ready, we have latecomers to serve."
In the corner, two palace maids were stacking empty teacups and whispering over the din. Marron caught snatches as they moved past.
"…looked like they were about to fight—"
"—or kiss. Hard to tell with those two."
"My cousin swears they used to hunt together, before—"
A pointed cough from the head maid cut that thread short.
The younger maid pouted but lowered her voice only slightly. "It's always the quiet ones. One minute they're glaring, the next they're sharing wine…"
+
Marron rubbed her temple. The gossip was dangerously tempting—dangerous because she wanted to know every word. But unfortunately, she had a service to complete and the Two Crowns' Feast wasn't going to run itself.
The rose meringues had run out, and that told Marron it was time to prepare her next dessert course. She called her four sous chefs to her and explained her next recipe was going to be for one of her personal favorites: Millionaire shortbread.
"These exotic-sounding recipes are going to become our favorites too, by the end of this," Marina said cheerfully. "Thank you for sharing them, chef."
As she explained what ingredients she needed, the image of the Queen and the Lord Jackal's eyes locked over the rim of a teacup lingered stubbornly in her mind.
And as she was about to find out, the four best sous chefs from both clans weren't immune to the whispers, either.
After her sous chefs brought in some chocolate disks, caramel, butter, sugar, salt, and flour, she grabbed the baking dishes and bowls. When she returned from the equipment rack, Marina was leaning just a little too far toward the wolfkin at the spice counter.
"…and then he leaned in like this—"
"No, no, no, more like this," the wolfkin murmured, doing a surprisingly accurate impression of the Lord Jackal narrowing his eyes.
"Are you reenacting their expressions?" Marron asked, setting down her tray with a thud.
Four heads snapped back to their stations. "No, Chef!" they chorused, which would have been more convincing if the snakekin sous chef on meat duty hadn't been smiling into the carving knife.
Marron pinched the bridge of her nose. She could feel herself being drawn toward the warm pull of curiosity—wanted to know exactly what they thought they'd seen, what details they were embellishing.
+
But she had to make the millionaire shortbread while the guests chatted and enjoyed the last of the rose meringues. She'd already informed the head waiter to tell the Queen that her head chef was personally making the second round of desserts.
There was no way the Queen was going to get a rushed dessert because she (or her sous chefs) got caught up in palace romance theories.
So Marron clapped her hands sharply, the sound cutting through the rustle of paper doilies and the scrape of bowls. "All right, let's focus. Come here, and I'll teach you how to make millionaire shortbread. And then we can gossip after dessert service. Keep the stations clean, perfect our plating, and we start after the last course is out. Deal?"
They grinned, almost in unison. "Deal."
The shift in the air was immediate. Their hands moved faster, chatter dropped to a hum, and the kitchen's heartbeat found its rhythm again. Marron rolled up her sleeves and got to work.
"Okay, so first you cream the butter, sugar, and the salt. Then we add one egg and some vanilla extract. It's what we called this in my world," she said, holding up a bottle that read 'vanillin.'
She then slowly added in the flour and stirred until it combined into a dough. "Now you put this into this baking dish," Marron added, patting the shortbread crust into a square baking dish lined with parchment paper.
"Now we put that in the oven and bake. Then we make the caramel. I know we have some already prepared, but here's how you make it from scratch."
They looked in fascination as Marron gently heated up some butter, condensed milk, and sugar into a shallow pan until it was thick, dark, and smelled delicious.
Ding! Marron heard the oven chime and pulled out the shortbread layer. "Okay, we let this rest first before we pour the caramel. In a pinch, we can put it in the freezer to cool down."
Then Marron poured the caramel over the shortbread layer, and put it back into the freezer.
"And now we just make the chocolate topping."
Marina perked up immediately and asked, "Do we need dark chocolate or milk chocolate disks?"
"Dark chocolate, please," Marron said, and the snakekin began melting the chocolate, and grabbed some cream. "Thanks, Marina!"
Marron pulled out the chilled caramel and shortbread base, and let Marina pour the chocolate all over it. A wolfkin then sprinkled it with some sea salt, for flavor.
"I'm glad you remembered," Marron said, smiling.
"Some salt bringing out the sweet has been one of the first rules I wrote on my notepad," the wolfkin said cheerfully. They waited with bated breath until Marron felt the shortbread was set enough in the tray.
When it was ready, she pulled the lining and lifted the shortbreads out in one square piece.
"Wow, we don't have to wash that tray now?" the snakekin asked, wonder in her voice. "Amazing recipe."
"It's easier to remove this way, yeah!" Marron said, smiling. "Now we cut them into squares."
She cut five squares out and let them have a bite.
When they bit into the combination of smooth chocolate, sweet and chewy caramel, and crumbly shortbread, their reaction was divine. Marron could practically see the background of blooming red roses and sparkles.
"So indulgently delicious!"
Ding!
[Recipe has been unlocked and recorded: Millionaire Shortbread Bars]
[Effect: +20 satiety, +30 Health]
As the sous chefs left to replicate her recipe, Marron couldn't help thinking: whatever that moment between the Queen and the Lord Jackal had been… it was going to be the first thing she asked about when the plates were done.
And boy am I glad I watched so many episodes of Inferno's Fine Dining...or else I would have no idea about how people did things in a brigade or at service.
All of those hours binge-watching one of her favorite cooking reality TV shows had paid off.
+
The millionaire shortbreads were neatly lifted from the baking trays, each shortbread layer baked to golden perfection. The caramel and chocolate were measured in equal proportion, so everyone got just enough sweetness.
For color, Marron added some rose petals around the plate, and the sous chefs followed suit.
She slid the first tray to the maids. "Serve these alongside the berry sorbet. Small plates—one of each per guest."
The sous chefs, curiosity temporarily sublimated into precision, began helping her plate the rest. She caught them sneaking glances toward the door every time a maid returned, but their hands stayed steady.
Out in the banquet hall, the music had softened, conversation replaced by that telltale hush that came when dessert hit the tables. Marron peeked through the service hatch just in time to see the Queen lift her fork, the lamplight glinting off the emeralds in her crown. Across from her, the Lord Jackal leaned back slightly in his chair, watching her with a half-smile that seemed far too personal for a political dinner.
The Queen took her first bite, and a flicker of genuine delight crossed her face. She turned to him. "Sweet… but not cloying. I approve of her restraint."
He inclined his head, voice low enough that Marron had to strain to hear over the clink of silverware. "I wish your great-grandmother… well, I won't spoil a good night."
The Queen's eyes softened, but she kept her tone light. "Your grandfather wasn't wrong, either. But I agree. This is already a big step for both of our people."
For a moment, neither looked at the other's plate—only at each other. The rest of the hall blurred around them, their shared silence charged with history Marron could only guess at.
Back in the kitchen, the maids delivering empty plates started whispering even before they'd set them down. Marron felt her ears perk despite herself—No. Focus.
She turned to her brigade and clapped her hands once, loud enough to snap them back from their own speculation. "Alright, everyone. That was round one. Let's get the next trays ready. You can dissect that later."
The snakekin sous chef grinned. "It'll be a long conversation."
"Then make sure we have something worth celebrating first," Marron replied, reaching for the next tray.
Still, as she passed the hatch again, she caught one last glimpse of the Queen and the Lord Jackal—two rulers with too much history between them and, maybe, the first sliver of a shared future.
+
The first wave of dessert plates came back with more empty forks than half-eaten bites—a good sign. A maid, cheeks flushed from darting through the hall, slipped into the kitchen and whispered to Marron, "Her Majesty's guests said the citrus glaze reminded them of the spring festivals. The wolfkin nobles keep asking who made the sausage rolls."
Marron's chest loosened, just a little. "Good. Keep an ear out for anything else they say."
"Oh, there's plenty," the maid added, eyes darting to the sous chefs. "But half of it's about the Queen and the Lord Jackal. They're—"
The wolfkin sous chef coughed loudly, clearly trying not to grin. Marina's scales glinted as she pretended to be focused on polishing a plate.
There had been more than a few tricks to steal from this outsider chef, and they were all grateful for this opportunity.
Somewhere beyond the kitchen doors, a burst of laughter rang out from the banquet hall—warm, unguarded. The sound loosened something in Marron's chest she hadn't realized she'd been holding all evening.
For the first time since she'd stepped into the Queen's kitchen that morning, she let herself believe this feast might actually work.