Master Daren, the head chef of the royal palace, was well respected for his skill and calm nature. His son Ael worked beside him, learning the art of cooking as his father patiently taught him many kinds of dishes, from rich stews to fine pastries. His daughter often helped with herbs, spices, and baking, and to her he showed a softer, gentler side. Together, they kept the royal kitchens alive with warmth, flavor, and discipline. Though humble compared to the royals, the chef's family carried great importance in the palace halls.
Ael was not the kind of boy others would call handsome. His body was small and slim, making him look younger than his years, and his plain looks often went unnoticed in the crowded palace. Many did not give him a second glance, but what he lacked in beauty, he made up for with skill. His hands moved quickly with knives, spoons, and spices, creating dishes that surprised even the toughest mouths. Though his frame seemed fragile, his spirit was steady, and in the heat of the kitchen, Ael shone in ways looks could never match. His hands were quick and skilled, though sometimes marked with small burns and cuts from long hours of cooking. His eyes, a soft shade of hazel, carried both shyness and quiet determination. Though his clothes were plain and often dusted with flour or spices.
Although Ael was still new to the art of making dishes on his own, there was something special in his hands. Whatever he prepared carried a taste so rich and balanced that no one could resist it. Even the king himself, who had dined on the finest royal feasts, grew fond of Ael's simple yet remarkable cooking. Servants and nobles alike often found themselves surprised, for his food had a warmth and honesty that others could not copy. In the kitchen, where beauty and status meant nothing, Ael's skill spoke louder than appearance.
The royal dining hall was filled with the smell of roasted meat and herbs as servants carried trays toward the long table. Among them was a bowl prepared by Ael, simple but made with his own hand. The king, seated high on his throne-like chair, lifted his spoon with little expectation. Yet the moment the taste touched his tongue, his eyes widened.
"This… who prepared this?" the king demanded, his deep voice echoing.
The head chef stepped forward nervously. "It was my son, Your Majesty. He is still learning."
The king paused, taking another spoonful, slower this time. A faint smile, rare and powerful, touched his face. "Then your boy has a gift," he said firmly. "This is not the food of a learner. From now on, let him work close under you. I want to taste more of his hand."
("What if I fail? What if they regret trusting me?")