Ael washed his hands twice before touching the duck. His fingers were small, almost swallowed by the bird's weight, but he held it with a kind of stubborn care. He rubbed salt into its skin, pressing harder than needed, as though the strength of the flavor might cover the weakness he felt in himself.
"Not too much," he whispered to himself, sprinkling pepper, then garlic crushed under the flat of a knife. He mixed honey with vinegar in a clay bowl, the sharpness of the smell making his nose sting. With a spoon he poured it slowly, letting the golden glaze slide down the duck's skin, shiny like amber in the torchlight. He repeated it, again and again, because he wanted it perfect.
He cut onions and herbs with quick, focused strokes—rosemary, mint leaves, and a handful of wild thyme. "For the inside," he murmured, tucking them gently into the duck's belly. The warmth of the oven hit his face as he slid it in, the fire snapping, the smell already drifting out.
When the duck came out—skin crisp, meat steaming—he carved it carefully, laying each piece on the silver plate like it was meant for a king. Maybe it was. Maybe it was more than that.
And as he wiped the rim of the platter with the cloth, he whispered a thought only to himself:
Please… let him like it.
I want the duck prepared in my chamber. But you will not bring it."
The maid froze. "Your Highness?"
"You will tell the kitchen boy to bring it himself," Kael said,
when the maid went down into the kitchen later and repeated his words, the air filled with unease.
"The boy?" one of the cooks muttered.
"He must have done something wrong," another whispered.
"He never allows anyone but his maid inside…"
Even Ael's sister looked at him with worry. "Be careful," she said, touching his arm.
But Ael only nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.
As he lifted the tray, his fingers shook, but he didn't stop. He whispered only one thought before stepping toward the prince's chamber:
Please… let this be enough.
Ael's fingers curled tighter around the silver tray, but his grip trembled no matter how hard he tried to steady it. His palms were damp, the weight of the roasted duck almost slipping as if it too could feel his fear.
Why me? he thought, his stomach twisting. He must have hated something in the dish… maybe the skin burned, maybe the flavor is too sharp. That's why he wants me here. He's going to say I ruined it.
The walk through the silent corridor felt endless, every step echoing louder than it should. His thoughts gnawed at him with every pace until, at last, he stood before the prince's chamber door. His chest rose and fell too fast. He swallowed, then raised his knuckles and knocked softly—so soft it barely made a sound.
"Come in."
The voice was calm, steady, but it struck Ael like thunder. His throat went dry. He pushed the door open, stepping inside with lowered eyes. But the moment he looked up—his breath stopped.
Kael sat in the chair near a heavy wooden table, his posture strong yet relaxed, his dark hair falling slightly over his brow. For an instant, their gazes met. Both froze. Neither spoke. The air itself seemed to hold still, stretched tight between them.
Ael hurried forward, lowering his eyes again, and placed the tray on the table with shaky hands. He stood motionless after that, like a boy awaiting punishment, his heart hammering too loud in his chest.
Kael leaned back in his chair, watching in silence before he reached for the dish and began to eat.
Ael's eyes wandered nervously, unable to resist the sight before him. The prince's chamber was nothing like the kitchens below. It was calm, ordered, and carried the quiet strength of someone who valued both simplicity and grace.
Tall windows stood framed with pale curtains, letting the moonlight spill softly into the room. The floor was covered with a woven rug of deep blue and cream, its pattern simple yet dignified. A few plants rested by the windowsill, their green leaves fresh and lively, giving the space a gentle breath of nature.
A large shelf held rows of neatly arranged books, their spines untouched by dust, proof that Kael cared for them. On a side table, a polished glass vase held a single white lily, its fragrance faint but pure. Nothing in the room was cluttered or excessive—everything had its place, chosen with quiet care.
The air was clean and cool, carrying the faint scent of cedar wood. To Ael, the whole space felt like stepping into the mind of its owner—disciplined, clear, but with an elegance that drew respect.
But then, Ael's gaze stopped. In the corner, slightly apart from the rest of the room, stood a door—locked with a strong metal lock. For a moment, Ael's heart skipped, wondering why such a peaceful chamber would hide something behind closed doors.
And at the center of it all sat Prince Kael, his posture straight, his gaze steady. Calm, composed, and yet carrying a weight of strength that didn't need to be spoken aloud.
---
The Taste of the Duck
Kael picked up his fork and knife, cutting into the roasted duck with deliberate grace. Ael's breath caught as he watched the prince bring the first bite to his lips. His hands, still trembling, gripped tightly at his apron.
For a long second, Kael chewed in silence, his expression unread.
Kael placed the spoon back onto the tray, his expression unreadable. "You did well," he murmured, eyes steady on Ael. To anyone else, it was a simple acknowledgment—but for Kael, every word carried the restraint of a storm inside him.
Ael bowed quickly, clutching at his trembling hands. "Th-thank you, Your Highness." His voice was barely above a whisper. He backed away, careful not to knock over anything in the prince's grand chamber, his chest tight with nervousness.
When he reached the door, Ael dared a final glance—just one—at the man sitting beneath the soft glow of lantern light. For a fleeting heartbeat, their eyes met, and Ael felt his breath hitch. Then, as quickly as it happened, he lowered his head and slipped out, the door closing gently behind him.
Silence swallowed the room. Kael leaned back in his chair, staring at the closed door. His hand was still wrapped around the spoon, though he had finished eating minutes ago. He could feel his pulse racing, faster than it ever did on the battlefield or in the throne hall.
Having the boy so close—close enough to see the faint nervous flush on his cheeks, the tremor in his hands, the soft concentration in his eyes—stirred something Kael had tried to bury. He wanted, desperately, to keep Ael there a little longer, to ask him to stay by his side instead of dismissing him. He wanted to reach across the table, tilt his chin up, and let the boy see what he truly meant to him.
But he didn't.
Kael clenched his jaw and exhaled slowly. Not yet. Not here. No one must know.
Ael walked down the long corridor with the empty tray in his hands, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floor. He shook his head quickly, trying to push the thoughts away, but the image of Kael's eyes—steady, sharp, and yet strangely gentle—kept burning in his mind. Never before had he stood in front of royalty like that, never before had someone of such power looked at him as though he mattered.
The boy's hands still trembled faintly as he gripped the tray tighter. Despite his nerves, a small warmth grew in his chest. The prince had eaten his dish—completely. He hadn't pushed it aside like many others did when servants cooked. Instead, he'd tasted every bite.
Ael bit his lip, a shy, almost unnoticeable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
By the time he reached the kitchen doors, his fear had dulled, leaving behind a strange mixture of pride, confusion, and a quiet flutter he couldn't explain.
Ael enters the kitchen.
Everyone quickly gathers around him—his sister, the other helpers, even the head chef.
They all ask: "What happened? Why did the prince call you? Did you make a mistake?"
Ael, still nervous and trembling inside, avoids their eyes. He just shakes his head and gives a short excuse like "Nothing… he just wanted the food served."
Before anyone can ask more, he busies himself with cleaning or preparing something, clearly ending the conversation.
The others exchange confused looks, but no one presses him further.
Inside, Ael's heart is still beating fast, remembering the prince's gaze.