The kitchen, usually a place of loud, chaotic energy, filled with the shouting of cooks and the clattering of pans, was silent for the past one hour. The head chef and the kitchen maids stood by the walls, watching with wide, nervous eyes.
In the center of the room, standing over a bubbling pot, was the Grand Duchess herself.
Marissa had been there for sixty minutes. She had tied a simple white apron over her expensive silk dress. Her face was flushed from the heat of the stove, and a few strands of hair had escaped her pins, framing her face. She stirred the vegetable soup slowly, her movements rhythmic and hypnotic. She wasn't just cooking; she was guarding.
She dipped a ladle into the pot, lifting the golden broth to check the consistency. It smelled rich and savory, a scent that should have been comforting, but to Marissa, it smelled like danger.
She poured the soup carefully into a fine porcelain bowl with a matching lid.
