If the Royal Kitchens were a battlefield, Primrose was the General, and The Kids were her chaotic infantry.
"Alright, listen up, troops!" Primrose commanded, standing on a stool so she could see over the massive wooden island. "Today, we are making history. We are making... Pizza."
A silence fell over the room.
Ophelia sat on the counter, swinging her legs. Her hand flickered slightly—transparent for a second—but she hid it by grabbing a rolling pin.
"Pee-zah?" Rurik sounded skeptical. He was wearing his new blue suit jacket over a flour-dusted apron. "Is it meat? If it is not meat, I am not interested."
"It is better than meat," Primrose promised. "It is bread, sauce, and cheese, baked until it becomes happiness. Now, wash your hands! Sanitation is the first rule of warfare!"
The Seven Heirs scrambled to the sinks.
