Chapter 1980: Family Dinner (Part Two)

"I made something simple to start the evening and stimulate your appetite," Georg said. "I hope that no one minds. The first course is meant to be enjoyed raw..."

Raw.

Micheline folded her hands in her lap and kept her expression perfectly pleasant, the way she’d been taught to at a hundred formal dinners.

She’d seen the Master of Kitchens’ sharp teeth when he laughed. She’d also seen the size of his hands, each one broad enough to palm a serving platter, and the dark, deadly claws that tipped every finger.

And he had just told them, with obvious pride in his voice, that dinner would begin with raw meat.

In the half-heartbeat before the silver dome lifted, her imagination filled in the rest as she tried to prepare herself so she wouldn’t make an unsightly display of disgust or shock. Would it be a still-bleeding haunch of something freshly slaughtered? Had the meat been torn by those frightening claws rather than sliced by a knife?

Or perhaps she’d see some dark, glistening organ that the Eldritch prized and humans were never meant to see on a dinner table.

Then the dome lifted away from the tray, revealing five small plates of the finest white porcelain, and none of them held anything bleeding.

Georg set one before each of them with a care that seemed impossible for hands so large, turning each plate a fraction of an inch until it sat exactly the way he wanted it.

Micheline looked down at hers.

Slices of pickled radish ringed the plate, cut so thin that the lamplight passed straight through them. They overlapped like the petals of an opening rose, pale at their centers and blushing pink at the edges where the skins had bled color into the pickling brine.

At the heart of the rose sat a small round of deep red beef. It was minced so fine and packed so neatly that its sides stood perfectly straight, as though it had been shaped inside a ring of silver.

A shallow hollow had been pressed into the top. Cradled there, whole and unbroken, sat the yolk of a duck egg, glossy and orange-gold, trembling faintly as the plate settled.

Beside the yolk rested a small spoonful of fish roe, tiny black pearls that glistened like wet stones. A few threads of green chive crossed the plate, and a thin line of pale oil traced its rim.

There couldn’t be more than three bites to the entire dish. Perhaps four, if one were being delicate.

Micheline stared at it.

She had expected something savage. Something she would have to force herself to swallow for Ashlynn’s sake, so that no one could say the Evergreen Empress’s cousin had insulted her hosts.

Instead, she was looking at something that would not have been out of place on the King of Gaal’s private table.

"Is something wrong, Lady Micheline?" Georg asked, his ears tilting forward as he clutched his hands. "If a raw dish is too much, then I can take it away and bring something else," he offered.

"No," Micheline said quickly, blushing as she realized that she’d done exactly what she’d been trying not to and, in so doing, had drawn the attention of everyone else at the table. "It’s only... when you said raw, I expected..." she started, only for her voice to trail off when she realized there was no way she could finish the sentence politely.

Across the table, Jocelynn hid her smile behind her hand as she reached for a spoon, though when it came time to break the yolk and mix it in with the beef, she hesitated, not quite ready to ruin the beautiful plating.

"’A Taste of the Empire,’ Georg?" Ashlynn asked. "Caviar from the High Pass, beef from the Dunn’s ranches, radishes from Sir Carwyn’s village in Hanrahan, and the duck egg...?"

"Plenty of ducks nest in the Vale over the winter," Georg said with a belly-shaking chuckle as Ashlynn called him out. "I considered steeping duck legs in rendered fat to serve with winter greens, but when Lady Nyrielle told me that you might need a, um, a restorative meal, it seemed like beef would be a better option."

"Less talking," Nyrielle said, holding out a spoonful of tartare, glistening with dark yellow egg yolk. "Before your stomach starts talking again."

Across the table, Maela smiled as she watched Nyrielle feeding Ashlynn a bite of her tartare. How often had Rhys done the same thing to her during their first years in Blackwell while she adjusted to a diet that included anything that could be caught in a fisherman’s net?

Maela’s first encounter with an oyster had been a distinctly memorable experience, as had the first time she was presented with a bowl of rich broth filled with the open shells of mussels. The sea was filled with more abundance than she’d ever imagined. But some things, like the spiny, spider-like crab that Rhys insisted were delicious, had looked like demonic monsters to a young lady who had grown up alongside the freshwater rivers and lakes of DuCoumont and Keating City.

Seeing the look of delight on Ashlynn’s face as Nyrielle fed her, Maela matched her motions to their host, breaking the yolk of the duck egg and mixing it with the finely chopped beef before taking a small, tentative bite.

"Mmmm," Maela said as an explosion of rich, buttery, savory flavors enveloped her tongue along with the rich yolk and tender beef. "Micheline," she said, once she’d taken a moment to fully appreciate the complexity of the seasonings mixed in with the beef. "If you don’t want yours, I’ll take it."

"I never said I didn’t want mine," Micheline said, her face heating in embarrassment. "Master Georg is an artist," she said as she finally took up her spoon. "I wouldn’t dream of missing out on his creations."

"I have several for you tonight, Lady Micheline," Georg said, his ears perking up and a smile returning to his face as he watched Ashlynn’s family openly enjoying his dish.

Slowly but surely, Georg was learning how to prepare dishes that humans from the Kingdom of Gaal would enjoy, but he still had a number of blind spots. Of everyone that he’d cooked for so far, Lady Ashlynn seemed the most open to trying new things, and Ollie followed closely behind her.

Master Isabell, on the other hand, had been a challenge for entirely different reasons. She preferred routine and Georg had initially misread that routine as a rejection of his efforts. Thankfully, the two had found common ground when she’d asked for a tour of his kitchens and she had considerable praise for the design of the fortress’s ovens.

This time, however, of all the people he’d been asked to cook for, the pressure to get things right felt higher than ever. It was Lady Ashlynn’s family, after all, and whether Lady Ashlynn was Lady Nyrielle’s Seneschal or the Evergreen Empress or anything else... She was his friend and that made it doubly important to get everything right.

Which was why he’d prepared two full menus and was ready to switch out dishes as he needed if something turned out too strange or unusual. Thankfully, it seemed like he’d worried too much about nothing, and he could excuse himself to leave the family to enjoy the meal in private.

"I’ll send the next course when you’ve finished, my ladies," Georg said, bowing low enough that his ears nearly brushed the tabletop.

"Georg," Ashlynn called after him as he reached the door. "Thank you. Truly."

Georg’s ears flicked once, and he ducked out into the corridor with a smile he didn’t bother trying to hide.

"So, Nyrielle," Maela said, once they had the room to themselves. "Ashlynn told me that the two of you intend to marry," she said, dabbing the corners of her lips with a napkin to blot away the last lingering juices of the tartare despite the temptation to lick her lips and savor every last bit.

"I know that you’ve become very close," Maela said in the suddenly silent room. "And I have no objections to your betrothal. A blind man could see how much you love each other. I won’t stand in the way of that. What I want to know is when, exactly, you plan to hold a proper wedding..."