Chapter 135 I've Read a Book, That Means I Can Cook
Bella
It doesn’t take long for Damien to fall asleep. He’s still pretending to listen, chin tipped against my thigh, eyes half-lidded as if sheer willpower might keep him awake, but his breathing gives him away. The steady warmth of him sinks deeper into me with every slow exhale, and eventually, his weight goes pleasantly heavy. His body has decided it’s safe enough to stop holding itself together. I don’t mind. He deserves the rest. I keep reading for a while, turning pages slowly, following someone else’s adventure through places I’ll never visit and lives I’ll never live. It’s a good story, well written and clever, but at some point I realise I’m not absorbing it anymore. The words blur into shapes and patterns, and the world I’m sitting in feels richer than the one on the page. This life feels better than the books, and that surprises me. For a long time, stories were all I had; other people’s worlds, borrowed bravery, borrowed endings. Now I’m living inside my own, and for once it doesn’t feel like something I need to escape from or survive through. It just feels… real. I close the book gently and rest it on the side table. My fingers slide into Damien’s hair, combing through the dark strands slowly, absentmindedly. He stirs at the touch, brow creasing for a second before his eyes flutter open. He looks up at me, unfocused and soft.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
I smile down at him. “It’s bedtime.”
He blinks once, processing my words, then nods like that makes perfect sense. “Mm. Yeah.”
He sits up with a quiet groan, stretches just enough to remind me he’s still very much made of muscle and bone. Then takes my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world and tugs me gently toward the door. The walk back to our room is slow and comfortable. The corridors feel different at night, quieter, less formal, like the castle itself has shrugged off its armour and settled into something softer. When we reach the room, Damien closes the door behind us, and the world narrows down to lamplight, stone walls, and familiar space. We change without speaking. He sets my clothes aside neatly, kisses my temple in passing, and moves around me with the ease of someone who knows exactly how much space I need. I crawl into bed first, sighing as the cool sheets meet my skin. Damien joins me a moment later, fitting himself against my back, one arm heavy and sure around my waist. I tuck my hands into his, curl closer, and let myself be held. Sleep comes easily. For once, nothing pulls at me in the dark.
The following morning arrives quietly. Light spills through the curtains in pale gold ribbons, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. I blink awake, disoriented for a heartbeat, then remember exactly where I am. Damien’s arm is still around me, his breathing slow and deep, face relaxed in a way I don’t see often when he’s awake. I’m awake before him, and that almost never happens. Carefully, I ease myself out of his hold, slipping free inch by inch until I’m standing beside the bed, watching him for a moment longer than necessary. He shifts slightly, frowns in his sleep, then settles again. I pull on a robe and step into the hall where the kingdom is already alive. Footsteps echo faintly through the stone corridors. Voices carry softly from lower levels. Somewhere, metal clinks against metal, wood scrapes across the floor, and doors open and close with purpose. It’s not chaos, it’s movement, just people doing what people do when life continues. I make it about ten steps before someone spots me.
“Lady Bella,” a servant says, startled. “Do you need anything?”
“No,” I reply quickly. “Go sit down. Please.”
She hesitates, confused, then nods and scurries off. Two more people ask if I’m lost. Another offers to fetch breakfast. Someone asks if there’s a task I’d like done.
“No,” I repeat, smiling despite myself. “No. No. Please just… take a break.”
Eventually, I make it to the kitchen. It’s enormous, warm and already bustling with activity. Pots simmer on the hearth. Someone chops vegetables with impressive speed. Another stirs something that smells rich and comforting. Half a dozen heads turn toward me the moment I step inside.
“Lady Bella—”
“I’ve got it,” I say, holding up my hands. “All of you. Out. Take a break.”
They stare.
“I want to make breakfast,” I add, which seems to confuse them even more.
There’s a beat of silence. Then someone clears their throat. “Are you… certain?”
“Absolutely not,” I say honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
They all smile hesitantly, and eventually, they retreat, lingering just outside the door like parents waiting for a child to discover fire. I roll up my sleeves, survey the counters, and take a deep breath. I don’t know how to cook that well, but I have read books. I start with eggs. That feels safe. I find bread. Butter. Something green that looks like it belongs near food. I hum under my breath as I work, the tune half-remembered, half-made up, filling the quiet space. It takes a while. There’s a moment where something sizzles more aggressively than expected, and I jump back with a yelp. I recover, adapt and keep going. By the time I’m plating something that vaguely resembles breakfast, arms slide around my waist. I jump again, though far less dramatically this time because I know that warmth.
Damien presses a kiss to my cheek, warm and lingering. “Good morning.”
I lean back into him, smiling. “You weren’t supposed to be awake yet.”
“You weren’t supposed to be in the kitchen,” he counters mildly.
“Fair.”
He peers over my shoulder at the plates. “Did you make this?”
“I did,” I say proudly. “I think.”
He laughs quietly and rests his chin on my shoulder. “I love it.”
We eat together at the small kitchen table, legs brushing, hands bumping occasionally. The food is… edible. He doesn’t complain at least, and I don’t apologise. Afterwards, we linger, because there’s no rush, no agenda, no looming threat or plan that needs making. Just us, sitting in the soft light of morning, the kingdom moving around us without needing anything. I rest my head against his shoulder and fiddle with his hair. Finally, I think to myself. Finally, we're at peace.