Chapter Sixty Five: Secrets in the Kitchen

Chapter Sixty Five: Secrets in the Kitchen
Freya couldn’t believe it. Two towering, battle-hardened aliens—one a prince of Zytherion, the other a Nimoan steward with endless swagger—reduced to bickering like schoolboys at breakfast. She had fled the dining hall before her ears burned off from their arguing.

Her sandals tapped quickly against the marble floor, carrying her out toward the gardens, but her heart still hammered. What is it with them? she thought. Always at each other’s throats, circling like predators. Axir’s protectiveness she understood—maybe even expected. But Kehan? He was like a thorn lodged under her skin: annoying, impossible to ignore, and strangely missed when gone.

She exhaled hard, muttering to herself, “Aliens. They’re worse than toddlers sometimes.”

“Good morning, Lady Freya.”

Freya nearly jumped at the voice, spinning on her heel. Rima stood there, her posture straight and her eyes warm, holding a basket of folded linens. Her silver hair shimmered in the dim light.

“Oh—good morning, Rima,” Freya managed, still catching her breath.

Rima tilted her head. “Is everything well? You look… flushed.”

Freya let out a huff of laughter. “I just needed some time off from the two hard-headed aliens back there. They’re driving me crazy.”

Something flickered across Rima’s lips, the faintest twitch that looked suspiciously like she was suppressing a smile. She didn’t ask who Freya meant; she didn’t need to.

“Ah,” Rima said simply. “I think I understand.”

Her calm steadiness softened the tension still buzzing under Freya’s skin.

“Are you going somewhere?” Freya asked, nodding toward the basket.

“Yes, to the kitchens,” Rima said. Then, after a pause, she offered, “Would you like to come with me? Not that I’d ever ask you to cook or clean, of course. But you might enjoy seeing what we’re preparing for lunch. Perhaps you can tell us what dishes you prefer?”

Before Rima could finish, Freya blurted, “Oh! I’d love that. I’ve actually been dying to see the action behind all those delicious meals.” Her eyes brightened. “And just so you know, I don’t mind helping in the kitchen. Really. I’d love to.”

Rima’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Then I would be delighted to show you.”

The Nimoan kitchens were tucked beneath the estate’s eastern wing, a series of cavernous rooms humming with activity. The moment Freya stepped inside, warm, spiced air enveloped her. Counters gleamed with copper pans, stone ovens radiated heat, and cooks bustled between stations, stirring bubbling pots or slicing piles of fruit that glowed in strange, jewel-like colors.

Freya gasped. “This is amazing. It’s like… like stepping into one of Earth’s cooking shows, only a thousand times more chaotic.”

Rima chuckled softly at her awe. “This is considered calm, Lady Freya.”

They walked through the lines of workers, Rima occasionally nodding to a cook or pointing out an unfamiliar dish. Freya peppered her with questions, fascinated by the similarities to her own world’s food—how some roots roasted here resembled carrots, or how a spiced grain reminded her of couscous.

“They may look strange,” Rima said, “but much of our produce is cousin to things you would recognize. Across galaxies, the soil often births what mouths need.”

Freya grinned. “You sound like a poet.”

“I only speak truth,” Rima replied with a shrug.

They shared laughter over the quirks of cooking—how Zytherion soldiers sometimes ate dried ration bars that tasted like chalk, while Freya recounted the infamous cafeteria food of her school days. It was light, easy, and exactly what Freya needed.

After a lull, curiosity tugged at her. “So… how long have you worked with Kehan?”

Rima’s eyes softened, her hands folding over each other. “A long time. Longer than he would care to admit. I was there when his parents were born. And later, I was tasked with tending to the royal infant himself.”

Freya froze mid-step. The clamor of the kitchen seemed to fade into silence. Royal?

Her voice cracked when she asked, “Royal? What do you mean royal? Who’s royal? Kehan?”

For a moment, Rima looked as if she regretted every syllable. Her jaw tightened, and she smoothed the folds of her robe. “I… misspoke, Lady Freya. I only meant that I have long served the Kehan family household. An important task, yes, but not what I said before.”

Freya’s brows knitted. “You’re saying you used the wrong word?”

“Yes.” Rima’s answer was firm, her tone politely final. Then, as though pulling a curtain over the moment, she gestured toward a nearby counter. “Would you like to see what dessert we are preparing for the noon meal?”

Freya hesitated, suspicion gnawing at her chest. But she forced herself to nod. “Sure. Dessert sounds nice.”

Rima led her to a glass dish where a cook poured a syrupy golden liquid over cubes of shimmering jelly. The cubes quivered like gems, and the syrup pooled in ribbons that smelled faintly of honey and citrus.

“This is Solari Cradle,” Rima explained. “Made from powdered lumis-root, boiled and frozen until it sets. The syrup is brewed from sun-branch sap mixed with sweetener. It cleanses the tongue after heavier meals.”

Freya leaned closer, her earlier worries blurring under the wonder. “It’s gorgeous. Like edible stained glass.”

“You will taste it soon enough,” Rima said, her voice gentle again.

Freya forced herself to relax, letting the moment wash away her unease. Still, as she watched the golden syrup drip and glisten, her mind circled back. Rima’s slip. That single word—royal.

She decided not to push. Not here, not now. But deep inside, she promised herself: the next time she saw Kehan, she’d ask him directly.

If he truly carried a crown, then everything about his cheeky smiles and easy laughter was more complicated than she’d realized.

By the time Freya left the kitchens with Rima, her mood had lightened. They carried small samples of dishes—fluffy breads, spiced broths, and a sliver of Solari Cradle—and walked the hallways like conspirators sneaking treats.

Yet her heart wasn’t settled. Between Axir’s distance, Kehan’s magnetic distractions, and now Rima’s curious slip, she felt herself tangled in secrets she hadn’t asked for.

And she knew one thing: sooner or later, she would need answers.