Page 28 of Where We Belong

“Um—yes? Come in.”

A man—male bows. My breath catches. Handsome doesn’t seem like the right word for him; it feels inadequate. He smiles, revealing brilliant white teeth, the front two overlapping a little. A silver tray is balanced in one hand, the other tucked behind his back. He wears brown pants and a short-sleeved shirt beneath an apron, his biceps strain against the fabric in a way that makes it hard to take my eyes off them.

“Pleased to meet you, Princess.”

My face just twitches as I try and fail to form any kind of expression. Flirting usually comes so instinctively around beautiful men that I barely realise I’m doing it. As you can imagine, it’s gotten me into trouble more than once. Unfazed, he places the tray by the bed. The light from the fireplace highlights his sharp cheekbones, scattered with brown freckles and a slight cleft chin. He removes the lid from the tray with a proud flourish.

“Would you like me to tell you what everything is?” He tilts the plate slightly so I can see better. The excitement plastered across his face is almost boyish, and I can see why; it looks stunning.

“I tried to mimic a dish from a human cookbook, but from what I learned in Earth Studies, we don’t have all the same produce, so there are a few differences.”

I inch closer, painfully aware of how filthy I am. He doesn’t seem to care as he holds the plate like the masterpiece it is, pointing to each item with a sparkle of pride in his navy blue eyes.

“I kept it simple,” he glances up at me with a grin. “Well, I know it doesn’t look simple, but it’s supposed to be one of your delicacies. Pie and mash.” He pauses, the grin turning into a dazzling smile. “I’ve always wanted to make it. So, the pie isn’t beef like you know it to be, from a sheep, no — a cow? It’s from a carrion, which looks a bit like a cow, but it has three horns. And it probably tastes nicer because of all your pollution, and you know—” he shrugs one shoulder, “the horrible things you make your animals eat.”

I’d smile if I had it in me. He sets the plate gently back down.

“The mash is similar to yours, maybe a little sweeter. The sauce has herbs, but they might be more potent. I tried to dial it back for you, though. Don’t feel obliged to eat it if you don’t like it, which is kind of impossible, actually.” He winks, and although he’s joking around, he sounds as though he’s speaking to a rescue puppy. Is that what I look like? What I’ve become?

“But I can make anything, so just call for me. I am at your service day or night. My name is Rhory, but everyone here calls me Cook. For obvious reasons. Also, my family name is Cook, believe it or not.” He twirls one hand and bows.

The smell drifts towards me while his footsteps retreat down the hall. My stomach gives a loud grumble. It looks absolutely nothing like pie and mash, maybe a Michelin-starred, deconstructed version. I dip the fork prongs in the creamy sauce, but no matter how good it smells, the thought of eating makes my stomach churn. I lick the fork and set it down almost reverently. My taste buds feel alive for the first time in months with the bitter flavor, but a concoction of exhaustion and sadness sweeps over me, dragging me toward a chair in the corner. I barely notice the soothing coldness of the wood and the lingering smell of food. My mind is far from it now. Closing my eyes, I try to block out the strange room, the magic that shimmers in the air, and the memories clawing their way to the surface.

Chapter 29

Aiden

And even though you’ve given enough,

your mercy, patience and light,

My duty is done. She is awake and being tended to and a Pyreling has been sent to my uncle, he shall be arriving any minute. Hopefully, the Captain is bathing himself in bleach and burning those filthy clothes. For now, I pass the time in Cook’s kitchen, stealing vegetables I have been explicitly told not to touch while explaining a weapon modification Eira only half listens to. Then—

“She looks really bad, Aid. I think you should introduce yourself.”

“Rhory, I’ve been telling him this, but he’s being selfish,” Eira adds, brown eyes cutting into me. She flicks my arm.

“Selfish? Me? That is rather harsh.” I lean back, dodging another flick and snag a vegetable off the counter, “If I am selfish, it is because I am hungry. Service here takes forever.”

“See!” Eira shakes her pretty head, “You know your uncle requested those specifically, and you’re taking them for yourself. Why? Because you’re selfish.”

I chuckle. “Do I get to defend myself, or—”

“I’m being serious. About your sister, not the vegetables.” Eira cuts me off, pulling a frown from my lips. I do not like it when she is short with me. Something uncomfortable snakes beneath my ribs at the loss of her smile. “You only visited her because I made you. You wouldn’t have gone otherwise. She’s been tortured for months. She has no one. She’s alone down here in a weird, new place. She lost her parents, too, you know.”

“Indeed,” I grumble. She did it to herself. And Eira is incorrect this time, I would have attended to her, because I am supposed to. Duty is my main priority, Eira’s grip on me it’s only rival.

“So, what’s the problem?” She presses. “Aren’t you happy to have family?”

“I have family.” My voice is edged with defence. I draw a slow breath, forcing the air through lungs that feel too tight. Even here, where I am safest, I must be careful. The truest version of me has always frightened people, and I cannot lose the few who stay.

“Yes,” Eira says, “But more family. How can you not want a sister?”

“I have you.”

Cook suddenly finds himself very busy rummaging through a shelf on the far side of the kitchen. Eira’s eyebrows pinch together, and my eyes dart across her face scanning her expression for clarification. “I have you.” I repeat quietly beneath my breath, testing the sentence again for whatever sharp edge I seem to have missed.

“Indeed,” she clips. Is she mocking me? “You know what I mean, Aiden. Someone else who could—”