As Nador prepped the oven with enough raw mana to power a small city, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the kitchen.
*DUN!*
The grand doors swung open, revealing a figure that made even Nador pause – the queen mother-in-law, Morrae. She was a vision of regal composure, even with a slight tremor in her voice. Her silver hair was perfectly coiffed, and her emerald eyes were usually filled with warmth, but now held a chilling intensity.
"Nador!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp enough to cut diamonds. "What in the name of the ancient gods is going on in here? I could hear Usher from the royal gardens!"
Nador froze, a raw chicken clutched in one hand and a bottle of concentrated mana-enriched vanilla extract in the other. He plastered on his most charming smile, the one he usually reserved for wealthy patrons willing to fund his, uh, "projects."
"Your Majesty! What a pleasant surprise! I was just... uh... experimenting with some new culinary techniques. Fusion cuisine, you might say. A little Yin, a little Yang, a whole lot of... flavor!" He gestured vaguely with the chicken, nearly smacking a pristine crystal chandelier.
Morrae's gaze swept over the kitchen, taking in the unconscious Pierre, the piles of strangely combined ingredients, and the faint smell of ozone and burnt sugar. A muscle twitched in her jaw.
"Experimenting? Nador, you look like you're trying to summon a demon through the medium of baked goods. And where is Pierre? Is he... is he alive?"
Nador winced. "Don't bother little Pierre: he's just...resting. Overcome with the sheer brilliance of my culinary vision, I presume. As for the... demonic summoning... well, a good soufflé requires a certain amount of dark magic, wouldn't you agree?"
He tried to laugh it off, but Morrae wasn't buying it. She took a step closer, her eyes narrowing.
"The fate of the alliance rests on tonight's dinner, Nador. The delegation from the Silverwood Ox is notoriously picky. If we offend them..." She didn't need to finish the sentence. The consequences were clear – war.
"Your Majesty, trust me," Nador said, his confidence wavering slightly. "I've got this. A little chaos never hurt anyone. Besides, who expects the Dominator to ruin dinner by destroying the kitchen? They'll be so disarmed by surprise!" He paised before turning to the readers, "quite literally."
Morrae closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and appeared to visibly release some sort of tension around the aura of her very being. When she opened them, a strange glint shone within them.
It was then Nador realized that he had made a grave tactical error. The queen mother might appear dainty, but she was a woman who had ruled kingdoms, brokered alliances, and raised a prince with an iron fist. She was not easily intimidated, or easily impressed... Well, she was most of all impressed by this dic-
"Alright, Nador," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Why don't you show me this… avant-garde cuisine."
She crossed her arms, standing firm. Nador gulped. In that moment, he knew he wasn't just facing the queen mother-in-law, he was facing the final boss of his culinary journey. He was facing the most ruthless critic this side of the Mistvale kingdom.
With a resigned sigh, he pointed to a concoction of chicken parts, Spawn berries, truffles, dish soap, and a liberal dash of raw mana that he'd been stirring in a giant cauldron. "Behold! The 'Nador's Surprise'! A symphony of flavors that will tantalize the taste buds and possibly induce hallucinogenic visions!"
Morrae raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Hallucinogenic visions, you say? Is that… a selling point?"
Nador fidgeted. "Well, it will give them something to talk about, right? Plus, if they're tripping too hard, they won't notice if it tastes like feet!"
"Is that a shoe?"
"What shoe? Oh! That... Is just to help the meal gain a sour flavor." He paused, 'Where did the shoe come from!!!'
Morrae stared at the cauldron, then back at Nador, her expression unreadable. Finally, she spoke.
"Give me a spoon."
Nador blinked. "Are you sure, Your Majesty? This is experimental, I haven't even tested it on anyone yet."
"Give. Me. A spoon."
Nador gulped and handed her a silver spoon, praying to every deity he knew that he hadn't accidentally poisoned the queen mother. With a steady hand, Morrae scooped a small spoonful of the "Nador's Surprise" and brought it to her lips.
The world seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the distant thumping of Usher singing about burning things, the smell of the fusion cuisine and burnt sugar.
Morrae closed her eyes again, savoring the flavor or, perhaps, bracing herself for the inevitable. After what felt like an eternity, she opened them, and the queen mother spoke once more.
"I'll be damned... This straight up taste like shit!!"
"I know!! It's a lucky surprise my dearest!! It's meant to soil the taste buds in preparation for the desert!!!"
"What is wrong with you? Did I suck too much energy out of you?"
"Hohoho!! My queen, it is I who should be asking zé you zé question!!" He spoke in a cocky Frenchman accent, taking cover in his mysterious French heritage.
Morrae couldn't help but smile with strange warmth, after all she had truly found her one to be, and now she couldn't just straight up tell him to get the fuck out of her kitchen and preferably her castle for the protection of her guest...
She just couldn't.
Look at him.
Nador is shown in his cute (extra large) apron that spelled in clear gold words 'Jinggle My Hairy Balls'. In his hands was the mysterious brown boots that had crawled it's way into the pot...
'I think this belongs to pierre.' Nador silently thought with a frown. And for some reasons, she found this act cute.
"Do whatever you want... Just make sure you keep that poison away from my daughter and the maidservants." Morrae spoke with a sigh and a little smile.
How could she deny her beloved son-in-law of his happiness in the kitchen. If the Beastkins want shit, then they'll have shit!!
A mischievous glint in her eyes spoke a thousand words without her uttering a single sound.