The days that followed that disastrous attempt in the kitchen were a blur of humiliation and quiet despair for Liana. Guilt gnawed at her relentlessly — guilt over her apparent uselessness in this strange new world. Her "mother's" cruel words echoed endlessly, tangled with Elara's memories of being called a burden, of being worthless. I was a renowned chef, Liana recalled, bitterness cutting through her thoughts. And now I'm… this. I can't even light a fire.
The family's decay, once whispered behind closed doors, had become the talk of every noble salon. News of the Barons of Valerius and their looming financial ruin spread like wildfire. From behind a cracked door, Liana listened as her new "parents" argued in hushed desperation, searching for any way to salvage the last shreds of their fading prestige. In the end, their cold, calculating conclusion rested squarely on Elara's thin, "useless" shoulders.
"We have no other choice, my dear," the Baroness said to the Baron, her voice biting, acidic. "Lord Grimsby will do us this favor. He has land — even if it's half-swamp — and the dowry... it'll cover last year's debts."
A chill crept down Liana's spine at the mention of Lord Grimsby. Elara's memories of the man were vivid and horrifying: a bloated old noble with leering eyes and a reputation for cruelty. The Liana who had once wielded total control over her own destiny now felt the same paralyzing panic that had once consumed Elara. A forced marriage — a prison even darker than this crumbling house.
"But the girl… she's so clumsy," the Baron sighed, as if speaking of a defective pet. "She has no talents to sweeten the deal. No one will want her."
Then came their final, humiliating gamble: to take her to the Imperial Capital and present her at court. Not to marry her to some grand lord, but to discard her — perhaps into some minor palace post, or into the sights of a lesser noble who might trade favors for her presence. A desperate attempt to offload their burden with a shred of honor.
The journey to the Imperial Capital assaulted Liana's senses. The city was a whirlwind of color, noise, and the kind of vibrant energy she hadn't felt since her previous life. Markets brimmed with strange produce, but to her trained palate, the chaos of raw meat and unfamiliar spices clashed like a discordant symphony. So much good produce… wasted, she thought, her chef's eyes scanning every stall, appalled by the lack of proper preservation and technique.
Her parents, however, were focused solely on controlling her. Liana was scolded constantly — for her lack of manners, for staring too long. "Don't ruin this, Elara," her mother hissed, yanking her by the arm. "Your only use is to not disgrace us further." The words were barbs sinking into Elara's open wounds, and Liana felt every sting as if they were her own.
The grandeur of the Imperial Palace overwhelmed her. Towers of white stone touched the sky. Manicured gardens stretched endlessly — though they lacked the wild beauty of her secret haven. Golden gates glittered in the sun. It was a realm of opulence and power, worlds apart from the misery of the kingdom's common folk — and her own.
The cuisine of the capital, though more refined than at home, left her unimpressed. Banquets dazzled the eyes with extravagant plates — but to Liana, they were bland, heavy, soulless. No balance. No finesse. No heart. Emperor Theron, a young ruler famed for his demanding tastes, had never truly been challenged, she thought with professional disdain.
The day of the audience arrived.
The throne room shimmered with silk and jewels, thick with murmurs and noble intrigue. Liana, clad in a faded, plain dress that failed to hide her frail frame, was dragged forward by her parents. Elara's heart raced, but Liana felt an eerie calm settle over her — the same focused stillness that came before a grand dinner service. She raised her eyes.
There he was. Emperor Theron.
Young — perhaps only a few years older than she — with eyes of deep onyx, dark and unreadable. A heavy melancholy hung around him, boredom clinging to his posture as he lounged on the throne. He looked upon the world as if it were nothing more than a long chain of meaningless obligations.
Her parents began to speak, their voices dripping with false humility and veiled desperation.
"Your Majesty," the Baroness stammered, her tone shrill. "She is… a girl with few visible virtues. No talent for magic, no grace with a blade… and at court, well… she is a burden, Your Majesty."
A wave of disapproval rippled through the nobles. One of them sneered in Liana's direction. Her mind burned with humiliation. Elara's cheeks flushed with shame.
Then — the Emperor's gaze found her.
Not with contempt — but with something unexpected: curiosity. His lips moved. His voice, low and bored, still filled the chamber with ease — and grated against Liana's nerves.
"So," the Emperor began, straightening slightly, his eyes locked on hers. "Is it true, what your parents claim? That you possess no talents worth naming?"
Silence.
Liana's parents held their breath. She felt the weight of the court pressing in. Elara's memories of shame, of years spent unseen, wrapped around her like chains. But then — Liana, the chef, stirred awake. A spark of defiance lit behind her eyes. I will not be their burden. I will not bow.
The Emperor spoke again, his voice still bored — but a flicker of amusement danced in his gaze.
"If you truly have no talent," he said, "then show me what you can do. Anything. If you can't even manage that, then there's no place for you in my court… or anywhere else."
Cold as they were, his words were a challenge. A test. An invitation.
Fear surged in her — fear of failure, fear for Elara's life — but above all, a sudden, burning inspiration. Her senses stretched outward, reading the air, catching faint aromas, possibilities.
It might be a culinary wasteland — but it was still food.
She could do this.
She had to.