Emperor Theron's voice cut through the grand throne room.
"Show me what you can do."
For most, it would've been humiliation. But for Liana, it was clarity.Cooking — the only language she truly understood. Her purpose, even in this bleak world, still called to her.
At the Emperor's nod, a pale, jittery attendant led her to a side chamber: a small emergency kitchen used for quick royal meals. Cleaner than her old home, but still crude. A worn wooden counter, a smoke-belching stove, heavy iron pans.
Ingredients, her mind screamed. I need ingredients.
The attendant pointed nervously to a basket: brown potatoes, wilted onions, eggs, stale bread, and a block of cheese that looked... questionable.
No spices. No herbs. Not even oil.
How am I supposed to...?
Doubt surged. I should've studied anything else.
But then — those cold onyx eyes flashed in her mind. He was bored. He needed surprise. Shock.
She grabbed a potato. Eggs. Bread. Humble, honest ingredients.The key wasn't abundance — it was transformation.
A memory flickered: her grandmother's simple breakfast — scrambled eggs on toasted bread. Ordinary. But made with soul.
Her hands, once clumsy, moved with growing precision. She tore the bread, softened it. Whisked the eggs, whipping air until they frothed — alchemy in this primitive world. Folded in the cheese for salt and fat. She tamed the wood stove by sheer will, heating the iron pan just right. Smoke still teased her, but she focused on what she could control.
Then, the smell.Not gourmet — but warm, comforting. Home.
The attendant raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Minutes later: a mound of creamy golden eggs over crisped bread, cheese melted through. Simple, yet rich. Pure. Honest. Comforting.
She placed it in a rough clay bowl — unworthy of the dish — and carried it back to the throne room.Her hands steady. Her heart pounding.
The court held its breath.
She knelt and offered the bowl.
"Your Majesty. A simple breakfast. Made with what I found — and with heart."
Theron stared. For a moment, nothing.
Then — a spark in his onyx eyes.
He lifted the spoon. Paused. Ate.
Silence. Absolute. You could slice it with a knife.
Theron's eyes widened. His face, once bored, shifted — surprise, delight, then... joy. Almost childlike. A ripple ran through him. He chewed slowly, savoring each bite like a secret rediscovered.
This taste...Not just eggs. Velvet softness, perfectly salted, bread soaking every drop of flavor. Familiar — yet new.It was life.
Another bite. Then another.
His mask of boredom shattered. The nobles whispered in disbelief. Her parents froze, torn between shock and awe.
Theron wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes locked on Liana — no longer bored. Now burning.
"You..." His voice was hoarse. "Who taught you this?"
Liana hesitated. Elara's memories of punishment whispered caution.But she stood firm.
"No one, Your Majesty. Just... observation. And a love for what is good."
A slow, curious smile curled on Theron's lips — the first she'd ever seen.
"Love, you say. A love that makes miracles from scraps."He stood — rare enough to stir gasps.
"So be it. You are not without talent, Lady Elara. You are a treasure. From this moment, you are the Imperial Kitchen's personal chef."
A roar shook the court — envy, outrage, wonder.Her parents dropped to their knees.
Liana swayed, exhaustion crashing in — but so did triumph. Her curse had become her salvation. The game had changed.
And she was right at the center.
The following days blurred by. Luxurious chambers replaced her decay. But the alien feeling lingered — a stranger in fine clothes.
She had an Emperor to feed. A kitchen full of hidden enemies.
The battle had only begun.But she'd won the first round.
And she would cook her way through the rest.