To him, such dainties bore but one title: dark fare.
Yet if he touched nothing, Lady Celeste would be sorely shamed. Thus Darien took a spoon of peas.
Tasteless? Aye—yet better no taste than foul taste.
Next he broke the white bread. Hard as stone, near the same as the black loaves before. He tasted, and his brow darkened.
This bread, and this sour red wine—were these works of a master?
But Celeste's eyes clung to him, anxious, awaiting his word. So Darien forced out,
"…It is fine."
"Then pray, taste the venison! Fresh it is!" she pressed.
The maid carved and laid the meat upon his plate.
Darien glanced for fork and found none.
"No fork?" he muttered.
"What is a fork?" Celeste asked, bewildered.
Well—there was his answer.
With a weary sigh, he jabbed the venison with his knife and set it to his mouth. Salted beyond mercy. And musty besides.
Still, Celeste beamed as though he dined in bliss.
"lord Darien," she said, eyes shining, "pray taste the black pie. A noble's delight, and but one serving in all the castle!"
Darien's jaw stiffened.
If peas and venison he could choke down, here he drew the line.
The thing lay like a crooked sausage, black and unwholesome, stuffed with blood, fat, oats, bread, and musk.
This was no meal—it was torment.
"Aren't you to eat it yourself?" he asked.
"These are all for you," she said quickly, eager to please. She still feared the days he had vanished, and dreaded displeasing him again.
Of all upon the table, only the pale fowl seemed half-edible. Yet stuffed with grapes and herbs, it looked stringy and ill.
"No—you eat," Darien said firmly.
Celeste obeyed with reluctance. She cut a slice of black pie, set it to her lips—her brows twitched at once. Worse than she remembered. She tried the venison—so salted it bit her tongue. At last, she understood why Darien ate not.
If she had not tasted his cured ham that morning, she might yet believe these dishes fine. But now—by comparison—they were poor indeed.
"I… I am sorry, my lord. The castle holds but these few stores…" she murmured, eyes downcast. Shame weighed upon her—he had given her food of comfort, and she had nothing fair to return.
"…Clear it all away," Darien ordered.
The maids, pale with fear, bore the platters out in haste.
Celeste's heart sank cold. Surely she had angered him again.
Yet Darien only slipped a hand within his greatcoat. Forth he drew a burger and a chicken sandwich, two crisp drumsticks, and a box of fries, all steaming as though fresh from the hearth.
Celeste stared, speechless. How such bounty had lain hidden in his coat, she could not fathom. For the scent alone near made her swoon.
Darien then unwrapped a chicken burger and bit deep, savoring the taste he knew so well. It was the KFC combo he had purchased before his crossing, preserved untouched by time.
But as he reached for a burger, a soft sound broke the air—the swallow of hunger.
Celeste's gaze clung not to him, but to the breaded meat in his grasp, her lips pressed tight though her throat betrayed her longing.
"Here. Eat. Take what you will. There is more than enough." He placed a warm beef burger into her palms.
Celeste gazed at the steaming bread and meat, eyes glistening. She took a cautious bite—and at once her face lit with wonder.
Never had she tasted such delight.
---
🔍 Did you know?
- KFC was founded in 1952 in Salt Lake City, Utah. Colonel Harland Sanders started it after traffic changes shut down his small roadside diner in Kentucky. Instead of giving up, he began franchising his secret recipe of 11 herbs and spices—and that's how Kentucky Fried Chicken was born!
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