Cooking for the Warlords was an exercise in extreme logistics. Cooking for the Warlords, six growing beast-cubs, and a newly rescued Duck-kin mother required the kind of tactical planning usually reserved for military campaigns.
I stood in the center of the massive kitchen, my apron dusted with flour, my nine silver fox tails swishing back and forth in deep concentration. The hearth fires were roaring, heating the heavy iron pans and roasting spits.
"Okay, let's review the menu," I muttered, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. I stared at the chalkboard hanging near the pantry. "We have the garlic-herb crusted beef roast for Rurik. The pan-seared lemon-butter salmon for Caspian. A massive tureen of wild mushroom and potato soup. Roasted root vegetables, fresh cheese, three loaves of crusty bread..."
"And absolutely zero poultry," a smooth, deep voice chuckled from the doorway.
