Chapter 9

“My, Lucas. How rare for you to accept this sort of invitation.”

“The same could be said for you, Mother. Back when you lived in the inner palace, you never showed the slightest interest in public events. To think you’d go so far as to reserve the royal gardens for a gathering like this.”

The gardens of the Luten Kingdom boasted a massive fountain, greenhouses, and perfectly manicured greenery. In a corner of the vast plaza where knightly parades were held on festival days, Juliana greeted her son with a smile.

She sat at a white table with iron legs, shaded by a giant parasol held by an attendant. Dressed in a wide-brimmed hat and gloves to ensure a comfortable outdoor stay, she looked at first glance as though she were simply hosting a private garden party for her son.

However, the layout—and the presence of a “gallery”—made it clear that this was anything but normal.

Near the fountain, two square spaces had been paved with cobblestones to form stages. Atop each stage sat a waist-high wooden prep table, a simple portable hearth, and a massive earthenware jar filled with water, arranged in perfect symmetry.

Juliana sat in a position that felt like the front row of a spectator’s gallery. Ropes had been strung in a perimeter starting from her position, and behind them crowded the servants from across the entire palace.

Maids, attendants, stable hands, cooks, washerwomen, guards… essentially anyone who could spare a moment from their duties was there. They all radiated a palpable excitement, waiting with bated breath for the “actors” to take the stage.

“A contest for the title of the palace’s best cook… Honestly, how did things spiral into this…?”

Lucas sat heavily in his chair, elegantly crossing his long legs as he grumbled.

The Head Maid, standing beside Juliana, caught his weary mutter and bowed her head apologetically.

“I am terribly sorry. Even I didn’t think it would escalate to this extent…”

The origin of the incident traced back to the previous day.

It began when Gerda encountered Head Chef Georges Ramadier standing tall and imposing in front of the maid dormitory. He looked ready to storm the women-only quarters. Upon being questioned, he declared he had a “bone to pick” with the girl named Elma.

He demanded an apology for her insolence—the audacity of a woman, and one without the credentials of a chef, to step into his kitchen and encroach upon his domain.

The Head Maid, well aware of Elma’s history—ranging from casual cooking to the construction of a reverberatory furnace—hurriedly summoned Elma and made her bow in apology. However, it was then that Elma let slip a quiet remark:

“So, the idea that ‘food should be made by whoever makes it delicious, regardless of credentials or gender’ is not considered ‘normal,’ is it?”

This statement sent Georges into a towering rage.

“Are you saying you can cook better than me?!”

In his fury, he challenged her to a duel to prove once and for all who was the superior cook. According to Gerda, even in his thick Montaigne accent, the sheer wrath in his voice was unmistakable.

Staking his professional prestige on the line, Georges declared that if his cooking was truly unsuited to the palates of the nobility, he would resign as head chef.

However, such a resignation would reflect poorly on First Prince Felix, the man who had scouted him. Therefore, Gerda decided it was best to let the Prince himself act as the judge rather than the palace staff.

Yet, when Gerda made her formal proposal, Prince Felix—the man widely rumored to be “mediocre”—rejected it out of hand with a cold, “I don’t want to.”

He claimed that during the hectic period leading up to his enthronement, it was “far too bothersome” to taste food made by a “lowly maid” over such a “trivial squabble.”

“My elder brother…”

Hearing the story, Lucas instinctively pressed a hand to his forehead.

Precisely because it was the period before his coronation, gaining the support of the palace staff was crucial, even if they were just servants. If he didn’t want to taste the maid’s cooking, he should have simply affirmed, “Without need for a contest, Georges Ramadier remains the head chef of this castle,” and left it at that.

Regardless, there was nothing to be done once he had refused.

Half-relieved, Gerda suggested to Georges that they drop the matter. But the stubborn chef had a retort ready:

“There are surely other ‘noble figures’ in this castle on good terms with you.”

Having known the former Consort Juliana for twenty years, Gerda reluctantly explained the situation to her. Juliana was highly guarded and had never involved herself in such commotions before. Gerda had gambled on the hope that she would skillfully decline.

Instead…

“Oh, that sounds interesting. I’d love to try Elma’s cooking while it’s fresh.”

To Gerda’s shock, Juliana jumped at the idea.

It seemed that after the tea party with Elma, she had found a new sense of liberation. “In that case, let’s let the other servants eat as well,” she suggested. “Shall we invite everyone in the palace? Good, then let’s reserve the garden!” She proceeded to expand the scope of the event entirely.

And so, before anyone realized it, they were holding a grand “Cook-Off” for the entire palace staff.

“Why is it that every time that girl is involved, things take such an outrageous turn…?”

Lucas, who had slipped away from preparations for the Knight Order’s ceremony to attend—granted, he welcomed any excuse to skip a tedious meeting—scowled, his ruggedly handsome features tightening as he recalled Elma’s track record.

“My. Are you telling me you don’t like her, even though you used to hit on every girl you saw? I thought men were supposed to be attracted to women who have an element of ‘unexpectedness’?”

“With all due respect, Mother, even I have preferences. Besides, the ‘unexpectedness’ men enjoy is finding out a girl is surprisingly beautiful when she takes off her glasses, or that a strong woman is actually a lightweight with alcohol—that sort of thing. What she has isn’t ‘unexpectedness.’ It’s just pure, utter unpredictability—like a landmine that could explode at any moment. It’s nothing but a nuisance.”

Lucas retorted with a sour expression.

Despite being a prince, he belonged to the Knight Order and often ventured into the lower town to make friends with commoners. Many called him “unconventional” or “lacking in common sense,” and Lucas had accepted those labels. But after seeing a girl (Elma) who threw the very concept of “normalcy” aside with every ounce of her being, he now realized something.

He was, in fact, a perfectly sensible human being.

When the mention of removing her glasses came up, Gerda stole a quick glance at Lucas, but the Prince—who was staring at the stage with a disgruntled expression—didn’t notice.

“Ever since she arrived at the palace, I’ve been busy cleaning up the mess from the reverberatory furnace incident and being stalked by a hunting association that fell in love with her bear-butchering skills. It’s been one thing after another.”

Beyond that, Elma’s skills were simply too formidable in every category. If she fired a plate, she’d produce something of national treasure quality; if she played in the dirt, she’d dig up the fossils of some ancient creature. It was always something.

While Gerda and Lucas were the ones who had brought her into the palace, most of the incidents were far beyond the Head Maid’s ability to handle, leaving Lucas to deal with the fallout.

However, whenever he secretly sold a plate, the city would buzz with rumors of a “once-in-a-generation ceramic artist,” and when he quietly donated fossils to the academy, a research team would storm the palace shouting, “History has been made!” Lately, he hadn’t had a moment’s peace.

“Oh dear. But even as you say all that, here you are, having hurried to the scene. You actually like her quite a bit, don’t you?”

“Well, her cooking skills, at least. Besides, I was curious to see what kind of person the new head chef is.”

Lucas pulled up one corner of his well-shaped lips and shrugged.

He felt the newly hired Montaigne head chef was doing a good job, but he was concerned that the man seemed isolated within the palace.

Out of consideration for his older half-brother, Lucas had avoided contact, but now that Felix had given the chef the cold shoulder, this might be a good opportunity to deepen their acquaintance.

Befriending the person who held the keys to food safety was highly beneficial for a Second Prince who lived with a constant risk of poisoning. Lucas was a man who performed careful calculations when it came to human relationships.

“Ah, here he comes.”

At that moment, the gallery began to buzz, and Lucas saw that Georges—or Georg (George), as he would be pronounced in Luten—had arrived.

He wore a tall chef’s hat, which was beginning to become popular in Luten, and a red neckerchief indicating his status as head chef.

He had muscular arms and short, neat hair. He seemed to be a man of intense emotional ups and downs, as was typical of Montaigne people, but his sharp gaze and straight back radiated professional pride. Lucas thought he looked like a man of character.

“Lady Juliana, and Prince Lucas. I thank you for the honor of presiding over this judgment. Please, savor this dish, in which I have gathered the very essence of my craft.”

Georges took off his hat and bowed.

True to his proud Montaigne roots, he spoke in his mother tongue even before royalty, but his dignified manner was actually quite refreshing.

“You have our permission. We expect great things from your loyalty and your skill.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Lucas added briefly after his mother.

Juliana was the host here. He must not interfere with her proceedings.

Nodding with satisfaction, Juliana fanned herself open and declared:

“Georg—no, Georges Ramadier. Should you win this contest, I shall act as your patron and guarantee your position within this palace alongside my son Lucas and Prince Felix.”

This meant a promise of protection not just from the “Mediocre Prince” Felix, but also from the popular Second Prince and his mother. With this, Georges could secure a certain level of power in the palace even if Felix abandoned him—or vice versa. It was a flawless reward.

Even Georges couldn’t hide his excitement as he bowed deeply.

Soon, he shifted his focus, beginning his preparations with brisk, efficient movements. As if to display every luxury in existence, he brought in a variety of ingredients so diverse it was hard to believe they were for only two people, and began heating the hearth.

Meanwhile, at the kitchen on the left, the maid who had accepted the challenge had yet to appear. To be late for a duel with a superior like the head chef—and in the presence of royalty—was an attitude utterly lacking in sincerity.

The servants began to exchange suspicious whispers.

But then—

Buzz!

A wave of murmurs spread with such force that Lucas looked up. As he processed the sight at the end of their gazes, his eyes widened in shock.

Pushing a cart that let out a dull, heavy creak was the dowdy, petite maid with the impressive, thick glasses.

As she moved forward, staring straight ahead while bathed in the early summer midday sun, she looked almost like an actor walking down a center stage runway. But more than that, there was an object of such bizarre presence that no one could help but stare.

On her cart sat large-scale cooking utensils and a massive amount of flour.

That, he understood.

Likewise, a large quantity of cabbage and seasonings.

That, too, he understood.

A mountain of rock-hard bread.

Though he worried about the coarseness of it, he could follow the logic.

And a giant tuna.

“—?!”

Lucas instinctively stood up on the spot.

“You—where on earth did you get such a thing?!”