The courtyard was a symphony of controlled chaos. Three of the four teams were now working in a frantic harmony, their movements a blur of chopping, stirring, and sizzling. But at the fifth station, a new kind of chaos was brewing, one born of inexperience and mismatched skills.
"Girls, you have eight minutes remaining!" Queen Isolde's voice boomed from the balcony, a dramatic reminder of their impending doom.
Rina froze. She stared at the large, uncut slab of some kind of dark, exotic meat on her cutting board. She had a knife, but her hands felt clumsy and slow. Oh no, what am I going to do? I can't chop this fast enough! Her mind raced. They would fail because of her.
Suddenly, a cool presence was at her side. Seraphine glided over, her movements unnaturally fluid. Without a word, she gently took the knife from Rina's trembling hand.
"Leave it to me," Seraphine said, her voice calm and low.
And then she began to chop.
Rina's jaw dropped. It wasn't just fast; it was impossible. Seraphine's hand became a silver blur, the kitchen knives an extension of her arm. Chunks of meat, perfectly uniform, flew from the cutting board and landed with soft thuds in a nearby bowl. It was less like cooking and more like a deadly, graceful dance. In less than thirty seconds, the entire slab of meat was reduced to a perfect pile of ingredients.
Rina could only stare, her mind struggling to process what she had just witnessed. This quiet, pale girl moved with a speed and precision that defied logic.
"Wow… I…" Rina stammered, her awe momentarily overriding her panic. "Oh, right. What's your name?"
Seraphine didn't even look up from her work, already moving on to finely mincing a pile of herbs with the same impossible speed.
"Seraphine Noctalis."
The name hung in the air, a single, elegant word that changed everything. Rina didn't recognize it, but for Eira, it was like finding a legendary artifact in a pile of junk.
The elf mage's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine excitement and academic curiosity in her usually calm gaze. She lowered the bowl of Glimmer-Moss, her analytical mind whirring.
"Fascinating. Now this is getting interesting," she murmured, her voice a low, thoughtful hum. "So, there is a vampire here."
Seraphine's impossible chopping stopped mid-slice. Her head snapped towards Eira, her deep red eyes, usually so serene and unreadable, now wide with a flicker of genuine shock. Her composure, the mask she had worn for centuries, had slipped.
"How… how do you know that name?" Seraphine demanded, her voice losing its soft, melodic quality and taking on a sharper, more dangerous edge.
Eira met her gaze without a trace of fear. To her, this was not a threat, but a live specimen. "The Noctalis clan is a legend in elven historical texts," she explained, her tone calm and academic, as if giving a lecture. "An ancient and powerful noble house of vampires, said to have been wiped out two centuries ago during the 'Purging of the Night.' They were known for their unparalleled grace, their cunning, and their… particular dietary habits. The fact that one stands here, as a maid candidate, is a significant historical anomaly.
Talia, who had been poking the fire, stopped and stared, her hand on the hilt of her dagger. Lyra just looked confused, her head tilted as she tried to understand why everyone was suddenly so tense.
The air crackled with unspoken threats and ancient history. Seraphine stared at Eira, her mind racing. She had been found. Not by a vampire hunter, but by a bookish elf. The irony was suffocating.
Just as Seraphine was about to respond, a panicked voice cut through the tension.
"Alright, you two! We have five minutes left! Please, can we be a little more serious?!"
Rina stood with her hands on her hips, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated panic. She looked from the tense vampire to the analytical elf, completely oblivious to the ancient drama unfolding.
"The meat is chopped, that's great! But what are we actually making? We're going to lose!"
"Finally!" Rina cheered as Seraphine placed the final, perfectly sliced piece of meat onto their platter. Their dish was an organized chaos: a pile of Lyra's mashed potatoes, a swirl of Eira's berry glaze, and Talia's expertly seared meat, all arranged with an eerie, artistic precision by Seraphine. It was a miracle they had finished at all.
"TIME'S UP, GIRLS!" Queen Isolde's voice boomed across the courtyard, silencing the last of the frantic clattering. "BRING YOUR DISHES TO THE PRINCE FOR JUDGING!
A long table had been set up for Aiden, who was now slumped in a large, ornate chair, looking like he was about to face a firing squad rather than a feast.
The first team approached, presenting a delicate-looking soup. Aiden took a single, dutiful spoonful. "It tastes… fine," he declared, his voice flat. "But it's missing something. Depth." The team's faces fell.
The second team presented a hearty roast. Aiden chewed it thoughtfully. "Better flavor, but the presentation is a mess. It looks like it was already eaten once." The second team looked like they wanted the ground to swallow them whole.
Then, a servant brought forward the dish from Team 3. It was a simple-looking pastry, dusted with powdered sugar. The girl who carried it, a plain-looking girl with nervous eyes, placed it in front of Aiden with a trembling hand.
Just as Aiden picked up a fork, a hand shot out and grabbed his arm.
"IT'S POISON!"
It was Lyra. Her voice was not a dreamy whisper, but a sharp, certain command. Her eyes were locked on the pastry, not on him.
Aiden froze, his fork hovering in mid-air. "What?!"
He looked from Lyra's intense face to the girl from Team 3. In that instant, he saw it—a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. The girl's hand, which had been hidden under her sleeve, darted out, not towards him, but towards a small vial concealed on her belt.
But Aiden was faster. Years of boring royal self-defense training, which he had always thought was useless, kicked in. He didn't think. He reacted. He shoved his chair back, knocking it over, and kicked out, hitting the girl's wrist. A small, thin needle clattered onto the stone floor.
The courtyard erupted in gasps and screams.
"SHE'S A HIRED ASSASSIN!" Aiden yelled, pointing at the now-exposed girl, who was cradling her wrist and glaring at him with pure hatred.
"TAKE HER TO THE DUNGEON!" Queen Isolde shrieked, a thrill of absolute horror and delight in her voice. Guards swarmed the girl, who was quickly disarmed and dragged away.
In the ensuing chaos, Lyra leaned close to Aiden, her voice a sad, quiet whisper meant only for him. "You still don't remember me, Aiden."
He stared at her, his mind a complete blank. "Sorry?"
Lyra just shook her head, a look of profound disappointment on her face, and silently walked back to her bewildered team. Rina stared at her, her mind struggling to process the fact that her quiet, strange teammate had just saved the prince's life.
Aiden took a deep, shaky breath and looked at the two remaining, terrified girls from Team 3. "My apologies, ladies. It seems we were unaware your team contained a hired assassin." He rubbed his temples. "It's… fine. You are dismissed. You may go.
The two girls fled, not needing to be told twice.
Aiden righted his chair and sat back down, his head pounding. He looked at the final remaining team. His mismatched, chaotic, and now undeniably interesting team.
Rina, Talia, Eira, Seraphine, and Lyra.
A servant approached, holding their platter. Aiden looked from their strange dish to their even stranger faces. For the first time all day, a genuine flicker of curiosity, not boredom, appeared in his eyes. What on earth could they possibly have made?
A nervous guard, trying very hard not to make eye contact with anyone, placed their team's dish in front of Aiden. It was a simple, rustic-looking plate, a stark contrast to the failed artistic attempts of the other teams. The perfectly seared meat was nestled on a bed of creamy mashed potatoes, drizzled with a vibrant red sauce and topped with an artful arrangement of the squeaking cheese.
And then the aroma hit.
It wasn't just a smell; it was a physical force. A wave of complex, impossible scents washed over the courtyard. There was the deep, savory scent of Seraphine's perfectly cooked meat, the earthy comfort of the mashed Shadow-Potatoes, the surprising sweetness of the Sky-Berry glaze cutting through the richness, and a faint, herbaceous note from Eira's Glimmer-Moss. It was a symphony of flavors that shouldn't work together, but did. Magnificently.
A low murmur went through the remaining candidates and judges. Everyone turned towards the source of the heavenly smell.
Aiden, who had been slouched in his chair, his face a mask of bored resignation, suddenly froze. His sarcastic retort died on his lips. A low growl, deep and primal, rumbled in his stomach. He leaned forward, his eyes wide. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly watering.
Even King Darius, who had been slumbering peacefully in his chair, stirred. His nose twitched. His eyes fluttered open. He sat bolt upright, looking around wildly. "What is that glorious smell?!" he boomed, his voice thick with sleep and sudden, intense hunger.
But Aiden didn't hear his father. His entire world had shrunk to the plate in front of him. He looked at the food, then at the five girls standing by their chaotic station, watching him with a mixture of hope, pride, and anxiety. The clumsy village girl, the fierce dragon rider, the ancient vampire, the analytical elf, and the obsessive half-dragon. This impossible team had created this impossible dish.
He finally spoke, his voice low and filled with a genuine, bewildered curiosity he hadn't felt all day.
"What… is this?"
All eyes were on Rina. The other teams, the judges, the King and Queen—even her own teammates were staring at her, waiting for an explanation. Rina, her face flushed with a mixture of pride and terror, took a hesitant step forward.
"Well, Your Highness," she began, her voice a little shaky but clear. "It's… it's just a simple stew, really. We all worked together."
She gestured to her team. "Seraphine… she chopped the meat so fast I couldn't even see her hands! And Talia made the fire for us—it was the hottest fire I've ever seen, so it cooked perfectly!"
Talia just grunted, crossing her arms, but a hint of pride touched her lips.
"And Eira," Rina continued, "she said that the Glimmer-Moss would make the sauce creamy, and that the tartness of the Sky-Berries would cut through the richness of the meat and potatoes. She's very smart."
Eira gave a slight, dignified nod in acknowledgement.
"And Lyra… well, Lyra mashed the potatoes," Rina said, smiling at the half-dragon girl. "She said they needed to be soft and warm… like a heart."
Lyra beamed, her intense gaze softening as she looked at Aiden.
Rina wrung her hands. "That's… that's all it is, Your Highness. Just a stew we made together.
But Eira, who had been observing the dish with a critical eye, stepped forward. "If I may interject, Your Highness. There is one more ingredient."
All eyes turned to the elf mage.
"When Lyra was crying over the onion," Eira explained in her calm, clinical tone, "a single tear fell into the potato mash. I analyzed it. It's not a normal saline solution. It has a… unique magical and emotional resonance. It's likely what binds all the disparate flavors together. It is, quite literally, an ingredient of love.**
A dead silence fell over the courtyard.
Aiden stared at the plate. A dish made with impossible skill, raw power, scientific knowledge, and… a tear of obsessive love. It was the most insane, most complicated, and most intriguing thing he had ever encountered.
He picked up his fork. He took a small, hesitant bite of the meat, potato, and sauce combined.
And his world exploded.
His eyes widened. A dozen conflicting flavors and sensations hit him at once. The savory power of the meat, the comfort of the potatoes, the sharp surprise of the berries, the subtle depth of the moss, and underneath it all, a strange, warm, and overwhelmingly potent emotion that made his heart ache in a way he couldn't understand. It was delicious. It was terrible. It was perfect.
He swallowed, his mind completely blank. He looked from the plate to the five girls who had made it. This wasn't just food. This was them. A chaotic, beautiful, dangerous, and utterly compelling mess.
Queen Isolde saw the look on her son's face. It was the look she had been waiting for: genuine, unadulterated shock and interest. She saw her opportunity and seized it.
She stood up, her voice ringing with absolute finality.
"The competition is over!" she declared, her smile triumphant. "The winner is clear! The five new royal maids have been chosen!"
She pointed a dramatic finger at Rina, Talia, Eira, Lyra, and Seraphine.
"You five! Pack your things. You will be moving into the castle immediately."