Chapter 16: Breakfast with the Prince

THE ROYAL KITCHEN

Cael had been in kitchens before sunrise plenty of times, but three-thirty in the morning still felt criminal. His head was heavy, his eyes half-closed, and his first coherent thought upon stepping into the royal kitchen was:

“Even demons should respect the laws of sleep.”

Unfortunately, the demons in question were already here.

Prince Vaedranis entered with his entourage, looking like they’d stepped straight out of a portrait. The prince wore deep navy robes lined with silver thread, hair tied neatly back, not a single strand out of place. His guards looked equally pristine, and the adviser carried an ornate ledger under one arm. All of them looked like they were prepared for a diplomatic summit, not chopping onions.

Cael tried not to stare, but the sheer impracticality of their clothing made his anxiety spike. This was a demon prince, supposedly dangerous, cunning, unreadable. He had to tread carefully.

“Good morning,” Cael said, clearing his throat. “Today’s menu is…” He began listing dishes and ingredients, sprinkling in warnings where necessary. “Do not touch the pepper pods unless you like being unconscious for three hours. And if the creamfruit starts to hum, stop stirring.”

Prince Vaedranis gave a short nod and a soft mumble. He then began writing in a small notebook, movements precise and quiet.

“What His Highness means,” the adviser cut in, “is that he understands completely and finds this educational.”

Cael was surprised and the prince just kept writing.

Cael pressed on. “We’re also doing a fusion platter, human and demon spices combined. It’s… not exactly traditional.”

More quiet note-taking.

Cael’s brow furrowed. “Have you cooked before, Your Highness?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

There was a pause before Vaedranis said, in a voice so calm it almost sounded shy, “…I once helped peel potatoes. For charity.”

“…Right.”

The adviser smiled too broadly. “His Highness is very well-read in culinary theory.”

THE COOKING BEGAN

Cael demonstrated how to handle creamfruit, stir clockwise only, never counterclockwise, while two imps fetched ingredients. There were still minor hiccups: an imp forgot gloves and ended up with glowing purple hands; a spice jar sprouted legs and sprinted toward the door before being wrestled to the ground by another imp.

But overall, the kitchen ran smoothly.

What surprised Cael was how focused the prince was. He followed every motion, jotting meticulous notes in neat script. Occasionally, he asked questions, quietly, almost hesitantly, but they were thoughtful ones: “What changes if you roast the spice before grinding?” or “Why do you add salt at that stage?”

The adviser tried answering for him a few times, but eventually Vaedranis started speaking for himself more often.

Cael found himself relaxing just a little. This wasn’t some pompous, unpredictable royal, he was more like an awkward, very polite student.

By the time the last dish was plated, the table held ten creations, four from Cael, six from the imps. Extra portions were set aside for the prince and his entourage.

“You survived the kitchen,” Cael said, only half-joking.

They parted ways: Cael headed to deliver the Demon Court’s breakfast, while the prince’s group went to a smaller dining hall with their special plates.

The first bite stopped them cold.

One guard froze mid-chew, eyes glazing over as though he’d seen all his past lives at once.

The adviser dropped his fork. “…This feels like my insides are being burned, but in a way that purges all my regrets.”

Another soldier quietly wiped away tears.

Prince Vaedranis closed his eyes. “This flavor… makes me want to write a poem… and then duel someone at dawn.”

They immediately requested seconds.

When they met again briefly before parting, the adviser started to speak, but Vaedranis beat him to it.

“Thank you,” the prince said directly. It was simple, but it made Cael blink in surprise.

As he walked away, Cael thought: He’s still a demon prince… but maybe not the worst one to have around.

That moment of ease lasted exactly five seconds, until he remembered.

It was Demon Court breakfast again.

His stomach dropped.

“Oh, great,” he muttered to himself. “Back to feeding the wolves.”