Chapter 9

FELIX

“Are you certain this woman is your Destined Bride?” my mother asked breathlessly.

I nodded. I swear a small tear formed in the corner of her eye.

“Once I have, I will bring her to the palace,” I believe this would be fast, since there were no reason for her to hide from me. “The Great Witch will be able to tell for sure whether Mila is my Destined Bride, but there is not a doubt in my heart. She could see the purple eye!”

At that moment, Joseph entered the throne room.

“The alert has been sent out, Your Highness,” he said, bowing. “I had the police distribute a sketch of her. I told them to say she is a missing person, and that there is a bounty for bringing her in.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Joseph. I appreciate it.”

“Anything for the Destined Bride,” he replied. “Found not a moment too soon.”

His sentence hung in the air for a moment. We all knew that time was running out.

From my mother’s side, there was the sound of slow, sarcastic clapping. I turned to see my younger brother Charles smirking at me as he emerged from his spot behind the thrones. “Congratulations on love at first sight, brother,” he said, his own voice dripping with venom. “I couldn’t be happier for you.”

A slight chill went through my body.

Charles was only three years younger than me, but lived a very different life. I knew he always resented me for my more luxurious lifestyle, while he spent his days dealing with the minutiae of interstate commerce for Fresonia. While he was also a Dragon Knight, he had always been a bit smaller, weaker, and slower than I was as the Heir.

He had also been preparing for taking over as King once I died.

A part of me had wondered for a long time if Charles even wanted me to find my Destined Bride. I’m not sure if he would have been upset if I had passed and he was given the throne. I had not voiced my suspicions to anyone but Joseph, but it was something that always weighed heavily on my mind.

But there was no time for Charles’ sour mood today.

I knew I was about to find Mila

MILA

What Felix had failed to mention was that this little “tasting” was actually a competition. We were selected, along with several other prominent restaurants in Fresonia, to present a tasting menu to the royal family in hopes of being the main caterer for upcoming royal events. Samara was, understandably, freaking out.

After Fiona’s confrontation last week, I decided that I wanted to focus on my energy on desserts for the time being. Samara seemed disappointed when I told her, but I attempted to assure her that this was what I wanted. Truthfully, I didn’t need another enemy in this foreign land.

I spent all week perfecting my prickly pear lemon pie. By the time the day of the competition rolled around, I thought it was pretty close to perfect. My fellow kitchen workers were all too happy to try all my attempts. One of the sous chefs complained that she wasn’t going to fit into her uniform at the rate I was baking.

Work distracted me. It kept me focused on a goal, instead of freaking out about Felix or how I was going to give his stone back.

My big breakthrough was in the preparation of the pie: although delicious on its own, what really elevated it to the next level was the zest of a prickly pear shaved on top of each slice as it was served. It added the extra pizzazz Samara was always looking for, while locking in a nice citrus flavor for the rest of the dish. It was one of my better ideas from the week of work.

On the day of the competition, I awoke early. I’d barely slept, the anxiety of the day keeping me awake. I put on my mask and the stone necklace and made my way to the bus that was to take us to the castle.

Fresonia was known for its royal castle. It looked like something out of a fairy tale–glittering spires, soaring turrets, a blue stone roof. At any moment it seemed like a dragon could be seen flying around those tallest towers.

Samara was jittery, although trying to hide it. My own hands were shaking with nerves, but I tried to keep my breathing as steady as possible. My only responsibility was the pie. Samara had decided every chef in her kitchen would individually serve a slice and present the zest for each guest, so that was really the only thing that I needed to be presentable for.

Still, my heart was pounding.

The royal kitchens were enormous. I wasn’t exaggerating when I thought my entire hometown in America could probably fit into the space. They had twenty ovens and a walk-in freezer larger than Samara’s entire restaurant.

I set up shop on one end of the kitchen, gently placing the prickly pears on a cart, along with some lemons and limes. The unfinished pies were all laid out in front of me, and I was recounting the amount we had every two minutes.

Fiona came over and watched me count again. She sighed.

“Look, if you want to use the bathroom and take a second for yourself, I can watch the pies,” she said.

I looked at her. This was an unusual gesture of friendship from Fiona–but I felt as though I needed to take her up on it, prove that I belonged there. I smiled and thanked her before scurrying off to the bathroom for a brief moment alone.

By the time I made it back to my little station, there were already dishes coming back from the first few rounds of tasting. I was proud to see that all the dishes from Samara’s had been practically licked clean. From the little thumbs-up she gave me from her station near the door, I knew things were going well.

Something like hope swelled in my chest. I was part of something bigger than myself–and it felt good.

Course after course went out into the main royal dining hall. After the post-dinner cappuccinos were sent out, Samara approached me.

“It’s time for the pies, Miya,” she said, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “You have the prickly pears?”

“Of course!” I told her, bending down to my little fruit basket under the cart.

When I saw there were no prickly pears, my heart stopped.

“I, uh, I–” I scrambled, looking all over the surrounding area. There were no signs of the prickly pears.

“Miya?” Samara frowned, looking at me in uncertainty. “Is something wrong?” From behind her, a voice rang out.

“Don’t tell us you forgot your precious ingredients,” Fiona taunted. “You know how important this day is to Samara and the whole team. Did you ruin it on purpose, Miya?”

She spat my name as if it was venom.

I raised my eyes to meet hers. She smirked at me and gave me a teasing wave. At that moment, the truth hit me.

Fiona had taken the prickly pears.

I had something prepared, but it wouldn’t be enough.

Samara was still staring at me quizzically. I was terrified of disappointing her, but it seemed I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

I had to think of an alternative. Anything at all.

My eyes quickly scanned through the entire kitchen and landed on something laying out on a countertop..

It was the only way to go now.

“Can you gather the chefs?” I asked, as calmly as I could.