Chapter 239 - 237: Bad Cook.

Chapter 239: Chapter 237: Bad Cook.

It takes longer than he’d expected, but eventually he’s happy enough with his efforts and lets out a heavy sigh of relief as he sets it aside for later.

He’s still not completely sure it’s come out right, but it feels close enough for a first time and the filling’s the most important part anyways.

He wipes a thick streak of sweat off his chin with the edge of his collar, and is particularly grateful for the cold tankard of water that finds its way to him as he starts sorting out his vegetables.

It’s hot work, and all this while Loac’s just been lolling casually across the bench from him, putting away a mug of ale while he’s hard at work.

​It’s mildly infuriating, to say the least.

​"...Are you gonna just sit there, or are you gonna help?" Khobi eventually demands, irritation finally getting the better of him.

Loac just raises his drink and gives him a wry look.

​"I’m good just sittin’ here."

​"Then none for you," Khobi deadpans, slamming a cabbage clean in half. A couple of the servants jump but Loac just glares at him.

​"That’s not the deal," he states flatly, which is rich since Khobi doesn’t remember there being a deal being struck to begin with.

​"You didn’t win shit today," Khobi reminds him darkly, brandishing his kitchen knife across the bench, "So either start cutting some vegetables, or get lost."

​"I don’t like vegetables."

​Khobi thinks that considering the situation he’s being more than reasonable, but his patience has its limits and Loac is clearly trying to test them.

​"Do you want some or not?"

​For a second there it looks like Loac’s going to just get up and storm out in a sulk.

But clearly Khobi’s threat seems genuine enough or he just really wants in on whatever it is that Khobi’s making because after a beat he leans over and snatches the knife out of Khobi’s hand even though there were plenty of other knives sitting well within reach.

It’s super petty, but the effortless, almost provocative way he dances the knife between two fingers as he draws back is so mesmerising that Khobi lets it slide, just this once.

​Skill with a blade aside, it becomes almost immediately evident that Loac has never cut a vegetable in his life.

He cuts himself trying to chop a carrot.

​Twice.

​Khobi’s not sure whether to be amused or embarrassed for him.

​"How can someone be as good with a sword as you and not be able cut a vegetable?" he complains as he carves his way through the pile of vegetables in front of him, briefly wondering if maybe it would’ve just been faster to do it all himself then forcibly reminding himself that it’s the principle of the thing.

​"It’s different," Loac shoots back sulkily, sucking on his cut thumb.

​"How is it different?" Khobi grinds out as Loac glares down at the knife in his hand like it’s betrayed him.

And in a way, maybe it has. "You’re actually hopeless, aren’t you?"

​For some reason he regrets the words the second they leave his mouth.

Maybe because of the way Loac’s expression tightens and the way his glare drops away from Khobi’s face.

​Ah, shit . That wasn’t fair of him. Khobi’s figured by now that the Scargga he had grown up in was a place where the rules of what a prince could and couldn’t do and did and didn’t do were a lot looser than the ones here.

It’s really not so strange that Loac’s never cooked a meal in his life. Why would anyone have shown him?

​If anything, it’s stranger that Khobi has.

​And he’s trying, isn’t he?

​That’s gotta count for something.

​Khobi takes a deep breath and tries again.

​" Look ," he says, tone firm but even as he grabs one of the carrots Loac has been wrestling with and losing to and demonstrates how he needs it cut, "Try like this –"

It takes a couple more tries but eventually he gets the hang of it.

Not enough that he’s quick or particularly neat, but enough that he doesn’t cut himself again, and Khobi decides to call that a win.

And once he’s no longer a liability, things actually go pretty smoothly.

There’s not enough space for two men of their size to comfortably work on the same side of the bench so they work opposite one another in a not unpleasant kind of silence; their respective vegetables meeting in a pot in the middle.

And for all his good intentions of pretending Loac isn’t there, Khobi can’t help but glance across at him every now and then, and each time he finds him with his head down and expression overly furrowed as he laboriously chops his way through his pile of vegetables; clearly annoyed that he can’t do it quite as fast or as neatly as Khobi.

​(Khobi tells himself it’s just to make sure he’s doing it right, and has nothing to do with the face he’s making.)

​It seems like this part takes even longer, but once the vegetables are sliced and the ones that need to be softened are softened there’s really not much left to the filling.

Khobi’s worked with these ingredients enough by now that it doesn’t take him too long to whip up a tasty smelling filling with the meats and vegetables he’s picked out, and once the dough reemerges the servants who have been sent over on reconnaissance prick up, eager to uncover his newest secrets.

​It’s a similar process to the breads he makes; he still cuts and flattens the dough and presses the filling into the centre and finishes it with the same little twist, but the outside this time –if he’s done it right –should be lighter and silkier than bread, and almost translucent when cooked.

​The first few he presents to the servants look approximately the size and shape he was hoping they’d be.

He can’t quite remember if they tasted better fried in a pan or steamed over water, and decides to hedge his bets by doing some of each.