Chapter 99 - 98: Kitchen Quaters.

Chapter 99: Chapter 98: Kitchen Quaters.

Tonight, the kitchens are a madhouse.

He’s never seen so many servants in the same place.

Whatever’s going on in the rest of the castle, it looks like it’s all hands on deck down here.

Buckets of soapy water are traipsing in every which direction, servants stacked high with dirty dishes trundling along after them.

All the stoves seem to have something new and delicious simmering over them, each with its own team of servants to watch over it.

There are even kids who can’t be any more than teenagers sitting around buckets peeling away at potatoes and carrots like their lives depend on it.

He’s already eaten, but he figures this must be how it gets down here, when the castle needs to eat.

It’s somewhat unbelievable that they aren’t all tripping over each other.

Khobi feels oddly out of place; a whole head and shoulders above most of the room, parting the flow like a boulder in a river.

It’s like the servants don’t even see him. They just move around him like he’s some kind of giant, invisible pillar.

Which is impressive and all, but it’s hard to grab the attention of someone who is pretending not to see you.

"Binny?" he finally says, when he manages to hook a servant by the elbow, as non-threateningly as he can.

Obviously not non-threateningly enough, gauging by the servant’s expression. In the seconds that the servant tries to recover from being accosted, he remembers belatedly that he left Binny back at his room, and amends, "...The sister."

The servant looks a little alarmed at him asking for the girl specifically—he wished they wouldn’t think such things of him—but points towards one of the hearths deeper in the kitchen.

There’s a trio of servants working away there at something that looks like a soup, judging by the ingredients they’re tossing around.

"Thanks," Khobi says shortly, and pats the servant on the shoulder apologetically. "Sorry."

"Of course, my—of course," the servant bows, dropping the lord when he realises who’s addressed him, and vanishes off into the tide in the blink of an eye.

For some reason, Khobi feels like he’s moving against a current as he presses deeper into the kitchens in the direction of Binny’s sister.

"Hi," he says, when he finally manages to reach the hearth she’s toiling at, and the servant nearly drops her entire plate into the broth.

He catches it for her without even flinching and she mumbles her thanks as she spies who’s come to visit.

"If you’ve come for sandwiches, I can’t help you, I’m afraid," she says, not looking up from her work. She sounds stressed.

"That’s fine," Khobi replies simply, because he’s not here for sandwiches. "I can make something myself."

A couple of the servants actually stop what they’re doing and stare at him.

"What?" he huffs defensively, and they immediately drop their gazes again. Binny’s sister and her team keep staring.

"Um, are you sure?" she asks disbelievingly, and then looks alarmed that she’s questioned him so openly. "Forgive me. Of course you’re sure."

"Ugh, please, don’t," Khobi complains, dragging a hand down his face, because she has her brother’s bad habit of sounding disingenuous.

"Look, can I use some ingredients, or what?"

"Help yourself," she says after a moment, the you’re the lord unspoken but somehow endlessly loud. "What do you need?"

Khobi takes a moment to rack his brain for answers. For something that he feels like making, and that he still remembers the recipe for.

In the end, he settles on a snack the cooks in Seirin had taught him how to make to keep him out of trouble and out of their larders during winter.

He finds himself a corner where he’s as out of the way as possible and gets to work.

After a while, the servants stop ignoring him. If anything, it’s like they can’t.

He gets it. He’s a big-ass soldier—and one with a... reputation—so who wouldn’t be surprised to find a guy like him kneading dough in a kitchen like he’s been doing it his whole life?

By the time his food is baking, he has himself a bit of an audience.

"What are you making, Khobi-san?" one of the servants ventures. He doesn’t bother chewing him out about the honorific. It’s better than the alternative.

"Uh," Khobi replies eloquently, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a corner of his tatty shirt.

With all the hearths stoked and chipper, it’s gotten really hot in here. "Bread." Which is partly true, but the servants are now all staring at the almost-empty bowl that he’d been using to mix his meat and spices in so he tries again.

"Curried-meat-bread?"

He doesn’t think it ever really had a name. His favourite cook had invented it when a tiny Khobi had said that his bread was really yummy, but it needed meat.

Not like a sandwich, though, his child self had specified, quite clearly, and had gotten himself smacked on the head with a wooden ladle for being cheeky and ungrateful.

A few days later, this was what the cook had served up at dinner, and told his king that he had a real handful of a nephew.

Khnoji had laughed, and liked the bread.

"It won’t be done for a while," he explains, scrubbing the back of his neck awkwardly when the servants continue to stare at him expectantly.

A couple of them sniff the air and mutter amongst themselves, nodding approvingly as the sweet aroma of spiced meat begins to develop on the air.

"Now, now, let the man be," a familiar voice chirps, and his little gathering of servants immediately scatter like they’ve just come to their senses.

A couple fling glances back in his direction like they’re disappointed they didn’t get to see the finished product.

"Mmm, Khobi," Binny remarks conversationally from across the table, plonking himself on a stool and inspecting Khobi’s handiwork with curiosity, "Something smells good."

"Thanks," Khobi deadpans, as he automatically starts clearing up the mess he’s made.

There’s a washbucket nearby so he makes a beeline for that, dishes stacked precariously high. Binny watches him go, shaking his head with obvious incredulity.

"What are you doing?" he asks flatly, and Khobi frowns as he tips his plates into the bucket and starts rinsing them clean.

"Washing up," he replies easily, "My cook used to get mad and hit me if I didn’t clean up after myself."

"I like the sound of this place," Binny remarks with a small chuckle, "But that’s not what I meant. What are you doing here? Do you get snacky after foreplay, or something?"

Khobi throws a wet rag at him. Binny’s gracious enough to let it hit him, and doesn’t comment on the way his face colours.

"...I just...felt like cooking," he replies after a moment, which is true enough. His uncle’s cook had always said that cooking could be quite therapeutic.

Cleared the mind, gave it something to focus on. He was right. He feels better now.

Imagining the dough was Loac’s face had definitely helped.

"You’ve cooked before," Binny deadpans, somewhat disbelievingly.

"All the time, when I was a kid," he replies, taking no offense. Binny just laughs, but there’s no malice to it.

"You’re really full of surprises, aren’t you?" he chuckles sleepily, chin resting thoughtfully in the palm of one hand.

Khobi doesn’t know what to say to that so says nothing.

...

Binny doesn’t even realise he’s fallen asleep until something clatters down on the table right beside his face and wakes him.

"I’m awake," he declares, automatically, and breathes in the smell of something delicious.

"Right," Khobi deadpans, from where he’s sitting across the table. There’s a plate in front of him, stacked high with what looks like a tower of bread rolls.

"Your stomach was rumbling," he explains, and nods meaningfully to the full plate that he’s set down next to Binny.

"Was not," he defends, straightening up on his seat and swallowing away a mouthful of saliva as his mouth starts to water.

"How would you know?" Khobi shoots back, chomping down heavily into some of his bread and humming approvingly to himself, "You were asleep."

For once, Binny decides not to argue. He’s right, after all.

"Eat."

"If you’re trying to get rid of me, this is a pretty unclassy way of doing it," Binny points out, snatching up one of the bread buns and eyeing it nervously.

If it’s poisoned, it certainly doesn’t smell that way. Might be an alright way to go if it tastes as well as it smells.

Khobi just rolls his eyes at his show of concern, and swallows his mouthful.

"Just try it."

Apprehensive, Binny obeys.

And takes it back immediately.

"This is so good!" he exclaims, and takes another bite before he’s even finished his mouthful.

Is that beef baked in the middle? Pork?

He doesn’t even care. It’s sweet and rich, and tastes delicious.

"Don’t sound so surprised," Khobi grumbles, mouth full, though his cheeks redden at the praise.

The blush is so at odds with the solemn ruffian Binny’s so used to that he can’t help but laugh.

Then he helps himself to another.

Khobi looks pleased.

Binny lets him eat in peace for a long moment, before broaching the reason Khobi’s spent the last couple of hours tucked away in the corner of the kitchens beating an innocent batch of dough to a pulp.

"So what was all that," Binny inquires conversationally, and gestures vaguely with a piece of bread when Khobi looks confused. "...Before."

"What?" he asks, like he’s not sure what Binny’s talking about.

"Khobi," he says flatly, "You smashed down a door."

"—Hey, Loac smashed down a door," Khobi immediately shoots back hotly, jabbing a finger at him across the table.

Binny just licks some sauce off his fingers and raises an eyebrow.

"And you’re completely innocent?" he deadpans, and notices the way Khobi’s jaw clenches, "You had nothing to do with it."

"I didn’t say that," he complains, brow furrowing sulkily as he grumbles, like a kid, "He started it."

Though Binny doesn’t doubt that, he’s not exactly sure how this all culminates in his prince smashing a door clean off its hinges.

Khobi probably wouldn’t believe it, but the guy’s reputation is predominantly based on fornication, not violence.

"Khobi."

"He did," Khobi defends crossly, "He told me to punch him."

Binny gawks at him.

"And you actually did it??" he squawks in as much of a hiss as he can. Because if that’s not just asking for trouble, he doesn’t know what is.

"Hey, how is this my fault??" he growls hotly.

"Uh, you punched the prince. Again," Binny explains, rolling his eyes to the heavens melodramatically, just so Khobi understands what an idiotic thing he’s done.

Although he seems to understand. And is wholeheartedly unrepentant.

"He punched me back," Khobi mutters flatly, as though that makes a difference.

"Oh, that makes it better," Binny splutters. "I’m sure the king will definitely take that into account before he throws you in a dungeon for assaulting his nephew."

"No one seemed to care last time..." he grumbles, sullenly chomping through his tower of bread.

It’s about half gone already, which is amazing in itself.

Khobi can really put food away. He has a point, but it’s not exactly true. Not many people cared that their prince had gotten hit.

They pretended to, because they were meant to, but in reality, they just cared who it was that had hit him.

"Anyways, if Gurdet—"

"His Majesty," Binny corrects, since there are other servants around.

"—If Gurdet’s gonna throw me in a cell for anything, it’ll probably be for sleeping at the training grounds," Khobi mutters moodily.

"You’ve been sleeping at the training grounds?" Binny remarks with a raised eyebrow, wondering why he hadn’t heard anything of the sort and how Khobi had managed to get away with that.

"No, but I might as well," he snorts flatly, "...There’s no way I’m going back to that room tonight."

Fair enough. The place had been a right wreck. Loac’s room usually is, but rarely on such a scale.

Even so, there’s no reason for him to go getting himself into even more trouble than he might already be in.

Binny’s sure he’s going to regret it, but the words are out of his mouth before he thinks to stop them.

"...Hey, don’t worry about it...You can stay at my place tonight."