Chapter 14
The kitchen is bustling by the time I get there, and I feel a little guilty for not going to the tasting meeting yesterday, even if there was no actual way that I could have been functional and dealing with people, especially not in a situation where I was supposed to be giving feedback.
Chef Martina spots me and hurries over, dipping into a bow. "Your Highness."
"Thank you for putting on an extra tasting for me," I say.
She nods. "I know that it's important for you to know how things are going, and Chef Matthews offered to take you through all of the dishes."
My heart skips a beat even at the mention of Nate's name.
"Normally, I wouldn't be comfortable letting a foreign chef deal with this kind of thing, but I think we can make an exception," she says with a smile that could mean anything.
Including that she also thinks I'm in love with Nate.
I push the thought aside, even though that's difficult to do when there's nothing I've been able to think about since Veronica asked the question yesterday.
"I appreciate it all the same," I say. "And Chef Matthews would never do anything to endanger the banquet."
Chef Martina nods. "On that, we agree. I believe he's waiting for you in your kitchen."
"Thank you. I look forward to trying all of the food."
Her smile gets bigger, which I have to assume means that she's happy with what I'm saying. We part ways, and I make my way into the other kitchen, stopping when I see Nate there waiting for me.
Even though I don't mean to, I study him, unable to avoid thinking about the questions Veronica asked me yesterday. He is handsome, there's no doubt about that. He's tall, with dark brown hair, and a broad frame that comes from working in the kitchen so much.
He looks up, noticing me staring at him. "Like what you see?" he jokes.
A blush rushes to my cheeks at being caught. "I like looking at you," I murmur.
He grins. "You'll like looking at what I've got for you to try more," he says, gesturing to the oven.
Except that I realise that isn't true. I love baking. I love being able to look at food and seeing how it fits into a banquet, but none of that compares to how much I want to spend time with him.
"Evie?" he checks when I don't move. "Are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine," I say quickly.
"If this is too much, I can rearrange for another day."
I shake my head. "We don't have long until the banquet, and that wouldn't be fair to everyone else."
"Fair enough. I have tastings of every course except for dessert from my father."
"Why not?" I ask curiously.
"I'm not sure, but he didn't seem particularly impressed when I made the request from him, even when I said Chef Martina had agreed to today's tasting."
"Maybe he still doesn't approve of me being in the kitchen at all," I say.
"Then he's a fool," Nate says. "Anyone who has spent five minutes in the kitchen with you can see how much you care, and how much useful input you can have into menus. I'm assuming your parents must have thought so too, considering your current job."
I nod. "Father suggested it when he wanted to give us all jobs that meant helping with the running of the kingdom. I think he was worried that taking me out of the kitchen would mean I'd end up insulting the wrong person."
"You don't give yourself nearly enough credit," Nate responds. "But your talents do lie here." He heads to the oven and opens the door, pulling out a tray.
He brings it over to the table and sets it down before removing the lid. A savoury smell fills the air, and my mouth waters at the sight. I don't love this type of cooking the same as I love baking, but I can still appreciate good food.
"There's a sauce to go with this too," he says. "But I told them not to put it on so you could have it on the side."
"I appreciate it."
"I know how you feel about that kind of thing," he responds. "You're the only person I know who will have a bowl of custard at the side of your pie instead of poured over it."
"I like having the custard, I just don't want it touching the pastry. Unless it's a custard tart, then it's acceptable."
"I know," he assures me. "This is the lemon-stuffed chicken Chef Martina made at your suggestion." He holds out a fork to me.
I reach out to take it, my fingers brushing against his as I do.
Nate takes in a sharp breath, and I look up to meet his gaze.
"Are you all right?"
"Fine," he murmurs. "There's a lemon-beurre sauce to go with it." He pushes the jug towards me.
I nod and put a little bit of the chicken on my plate, along with a roasted carrot.
The portion is small, but I imagine that's because there's a lot to try.
I take a bite of the chicken, letting the flavours melt in my mouth.
The lemon is subtle, but I do like the way it complements the meat.
I try it with a little bit of the sauce, and am unsurprised that it also goes well.
Chef Martina has an excellent palette, it's one of the reasons she's held her position as the castle's head chef for as long as she has.
"Any notes?" Nate asks.
I shake my head. "I don't think so."
"All right, then we should move on to the next one..." He produces several more dishes, but I have to admit that I barely manage to pay much attention to any of them. I'm too busy watching him and trying to work out if the way I feel is friendship or more.
"Veronica," I mutter under my breath.
Nate gives me a confused look. "What did she do?"
I clear my throat. "Nothing."
He laughs. "And here was me thinking she gave you a talking to when I left yesterday."
I sigh. "She did. She told me to think about how it looks. But I told her it was nothing." That's not where the conversation ended, but I don't think I can tell him that, at least not yet.
A strange expression crosses Nate's face, one that I want to chase away, even if I don't really know what's causing it or why I want to change it.
"She really liked your chocolates," I say, even though it's not really what I want to tell him about the conversation with Veronica.
He's my best friend, and I want to talk to him about the possibility that I might be in love, but it seems strange to talk about it when he's the one Veronica thinks I might be in love with, and I don't want to make things tense between us when we only have a short amount of time together.
"I'm glad she liked them," he says. "Though I have another recipe that she might like better if she still likes raspberries."
"As far as I know," I respond, a weird feeling settling within me as I think about him making chocolates specifically for my sister, even if I know that it means nothing.
"I can try it out for her before I leave," he says. "It's nice to be able to bake for people whose tastes I know again."
"Does Prince Willem's household not tell you what they like?" I ask as I stab a piece of duck with my fork and taste it. I pull a face without meaning to.
Nate laughs. "Not your thing?"
"It's not Chef Stephens' fault," I respond. "It's the sauce, I don't like the way it feels on my tongue."
"I should have known."
"It's fine," I assure him. "I don't have to personally like everything that we serve. I think Father will like this dish."
"Pleasing the King is probably high up the list of things we should be doing," he muses.
"Yes, probably."
"Well, you'll be glad to know that's the savoury food tasted."
"Does that mean I get to try what you've made for the banquet?"
"It does." He clears away the duck dish and places another covered plate in front of me.
He pulls off the lid and reveals what looks like a cake with nuts around the outside, and fruit and rosettes of whipped cream on the top, artfully laid out in the way only a master baker like Nate would be able to pull off.
Admiration for him flows through me. "It's beautiful," I whisper.
"It's meant to be," he says.
"What is it?"
"Slagroomtaart," he says.
"That's a funny name."
He laughs. "It just means whipped cream cake."
"I thought you said it was a tart?"
"Taart," he corrects, lengthening the a as he does. "It's the word they use for cake in Wafeland."
"Why would they call a cake a tart? That's just confusing?"
He laughs. "That's just what they call it."
"What do they call actual tarts?"
"Depends on the tart," he responds. "Apple tart is appeltaart."
"Well, that's just confusing," I respond with a hint of exasperation.
His laughter makes me laugh too.
"Never change, Evie," he says.
Footsteps sound at the entrance to the kitchen, and I look up to find Nate's father in the doorway, killing the amusement that had been hanging between us. Nate straightens up, seeming a lot more uncomfortable than when it's just the two of us.
"Chef Matthews," I say with a polite nod. I hope he didn't hear Nate calling me Evie. He's said before that his father doesn't like it, even if I have no idea why.
"Your Highness," he responds, an unreadable expression on his face. It becomes even more so when his gaze drifts to his son. "I brought the cheesecake."
"Thank you," Nate responds. "Princess Evelyn is trying the food we're planning on serving for the banquet and giving feedback."
"Hmm." His father enters the room and sets the plate down on the table with a little more force than is strictly necessary.
"Thank you for bringing this," I say, trying to ease some of the tension, especially when I have no idea what's causing it.
"I will always do what is requested of me by the royal family, Your Highness," Chef Matthews responds.
I look at Nate, a little confused about what his father is actually saying. I get the impression it goes beyond what he's said, but I can't tell more than that.
Nate gives me a reassuring smile, but it doesn't really work.
"Nathaniel, a word," his father says.
Nate nods and steps to the side of the kitchen with his father. The two of them exchange a few terse words, though I can't work out what any of them are.
Eventually, Chef Matthews leaves and Nate returns.
"What was that about?"
"My father was reminding me that you're a princess and I'm leaving," he says bitterly.
I reach out and place a hand on his arm. "You're not leaving yet."
"I know."
"And I don't know why he thinks that you need reminding of that." It's never far from my mind.
"He thinks we're too familiar. He's told me as much several times since I've been back." He looks in the direction his father has disappeared. "It's nothing to worry about."
"If you're sure..."
"Let's do what we're here for," he says, pushing the slagroomtaart towards me.
I dig my fork into it and take a bite, letting out a hum of satisfaction as the sweetness of the cream, along with the freshness from the fruit and the impossibly light cake, hits my tongue. "That's really good."
"Thank you."
"Is there apricot in it?"
"Good catch," he says. "There's a purée made of dried apricots."
"It's good. I don't know how the cheesecake is going to match it."
Nate chuckles. "I'm sure the cheesecake will be good too."
"True. But your father relies on cheesecake a lot," I respond. "I know he makes a good one, but it's not special."
"I'm not giving him that note," Nate says.
"I don't expect you to." Of all the people who work in the kitchen, Chef Matthews is the least likely to listen to any of my opinions.
I'm not sure what I did to offend Nate's father, but it's certainly something.
It's not even that I think his desserts are bad, they always taste good, and he has the precision to pull them off, there's just very little originality in them.
"I'm relieved," Nate admits.
I reach out and touch his hand. "I don't want to ever make you uncomfortable."
"You don't," he promises, meeting my gaze as he does.
I find myself lost in his eyes, which is something I can safely say has never happened with anyone else.
I'm starting to think that Veronica might be right.