Chapter 18
Evangeline
Not a lot.
That’s what they have—or rather, don’t have.
The small kitchen in the infirmary, about half a mile from the castle, is half the size of the kitchen back in the palace.
Niko and Zephyr, both with broad shoulders and bulky, firm muscles, take up much of the room, making it a tight squeeze to move around.
They make great eye candy, though, so I really can’t complain.
The ingredients at my disposal leave much to be desired, but they all seem fresh enough.
I’m also surprised by the number of spices they have, which is fairly decent, but I also have a case of my own back in the room.
Always knew there would be a moment when I needed them, and I find myself needing them quite often.
“I just need to go and get my spices and pots from the main house. I’ll be—” I start to say but am promptly interrupted by Zephyr.
“I’ll get them.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond.
Zephyr walks out without asking where my cooking materials are.
The spices are tucked away in my luggage—along with my bra and panties.
Heat rushes to my face, burning my cheeks red at the thought of Zephyr searching through my things.
My body can’t tell if I should be embarrassed or excited by the prospect.
“How can we help, Evangeline?” Niko’s warm voice reminds me my betrothed is still here, and now my body heats for a completely different reason.
“I’m going to help by tasting,” Finnick says. I take a moment to find where he’s hiding, but then I see the delicate flutter of his wings from the corner of my eyes. He’s perched on a large vase of dying flowers, kicking around the soil.
“I haven’t had a sous chef in a while. You boys are spoiling me.”
A wicked smile sharpens Niko’s features. “Future queens who come to save my people get spoiled. Put us to work.”
And just like that, I’m definitely not thinking about cooking anymore.
Focus, Evangeline!
I scan the kitchen, mentally flipping through my internal recipe cards.
There are a few vegetables, beans, and, of course, berries.
Pea soup comes to mind—simple and hearty but not exactly thrilling.
Cheddar broccoli might work, but a quick glance confirms there’s no cheese in sight.
My gaze lands on the black beans. Perfect.
Black bean soup it is—rich in protein, which should be especially beneficial for the cursed fae.
“I need you to cut up vegetables,” I tell him and pick out tomatoes, onions, and the only pepper I could find. Niko and Zephyr look at the vegetables like I’ve asked them to perform an operation. “On second thought, how about you just hand me things when I ask for them?”
They nod, seeming to like that idea better. Spoiled kings, I think fondly.
Despite the unfamiliar kitchen, my movements are fluid and confident, like I’ve cooked here a hundred times before. This is where I thrive: hands busy, spices scattered around me, testing new flavor combinations to elevate each dish.
It doesn’t take long for the room to smell of garlic and cumin, and my stomach growls with anticipation.
The soup doesn’t take long to make, but by the time I finish, I step back…
only to run into two firm chests. Niko and Zephyr stand like watchmen behind me.
I didn’t even hear them approach, far too consumed with cooking.
The kitchen felt small before, but now it feels as if the walls are closing in around me.
“Uhm, it’s done,” I say awkwardly.
“My assistance is needed now! Move—” Finnick flies between Niko and Zephyr’s heads, holding something small in his hands. At first, I think it’s a thimble, which would be an odd thing to bring to the kitchen, but when I look closer, I notice he’s actually holding a tiny bowl.
Finnick wastes no time serving himself. It’s a drop of food but fills up his small bowl completely.
Finnick takes his first sip, letting the flavors explode on his tongue.
There’s a slight pause before he springs into the air.
“Eva, I will never eat another berry for as long as I live. This tastes like how flying feels.”
I don’t know what that means, but I grin because it sounds like a compliment. “So, you like it?”
“I would sell Niko to the demon king to eat your cooking for the rest of my life.”
Next to me, Niko rolls his eyes, attempting to hide his smirk. “Nice to hear your loyalty, Brother. Save some for the people who actually need it, though.”
“Oh, I made enough for you both to have some too. There’s plenty,” I assure.
“That’s kind of you, Evangeline. Zephyr and I will wait until all the cursed fae have eaten. You’ve already graciously fed us this morning. We’re fine for now.”
“Not me,” Finnick interrupts and dives back to the pot for another helping. His cackle of triumph makes me giggle as he quickly flies away with his bowl. He doesn’t take a lot, so I’m not worried the food will run out. The thimble-like bowl he uses is enough for a tiny sip.
“We’d better get started before Finnick comes back with friends and steals dinner,” Zephyr says with a smirk, his tone light but laced with just enough seriousness to make me wonder—has Finnick actually done that before? I wouldn’t put it past him.
Niko and Zephyr move in perfect sync, effortlessly gathering bowls, silverware, and wooden trays as if they’ve done this a hundred times. Niko glances up, catching my eye, and flashes me a playful wink. “Ready, Chef?”
My cheeks warm instantly, the blush lingering as we work side by side, assembling everyone’s dinner.
We split up to deliver dinners, though it takes Zephyr nearly dragging Niko away to agree.
I’m given the west wing of the infirmary.
Most of the rooms I slip silently into have family standing over their sick loved one.
So many memories threaten to resurface. Memories of being in the same position, not once, but twice.
I swore I would never set foot into a hospital again once my parents passed, and yet here I am.
But I feel good about the reason I’m here.
Food is healing. Not only for the body, but the soul as well.
Most families stare at me as I put the tray of food down on a small table.
Some offer smiles, while others stare at me curiously, probably wondering who I am.
Did Niko and Zephyr tell anyone of my arrival?
Surely, they must have, but I make a mental note to ask them about it later.
By the time I reach the final room, my feet ache with every step, sore from a long day spent cooking and delivering meals.
A yawn rises in my throat, barely held back as I picture the soft, inviting bed waiting for me at the castle.
The thought of sinking into a long, warm bath doesn’t sound bad either—actually, it sounds perfect.
Unlike the other doors, this one is closed.
I knock gently, listening for noise on the other side.
Nothing. So, I try again. Again, nothing.
Maybe they are asleep. Or the room is empty, but Zephyr said every room down this hall was full.
I contemplate heading back, saving the meal for later, but considering I don’t know when the next meal delivery will be, I decide it’s best to leave it on the table.
I slowly turn the knob and ease the door open.
It swings silently on its hinges. The room is cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by a small cluster of flickering candles placed on a table beside the bed.
Lying still beneath the covers is a sickly fae male.
His eyes are closed, his body motionless.
In the soft candlelight, the black tendrils of the curse are stark against his pale skin, curling like ink beneath the surface. The veins snaking across his body are far more extensive than what I’ve seen on the others—eerily similar to the afflicted man I encountered in the forest.
He’s also alone.
My heart breaks for him. No one should be alone.
I step deeper into the room, drawn toward the only chair nestled beside the bed. It’s an old wooden piece, worn smooth with use. I ease down onto it, careful and slow, but the wood still lets out a loud creak that cuts through the thick silence like a crack of thunder.
A sharp gasp breaks the stillness. The man on the bed jolts awake, his eyes flying open as if awakening from a bad dream.
His pupils are wide, almost swallowing the color of his irises, and raw fear flickers in their depths.
Pain shadows his expression as his chest rises and falls in uneven, ragged breaths.
His cracked, dry lips part. He tries to speak, but the sounds are broken—barely more than a whisper of breath and syllables I can’t quite make out. I lean in, angling my body toward him, straining to hear. All that comes out of his mouth are groans of pain.
“My name is Evangeline. I’m…a friend.” For lack of a better word, I settle on that. “Future queen” seems intense. Like it’s someone else’s reality and not mine.
The fae’s dark eyes linger on me. He opens his mouth again, but all that comes out is a dry cough. His entire body trembles, as if unable to handle so much movement. It takes a moment for him to compose himself. His already pale complexion turns ashen.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to speak. I brought food. Are you hungry?”
Once again, he stares at me—wary and uncertain.
To him, I’m just a strange woman, someone he’s never met, suddenly offering him food.
But when I mention it, I catch the subtle shift in his expression: the brief flicker of interest, the slightest softening in his eyes.
Then, almost too faint to notice, he gives a small nod. But I see it.
“It’s soup. Nothing fancy, but it’s warm and full of nutrients.” I smile, grabbing the bowl from the tray.