Inaya brought out the last of the steaming trays beside the kitchen servants. Golden platters of roast didrilla with a honey glaze, served over sorghum that was seasoned to perfection. Small plates of sliced fruit, sweet meats, vegetables, and dipping sauces surrounded the didrilla, and one bottle of a vintage wine Inaya had saved for just the occasion waited in a nearby decanter.
Everything had to be perfect. Not a garnish out of place. Not a drop of wine spilled on the freshly pressed tablecloth.
King Magni appeared in the entrance of the dining hall, his black satins trimmed in gold like the delicate frosting on a cake. Inaya’s heart sped as she pulled the heavy chair from the table, bowed, and held it as she waited for him to take his seat.
Four of his Ejderha followed behind him, taking their positions in each corner of the room. Once Magni was seated, Inaya fetched the decanter as Fajr entered from the kitchens and took her place two chairs to Magni’s left. Inaya filled Magni’s goblet, then poured two fingers of wine into Fajr’s cup before setting to work, cutting and serving each dish in small portions to Fajr.
Fajr sipped the wine and brought the food to her mouth with a shaking hand. Inaya did not envy her position. Not because she would dare poison the king’s food, but Naeemah had given them a reason to be wary.
“The food is safe, my king,” Fajr said once she’d tested each one.
Magni nodded, then looked at Inaya. “Why are you still here?”
Inaya smoothed her hands over her skirts and bowed again. She’d worn her best silks, crafted her best meals, and opened her best wine. She took a deep breath and let the request fall from her lips. “I would be honored, my king, if you would grant me a kitten.”
Fajr’s spoon clanged against her plate, drawing every ear and eye in the room. She cleared her throat and murmured a quick apology. Inaya yearned to throw her down the steps of the citadel.
Magni lifted his fork and shoveled a portion of sorghum on top. “Inaya, in the two years as the head of my kitchens”—he raised the fork and watched the grains fall between the prongs—“you have yet to make a meal that impresses me.”
The king’s words would have only hurt her worse if he’d thrust the fork into her heart. She straightened her back and struggled to find the words to say. She poured everything she’d ever learned from the kitchens of Nyarlothep, San, and Ichi into her work. Her attention to detail and experimental recipes had earned praise from the fastidious maids of Shi Island. She’d cooked for Queen Melasia’s court by invitation twice.
“M-my king…” Inaya swallowed the building lump in her throat. “Is there a particular flavor you do not enjoy? A texture? Perhaps the drink pairing?”
Magni shook his head, and the gold chains adorning his horns caught the candlelight from the table. “All of that is fine. There just isn’t anything particularly…exciting.” He leaned an elbow on the table and let his chin rest in his palm. A wry smile turned the corner of his mouth, and he favored her with those haunting white eyes. “Craft something that excites me, Inaya. Then you may have what you wish.”
“It will be done, my king.” Inaya bowed one last time, trying to ignore Fajr’s pitying stare, then returned to her kitchens.
How low she’d fallen when the girl who tested for poison pitied her.
Inaya snatched the second, and only, bottle of the rare vintage she’d poured for the king and brought it to her room. There, she stripped away the wax, removed the cork, and let it sit on her desk while she dug her journals and stacks of notes from her bookcase. Years of scribbled-down recipes from peers and superiors. Many she’d tried, and many more she hadn’t. She brushed the dust from the covers and moved to her desk, where she stole a drink straight from the bottle.
Not impressive. Of all the cruel, ridiculous, detestible reasons he could have given her for denying her a kitten, this was the worst of them. He’d kicked the sand in her eyes and fashioned a cage around her heart. Her blood boiled over, and tears blurred her vision.
She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, took another drink, and looked through her recipes. There had to be something.
Unfamiliar dishes from each island popped out at her. She sorted them into tiny piles and procured a fresh sheet of paper and a pen. All of them would take ingredients grown outside of Ichi, but the king had never placed a budget on the kitchen’s stores. If she handed the list to a rider that evening, she could have at least some of the ingredients delivered within the next two weeks.
You will give me what I want, my king.
[Creme Br?lée]
There were two things that pushed Inaya away from making certain recipes every single time: sugar and excessive fire magic. Nyarlothep deserts were notorious for including both.
A chef in Ronona had given her the recipe for creme br?lée with the contingencies that, “It’s worth its weight in sugar” and “There’s a good chance you’ll burn it to hell.” But if either of these factors made it more ‘exciting,’ she was willing to try.
One full day was spent whisking, beating, and baking the small glass dishes of the creamy dessert. Then she left them overnight in their coldbox to stiffen. She’d made a double-batch just in case, which used half the bag of her freshly ordered sugar.
Saoirse’s tails, these use so much sugar.
Inaya took the bowls from the coldbox on the second day and stared at them. Fire magic wasn’t her affinity, which made things worse. A [Fire Ball] scroll was likely too hot for just the tops of her desserts, and [Enchant Fire] wouldn’t be hot enough.
That meant calling in Charu, her second in command. Charu was a great cook—followed directions, caught on quickly, and was a good stand-in whenever Inaya needed the evening off. But the girl had caught more meals on fire while trying to light their ovens than Inaya could count.
What choice do I have?
Charu’s fire Spells curdled the cream on all but two of the bowls. Those she did manage to toast the tops to a golden brown. Unfortunately, that meant Inaya wouldn’t be able to taste test them. One was for Fajr, the other for the king.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Did you use all the sugar in Nyarlea, Inaya?” King Magni laughed as he prodded the dessert with his spoon. Fajr snuck tiny bites of hers to her mouth each time she didn’t think he was looking. “The excitement here is wondering how much this cost me.”
Inaya tipped her head to the side. “Your verdict, my king?”
“Try again.”
[Su Filindeu]
An Anyona specialty passed down by one family line for ten generations. Inaya had stayed with them for weeks, learning to create the noodles and six accompanying sauces to match. She’d never made it for the king before due to the time commitment—it meant she had to schedule other cooks for his breakfast and mid-afternoon meals—but she was desperate.
From morning until dusk, Inaya stretched two hundred and fifty-six individual noodles over a rack to dry overnight. Then she started the sauce base from scratch so it could simmer until dinner the next evening. She couldn’t remember the last occasion that she’d spent so much time on one meal.
When she delivered the plate to the king, he smirked. “A simple noodle recipe? Are you regressing, Inaya?” Fajr silently motioned for seconds. “Try again.”
[Bouillabaisse]
The Ni Island classic called for fish specifically from Ni Island waters. They took three weeks to arrive.
“This aroma is too much.” King Magni wrinkled his nose and pushed the bowl forward. “Make me something else.”
Fajr took the bowl and disappeared into the kitchen, likely finishing it herself. Inaya tried not to scream.
[Nyotaimori]
Inaya’s hands shook as she carefully prepared the fresh fish, white rice, and vegetables.
Am I really so desperate?
Whether it was for the sake of her unborn daughter or proving to Magni that meals could be exciting, she could not say. The cooking master she’d studied under on San Island had given her this recipe, she thought, as a joke. “A man’s delight,” Master had called it.
The breeze from the open window in the kitchen swept through Inaya’s robe, and she shivered. She’d spent the morning scrubbing every inch of her skin, then soaking in the delicate oils described on the recipe sheet, and the wind brought the scents back to her nose.
The rolls were finished just as the sun began to set. She called for Charu and explained with a parched tongue exactly what she needed her to do.
“Are you certain?” Charu looked from the rolls to Inaya’s robe.
No. Inaya nodded.
“As you wish.”
Together they went to the dining hall, where Inaya stripped away her robe and climbed up on the table. She knelt, and Charu helped bind her thighs to her calves in gold silk rope, then did the same with her wrists behind her back. Inaya wanted to ensure that she wouldn’t twitch or move—to detract from the king’s experience could change his mind. She lay down and took a last, deep breath before Charu followed her placement instructions. The table was wide enough to put her waist at the center of the king’s chair, making it so he wouldn’t have to stretch to reach his meal.
Charu vanished into the kitchen just as King Magni entered the dining hall to find his cook lying naked on the table, covered in exceedingly rare sushi.
Inaya trained her eyes on the arched ceiling and counted to five as she breathed in and out; shallow whispers to give the impression that she was simply a display piece. Nothing more. Their gazes felt heavier on her bare skin than the richest silks, and one of the Ejderha hissed air through her teeth.
His silence was terrifying.
At last, King Magni’s voice commanded, “Leave us.” Four sets of feet departed as he marched to the chair and pulled it back himself. The squeak of the kitchen door opening signaled Fajr’s arrival. “I will not be needing you tonight, Fajr.”
“Yes, my king,” Fajr squeaked and was gone.
Magni sank into his chair, lifted his filled goblet, and traced the line of Inaya’s waist. “Now this”—he took a drink and plucked a roll from just above her hip bone—“is exciting.”
Inaya’s pounding heart made it difficult to keep her breathing even, but she continued counting. Continued staring upward. Forced her tail to be still near her thigh. I should have tied it down, too.
“You remain so still. How difficult that must be.” He took another piece near her navel, slid it between his lips, then traced the ropes around her thigh. “A woman who cages herself,” he mused.
She wanted to speak to him so badly. Is this enough? Have I done enough? His nails on her skin summoned goosebumps and moved her pulse to her ears.
One by one, he took away Inaya’s only coverings, revealing more circles of her tanned skin beneath the rice. She felt dizzy with nerves, excitement, and need. Each time his hand brushed her lower abdomen, she swallowed a moan.
“So few left, and yet I still hunger.” His voice dropped to a growl as he stood. He bent over her torso and took one of the last pieces from her breast into his mouth, letting his tongue linger and toy with her nipple.
Inaya’s breath hitched in her throat, and she closed her eyes. His mouth was searing against her cool skin, and as her fingers curled into her palms, she realized that her binds made her entirely vulnerable to his desires.
He withdrew from her chest and twined his fingers into her short white hair. “Look at me.”
Inaya opened her eyes to find him wearing that same, wry smile. But this time, his intense gaze was starved.
He lifted the last piece from her chest and savored it on his tongue while brushing his fingertips down the center of her body, tracing the curve of her stomach, circling her navel, then sinking between her legs. She could feel her moans burning her tongue and begging for release as one long finger slid inside of her.
“I trust that this is the dessert to follow my dinner?” A second finger joined the first.
She couldn’t fight him anymore. Her hips rolled into his hand, and she gasped. “Yes, my king.”
Magni released her hair and withdrew his fingers before grabbing Inaya’s thighs and positioning her knees over the edge of the table. Inaya’s toes curled as the ceiling above her spun clockwise, and she writhed inside her bonds. There was the sound of metal, then the rustle of fabric.
“Delicious and accessible.” He gripped the rope around her thighs and pulled her until her flank teetered on the edge. “Well done.”
A hard pressure met her center, and she gasped. “T-thank you, my king.”
Inaya’s moans turned to cries while he claimed her, inch by inch. Her back arched with his entry, and her wrists twisted and writhed against the ropes. Goddess above, this was so much. He was so large. She could feel her body stretching around him, working to accept him.
Magni wrapped one arm around her waist and raised her from the table, then clamped his free hand on her shoulder. Inaya cried out, unable to stop herself from sliding the rest of the way down, sheathing him entirely.
He grunted and used his grasp on her to lift her up, then easily plunged back inside of her. She felt as weightless as she did helpless in his arms. He reshaped her with each thrust, and her growing tension was no longer hers to control. Sweat dripped down her back, and the scent of her bath filled the room.
“What do you say when your wish is granted, Inaya?” Magni murmured into her ear.
“Thank you, King Magni,” Inaya breathed.
Her eyes bore into her with his release, tipping her into a climax of her own. A laugh slipped between her moans, and she tried to mask it behind a gasp.
“Something amuses you, cook?” Magni pulled away from her and rested her back on the table.
“No, my king. My apologies.”
“Hm.” Magni collected his trousers while Inaya watched the ceiling in silence, letting the last pulses of her climax wash through her veins. “Keep your special ingredient orders to a minimum from now on.”
Back to business while I’m tied up like a roasted didrilla. “Of course, my king.”
He went to the kitchen and knocked on the door before calling, “Fajr, come assist Inaya.” Without another word, King Magni left the dining hall.
Inaya licked her lips and laughed again without trying to conceal it this time.
Master knew all along. A man’s delight isn’t food. It’s catgirls.
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