Chapter 22
For now, before the meal had even begun, my head was still attached, and I wanted it to remain attached even after business ended today, if possible.
To that end, there was only one thing I could do from here on out.
Pretend not to know.
As naturally as possible, as ordinarily as possible, but never so that we looked cheap.
It was a difficult order.
The other party was obviously the Emperor.
And yet she insisted she was a commoner named Adèle.
In a situation like this, if a chef said, “Your Majesty, what would you like to eat?” and pulled that shit, my head might fly off on the spot; but if I treated her too casually, like a real commoner, my neck would be in danger for a different reason.
I washed my hands and checked the first plate.
Thinly sliced white fruit, a tiny herb leaf, and a drop of vinegar with a cool floral scent.
I threw out all the bitterness and roasted aromas originally meant for Count Armand’s Duel Course.
Feeding the Emperor the bitterness of a failed duel and lost honor would be insane.
Instead, today we’d go with a quiet course.
Nothing flashy, but flawless.
Nothing excessive, but without making the diner think the table had seen through her identity.
‘Was that even possible?’
Honestly, I had no idea, but it had to be possible.
If it wasn’t, the clown of the stock market, who’d been gone for a while, would come back grinning to take Elysia and me away.
“Marie, send out the first course.”
“An explanation?”
“Keep it short. The guest said she wanted a quiet meal, so don’t talk too much.”
Marie nodded, her face gone white.
Normally her hands would have trembled, but perhaps because she was too terrified, the plate was steady.
Sometimes people perform well when pushed to their limits.
Of course, that wasn’t a healthy state.
Marie entered the parlor.
“Dawn fruit and herbs. A light opening fragrance for the meal.”
Adèle looked down at the plate.
There was no expression around her mouth visible beneath the veil.
She picked up her fork and put a piece of fruit in her mouth.
There was no reaction.
Not even a twitch of her eyebrow.
I held my breath behind the kitchen door.
‘Does it taste bad?’
After thinking about it for a moment, I realized anew that couldn’t be the case.
There was no way it tasted bad.
I’d just checked it myself.
The fruit’s aroma was good, the vinegar wasn’t overpowering, and the herbs were clean.
But when a guest showed no reaction, the chef went crazy.
It was scarier than a star reviewer.
At least with a star reviewer, you knew they had come to evaluate you.
If they had no expression, you could assume, “That person’s deducting points right now.”
But when the Emperor sat there pretending to be a commoner and ate without reacting, there was no way to tell whether she was satisfied, furious, or silently waiting for the execution.
The second course was a warm soup.
I added just a little sweetness from roasted root vegetables to a clear chicken broth and floated a mild herb on top.
It wasn’t a flashy flavor; instead, it had to be the kind that made the body relax before the mind did.
“Thomas, check the soup’s temperature.”
“It’s right.”
“Check again.”
“Yes.”
Thomas immediately checked it again.
Good. By now, even this guy knew that when I asked twice, it wasn’t because I didn’t trust him, but because I didn’t want to die.
The soup went out.
Adèle lifted her spoon and slowly tasted the broth.
Again, there was no reaction.
She emptied the bowl without a change in expression.
Marie returned with the empty bowl, her face looking as though she was about to cry.
“Kyle, I’m scared.”
“Me too.”
“It doesn’t taste bad, right?”
“No.”
“Then why is she like that?”
“Because she’s the Emperor.”
Marie swallowed.
“You said not to say that!”
“I only said it to you.”
“That’s even scarier!”
I didn’t answer and prepared the third course.
I seared the outside of the white-fleshed fish only lightly, leaving the inside moist.
For the sauce, I mixed a little butter with white-fruit juice low in acidity.
This wasn’t a dish meant to strike a powerful person’s palate; it was meant to give someone exhausted by an overly weighty meal a brief chance to breathe.
I didn’t know why I’d thought of it that way.
But the Empress in Kyle’s memories had seized control of the empire at a young age.
A cool-headed, powerful, flawless ruler.
Someone like that probably didn’t get to eat very relaxing meals in her everyday life.
She had to be wary of poisoning, and everyone who sat at her table would carry some political meaning.
If so, today I needed to give her a meal, not politics.
Of course, saying that aloud could get my head cut off, so I simply grilled the fish.
The third course went out, and Adèle ate the fish.
And for the first time, she paused—ever so slightly.
I saw it.
It was a change almost impossible to notice.
Marie hadn’t seen it, and Thomas probably hadn’t either.
But a chef sees the moment a guest takes a bite and stops.
I can usually tell whether that pause is a good sign or a bad one, too.
This was the good kind.
Adèle soon moved her fork again.
She still said nothing, but the fish disappeared cleanly.
Only then did I breathe a little.
The main course was tenderloin from a young calf.
It was the most tender cut I’d found at the market.
I didn’t use a strong sauce.
I cooked it slowly over low heat and coated it only with a very thin reduction and the fragrance of herbs.
If the main course I’d served the duke had been designed to hammer the fact that I was eating something expensive into my mouth, today’s main course was the opposite.
It was expensive, but it didn’t shout that it was expensive.
It was good, but it didn’t go on about how good it was.
It simply had to be quietly perfect.
Damn it, that was the hardest part.
“Kyle.”
Elysia quietly entered the kitchen.
She looked tense, too.
“How is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know either?”
“She isn’t reacting at all.”
“Then is it bad?”
“No. She’s emptied every plate.”
Elysia closed and opened her eyes for a moment.
“Do I need to go out and say something, too?”
“It would be best if you said as little as possible today.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think she came to hear a story. I think she came to have a meal without a story.”
Elysia was silent for a moment after hearing that.
“I think I understand what you mean.”
“I understood it myself only after saying it.”
The main course went out.
Again, her expression barely changed.
This time, however, she chewed a little more slowly.
After swallowing one piece, instead of drinking the herb water in her glass, she stared into empty space for a moment.
The parlor was quiet.
Strangely, the silence wasn’t unpleasant.
She emptied the plate cleanly once again.
The last course was dessert.
I considered serving raspberry sorbet, but repeating the same joke I’d played with the duke would be dangerous.
Instead, I served chilled milk cream with just a little honey, accompanied by thinly sliced fruit and floral herbs.
It wasn’t sweet or flashy, but it quietly erased the fatigue left in the mouth as it brought the meal to a close.
Adèle took a spoonful and finally smiled.
The corners of her lips lifted slightly beneath the veil.
At that moment, the tension in the kitchen eased.
Marie nearly collapsed, while Thomas unconsciously made something resembling the sign of the cross.
Uncle Bernard closed his eyes and let out a tiny breath. I, too, clenched the towel in my hand and muttered inwardly.
‘I survived.’
Adèle finished the dessert and quietly set down her napkin.
“That was a good meal.”
It was the first evaluation.
The first real words she’d spoken all evening.
Elysia bowed her head at the perfect angle.
“I’m glad it suited your taste.”
“I liked how quiet it was.”
At that, I was certain.
We’d gotten the direction of today’s course right.
The Emperor hadn’t come to be treated like the Emperor.
Pretending to be a commoner, she had wanted to eat a meaningless meal for a little while.
She hadn’t needed extravagant praise, metaphors of loyalty, or a sauce infused with the glory of the empire.
If we’d served any of that, we’d have been doomed.
Adèle rose from her seat, and one of her attendants placed a small box on the table.
It wasn’t a money pouch. It was a box.
The moment I saw it, my stomach began to hurt.
Boxes were generally more dangerous than money pouches.
Money pouches usually held money, but boxes sometimes held politics.
Adèle said softly,
“For the meal, and as a small token of thanks.”
Elysia hesitated for a moment, but Uncle Bernard accepted the box politely.
“Thank you.”
“And I will make another reservation next time.”
Everyone in the parlor froze at those words.
Adèle smiled as if it were nothing.
“Please use the name Adèle, as you did today.”
I cursed inwardly behind the kitchen door.
‘She’s coming again?’
Adèle looked at Elysia and said,
“I hope it will be another quiet meal then.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Thank you.”
Saying that, she quietly left, just as she had when she arrived.
No one took a full breath until the carriage had left the manor.
And once it had disappeared completely, Marie whispered, almost like a scream,
“Did we survive?”
I set down the towel.
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“We’ll know once we open the box.”
Elysia opened the box with trembling hands.
Inside was a gold coin too large to even be called a coin.
It was much larger than an ordinary gold coin and had a different weight.
Anyone could tell it wasn’t money used by ordinary people.
Uncle Bernard said in a low voice,
“These are gold coins occasionally issued by the imperial household. Each is worth five times an ordinary gold coin. At this amount... the tip alone is worth several Duke’s Courses.”
Marie’s mouth fell open, and Thomas froze while holding a plate.
Elysia stared into the box, then slowly smiled.
“Lady Adèle?”
“Yes. She was a wealthy commoner guest.”
“Right.”
Elysia said with utmost seriousness,
“She really is wealthy.”
Today, Maison Monbel had gained the most dangerous regular customer in the empire.