The guards keeping watch over the silver gates of Eryndor’s castle stood as motionless as the stone battlements they protected. As they scanned the shadowed path ahead, two familiar figures emerged from the gloom, preceded by two young girls skipping playfully in the lead.
Without a word, two guards marched toward the towering silver gates and hauled them open in perfect synchronicity.
“It’s you guys again.” Noa came to a halt near the entrance, his features softening into a look of mild, pleasant recognition. “How’s the work going? Keeping the peace alright?”
“Oh, right.” Vionette leaned into Noa’s side, her eyes gleaming with playful curiosity as she peered at the ranks. “Where’s the other guy? That short-tempered dude?”
The sentries, who had been standing as stiffly as statues, allowed their shoulders to drop just a fraction. They bowed deeply, their eyes surreptitiously checking to see if the pair still carried the same carefree air they had displayed during their first encounter.
“It is an honor to meet Your Majesties again,” the guard who had first spoken to them that day replied, his voice steady. “And as for Fozen—he was appointed as a soldier in the standing army just before the war broke out.”
“A soldier, huh? Good for him, I guess,” Noa mused, tilting his head.
“Well then, we’ll be going.” Vionette waved a dismissive hand, her fingers tracing a graceful arc through the air as she noticed Lina and Elina had already passed the gates and were venturing deeper into the courtyard. “Continue the good work, and I might just raise your pay, 'kay?”
The guards snapped back into a rigid salute, remaining frozen until the group vanished into the castle’s deep shadows. Only then did a newly appointed guard speak up, his voice hushed with wonder.
“Are they our new rulers? The ones you talked about?”
“Yes. What do you think of them?” an older guard asked.
“They look kind, at least on the outside. And they don’t seem to care much about status, just like you said,” the rookie replied, his gaze still fixed on the empty path.
“Don’t push your luck too far,” he cautioned, shaking his head slowly as the wind howled through the silver filigree of the gates. “You heard the reports, didn't you? Not even a chance for surrender was given to Aurelyth. Kindness doesn't come free in this world.”
“Well, yeah,” another guard chimed in.
The young knight, taking the lesson to heart, turned his gaze back to where the group had disappeared, his thoughts lingering on the two smaller figures. “…They already have kids at such a young age?”
“No, you idiot! That’s His Majesty’s sister. And the other one—couldn't you tell? That’s a literal dragon.”
“I… I guess so?”
***
Noa and Vionette strolled through the vaulted hallways of the castle, their arms wrapped around one another as if they were two halves of a single whole. Lina and Elina had already sprinted ahead toward their destination, leaving the couple to wander at a leisurely pace, savoring a quiet moment of private tranquility.
As Vionette leaned into the warmth of Noa’s shoulder, basking in the peaceful intimacy of the corridor, they reached an intersection. And then, Noa saw a tall figure walking the other side from the left corridor.
Isn’t that—
“Hey! Roswell!” Noa shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor.
Roswell turned around in mild alarm, his hand instinctively twitching toward a sword hilt he no longer wore. Accepting their sudden appearance with the weary grace of a man who knew exactly how the pair operated, he smoothed his features into a mask of professional calm.
He closed the distance and bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Bruh… You changed quickly.” Noa leaned his head back dramatically. “So, how are things going?”
“The aristocrats of Eryndor have fully accepted our surrender by now,” Roswell reported, straightening his posture. “And the merchant guilds that had ties with us have already sent letters, eager to strengthen their relationship with Crimvane through the archduchy of Eryndor.”
Roswell glanced at Vionette, who was simply leaning against Noa, looking more like a lazy noble housecat than a ruthless conqueror.
Is this how Crimvane normally operates? he wondered as he finished his report. They’re acting like that again.
“Appreciate the hard work, my guy,” Noa said as they began to wander off. “Well then, we’ll be going.”
“Yes, please enjoy your tour safely.”
…
Finally, after a long walk through the labyrinthine castle, Noa and Vionette reached their destination: the royal kitchens.
Mom said she came here to help with the festival stuff… but the fuck she mean the head chefs asked her to guide them? Noa’s eyes narrowed. What is she, the Queen of the Kitchen?
As he pushed the oak doors open, he and Vionette stepped inside. Their hands naturally parted as the chaotic symphony of a kingdom preparing for a festival washed over them, accompanied by the intoxicating perfume of roasting meats and exotic spices.
“Get those plates over here!” a maid shouted as she hurried past them, her voice nearly drowning in a sea of clattering metal. “Twenty-four meats to the left-side station!”
“The ordered ingredients have arrived!” one of the five head chefs screamed, smacking the back of a cook with a pan. “Hurry up and bring them in!”
The kitchen floors were a grid of polished cream tiles, catching the silent glow of Aether-lamps recessed into the ceiling like captured stars. Magic circles etched into the workstations infused the iron pots with a steady, roaring heat, while the culinary staff utilized their skills to slice, dice, and prep with blurring speed.
“Decrease the heat a little bit more on this, you moron!”
In the center of the storm stood Mara. Unlike the other cooks, she wore no formal apron, wielding only a simple wooden spoon like a maestro's baton.
She tasted a simmering broth, her eyes narrowing with intense focus. “This tastes like your mom’s milkshake! Add some salt!” she declared, pacing around the kitchen as she dispensed rapid-fire critiques. “If that glaze is a single shade too light, you’re starting the whole batch over.”
“Yes, Ma'am!”
As she marched through the aisles, her gaze fell upon the younger duo tucked away in a corner, earnestly attempting to create their own sample dishes for the upcoming festival.
Mara closed in, leaning over the counter to inspect the culinary abomination they had concocted.
It wasn't just Mara; Noa and Vionette, watching from a distance, also contorted their faces in utter disbelief. The dish was a lump of pure, abyssal black, and acrid steam carrying the aggressive stench of burnt tragedy rose from it like a mourning pillar.
Mara disciplined Lina with a swift smack of the wooden spoon atop her head. “What are you doing? Who in their right mind adds this much spice to a dish?”
“…Me?” Lina muttered, rubbing the sore spot.
Then, the wooden spoon descended in a second strike upon the dragon girl beside her. Elina yelped, pressing her hands against her crown as her tail whipped back and forth in a rhythmic tantrum of pain.
“And you! Who told you to increase the fire output this much?” Mara demanded, planting both hands firmly on her hips. “Redo it!”
“Y-Yes, ma’am!” Elina shouted in panic.
Noa watched the duo endure their scolding, his shoulders dropping in a sympathetic sigh. Beside him, Vionette simply covered her face with a hand, shaking her head in silent, fond amusement.
“Move! Why are you just stand—” A passing cook began to yell at the couple blocking the doorway, but his reprimand died in his throat mid-sentence. “Y-Your Majesties!?”
Hearing the panicked shout, the rest of the kitchen staff immediately abandoned their tasks, snapping into perfectly rigid attention.
“Oh, it’s Lady Vionette and Lord Noa,” a Crimvane maid murmured fondly. “I was wondering why only the young misses came.”
“W-welcome to our kitchen, Your Majesties,” an Eryndor chef stammered, instantly bowing at the waist.
Meanwhile, a cook from Aurelyth lost his grip on his spoon. It clattered against the workstation as he stared with wide, terrified eyes. “T-the rulers of Crimvane…?”
“My, look at this. The ‘partners’ have finally come to greet me,” Mara teased dramatically, her voice cutting through the tense silence as she smiled at the couple.
“Okay, you guys, get back to your work. Don’t mind us,” Vionette ordered, sweeping her gaze across the room.
As the cooks scrambled back to their stations, Mara approached the pair. She casually hooked the handle of her wooden spoon behind Noa’s neck, reeling him down to her level.
“Noa, my little son,” she whispered, a glint dancing in her eyes. “How is your dating life going? Doing good?”
“Mom,” Noa groaned, letting out a defeated sigh. “…Whatever. Forget about me.” Gently pushing her away a fraction, he asked, “Are you doing fine? You’re not being forced to do this or overworking yourself, right?”
“Awww…” She leaned in and hugged him, a warm smile spreading across her face. “I’m doing fine, don’t worry. I do this because I have nothing else to do.” She stepped back, pointing her spoon toward the struggling duo in the corner. “Go help them. Even if you know nothing about cooking, it will be better than leaving those two alone together.”
“Mmm, I’ll try my best…?” Noa mumbled, turning to approach the girls as he braced himself to face the disaster.
Mara then turned her attention to Vionette, who had been watching the familial exchange in quiet stillness.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Congrats on winning the war.”
“Ah!” Vionette snapped out of her daze. “Y-yes moth—I mean, thank you, auntie!”
Fuck! I slipped again!
Catching the slip of the tongue, Mara tilted her head faintly to the side, her eyes remaining warmly locked on Vionette. “You know, you can call me 'Mother'… Well, only if you want to, that is.”
“…I can?”
“Why? Weren’t you planning to call me that eventually?”
“W-What—wait, I mean…” Vionette stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep, vibrant crimson. “Then… I will call you Mother.”
“Good.” Mara winked. “By the way, why are you always going to that tailor shop? Do you like trying on different clothes that much?”
“Your son forced me to,” Vionette replied bluntly.
“Really? That rascal likes some strange things, huh?” Mara shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “Vionette, do you know how to cook?” she asked, sweeping a glance across the kitchen.
“A little.” Vionette looked at the complex culinary marvels being prepared by the professional staff and instantly swallowed her pride. “And I mean very little.”
“‘A little’ will not do at all. If you want to impress that guy,” Mara said, pointing the tip of her wooden spoon at Noa's back, “you have to get to a higher level.”
Don’t say it so openly! Vionette squirmed slightly under the older woman's gaze, before her expression suddenly shifted. Wait—cooking for him…
She suddenly leaned forward, grasping Mara’s hands with wide, desperate eyes. “How do I do it!?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.” Mara freed one hand to gently pat Vionette’s head, affectionately smoothing her white hair. “So go grab an apron and get ready.”
“On it!”
Mara watched Vionette scurry off to find an apron. A satisfied, lingering smile settled on the mother's face as she turned back to the trio struggling in the corner.
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