Page 47 of Midwinter Night's Prince

“I had mushroom risotto in a five-star restaurant once,” Diana said primly. “It didn’t smell as good as this.”

“Have you seen the plating?” Avani sniffed. “Is that grated truffle on top, with the parsley?”

Oh for heaven’s sake.“I’m Italian,” he reminded them. “This is the basics.”

“I’m Italian,” Cat put in. “I can’t cook like this.”

Seth sighed. “You haven’t even tried it.” To Blair, he said, “Weren’t you hungry? Eat. Before it gets cold.”

She dug in, to his relief, and the rest of the crowd followed suit.

Seth directed his attention to his own plate. It was okay. It could have used a pinch more lemon, but he wasn’t going to complain; the contents of his pantry had been highly satisfactory for an unplanned visit.

“I died, didn’t I?” Blair’s voice broke. “I died, and I went to heaven. That’s how I’m eating this, isn’t it?”

“You hate me,” Cat whimpered. “You hate me, or you would have cooked for me before.”

“Hand up if you opt to name one Seth Stormhale as the official chef of Night Hill.”

Every hand went up. Bash held up two, but only because he was chewing and didn’t need a hand to hold a fork.

“I have another theory for your consideration,” Seth said. “I died and went to hell.”

“Where the hell did you learn to cook like this? Because that wasn’t at home.” Cat was downright offended.

The Stormhales had a strict regimen for their spawns, and it didn’t include domestic training.

Seth shrugged. “I moved out when I was eighteen, remember? I talked Mother into letting me use one of the apartments—but it didn’t come with staff. I had to hire a cleaner, and cooks. They weren’t up to my standards, so I took classes.”

It had seemed straightforward to him. He liked to eat well, didn’t feel like going out every night, and didn’t much like people in his space. His hands were agile, and his ability to glean new skills hadn’t been lacking.

“But cooking?” Levi struggled to understand. “I would have thought you’d take business, finance, political science classes.”

"I took those, too.” He shrugged. “I have a healthy portfolio—though I suppose it doesn’t matter much now that I’m head of the house.” He had unlimited access to the Stormhale fortune.

Of course, he could grow it for fun, but none of his descendants would ever want for anything.

“How old are you again?” Chloe asked.

He grimaced. “Rude.”

“Come on. You’re what, ten years my junior? And I feel like you’ve matured a hundred years in that decade.”

Seth didn’t much like the turn the conversation was taking. It was too personal.

He took another bite of his food.

Not bad, really.

“Seth always had to be perfect,” Cat answered for him. “That’s the way our family operates. Nothing else is acceptable. Unlike my sister and me, he wasn’t physically punished when he failed to perform. Our matriarch was deeply sexist—girls and boys didn’t get the same treatment, you see.” She ate a bite, closed her eyes, and sighed. “Seth was ignored when he failed at something. It wasn’t often, mind you, but I remember. You came second once in a stupid national competition. Math, wasn’t it?”

Seth didn’t see any reason to contribute.

“I must have been five or six, but I remember. No one was allowed to talk to him. I had to go to bed without dinner when I asked him how he was doing. I think it lasted weeks, though I didn’t have the best sense of time, being so young.”

“A month,” Seth replied, apathetic. “No wonder I turned into such an attention whore.”

No one laughed. Maybe his humor wasn’t as grand as he’d supposed. Hanging out with people who weren’t paid by him or terrified of him sucked.

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