Page 37 of Enchanted Heir
Maurice gave his head a shake. “I think I have a ham in the freeze box I could maybe get thawed and warmed in time.”
His sous chef who had been eavesdropping stepped forward to add, “We could do the green beans in garlic sauce. They are relatively easy, and we had some delivered fresh just yesterday.”
Maurice scratched at his head, “And we could break into the preserves and do a sauce for the ham so we wouldn’t have to do a gravy or potato.” His face fell. “But we do not have the time for the bread, Jorah. And the king likes his bread with every meal.”
I was born for a task such as this. “Let me try.”
He shook his head. “There isn’t time for it to rise.” He paused. “We can do the rest. I will take whatever punishment he deems necessary.”
My chest heaved. “No, you will not be punished. Not on my behalf.” I realized a second or two too late that there was no sound barrier up. But then again, it was mostly the kitchen staff with one or two leftover guards from the fire.
“On your behalf?” Maurice asked gently. For the first time in what could be his entire life, there was no jest in his tone.
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “It was possibly a message for me.”
Maurice gave his head a shake. “Well, if it was, he will not release me. I’m too damn good at my job and I know all his favorites at this point.” After a pause, he put a hand on my shoulder, “And the lashings really aren’t that bad. He’d bestow two or three max.”
Was I really just stuck? Maurice would be punished, and it was all my fault? But then I remembered something. A hazy memory from long ago, from my first few weeks working full time with my mother. I had botched a recipe for the pastries, and we’d been forced to cheat the rising process. I pushed my shoulders back. “No. You are in this position because of my irrational need to be in the kitchens and with you all. Give me a shot. I know a way to expediate the rise. Let me try. Before you take a lashing for me, please let me at the very least try.”
Maurice gave me a nod. “Okay, Tiny.” He turned to Jakob, his sous chef. “You do the green beans and pull in George to help you cut and toss. I’ll handle the meat and jam. Jorah will be in charge of the bread with Tilly. But what about a dessert?”
Tilly, who was still coughing, her skin and hair ashy, said, “I can make a cake if Jorah can manage the bread on her own.”
It was a lot, but I could do it. I’d have to do it. There was no other option.
“I’ll help.”
I spun to find Krew standing there.
I gave him a quick smile. “If you haven’t made bread before, you might hurt more than you’ll help, My Prince.”
“Nonsense,” he argued. “I’ll just do exactly as you do. I’m a quick study. Let me help.” Then he bit out, “Please.”
I got the impression he didn’t use that word much. “Okay.”
Maurice looked to Jakob. “Now move, everyone. I need the flour, sugar, and yeast moved first. Jorah needs all the time she can get.”
CHAPTER10
I’d never seen Krew so intent. The kitchen we relocated to was half of the size of the usual one. So while we heard the clanging and banging in the kitchen, Krew and I got settled with all the ingredients on a dining room table of sorts around the corner. He focused on my every word and move. We doubled the batch. We’d really only need one batch for the king’s normal presentation. But I wouldn’t be able to risk burning even a single bun, so we doubled it just in case.
I walked through the recipe methodically. Everything I did to my bowl, Krew did to his. And while we mixed and stirred, Owen was off with Keir, distracting the king. This was a team effort, through and through.
I had the oven preheating in the kitchen, knowing that I’d need to stick the dough in the oven on low heat with some hot water for moisture.
“Tilly,” I called nicely.
She peeked her head around the corner. “Yes, dear?” Her throat sounded so raw. As soon as we were done with this, we all deserved some hot tea. And a bath.
“Can you boil me a pot full of water on a free burner when you have a moment?”
She gave me a nod, “Yes.”
I cracked two eggs into my bowl and then two into Krew’s. “Now stir these in slowly. Bread is finicky in that you can over-stir or under-stir.”
“So how do you know if you’ve stirred it enough or too much then?” Krew asked as he did exactly as I said.
“The texture,” I told him. “By how it feels.”
