9
MY NEW ASSISTANT
After a decadent night of sleep in my cream puff of a bed in the palace, Rafia woke me before dawn. I dressed in my usual working dress and apron, tossed my cookbook and magic spoon in my satchel and hurried from the door, but not before I noticed another small carving upon the maple. A whimsical carving of my new kitchen cottage in the gardens graced the wood, complete with fanciful smoke puffing from the chimney. I marveled at the detail, but could not delay as Rafia and I made our way down the five flights of stairs to the kitchen.
The lingering smell of yesterday’s sugar cookies and old wood cabinets cheered me as I made my way through the front door. It might be a rundown mess, but it wasmymess. It felt right to have my own place. One I could fix up to my liking. This was a good place to be, even if surrounded by elves on every side…not all of them were terrible.
Rafia stoked the fire, and I readied the dough. We worked in companionable silence as I stretched the dough and allowed it to rise.
With my cardamom and nutmeg to complete the recipe, it wasn’t long before I had fifty flawless cinnamon rolls plated before me. They were perfection, made exactly to every measurement with each ingredient. These could not fail to live up to the king’s ridiculous expectations.
Like yesterday, Isola and Gale arrived with the rolling trays to bring the pastries up to the king. I took the time to straighten my dress, brush off the extra flour, and make sure my hair and face were at least presentable.
We delivered the rolls and exited the breakfast room without any trouble. Whew. I was grateful to escape before the king’s retinue arrived, eager to forget about the whole “bacon incident.”
So why was my stomach in knots? I was very definitelynotwanting to look at the hateful Elf King’s ridiculously handsome face, to maybe see his reaction to the perfect cinnamon rolls.
No. That would just be unwise.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and went to my rooms to bathe when I noticed an additional carving on my wooden door. It was of a single cinnamon roll with steam curling from it in a wisp of delicately carved smoke. It nested directly beside the kitchen cottage in a fanciful design. Beautiful. I looked around and didn’t see anyone about. Was this the carving of an artist or some strange magic working upon my door?
After my shower, Rafia braided my curls into one of her special plaits. She walked me to my cottage, then left me alone as she ran off to retrieve some items. I fluffed the couch cushions, then wiped down my kitchen counters again, preparing any moment for a letter of gratitude from the king. I fully expected a glowing report.
But as I waited…my stomach rumbled. Something savory sounded lovely. I plucked some branches of rosemary and basilfrom the herb garden behind my cottage, then started on a yeasty dough when a loud rapping sounded at my door.
“Come on in, Rafia.” I called, eager to hear the report from the king. “No need to knock.”
Boots stomped through the doorway revealing a tall, stately elf with brilliant white hair. The Elf King himself.
He ducked slightly as he entered through the door, then strode in, the wood floor groaning beneath his leather boots. He looked around the kitchen, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but when those eyes landed on me, the smile slipped as if it never was. He carried a platter of about half a dozen of my cinnamon rolls and loomed over a head higher than I above the counter. The rolls looked as if they hadn’t been touched.
“These were not the rolls I ordered.” The earlier smile I’d noticed was a phantom dream, replaced by his signature icy glare as he dumped the platter of cinnamon rolls directly into the dough I was mixing. “Where is the magic I tasted in the human realm?”
“Magic?” I scoffed as I stared at the cinnamon rolls he’d plopped in the center of my bread dough. How dare he? Venom poured from me. “So, it wasmagicthat caused you to flip out and destroy my clean little kitchen back in the village?”
“I am a king. I do notflip out.” The Elf King sneered over the unfamiliar words. “I demonstrated my feelings.”
“What feelings cause a king to react in such a childish way?” I asked. “Though I guess you were disguised as a child, so?—”
“No no no.” The Elf King waved my words away. “This will not do. I brought you here for your magic. Your baking. This is merely a delicious pastry.”
“Merelya delicious pastry?” I asked. “I swear there was a compliment hidden in there somewhere.”
“Then I apologize.” The Elf King ran a hand through his wavy white hair still damp from a bath. “I need your magic. Nowplease. Do it, woman.” Then the Elf King did the strangest thing, he crossed his arms and stood towering over me as if his mere force of will would have it be done. “I shall wait here.”
My cheeks flushed at the pure attention of his gaze. “Your staring at me will not overwhelm me.”
“I shall decide how I make you feel, woman,” the King said, still looming.
“Actually, youdon’tdecide how I feel, King.” I removed the cinnamon rolls from my dough, hoping to salvage the yeasted bread dough I’d been kneading on the floured surface. “You may take me from my family, steal me across the lands, and place me in your sweet little kitchen to bake for you, but you donotget to decide how I feel.”
“I did not think a human would dare speak to their king in such a manner.” The Elf King’s large forearms flexed.
“You are theElfKing.” I kneaded the bread dough into a neat oval. “And I am, as you continue to remind me, a lousy little human. Humans don’t have magic.”
“I am your king.” The Elf King said in a low growl. “And you shall bake your magic.”
“I’m sorry, King, but I do not have magic. Just good ingredients added together in just the right way.” I paused. That did sound a little bit like what Jel had done to create his magic potions. How different was baking from making a potion, really? Adding the exact ingredient at exactly the right time, baking the dough, and having it magically turn into a tart or cake or bread? The two acts were stunningly similar.
