The whole hake had been in the freezer, and Eric had been impatient when preparing it so hadn’t deboned it as cleanly as he should have. He was also out of practice. He was happy with a fried egg on potatoes with a bit of salted fish or pork thrown in. It was rarely worth it to prepare fresh fish, despite the fact that they were gifted several fish every week from a local fisherman in exchange for the wool from the sheep they kept to maintain the tradition of the estate being a farm.
Usually the Spartan Guard took the fish, but he had a few stashed in his freezer.
“I used to be able to debone a fish in one pull. I’m out of practice.”
“Because you no longer eat fish?”
“I’m Danish. I eat plenty of fish.” Eric shrugged and went back to peeling potatoes. “But I mostly eat salted fish now. Easier since usually I’m cooking for myself.”
“Do you like cooking for other people?”
Eric shrugged again. “I don’t like it, but I don’t mind it.”
“Do you like people cooking for you?”
Eric eyed him. The question seemed casual, and Elijah was focused on the fish in front of him.
“Is this a therapy session?”
“No. This is conversation and—ah-ha!” Elijah plucked a bone from the white fish filet, tossing it into the small discard bowl.
Eric snorted his amusement as he rinsed the now-peeled potatoes before dicing them. “I like good food,” he said in answer to the previous question. “I think I’m the first fleet admiral not to have one Spartan Guard chosen specifically to be a private chef.”
“You get a private chef? Don’t tell Juliette.”
Eric looked up, grinning. “That’s good. I’ll use that.”
Elijah shook his head, but he was smiling. “I don’t think she has the equivalent of your Spartan Guard either.”
“She needs them,” Eric declared.
“I agree, though accepting that is heavy as it’s very tangible evidence and admission that your life is in danger.”
“Those university students are good, but not enough.”
Elijah just nodded.
“When she puts together her guard, she should consider having one of the positions be chef. It’s a legitimate security issue.”
“Why don’t you have a chef?” Elijah asked.
Eric shrugged. “And a couple of the current guards are good cooks. If we have people in the castle, they open the big kitchen downstairs and feed everyone.”
“In the future, if you have another trinity, will you get a chef?”
Eric froze, cutting board hovering over the pan. He took a moment, then pushed the diced potatoes gently into the hot pan where they immediately started to sizzle.
“I don’t have to be actively married to be fleet admiral. I was married, and was briefly admiral of Kalmar. That’s how I got stuck with this job.”
“I didn’t mean to imply you had to be married.” Elijah was quiet as he rinsed the fish in cold water then patted it dry. “But do you want to?”
“Want to what?” Eric didn’t look up from the diced potatoes he was currently turning one by one. Normally he’d just toss the pan a bit, but this gave him a reason to feign distraction.
“Let me ask it another way.” Elijah leaned back on the counter, arms crossed. “What does your life look like in ten years?”
Eric carefully set down the fork he was using to turn potatoes.
“I thought this wasn’t therapy.”
