"Kitchen King," he wheezes, attempting a laugh that sends blood bubbling. "That's what they're calling you. The Kitchen King who—"
I open his throat. Step back to avoid the spray. It arcs across stone, missing the hat by inches. Perfect. I'd hate to explain bloodstains at lunch.
Kaine steps forward from his position by the door, avoiding the spreading pool. A droplet marks his collar. "Should I dispose of the body, sir?"
"After lunch."
He doesn't blink anymore. A month ago, scheduling murder around meals would have earned confused looks. Now it's standard. The Shadow Guild runs on two things: fear and Olivia's meal schedule.
The warehouse above ground buzzes with morning activity. Territory reports. Supply discussions. These are killers. Assassins. Men who once survived on bread crusts and spite.
Now they debate wagon routes like merchants.
"Sir." Vice appears at my elbow, ledger in hand, stomach remedy in the other. "Morning reports."
"Territory expansions?"
"Four new blocks claimed. The Copper Hands' former territory."
"And?"
"Fully integrated." She pauses. "Ridge needs your decision on tonight's arrangements."
I stare. She doesn't flinch.
"Tell Ridge to handle it himself."
The morning sun hits my face as I exit the warehouse. The hat—her hat—sits warm on my head. Blue thread hidden in the black weave, invisible unless you know where to look. She thought she was being subtle. As if I wouldn't notice her marking me with color.
I wear it everywhere now. Let them call me Kitchen King. I've heard the whispers constantly this week. The four who said it to my face are currently feeding harbor fish.
The estate dining room doubles as a war room. If wars were planned around proper spoon placement.
Arthur sits at one end of the massive table, maps spread between plates. "The Tide Runners can take the eastern docks, but not until after tomorrow's breakfast meeting."
"Why tomorrow?" I settle into my chair. The one with the extra cushion Olivia insisted on. For my back, she said. As if comfort matters to someone who slept on stone.
"Because tonight's lasagna night," Arthur says without irony. "Can't miss lasagna night."
A year ago, I would have killed him for less. Now I nod. Ridge's lasagna is worth delaying territory expansion.
"Sir." Kaine appears in the doorway, that red droplet still on his collar from this morning. "We captured one of Corven's men. Should we interrogate him?"
"Later. Everyone works better fed."
When did this become my standard response? When did my empire start running on meal times?
Vice enters with her ledger and what looks like a hand-drawn map. "Tooth and Martin got into another fight. Over seating."
"Kill one of them."
"Lady Olivia would notice." She flips a page. "I've drawn up a rotation schedule. Also, the new recruits want to know about the healers' guild arrangement Arthur mentioned."
Sixty hardened criminals following seating rotations and asking about healing coverage. My reputation should be in ruins. Instead, territories fall faster than ever.
"Also," Vice adds, "the Kitchen King rumors are spreading. Smaller gangs think you've gone soft."
"How many have tested that theory?"
