Iris
The morningafter changes everything and nothing.
I wake to find Cadeon already in the kitchen, which isn't unusual. What's unusual is the state of the kitchen itself.
Every surface is covered with papers. Lists, diagrams, what appears to be a seating chart, and something that looks suspiciously like a battle formation drawn in neat, precise lines.
"Good morning," he says without looking up from the parchment he's studying. "You're late."
"It's seven in the morning."
"As I said. Late."
I blink at him, still foggy with sleep, and reach for the kettle. His hand intercepts mine, gently but deliberately, and redirects me toward a chair.
"Tea is already made. Sit."
"Are you... giving me orders?"
He pauses, something flickering across his face. For a moment I think he's going to retreat, going to fold back into the careful deference he's worn like armor since I arrived.
Instead, he meets my eyes with a hint of challenge. "You said you wanted me to want things. I want you to sit down and let me explain the situation."
Oh. Well, shit.
I sit.
"The Midwinter Feast is in five days," he begins, sliding a piece of parchment toward me. It's covered in elegant handwriting: lists upon lists, organized with military perfection. "Your grandmother hosted between forty and sixty guests each year. Given your standing in the village and the current... situation with the bonds, I expect similar numbers. Possibly more. Curiosity draws crowds."
"Forty to sixty people?" My voice comes out slightly strangled.
"At minimum." He's moved on to another list. "The menu must account for dietary restrictions, magical allergies, and the preferences of at least three guests who despise each other and cannot be seated within conversational distance."
"How do you know all this?"
"I've attended every Midwinter Feast Mistress Elspeth eve hosted. I've observed." He sets down the parchment and looks at me directly. "I've also planned military campaigns, coordinated supply lines for armies, and organized strategic retreats across hostile territory. A dinner party is considerably less complicated than any of those, provided we approach it with proper discipline."
I take a sip of tea I found on the table, and study him. He's different this morning. Still formal, still precise, but there's an energy to him I haven't seen before. Purpose. Enthusiasm, even, though he'd probably rather be staked than admit it.
"You're enjoying this," I say carefully.
"I am organizing a complex logistical operation. There is satisfaction in competence."
"That's not a denial."
The corner of his mouth twitches. "It is not."
I lean back in my chair, warming my hands on the teacup. "All right, then. Tell me what to do."
He blinks. "I beg your pardon?"
"You've clearly thought this through. You know what needs to happen. So tell me." I gesture at the papers spread across the table. "Give me my orders, Knight."
For a long moment, he just stares at me. I can feel his uncertainty through the bond, the old conditioning warring with this new, strange permission.
"You're certain?" he asks carefully.
"I'm certain I have no idea how to host sixty people for a formal feast. I'm certain you do." I smile at him. "And I'm certain that watching you be competent at something that isn't violence is unfairly attractive."
