“You will not clean up. You will make a mess andIwill clean it.”
I deflated. “Yes. You’re right.”
“At least you’re honest.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Fine. You can use my kitchen. But don’t touch those herbs back there. I’m soaking them for a beverage.”
“Understood. Thank you.”
“And don’t let the boy eat all the dough. He’ll get sick.”
“I’ll try.”
She moved to the other side of the kitchen to give us space. Killian was already dragging a stool to the counter, climbing up with determination. “I’m helping!”
“I know you are, baby.”
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen looked like a flour bomb had exploded. There was white powder on every surface, including Killian’s hair, face, and somehow the ceiling. Chocolate chips were scattered across the floor. Cookie dough was smeared on the counter, the stool, Killian’s shirt, and my dress.
“You’re wearing more flour than the bowl,” I observed.
“It’s EVERYWHERE!” Killian spread his arms, sending up another cloud of white powder.
“How did you get chocolate on your forehead?”
He touched his head, smearing it further. “I don’t know.”
“Stop eating the dough.”
“But it’s GOOD.”
“You’ll get sick, Killian.”
“Oh.” He thought about this for approximately two seconds, then reached for more dough.
“Baby-”
“Sorry, Mama!” He crammed the dough in his mouth anyway, then held up a misshapen blob. “Look! This cookie looks like a scary monster!”
I examined what could generously be called a cookie. It resembled a blob that had lost a fight with gravity. “Very scary.”
“It’s gonna SCARE THE BAD GUYS!”
“It definitely will, sweetheart.”
“I’m making LOTS of scary monsters!” He was already forming another blob with intense concentration.
We made several batches. Chocolate chip, sugar cookies, and approximately fifteen “scary monsters” that looked like nothing in particular but that Killian insisted would terrify any assassins who dared come near.
The cook watched from across the kitchen with a mix of horror and reluctant amusement, shaking her head the entire time.
“You were right,” I called to her. “We’re not cleaning this.”
“I know,” she said. “But you’re making the boy happy. That’s worth the mess. Are you eating all of these?”
“No,” I shook my head, using the already heated mud oven. It had been so hard to get the hang of this damn thing, but I somehow managed. With cook’s help, obviously. “These are thank-yous cookies for the guards, healers and staff. To thank them for their bravery in the attack.”
The cook went silent for a second, his gaze locked on my face. Then she reluctantly admit, “You’re a great Queen, Gwendolyn.”
My heart almost exploded at that. Once the cookies were baked and cooled, we loaded them onto trays. Killian insisted on carrying one himself, even though it was almost as big as he was.
