Betty
I'd been staring atthe same page of Italian verb conjugations for twenty minutes when I admitted defeat.My brain refused to process the difference betweenparlareandpartirewhen it was too busy replaying Archie's voice sayingthe real me is the person who thinks you're remarkable.
Which was annoying, because I was trying very hard to stay angry.
I slammed the textbook shut and headed for the one place in the palace where I actually felt useful.
The kitchen was in full afternoon prep mode when I arrived.Chef Marcello was directing his staff with the precision of a conductor, calling out instructions in rapid-fire Italian and French while three different dishes came together simultaneously.
"Your Highness."He spotted me immediately."To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'm avoiding my Italian homework and wondering if you need help with anything."
"I always need help.Whether I needyourhelp is another question."But he was smiling."What are your skills beyond making excellent coffee?"
"I can chop things.I'm very good at chopping things."
"Dangerous proposition, giving a stressed princess a sharp knife."
"I promise not to stab anyone unless they really deserve it."
He laughed and pointed to a cutting board."Onions.Small dice.If you cut yourself, Petra will have my head."
I worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, falling into the rhythm of knife against board.There was something meditative about cooking, the simple logic of turning raw ingredients into something edible.Nothing to memorize, no curtsy to perfect, just the honest work of making food.
"You're quite good at that," Chef Marcello observed."Where did you learn?"
"My mom.She insisted I learn to cook properly instead of living on ramen and hope."I finished the onions and reached for the carrots he'd set out."Want me to do these too?"
"Please.But perhaps move to that counter?You're blocking my access to the stove."
I relocated, realized I was now in the way of one of his assistants, and moved again.
Chef Marcello sighed."Your Highness, perhaps instead of rearranging my entire kitchen, you could do me a different favor?"
"Anything."
"I need fresh rosemary from the herb garden.Our stock has seen better days, and I'm preparing something special for tonight's dinner."
"You want me to pick herbs?"
"I want you to feel useful while not being underfoot during the dinner rush."His eyes twinkled."The garden is past the east courtyard, behind the rose beds.You'll see the low stone wall.Take a basket from the shelf by the door."
I grabbed a basket and headed out, grateful for the task and the excuse to be outside.The walk through the palace took me through corridors I'd started to recognize, past the portrait gallery, through the conservatory, down the stairs that led to the eastern gardens.
The herb garden was tucked into a quiet corner, sheltered by stone walls on three sides but open to the sky.Neat rows of rosemary, thyme, basil, and other plants I couldn't name grew in organized profusion.The scent hit me immediately, green and sharp.
I found the rosemary where Chef Marcello had described it, bushy and fragrant in the far corner.I was selecting the best stems when I heard voices approaching from the other side of the wall.
"...of course the nursery wing will need updating."Viktor's voice, unmistakable."When was the last time it was used?"
I froze, basket in hand.They were right on the other side of the wall, close enough that I could hear every word.I'd been crouched down reaching for the lower rosemary stems, and standing up now would reveal I was here.The wall was low enough that they'd see me immediately.
"Not since Prince Archibald was born, my lord."Petra's voice, sounding uncomfortable.
I stayed frozen, half-crouched behind the rosemary bush, feeling my cheeks flush with the awkwardness of accidental eavesdropping.If I moved now, they'd know I'd heard.Better to wait for them to pass.
"Well, we should begin preparations soon.The Princess will want everything ready when the time comes."
