“Fresh, Your Majesty,” one of the younger staff members piped up, a woman with copper-colored hair tied back in a neat bun. “I prepared it myself before serving time, using the spring harvest blend, same as always.”
“You did an excellent job,” Sasha said. “While I didn’t have any, I could smell it, and I was sure it would taste divine. It was perfectly brewed.”
The young woman’s face lit up.
“Could you show me exactly how you measure it?” Sasha asked. “I’ve always been curious about the precise ratios.”
As the staff member began demonstrating, pulling out measuring spoons and various tea pots and explaining their process, another worker approached me with a small plate laden with cakes. He set it down in front of me with a respectful bow.
“Your Majesty should try them as well,” he said. “They’re divine.”
I selected one of the miniature cakes, decorated with delicate swirls of lavender frosting. The moment it touched my tongue, flavor exploded across my palate. It was sweet but not cloying, with hints of honey and something floral I couldn’t quite identify.
A groan escaped me before I could stop it.
Sasha’s gaze snapped to me, and I caught the flash of heat in her eyes before she looked away, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I ate another cake, letting my appreciation showperhaps more vocally than was strictly necessary. The staff beamed, delighted that both their new queen and their king enjoyed their work.
Savory hopped closer along the counter, eyeing my plate.
“Don’t tell Sasha,” I whispered, breaking off a tiny piece and offering it to the raven when my wife’s attention was focused on the tea demonstration.
Savory snatched it up, her black eyes gleaming with what I could swear was amusement.
“I saw that,” Sasha said without looking over. “And you’re both going to regret it.”
Several staff members chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. The tension I’d sensed when we first entered had completely dissolved.
“Now, about the actual brewing process,” Sasha said. “Do you use spelled water or regular?”
“Regular water from the spring,” Alaina said. “Though we do heat it with controlled magic to ensure the perfect temperature. Too hot and you force the leaves, too cool and they don’t steep properly.”
“Temperature control must be tricky,” I said, curious now. “How do you manage it consistently?”
“Practice, Your Majesty,” Alaina said with a modest smile. “And a touch of natural talent, if I may say so. I’ve been doing this for thirty years or more.”
“It shows.” Sasha reached out toward the open tin of tea leaves, pausing before touching them. “May I?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
Sasha’s fingers dipped into the tin, and I watched her face carefully. Her expression remained pleasant, interested, giving nothing away. But I noticed the slight tensionin her shoulders and the way her fingers moved through the leaves with deliberate slowness.
“These are beautiful,” she said, lifting a small pinch to examine more closely. “The color is so vibrant.”
“That’s the moonlight drying process,” Alaina said. “It preserves the natural oils better than sun-drying.”
Sasha nodded, returning the leaves to the tin. “And you mentioned you prepare batches in advance sometimes. Where do you store those?”
“In the preparation room, through there.” Alaina gestured to a doorway at the back of the kitchen. “Would you like to see?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Sasha said.
We followed Alaina into the smaller room. Various containers on the wooden shelves lining the back wall held pre-measured portions of tea, labeled with dates and specific instructions. The organization was impressive, everything in its place and clearly marked.
Sasha examined several containers, asking about the dating system, how long prepared portions could be stored, and who had access to this room and the kitchen itself. Her questions seemed casual, like this was idle curiosity, but I was beginning to see the pattern in them.
She was tracking something. Building a timeline, maybe, or looking for opportunities when something could have been tampered with.
