The tavern kitchen was a battlefield of gleaming copper and well-worn steel, the air thick with the scent of roasting meats and simmering broths. Borin stood like a general surveying his troops, arms crossed over his flour-dusted apron as Regulus took his place at the prep table.
"So, Regulus," Borin began, his voice deceptively calm. "I trust you've improved your culinary skills since we parted ways?"
Regulus straightened, adopting the perfect posture of a trained servant. "Yes, chef. I have trained with professionals in the art of butlery, including cooking."
A wooden spoon cracked against the counter like a gunshot.
"Butlery? Ha!" Borin's face flushed crimson. "If you think working part-time in some noble's manor for a few days makes you a butler, then I will beat you on behalf of all you just offended!"
Regulus didn't flinch. "Surely you jest, chef. I assure you they are a reputable group of professionals certified by the king himself!"
Borin's eye twitched. He snatched up a paring knife and began sharpening it with violent strokes. "Stop trying to flatter me, boy. And you have yet to even gain a tenth of their acknowledgement."
"Ah," Regulus said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So you know about it already. As expected of chef! Your connections surpass even some familia captains!"
The knife stilled.
"I said stop flattering me!" Borin barked—though the tips of his ears had gone pink with poorly concealed pleasure. He tossed an onion and a chef's knife at Regulus. "Prove it."
The onion arced through the air. Regulus caught it in one hand, the knife in the other. For a heartbeat, the kitchen held its breath.
Then his hands moved.
The blade became a silver blur, the onion peeling apart in perfect, paper-thin rings before it even touched the cutting board. The slices fanned out like flower petals, each one translucent enough to see the grain of the wood beneath.
Borin stared.
Somewhere in the tavern, a tankard clattered to the floor.
"...Hmph." The chef turned away, but not before Regulus caught the grudging approval in his eyes. "About damn time you learned something useful."
Nyx's laughter drifted in from the doorway, rich and knowing. "Oh, little moth," she purred. "You do keep surprising me."
Borin pointed his spoon at her. "Out of my kitchen, goddess." Then to Regulus: "You—dice those carrots. And if I see one uneven cut, you're scrubbing the grease trap."
Regulus picked up the carrot with a grin. "Yes, chef."
The knife began its dance again. But the warm atmosphere was interrupted when the front door opened with a soft chime of the bell. All eyes turned to see a maid step inside, her shoes clicking against the wooden floorboards. She scanned the room with professional efficiency before making her way directly to Nyx's table.
"Lady Nyx," the maid said with a perfect curtsey. "Regulus has two hours to conclude his business here and report to the Vespera branch."
Nyx swirled her wine lazily. "Got it. You may leave."
The maid bowed again casting a gaze towards Regulus, softly smiled. And exited as quietly as she had entered. Boris, who had been wiping down a nearby table, approached Nyx with concern wrinkling his brow.
"Everything okay?"
Nyx giggled behind her hand. "You should worry about my little moth once he gets back to training."
In the kitchen, unaware of the exchange, Borin's voice boomed over the clatter of pots and pans: "No, you idiot! Julienne means matchsticks, not whatever abomination you're creating!"
Boris chuckled nervously, rubbing his neck. "Wow! So you two are the familia we've heard becoming very close with Hebe? Regulus that lucky bast-"
His words were cut short as his wife's elbow found his ribs with practiced precision. "I mean lucky fellow! Yes! He is fortunate to receive the guidance of one of the best servant familias in Babelonia!"
As his wife looked away to spoil Dimos once more, Boris whispered after her, "Milena, you know that I love you." He sighed dramatically before returning to his work, casting one last glance toward the kitchen where the sounds of culinary disaster continued unabated.
Nyx swirled her wine, the crimson liquid catching the lantern light as she sighed dramatically. "I'm bored. Entertain me, Boris. Any good stories?"
Boris' eyes gleamed as he leaned in, lowering his voice. "What about the time the mighty Captain Borin of the Simargl Familia—terror of the battlefield, breaker of sieges—got reduced to a blushing schoolboy by one woman?"
Nyx's golden eyes lit up with predatory interest. "Oh? This I must hear."
"Picture it," Boris began, gesturing with his tankard. "My brother in his prime—seven feet of scarred muscle, could cleave a man in half with his axe before breakfast. Then she arrived—Sirina, a merchant princess who looked at this walking nightmare of a man and said, 'You're cute when you scowl.'"
Nyx nearly choked on her wine. "She what?"
"And that was it for him!" Boris laughed. "Suddenly the man who made hardened warriors piss themselves was bringing her wildflowers and writing terrible poetry. The whole familia nearly mutinied when they saw him giggle for the first time."
From the kitchen came the sound of shattering crockery and Borin's roar: "REGULUS, YOU WRETCHED—"
Boris continued, undeterred. "Here's the best part—Cordelia was the real terror. Wore pants when women weren't supposed to, could out-drink any man in the city, once punched a noble who insulted Borin so hard his descendants still feel it."
Nyx's grin turned wicked. "So your brother became the blushing maiden in the relationship?"
"Absolutely!" Boris wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "Started learning to cook because she joked that the only thing sexier than a warrior was one who could make breakfast. By the time they married, he could out-cook the royal chefs!"
A sudden silence fell in the kitchen. Then—
"BORIS IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH—"
The threat ended in a loud crash as Borin presumably threw something heavy. Nyx threw her head back, laughing with genuine delight. "Oh, this is too precious! The mighty warrior turned househusband!"
Borin stormed into the tavern proper, his face the color of beetroot, a smoking pan in one hand and a mortified Regulus in the other. "THAT'S IT! NO MORE STORIES! AND YOU—" He shook Regulus like a ragdoll. "LEARN TO DICE PROPERLY OR I'M FEEDING YOU TO THE KRAKEN!"
As chaos erupted anew, Nyx smirked into her wine. Cackling all the while. "Best entertainment I've had in decades."