The Crown Prince's Forbidden Chef

Aside from the fact that the men chefs were working with precision and in order,

The moment I stepped into the royal kitchen, the kitchen noise hit me first like a raging storm. There were clattering pots, sizzling oil, and shouting chefs. But louder than all of that ,were the whispers and murmurs.

"Look at him... he's so small."

"He'll faint before the stove even heats."

"Another weakling who thinks he can survive here."

Their eyes stabbed into me like knives. These men were twice my size, smirking as though I had already failed. My thin frame and young face made it worse. I tried not to shrink under their stares.

Let them laugh. I wasn't here to impress any of them. I was here to survive.

The head steward clapped his hands sharply, commanding silence from everyone.

"Daniel Haston," he announced, "you will prepare the dish the former royal chef failed at."

The room fell dead quiet... A few chefs even stepped back in fear.

And that... wasn't reassuring to me at all.

A pot slammed in front of me. "The Crown Prince wants Phoenix Flame Soup. The last chef overcooked the broth and lost his head."

My stomach dropped.

"Executed... over soup?"

The steward's cold eyes locked onto mine. "If you fail, you'll be thrown out. If you anger the prince, well... you know the consequences."

Excellent. No pressure...of course that's the highest pressure I have ever been under..

But I inhaled carefully, steadying myself. Then I rolled up my sleeves, tied my borrowed apron, and faced the ingredients laid out before me...even though the vegetables were poorly chopped, the meat unevenly sliced, and the spices scattered without care...

This kitchen was supposed to serve royalty.

No wonder someone died.

I began working. My hands moved on instinct...my instinct, Irene's instinct.

First, I corrected the cuts, slicing the vegetables into uniform pieces, fast and clean.

My knife rhythm echoed through the kitchen...quick, precise, and professional.

Then Murmurs rose...

"Look at that speed..."

"Is he actually... trained?"

But I was barely listening. I slipped into the focus I knew so well.

A modern chef's mindset in an ancient kitchen.

I simmered the broth low, coaxing flavor instead of burning it.

I toasted the herbs gently to release their fragrance.

I seared the meat with control, using heat levels. And the flames obeyed me.

These men didn't even understand how I was cooking. It seemed odd to them as they were confused looking at what I was doing.

Minutes passed, it was tense and silent. Even the other chefs stopped cooking to see how different I was.

Finally, the aroma drifted through the room.. which was rich, and very fragrant,

Gasps echoed around me.

"What kind of technique is that?"

"I've never smelled anything like this..."

"This boy...he doesn't look normal."

I served the soup into a porcelain bowl, garnishing it with fresh herbs and a perfectly thin slice of roasted pepper that floated like a flame.

Making it look Beautiful, Balanced, and more presentable.

The steward approached it slowly, as if afraid the dish might explode on his face.

He lifted the spoon,then tasted it...

...and his eyes widened.

"This..." he whispered, "is perfection."

His voice boomed across the kitchen. "Prepare this dish for presentation to His Highness!"

The chefs stared at me as though I'd turned into some mythical creature they did not understand and of course their stares were right...I am a mythical creature from the future inhabiting another female's body who is now disguised as a boy to survive this ancient world.

A few of the chefs even stepped aside respectfully.

Whispers swelled in:

"He might actually survive here."

"No, more than that...he might rise."

"That boy... he's dangerous and looks abnormal."

"How can someone so small and beautiful like a maiden cook this way"

I stood there, chest rising and falling, my hands trembling...not from fear, but from something else...

My Confidence and Power.

For the first time in this world, I felt it settling into me.

I wasn't just surviving.

I was proving myself.

Daniel Haston might not really exist.

But Irene...the chef I used to be...was very much alive.

And this palace was about to learn exactly what I could do.