I have decided not to ponder over the situation I have found myself in anymore.

For the sake of my mental health, it was clearly the right choice. 'Obsessing over it and feeling sorry for yourself will not help you solve anything,' was what I told myself.

And yet in reality, staring down at my sticky hands, I couldn't help but think about it.

The room was still as dark as it was when I first entered it. Although the flames in the furnace were dancing happily, it was still a bit too dim for me to actually see anything more than a silhouette of my soggy fingers. Not like I didn't know what I would see.

"I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry," weak words escaped my mouth.

Not like there was anyone to hear me say it. Clem stormed off, mumbling something under her nose the moment she lay chickens on the table. Without saying anything, she left me to myself.

Being alone for the first time in what felt like a really long time, was a bit confusing. On one hand being alone I could finally catch up on my thoughts. On the other, I still had work to do. All that stress accumulated while working towards a deadline, that was once such a strong motivator, felt almost like a joke right now. Being afraid of getting yelled at for missing a deadline was nothing compared to a threat of a guillotine.

With Clem or not, there was a job that needed to be done.

My fingers grasped a knife on the table. Still warm from the fresh blood, its handle felt right at home in my just as bloody palm. My hand gripped the knife tightly, as my eyes found the gory pulp on the table.

The smell of blood was filling my nostrils and a taste in my mouth was that of metal.

I felt my grip on the knife harden. If I wanted to survive, there was no other way.

"I'm sorry mister chicken, but it's time for you to go."

Slaughtering a chicken isn't something I had ever done before, but once my livelihood depended on it, it turned out to be surprisingly doable. It's crazy, the things people would do to save their life.

The only thing left was actually making something out of it.

"Um, what are you doing?" asked Clem from the doorway, tilting her head. "Did you just apologize to a chicken?"

"How much did you hear?"

"We just heard you apologize to a chicken."

"Right, right. And how many times did you hear me apologize?"

"Once. Why? How many times did you apologize?"

"Just once," I offered innocently. There's no reason for her to know that I kept apologizing to the chicken for the past twenty-five minutes while trying to cut it up.

"How weird. You must do this in the dark? Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"No, I..."

"Clem, who is this?" another voice asked.

The voice belonged to another maid, the one that followed Clem in here. She was older than the little girl next to her, though not by much, probably around twenty years of age or so. But she had that air of confidence and know-how that the little girl lacked. By the looks of it, she could've been her superior.

"That's the cuisiner," Clem explained to her.

"That's not the cuisiner, isn't he just some fool from the streets?"

"That's exactly what I've said!"

"Then why did you bring him into the kitchens? Look what he did to that chicken!"

"The Fool has completely ruined Queen's chicken!"

"Quick! This needs to be fixed! Send the boys to look for the cuisiner, he must be wondering somewhere. And get the girls in here, we must get started on the dinner. Hopefully we can still manage in time..."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

It felt like the ground once again shifted from underneath my legs. One moment I was doing my best, trying not to cut off my finger, all while trying to cup up the chicken. And then - puff. A dozen of small feet came rushing in, all belonging to the maids not unlike Clem, albeit a bit older.

"Clem, why is it so dark in here?"

"Well, I went looking for you and I thought..."

"You shouldn't just assume things, the candles aren't going to light themselves! No queen wants a forgetful maid, you know."

The next moment the kitchen was alive, as if the dark, damp room I was just in never existed. Clem was going around lighting up the candles, the rest of the maids moved knowingly, without being told what to do they picked up their tasks.

One of them came up to me, took away whatever was left of the chicken and sent a nasty look my way.

I was left standing dumbly in the middle of the room, with confused look on my face and a bloody knife in my hand.

This wasn't working out at all. For a moment I actually hoped this could somehow happen. At one point it all lined up for me, the potato chips in the cave, the bacon in the carriage. The words that the princess had spoken. For a moment it all made sense to me.

But just for a moment. Then, the reality kicked in and I was left standing with nothing to do. I was no cook, every single girl in the room could see that. I had a distinct idea of what to do, but no real skills to accomplish that.

And yet there was no place for me to run. I could just stand there, playing the fool only for so long.

It was do or die and I couldn't rely on them to actually find a chef just wondering around.

I had the plan and now was the time to implement it.

"You, girlie, cut the chicken in bite sized pieces. No skin. Someone start peeling the damn potatoes! No, no, we don't need carrots. Po-tay-toes! Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew. Potatoes. Clem, what kinds of oil do we have?" I tried to channel my inner Ramsay Gordon. If these girls would respond to anything, it would be a completely arrogant jackass. A real chef, in other words. Hopefully hours upon hours of daytime tv did not go to waste on me and my impersonation would stand.

"Who are you?" the girl that Clem brought, asked.

"Me? I'm princess' personal chef, bitch!" I take things too far sometimes. As soon as I've said it I came to regret it.

"What?" a hard vein popped on her forehead. "And what's 'chefe', you overgrown ass person face?"

"That's fool talk for cuisiner," Clem never wasted an opportunity to call me a fool.

"Also, what's 'ass person face'?" the girl, whose face was red in rage, changed to a different kind of blush.

"You know.. It's... You! Yeah, that's you - ass person face!"

"That's fairly accurate, actually," I made a deliberate pause. "I called you something I shouldn't have. I didn't mean it and I apologize. Also," I turned to the girl that took the chicken from me. "I didn't mean to call you 'girlie' either. I get a bit intense when I start cooking and I guess... I just say things that I don't really mean."

It was kind of weird. Standing there, face dirty from the day spent traveling, a bloody knife still in my hand. Trying to apologize. Being stared at by a handful of girls.

"I know there is no real reason for you to trust me and definitely not to assist me, but..."

"We have plenty of sunflower oil. We also have olive oil."

I was startled. In my embarrassed state I somehow missed the little Clem. While I was looking for words, she walked behind me bringing a large container filled with oil and put it on the table. How this little girl managed to carry a container half her size and lift it to the table, I will never know.

"Ah... Sunflower will do fine."

"I figured."

No words came to me. There were just no words that could describe my feelings. This girl that took every opportunity to mess with me, now was going out of her way to help me. If I wasn't so dehydrated my eyes would probably be teary right now.

Clem just smiled knowingly at me, and turned to her side.

As if remembering what I was doing just now, I looked back to the kitchen expecting a bunch of shocked looks. But the one who was left shocked was I.

Every single maid was hard at work, not paying any attention to me or Clem. More than that, they were doing exactly what I told them to. And I was going to give this heartfelt speech, convincing them to assist me in this endeavor. Turns out all it took was a no-no word and an assist from a child.

Who knew.

"Order me, Fool," Clem threw a pose, akin to a soldier saluting an officer.

"Let's poor that oil into a pot," I said and took an opportunity to casually walk closer to her. "And thank you," I added quietly, so that only she could hear.

"Don't thank me, Fool, I didn't do anything. Besides," she said, before adding quietly. "I guess I called the princess 'Queen' again, so."

"Well, I appreciate it. And I will keep my mouth shut."

"You better."

"Oh, right. Don't you need to call back the people looking for the cuisiner?"

"No need, I never sent for them."

"You didn't?"

Clem just looked at me like I was the biggest idiot in town. It's like she was telling me with her look: 'The cuisiner is right here, why would I go out looking for one?' It's like she was saying 'I don't doubt you'.

She was saying I believe in you.

The sad thing is, I never knew someone else's trust in you could be such a heartwarming thing. Even if it was from a bratty child.

No, the really sad part was, that all her trust was painfully misplaced.

"I'm still a bit surprised it was this easy to convince the other maids to help," suddenly, I felt like changing the topic.

"Fool. Most of them hate you. And I'm pretty sure Athena will try to choke you in your sleep tonight."

"Then, why?.."

"Fool," was all she said, half-smiling at me.

"Because you chose to help me?.."

"That's only natural," and she looked at me as if I was an actual fool. "I am the head maid, after all."