“Out!” Julienne yelled.

Prince Waldorf recoiled. “How dare you—”

“Out!” Julienne’s voice resonated through the kitchen, causing everyone to flinch. He slammed his palm on the counter. In this kitchen, no one outranked a Julienne. Not even a petulant prince. “Out!”

Yarrow and Mindy looked between the two in horror. Nori kneeled and fussed over the fallen Archie, who groaned as he rubbed his head.

Prince Waldorf’s shoulders went up, transforming his torso into a massive square with his head somewhere in the middle.

“You give me orders?”

“We can’t have distractions in the kitchen,” Julienne said, trying to appease Prince Waldorf’s ego without backing down. “We’ll have the food out faster—and better—without distractions.”

Prince Waldorf chewed the air and stared Julienne down. Something in the air changed. Like the life got sucked out of it. Julienne clenched his teeth as the air squeezed down on him.

“Wally!” Grand King Flambé’s voice rose in the other room. “Sit! Down!”

Prince Waldorf’s gargantuan shoulders dropped.

“Put some meat in the next course,” Prince Waldorf demanded before returning to the dining area.

Julienne waited until the swinging doors came to a rest before he relaxed. He looked over the counter at Archie, who had scrunched up against the cabinet.

“What happened? Did you burn yourself?”

“I’m okay,” Archie said while looking anything but. “I just slipped.”

Nori helped him up, and he got back to stirring the torrone out of an eagerness to stop the questions.

“I’ll prepare a new batch of nuts,” Nori said before Julienne could ask.

Julienne knew something unusual had just happened but didn’t have time to figure it out.

“Mindy, Yarrow. You’re up. I’m on the bombardino. Archie. What’s your time?”

No response.

“Archie!”

Archie flinched. “I—uh—just ten more minutes. Maybe—maybe fifteen.”

Julienne shook his head. He set out little handled shot glasses onto a tray and poured eggnog into each one, then brandy, then stirred. He topped it with whipped heavy cream and dusted it with cinnamon, then tuned out the rest of the kitchen as the true challenge of the drink began.

One by one, he took the shot glasses between two fingers and manipulated the essence inside. He thought of a fire on a cold winter day, that beacon of heat melting away his chills. In times like those, the fire wasn’t just a fire. It was a friend. A source of comfort. Something to be gathered around. Something to be shared. Julienne captured the feeling and put it into each drink. Each drink was harder than the last, his essence dwindling with each bit of magic.

He finished the final drink just as he started to get lightheaded. He turned his intense focus toward Mindy and Yarrow.

“Status,” he barked.

“Plating in five minutes, Chef,” Yarrow responded.

“Okay.” Julienne nodded and looked around, trying to make sure he had everything covered. “I’m going to go check on things. Hopefully I don’t get stuck out there. If I do, Mindy, start plating.”

“Yes, Chef.”

Julienne looked at the kitchen doors and took a deep breath. He thought of Prince Waldorf and all of the Gluttons causing a scene. He’d have to face them again. And he’d be going out without a dish to placate them. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In. In. In. Out.

He stepped through the doors.

Grand King Flambé had restored some level of his control. He had regained most of his strength—Julienne might not have been able to expel Prince Waldorf from the kitchen otherwise.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Julienne started. “I—”

“I apologize for my son’s boorish behavior,” Grand King Flambé said.

For as much hatred as Prince Waldorf had looked at Julienne with, he looked at his father with several times more.

Years of diplomatic training helped Julienne to come to the decision to just smile and nod. Acknowledging the wrongdoing could just irritate the petulant prince even more.

“I just came out to let everyone know that the main course will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Um, Julienne,” Grand King Flambé said. If Julienne didn’t respect the man so much, he might have heard a hint of nervousness. “I’m afraid that some important matters have—”

A cough rumbled through his throat. Quietly at first. He tried to power through his sentence. “Important matters have—”

The coughing doubled, cutting off his speech. Then it doubled again. The echoes of his coughing fit filled the room. They were wet. Painful.

“Maaah,” Grand Queen Crosnee grumbled through slacked, unmoving lips. No one could be sure what she said or why she had said anything at all.

Grand King Flambé put out his coughs with a drink of water.

“Sorry. I’ll have to be leaving soon.” He cleared his throat, his voice and demeanor regaining their strength. “I can stick around for the main course—that last one was delightful. And maybe a quick dessert.”

He offered Julienne a friendly yet challenging smile. “Will dessert be ready in twenty, thirty minutes?”

No.

“Yes.”

The word slipped out of Julienne’s mouth. Dessert wouldn’t be ready for over an hour. It still had to cool. Julienne realized how wide open his eyes were and tried to reign in his shocked expression.

“Great,” Grand King Flambé said. “I’m sorry to rush you.”

“It’s no rush at all. We have two desserts planned.” They had one. “You’ll definitely be able to enjoy the first one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to it.”

Julienne’s mind raced as he turned to walk to the kitchen. He became acutely aware of the speed of his steps. He needed to get to the kitchen faster. But he couldn’t look like he was in a rush. Not in a panic. Controlled. Like a Julienne.

Through great mental effort, he managed to walk himself into the kitchen. He even managed to make it a few feet inside before losing his cool.

“We’re screwed,” he said, his turmoil coming out as apathy.

“What happened?” Yarrow asked.

“Grand King Flambé needs to leave soon.”

“What?!” Mindy looked down at the plates of mint sauce meatballs she had prepared. “We just finished plating!”

“It’s okay,” Julienne said. “He has maybe half an hour. Tops.”

Mindy sighed and relaxed.

But on the other side of the kitchen pod, someone else tensed.

“No. N—n—no,” Archie stammered. He found his voice and nearly yelled. “He has to stay!”

“Sorry, Archie. The torrone is not going to be ready in time. We’ll serve it to the rest.” Julienne turned to Mindy and Yarrow. “Okay, I’m going to have to make a quick dessert. Let’s get these plates—”

“No!” Archie slammed his fist on the counter. “He has to stay!”

Julienne turned, blinking in shock at Archie’s outrage. “Archie,” he said calmly as if trying to soothe a wild animal. “I’m sorry. It has to cool for an hour. And it’s not even done mixing.”

“No. No, no, no. I’ll—I’ll—I’ll make it cool faster. With essence.” Archie looked around as if he could find the solution sitting on the counter. “I’ll finish mixing it now!”

He stirred furiously and without care. Julienne didn’t need to inspect the essence to know that it wasn’t being manipulated properly.

“Archie. You won’t be able to finish in time.”

“Yes I will!” Archie’s entire body tensed. He wiped sweat from the gentle brown curls at his hairline and took deep heaving breaths. His face went pale.

“Archie? You don’t look so good.” Julienne looked to Nori. Wasn’t she supposed to be Archie’s handler?

“Archie…” she started, trying to calm him down. She put her hand on his arm.

He threw it off of him.

“No! He has to stay. He has to eat this.” Archie stirred as he spoke, his head nodding up and down like a madman’s. “He has to know it came from a Kent. He has to…he has to…”

Nori recoiled.

“What’s that smell?” Yarrow asked.

A wispy odor of rot and eggs trickled in Julienne’s nose and then tripled in intensity with each second.

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“What? Oh my—” Julienne put his fist over his mouth and up into his nostrils to partially block them.

The smell grew exponentially, hitting them like a wave and driving them to disgust. Except for Archie. Archie had a look of panic as he continued working on the torrone. Julienne identified the pot as the source of the smell and bravely moved forward to inspect it.

Julienne expected to see a creamy white mixture, but instead saw a disgusting goop with rippling shades of brown and black.

“I—I—I—uh burnt it,” Archie said on the verge of tears.

“Damn it Archie!” Julienne fought nausea and took a closer look. He knew what had happened, but what had happened was an impossibility. He got close enough to confirm before recoiling away. “No, you didn’t burn it. You…rotted it. You made sugar rot.”

The smell intensified.

“Buh—I—I’m sorry.”

“The smell is going to get in our food!” Mindy yelled as she started to move the plates as far away as possible.

“Get it out!” Julienne screamed, gesturing at the back door. The smell thickened, coating Julienne’s lungs. The others started coughing, threatening to vomit at any moment.

Archie grabbed the pot with his bare hands, dropping it with a yelp. He grabbed two handfuls of rags and used them as gloves to carry the pot out toward the garden.

“What was that?” Mindy asked in disgust.

“That was the plan going to shit and smelling like it, too,” Yarrow said.

Julienne took a deep breath and immediately regretted it. The smell had stopped growing, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. He didn’t have time to figure out what had happened. He only had time to fix it. “Did you get the cooling effect down in the mint sauce?” Mindy nodded. “Good. Okay, let’s get it out there.”

“What are we doing for dessert now?” Yarrow asked.

“Nori,” Julienne commanded. Nori continued to look out toward the garden. Julienne had to yell to get her attention. “Nori! With me.”

Julienne led Nori to Great Aunt Julienne’s pod on the far end of the kitchen.

“Start the fire. We’ll cook here to avoid the smell,” Julienne said as he rummaged through the fridge. As Nori got the fire going, Julienne pulled out a little wooden tub of clarified butter and a brown, waxy cylindrical block big enough to require two hands.

“Is that jaggery?” Nori asked.

“Yes. You know it, good,” Julienne said with relief. At least one of the Archie-Nori pair could pull their weight. “Melt all of this with a bit of butter. Once it bubbles, test a drop of it in cold water every minute. Once it makes a soft ball, take it off the heat. It’ll be a ladoo. Yarrow!”

Nori jumped at Julienne’s sudden increase in volume.

“While I’m out, roast sesame seeds for Nori. Two cups.” He returned his attention to Nori. “You take it off the heat and then no one touches it but me. I need it done in ten minutes but you can’t burn it.”

“You’re making tilgul?” Yarrow asked in disbelief. “Did you finally figure out the trick?”

“No. But I will.”

Julienne fought the urge to run back to the other side of the kitchen, choosing instead to walk calmly while focusing on lowering his heartbeat and controlling his breathing. In. In. In. Out. He had always envied his uncle for getting the spotlight with the guests, but now he saw it for the curse that it was. He wished he could just stay in the kitchen. In. In. In. Out.

He helped with the final plating and made his way out into the dining area with the waiters, his heart racing as he imagined what waited for him beyond the swinging doors. He expected a foul mood, but was instead greeted with applause led by Prince Waldorf.

“Oh good, we’re starving!” he said.

“What do we have now?” another asked.

“I hope it’s good.”

“I’m so hungry.”

The non-Gluttons remained silent, waiting respectfully. Julienne looked to Grand King Flambé. Weariness plagued the grand king’s face. Whatever surge of energy he had gotten from the truffle was gone. His head wobbled until he steadied it with a hand.

Julienne didn’t have time to be concerned. The show had to go on.

“For our main course, we have spiced meatballs in olive oil and a mint yogurt sauce, served with pitas to wrap them with.”

The guests voiced their approval at the visual appeal of the dish—four beef meatballs put into a square on top of layers of yellow-gold oil and white yogurt with sprigs of green mint.

“You’ll find that the mint yogurt has a distinct chilling effect—this is an expected effect from our talented Chefs. To counteract the chill, we are serving bombardino.” Julienne motioned for the waiters to distribute the drink. “In the 400s, a pox spread across Labrusca, causing cities and villages across the kingdom to raise their gates and quarantine for years at a time. In the city of Toral, with its abundant nut trees and egg-laying chickens, torrone became the dessert to go with every meal.”

Julienne thought of the ruined torrone and his frustration with Archie, taking a deep breath to dispel any aggression that might leak into his presentation. He looked at the grand king, who looked back with interest. Julienne decided to lock on to the grand king, presenting to him to avoid the distraction of the Gluttons that had already started eating.

“Since torrone uses egg whites and the city needed to ration where possible, the lord of Toral tasked Chefs to find a way to use the spare egg yolks. A terrible winter tore through the city, so the Chefs of Toral looked to solve two problems at once. They created the bombardino, a drink more warming than any sweater and made from egg yolks.

“Once the pox ended, Toral opened its walls and the drink spread like wildfire through the country. Chefs from all over came to Toral to learn, resulting in the construction of what we now know as Lyceum Labrusca, one of the five Culinary Academies of United Ambrosia.”

Julienne smiled. He had landed the presentation. Now he just needed to land the dessert.

“As you sip it, it will provide a comforting warmth. Enjoy.”

One of the Gluttons downed the bombardino in one go.

“Thank you, Julienne,” Grand King Flambé said. “It looks fantastic.”

Julienne nodded and returned to the kitchen.

Nori wasted no time before giving her report. “We’re ready here.”

“Alright. Pour in the sesame seeds and mix it.” Julienne rubbed clarified butter over his hands as Nori worked.

Her voice softened. “Archie hasn’t come back in. He’s still out on the balcony.”

“Good,” Julienne said without an ounce of compassion. “I can’t have him in here right now. I need to think positive thoughts. You can go. Everyone can go.”

The melted sugar and sesame seeds combined to make a large grainy patty. Julienne took a pinch and rolled it into a ball. He mustered up the last of his essence and tried to infuse the sweet, sugary ball with the power of positive thought. His tongue poked out between his teeth as he concentrated—a little tick he had since he was just a kid.

Nori went out to Archie while Yarrow and Mindy started cleaning up. As Julienne worked, he tried to recall memories of being loved.

He started at the beginning. A vague warmth of an infant memory. Julienne, before he was Julienne, before he was himself, just a toddler, sitting in his mother’s lap on a barstool, stretching to see over the counter as his father cooked. He ooo’d and aaa’d at every sizzle.

“I think we have a Chef in the making,” his father said.

Another memory. Four years old. The Festival of Ambrosia. They had installed a special step ladder with a platform for him to stand on as he cooked on the stove. Macaroni and cheese. His favorite. The noodles grew and curled into coils and bounced up and down an inch off the skillet.

“It happened!” his father yelled. “Honey, it happened!”

Six years old. He made a french onion soup that produced an aroma that spread for miles. People came from all over the city to find the source.

“Amazing.”

“Unbelievable.”

“He must be the next Julienne.”

Nine. A group of fairies were seen in the city for the first time in decades, their little wings carrying them into the palace to steal a taste of Julienne’s chicken marsala.

“He gets better every year.”

Thirteen. His uncle from Ambrosia City came to visit.

“You’re going to come live with me now. In Ambrosia City. You’re going to be a Julienne now.”

“But I—” He couldn’t help his initial protest. He remembered the look on his mother’s face. Not full of pride like he had expected, but full of sadness. He cut off the memory before she started crying. Before the goodbyes.

Julienne continued to pat the sesame into the sugary ball, but he failed to put his desired effect into it. The memories hadn’t worked. They hadn’t been happy enough. They were the biggest moments of his life. Everything they were had made him into everything he was. But they weren’t enough. They were missing something.

Love.

He went back again. Back before the Induction Ceremony. Before cooking in Cafe Julienne for the first time. Before Great Aunt Julienne’s stories. Before moving to Ambrosia City. Before being Julienne. Back to the times he would sit in his mother’s lap and watch his father cook.

As the food sizzled and the dog panted and the birds chirped, one sound cut through all the noise.

“I love you so much,” his mother said.

That was it. Julienne took that feeling and instilled it in the sweets as he rolled them into little balls.

As the non-Gluttons wrapped up the main course—the Gluttons had finished within a minute of being served—Julienne brought out the dessert alone. He carried a tray full of plates that blessed the dining area with a dark, toasty fragrance.

“For our last course, we’ll be partaking in a Lampuki tradition. This is tilgul ladoo. It is a sesame candy that is eaten on the holidays. When it is given, a phrase is given as well. ‘Eat this sweet and speak sweetly.’ The essence of sweetness extends beyond taste, taking a hold of your spirit, compelling you to say sweet things.”

Julienne served this course himself, walking around and placing one sweet on each plate. Each time he repeated, “eat this sweet and speak sweetly.” For once, perhaps due to the unconventional delivery of the food, the Gluttons waited before eating.

Finally, once Julienne set the last plate down in front of Grand King Flambé, they ate.

Julienne watched them eat. He waited. He watched. He waited. He tried to control his breathing to no avail. In. In. Out. In. Out. In. In. Out. In. Finally, after a moment of silent chewing, the grand marshall turned to the grand justiciar.

“I think this whole nation owes you for your service,” he said. “Everyone should know what you have done for this land.”

The Chancellor looked to the grand treasurer. “Your generosity and diligence in finding money for the church has allowed us to extend soup kitchens to the needy. Thank you.”

The effects of the tilgul ladoo took hold of the room, a chorus of compliments and sweet memories filled the air.

“I love you.”

“You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“You have been a dear friend.”

Julienne turned his attention to the royal family. In a rare moment of hesitancy, Prince Waldorf had waited to see how the sweet affected others before taking a bite. Its effect took hold of him in moments. He turned to his mother.

“Your breast milk was some of the best I’ve ever had. Some days I wish I could still have it.”

Julienne felt nausea ball up into a lump in his throat.

The grand king had eaten his already, but did not speak. The effect had worked on everyone. Everyone was overflowing with love and praise and appreciation and joy. He should have been saying something sweet to his son. But instead, he just stared with hatred.

Prince Waldorf turned to his father. “You were a great soldier.”

The king said nothing. His jaw tensed.

Prince Waldorf continued. “Thank you for taking care of mother even though she’s not really alive anymore.”

No response. The king shifted in his chair, still staring at his son.

“I appreciate how hard your upbringing was.”

Nothing. A chill went down Julienne’s spine. For as much as Julienne hated Prince Waldorf, Grand King Flambé’s silence contained more hatred than Julienne had ever known. The grand king had been compelled to say good things, but had nothing to say, and therefore remained silent.

“Thank you for being a good king,” Prince Waldorf said. “You have cultivated a nation that I will enjoy ruling.”

Grand King Flambé rose from his chair as if he were about to lunge at his son. Prince Waldorf flinched, but before things could come to a head, the rattling cough took the grand king again.

Prince Waldorf’s plump lips twisted into a smug grin.

Julienne went to help Grand King Flambé, but was waved away.

“I’ll—” Grand King Flambé coughed again. “I’ll be going now. Acacia.”

The grand marshall turned in response.

“Let us be going,” Grand King Flambé said.

This was news to the grand marshall. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said after a brief pause. He moved to Grand King Flambé’s side, unsure if he should help the man walk. He decided not to. The grand king shambled up to Julienne, his voice barely registering above a whisper and containing the rattle of a man with one foot in the grave.

“You did excellent today,” he said. “I’ll be sure to tell your uncle how pleased I am that such an important pillar of Ambrosia City will be in good hands for years to come.”

“Hear, hear, young Julienne,” Prince Waldorf called out, half in mockery of his father. “Let me know anytime you have a seat for me. I’ll gladly take it.”

Julienne didn’t react. He couldn’t. Too much had happened all too fast. It wasn’t until Grand King Flambé had fully exited the building until Julienne could mindlessly walk back into the kitchen.

“Well?” Yarrow asked.

Mindy shook with anticipation.

“I did it,” Julienne monotoned. His face expressed no happiness. Only shock.