The sun was dipping low, casting a soft amber glow over the village as Mira stood by the small window of their cottage. Her thoughts were heavy, filled with the knowledge that today, her father’s promise to marry her to a family friend’s son would come to fruition. It wasn’t something she could change, no matter how much she wished it.
The thought of marriage to a stranger, someone her father had chosen for her without her input, stirred feelings of unease and resentment. She wasn’t ready to face the reality of it. But her father’s promise was binding, and Mira knew better than to argue with that.
“Mira, my dear,” her mother’s voice broke through her thoughts. She entered the room with a warm smile, though there was an underlying sadness in her eyes. “We need to start preparing the meal. You’ll want it to be perfect for today. The guests will be arriving soon.”
Mira’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t want to make a meal for people she didn’t care about, especially for a man she was being forced to marry. But her mother was insistent, and Mira knew that at least through cooking, she could control something today. The meal was the one thing in her life she could still master.
“I’ll cook,” she said, her voice quiet but determined. “At least that’s something I can do.”
Her mother’s face softened, a gentle look of understanding passing between them. “That’s my girl. Let’s head to the market and gather the supplies you’ll need.”
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The market was bustling with activity as Mira and her mother walked through the narrow aisles, flanked by stalls filled with fresh produce, herbs, and butchered meats. The sounds of merchants calling out their goods filled the air, mingling with the scents of bread, spices, and cooked meats. Mira’s mind was preoccupied, not with the lively scene around her, but with the task at hand. She had to make something that would impress, something simple, yet hearty—appropriate for the times.
“We’ll need some root vegetables, I think,” her mother said, her hand sweeping across a stall that sold potatoes, carrots, and turnips. “They make a good base for a stew.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Mira nodded absently as they moved from stall to stall, selecting a variety of fresh vegetables. Carrots, leeks, and onions would serve as the perfect foundation for a stew—a humble, hearty dish that would satisfy the stomachs of their guests. Mira wasn’t concerned with impressing them, but she could at least make sure the meal was filling and flavorful.
When they reached the butcher, her mother turned to her. “We’ll need some meat. Something easy to cook and that will go well with the stew. Perhaps some pork or beef?”
Mira scanned the cuts of meat before her eyes landed on something else—a large piece of game meat, venison. It wasn’t too uncommon for families like theirs to hunt or buy game meat, especially when they were expecting guests. It was a hearty choice, one that would give the stew a rich, savory flavor.
“Venison will do,” Mira said, pointing to the meat. “It’ll be perfect for the stew.”
Her mother agreed, and the butcher wrapped it up. They also purchased bread, some herbs, and a few more essentials for the meal. Mira wasn’t thrilled, but she did what needed to be done.
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Back at home, Mira set to work in the kitchen, her hands moving with practiced efficiency. The stew would be simple, but it would need time to cook. She began by cutting the venison into chunks, browning the meat in a large pot. The smell of sizzling meat filled the air, grounding her in the task at hand.
She added onions, leeks, and carrots to the pot, followed by a few sprigs of thyme and rosemary—her mother’s favorite herbs. The broth would be made from water, a few bones from the butcher, and a pinch of salt. As the stew simmered, Mira set the bread to bake in the oven. It was a plain loaf, but it would be warm and comforting, the perfect complement to the hearty stew.
While the food cooked, Mira’s mind wandered again to the man she was being forced to marry. His name was William, and he was already 26—a hunter, her father had said. A man who likely had little interest in her, just as she had none for him. Mira didn’t want this marriage, didn’t want to be a piece in some game her father had played for years. But she had no choice.
By the time the stew was ready, the smell filled the house, making Mira’s stomach growl. The venison had softened, the vegetables tender, and the broth rich. She set the table in silence, her thoughts distant.
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Soon, her father’s friends arrived, and Mira found herself standing in front of a family she didn’t know. They were just as she had imagined—unremarkable, businesslike, and concerned only with the formalities of marriage.
William, her future husband, was tall and lean, his eyes a sharp blue that made her uneasy. He stood tall in his hunter’s leathers, his gaze passing over her with little interest. He didn’t seem to care for the meal she had prepared, his attention more on his father and the formalities of their business.
As they ate, Mira sat quietly, her own appetite lost in the heaviness of the situation. William tasted the stew, chewing slowly, and then nodded curtly.
“This is good,” he said, his tone neutral. “Simple, but hearty.”
Her father beamed with pride. “I told you she was skilled. Mira has always been an excellent cook.”
Mira didn’t respond, focusing on her food. She had no desire to engage, no desire to be part of this charade. But she knew that her cooking, however simple, was the only thing she had to offer in this strange, forced situation.
As the evening wore on, Mira retreated to the background, watching as the talk of marriage and alliances continued around her. She could only wait for the day when this would all be over—and she could live a life of her own choosing, even if that day seemed far off.