“Allow me to rephrase. What,” she said, pushing the spoon even closer toward the chef’s face, “is this vegetable?”
The chef was a good deal taller than Mia, so she had to stand on her tiptoes and stretch her arm upward to properly brandish the item in question. At first, he simply stared at the spoon. Eventually, the realization that Mia was not backing off deflated him. He hung his head and said in a defeated tone, “I believe... it is an ambermoon tomato, Your Highness.”
The maids around him cast worried glances his way.
“Never! This... This is an ambermoon tomato?”
She stared in disbelief at the object on her spoon. Her hand shook a little as she slowly brought it to her mouth. There was a mild sweetness hidden within its tangy but refreshing taste. Stewed to just the right softness, it melted on her tongue and left behind only its exquisite flavor, which lingered in her mouth.
Something stirred in her.
She brought another spoonful of stew to her mouth, and then another, her motions slow and trance-like. Memories came flooding back. She remembered the acerbity, the raw bitterness. But none of it was there. Each gulp was a piquant juxtaposition of past and present — of recollection and reality. She reached for the bread and took a small bite. A soft aroma, sweet and fresh, filled her nose. For a moment, the whole world seemed to come to a stop with a transfixing silence. Then, a trembling sigh escaped her lips, and the spell was broken.
“Was bread... always this soft?”
Something hit the table with a gentle spatter. She blinked and looked down. A spot was wet. Only then did she notice the tears running down her cheeks.
“Y-Your Highness! What seems to be the matter? Is there a problem with my cooking?” asked the head chef, panic evident in his voice.
Mia turned to him to respond, but with her cheeks full of food, she produced little more than a series of indecipherable noises. Furthermore, she choked on a piece in the process and went red in the face as she wildly flailed her limbs about. Only after exhibiting copious amounts of unprincess-like behavior, along with one of her equally panicked maids bringing her water, did the commotion finally cease.
“That was most satisfying, chef. Your skills are commendable.”
She smiled at the head chef, who was fidgeting nervously.
“I am greatly honored, Your Highness. However, as the stew today was cooked with the intention of bringing out the natural flavor of its ingredients, I cannot in good faith take credit for its palatability.”
“Oh? Is that so? But, hm... Take for example, then, the ambermoon tomato. Did it not have a more pungent flavor? I do remember it being rather disagreeable,” she said, recalling the ones she was forced to eat in the dungeon. Those were hard, bitter, and sometimes literally rotten. They were absolutely terrible.
“Ah, well...” The head chef smiled as he rubbed his chin. “Cooked improperly, ambermoon tomatoes can indeed end up tasting as Your Highness describes. However, these have been stewed for three days straight. So long as the right amount of heat is used, they can be prepared by just about anyone.”
“My, how curious. If they are such trouble to prepare though, can we not simply avoid eating them altogether...?”
“Absolutely not. That would put the health of Your Highness at risk. For us servants, ensuring the nutrition of the royal family is as important a duty as any.”
The head chef pressed his hand to his chest and gave a deep bow. Mia had always taken such shows of deference for granted, assuming it was the natural way of things. It wasn’t though. Not at all. After the revolution brought about the empire’s downfall and her own personal ruin, almost no one showed her even a morsel of concern, much less deference. She knew this now and allowed her lips to curl up into a tender smile.
“How terribly considerate of you. Know that I am most grateful for your efforts.”
“...Huh?”
Hearing honest gratitude from Mia left the head chef in a state of absolute shock. With his mouth agape, he took a few unsteady steps backward, reeling from the impact of what he’d just heard. Never did he imagine he’d receive such kind words from the willful princess.
...At this point, it shouldn’t be very hard to infer the way Mia usually behaved.
The chef stared at Mia with the kind of wide-eyed bewilderment usually reserved for feats of apparent magic where, for example, a person somehow flew thirty feet into the air. After multiple blinks of disbelief, he finally managed a reply.
“I-I’m... I’m honored, Your Highness.”
It wasn’t much, but it was something. He scratched his chin as if the praise left him abashed, and added, “O-Of course, it might simply be an issue of cost... These foods prepared today were of the finest quality and would cost about a month’s pay for common folk.”
“My, is that so?”
Talks of cost and price never made much sense to Mia. Having been utterly spoiled in her upbringing, she’d lived a life of luxury wherein a simple glance from her was enough to have her every wish fulfilled. She neither knew nor cared about how much her meals and lifestyle cost, or how much money a commoner made in a month. As a result, it would be natural for her to ignore the head chef’s comment.
But she didn’t.
Do you have any idea how much it costs to feed you royals?
An accusatory voice echoed in her mind. She jumped a little and looked around.
Wh-What in the moons?! Who was...
The voice, however, sounded familiar. It was someone from her memory...