The scent of freshly cooked food filled the kitchen, rich and tantalizing, but Malvoria barely noticed.
She stood stiffly near the massive stone counters, arms crossed, watching as the kitchen staff bustled around her with an ease she did not possess.
The air was thick with the heat from the stoves, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, and the sizzling of meat in large iron pans.
She didn't belong here.
And they knew it.
"You look like a lost child," one of the head chefs commented dryly, barely glancing up from where he was expertly slicing roasted meat. "Did the throne room kick you out?"
A burst of laughter followed his words, and Malvoria shot him a glare.
"I'm here for food," she said, her voice clipped.
The chef smirked, wiping his hands on his apron. "Oh, really? I assumed you were here to practice your cooking skills."
More laughter.
Malvoria's scowl deepened.
"Food," she repeated. "Now."
