Chapter 151: Chapter-151

“Oh, enlighten me then!” Heena said, throwing her hands up. “What deep mystical purpose is served by making my husband cook dessert?!”

“That’s for you to discover,” the Duchess said serenely.

“I hate you so much right now,” Heena muttered.

“I love you too, dear,” the Duchess replied. “Now, are you going to let His Highness complete the ritual, or are you going to stand here complaining all morning?”

Heena looked at Larus, who gave her a helpless shrug that clearly said ’I’m just as confused as you are’.

“Fine,” Heena said through gritted teeth. “FINE. He can cook. But I’m staying here to supervise.”

“Absolutely not,” the Duchess said immediately.

“WHAT?! Why not?!”

“The ritual requires that the consort prepare the dish without the Empress’s direct observation. You’ll wait in the dining room.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Nevertheless, those are the rules.”

“I’m the ’Empress’! I make the rules!”

“Not about ancient marriage traditions, you don’t,” the Duchess said, and there was steel underneath her pleasant tone. “Now, shall I escort you to the dining room, or will you go peacefully?”

Heena looked at her aunt, then at Larus, then back at her aunt.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.

“Immensely,” the Duchess admitted without shame.

“I’m going to get you back for this.”

“I look forward to it, dear. Dining room. Now.”

—

Ten minutes later, Heena was pacing the imperial dining room like a caged tiger.

Back and forth, back and forth, her footsteps echoing on the marble floor.

The servants who were supposed to be setting the table had finished their work and were now just standing there nervously, watching their Empress wear a path in the floor.

“Your Majesty,” one brave servant ventured, “perhaps you’d like to sit—”

“No,” Heena said shortly, not breaking her stride.

“Some tea while you wait—”

“No.”

“A light snack—”

“I said NO.”

The servants exchanged glances and wisely fell silent.

Heena continued pacing.

System 427 materialized, floating along beside her. “Host, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor.”

“Good,” Heena muttered. “Then I can fall through it and escape this nightmare.”

“It’s just cooking—”

“It’s the ’principle’!” Heena hissed. “Who sends a royal prince into a kitchen?! A ’kitchen’! He’s an Emperor Consort, not a pastry chef!”

The Duchess, who had entered the dining room and was now sitting serenely at the head of the table, said without looking up from the book she was reading: “Your Majesty, it’s like I’ve sent him into a battlefield. You’re carrying on as if I’ve ordered his execution.”

Heena spun to face her aunt. “Who sends a royal prince into a kitchen?! The most—the most—”

She gestured wildly, searching for words.

“The most ’domestic’ place in the entire palace?!”

“Many royal families have similar traditions,” the Duchess said calmly, turning a page. “It’s quite common, actually.”

“I don’t care what’s common!” Heena said, resuming her pacing. “I care about what makes sense! And this doesn’t make sense!”

“Doesn’t it?” the Duchess asked, finally looking up. “Tell me, Your Majesty, what do you think cooking reveals about a person?”

Heena stopped pacing and looked at her aunt suspiciously. “What?”

“It’s a simple question,” the Duchess said. “Cooking. What does it tell you about someone?”

“That they… can follow a recipe?” Heena said, confused about where this was going.

“Patience,” the Duchess corrected. “Attention to detail. The ability to follow complex instructions. The willingness to engage in repetitive, sometimes tedious work toward a goal. Care and precision. The understanding that some things cannot be rushed.”

She closed her book and looked directly at Heena.

“All qualities that are rather important in a governing partner, wouldn’t you say?”

Heena opened her mouth to argue, then closed it.

Damn it.

Her aunt had a point.

“That’s…” Heena started, then stopped. “Okay, fine, I see the logic. But still—”

“Still nothing,” the Duchess interrupted. “This is a test, Heena. Not of his cooking skills, but of his character. Can he handle tasks beneath his station without complaint? Can he focus on something unfamiliar? Can he create something meant to please you specifically, not for political gain but simply because the ritual asks it of him?”

She stood up and walked over to Heena, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“And more importantly—can *you* trust him to handle something without your direct control?”

Heena felt like she’d been slapped.

“I… I trust Larus,” she said, but even she heard the uncertainty in her voice.

“Do you?” the Duchess asked gently. “Or are you so used to managing everything yourself that the idea of letting someone else handle even a simple task makes you anxious?”

Heena wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that this was different, that she was worried about Larus, not about control.

But looking at her aunt’s knowing expression, she realized she’d been caught.

“I hate when you’re right,” Heena muttered.

“I know, dear,” the Duchess said, patting her shoulder. “Now sit down, stop pacing, and try to relax. He’ll be fine.”

“But what if—”

“Sit. Down.”

Heena sat.

And then immediately started drumming her fingers on the table.

The Duchess sighed. “You are impossible.”

“I learned from the best,” Heena shot back.

“I’m going to pretend you meant that as a compliment,” the Duchess said, returning to her seat and her book.

They sat in silence for approximately thirty seconds.

Then Heena asked, “How long does kheer take to make?”

“However long it takes,” the Duchess said without looking up.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer you’re getting.”

Another silence.

Fifteen seconds this time.

“What if he burns it?”

“Then he burns it.”

“What if he doesn’t know how to work the stove?”

“The kitchen staff will assist with equipment. The actual cooking must be his own work.”

“What if—”

“Heena,” the Duchess interrupted, finally looking up with exasperation, “if you ask me one more ’what if,’ I’m going to seal your mouth shut with magic.”

Heena opened her mouth to protest.

The Duchess raised one hand, magic already beginning to shimmer around her fingers.

Heena wisely shut her mouth.

“Thank you,” the Duchess said, lowering her hand. “Now. Silence. Patience. Meditation.”

“I don’t meditate,” Heena muttered.

“Then start,” the Duchess replied. “It’ll do you good.”

Heena slumped in her chair, arms crossed, looking like a petulant child who’d been sent to timeout.

The System floated over and whispered, “Host, you’re pouting.”

“I am *not* pouting,” Heena whispered back.

“You literally have your bottom lip stuck out.”

Heena immediately adjusted her expression.

The Duchess smiled behind her book.

—

Twenty-five minutes of agonizing waiting later, the dining room doors finally opened.

Heena’s head snapped up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

Larus entered, followed by two servants carrying covered dishes.

And Heena’s heart clenched.

He looked… exhausted. His face was flushed from the heat of the kitchen. There were small burns on his hands—nothing serious, but clearly visible. His hair was slightly disheveled. His formal robes had been covered with an apron that he’d apparently forgotten to remove, and there was a smudge of what looked like flour on his cheek.

He was trembling slightly—whether from nerves or exhaustion, Heena couldn’t tell.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep