Chapter 53: Cold Fish and Colder Shoulders

The Royal Scullery was in chaos.

“No!” Ren barked, slamming her hand down on the stone prep table. “I said thin slices! Translucent! That looks like a doorstop! Do you want the king to choke on a chunk of radish?”

The Albino Snake flinched, dropping her flint knife. “It is hard! The vegetable fights back!”

“It’s a tuber, not a warrior,” Ren snapped. She looked around the kitchen. It was a disaster.

The Harem was in full rebellion mode. The Coral Snake was deliberately dropping the clean eels onto the dirty floor. Lyssa was sitting on a barrel, buffing her nails on a rough stone, looking bored and smug.

“Why do we labor?” Lyssa yawned. “The King does not care about the shape of his food. He swallows whole. You are wasting time, Mammal.”

“I am wasting patience,” Ren corrected, her eyes narrowing.

She watched Coral pick up a dirty eel and move to put it in the bowl without rinsing it.

Something inside Ren snapped. The tired prisoner vanished. The Head Chef emerged.

“STOP!”

The command wasn’t loud, but it was laced with a terrifying, freezing authority that cut through the noise of the kitchen.

Ren marched over to Coral. She snatched the eel.

“Listen to me,” Ren hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if you want to see me fail. But right now, we are a team. And if this breakfast isn’t ready in ten minutes, I’m not going down alone.”

She pointed the slimy eel at Lyssa.

“If Syris is hungry, he gets cranky. If he gets cranky, he punishes. Do you think he’ll only whip the mammal? Or will he look at his First Concubine and wonder why she can’t manage a simple kitchen?”

Lyssa stopped buffing her nails. Her smile faltered.

“If I sink,” Ren promised, her blue eyes blazing, “I am grabbing your ankles and dragging you all down to the bottom of the swamp with me. Capiche?”

The room went silent.

The snakes exchanged nervous glances. They knew the King’s temper.

“Wash the eel,” Lyssa ordered Coral sharply, hopping off the barrel. “And slice the greens.”

Ren let out a breath. ’Finally.’

“We have no fire,” Ren announced, looking at the ingredients. “So we aren’t cooking. We’re curing.”

She grabbed the fresh river fish and the eels. She pulled her heavy meat cleaver from her inventory.

Chop. Slice. Slide.

Her knife skills were hypnotic. She shaved the fish into paper-thin ribbons. She arranged them on a black slate platter in a spiral pattern.

“Now for the flavor,” Ren muttered. She checked her inventory. She had flour. She had honey. She did not have the spices needed to make raw river fish palatable.

[System Shop Open][Available: Spicy Chili Oil (50 XP), Sichuan Peppercorn Salt (50 XP)][Current XP: 105]

Ren groaned internally. “That’s everything. I’m going to be bankrupt.”

[System Notification: Do not worry, Host. Completing ’Task 4: The Breakout’ rewards 5000 XP. Think of this as an investment.]

Ren sighed, staring at the meager XP balance. She let out a short, quiet laugh that lacked any real humor.

’The Breakout,’ she thought, shaking her head. ’I was so delusional. I thought I could just steal a key and waltz out of here.’

She bought the items. Her XP dropped to 5.

’I need a new plan. A better plan.’

She turned back to the table. She drizzled the red oil over the raw white fish. She sprinkled the numbing salt and the finely chopped herbs.

“What is that red blood?” Coral whispered, eyeing the chili oil.

“It’s flavor,” Ren muttered. “It’s a spicy eel carpaccio. It burns going down. Syris will like it.”

She finished the plating. It looked like a work of art—a vibrant, dangerous flower made of raw meat.

“Done.” Ren wiped her hands.

Lyssa stepped forward immediately, snatching the heavy slate platter.

“I will take it,” Lyssa declared, puffing out her chest. “Only the First Concubine is allowed in the King’s Nest.”

Ren watched her go, a pang of bitterness hitting her chest.

“Fine,” Ren muttered, picking up a rag. “Enjoy the credit. I hope you trip.”

The King’s Nest

Syris sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the empty fireplace. His stomach was growling, but his appetite felt non-existent.

The heavy doors opened.

Lyssa slithered in, hips swaying exaggeratedly. She held the slate platter high.

“My King,” she purred. “I have brought nourishment.”

Syris looked at the food.

He frowned. It wasn’t a pile of dead rats. It wasn’t a chunk of boiled meat.

It was beautiful. The fish was sliced with impossible precision. The red oil glistened like jewels. The scent… it was sharp, spicy, and completely foreign to him.

“What is this?” Syris asked, leaning forward.

“It is…” Lyssa hesitated. She tried to remember what Ren had called it. “It is… River-Flower Meat. With… Red-Sting sauce.”

“Red-Sting?” Syris dipped a finger into the oil and tasted it.

Heat exploded on his tongue. It was a complex heat—numbing, savory, and rich.

He knew this taste.

It was Ren.

His heart gave a painful squeeze.

“Did you make this, Lyssa?” Syris asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the plate.

Lyssa beamed. “Yes, my King. I labored over the blade. I mixed the red juices myself. I wanted to create something worthy of you.”

Syris looked at her hands. Her nails were perfectly manicured. There was no smell of fish on her skin.

She was lying. Of course she was.

“Eat,” Lyssa urged. “I can feed you, if you wish.”

“No,” Syris said coldly. He took the platter from her. “I will eat alone.”

Lyssa’s smile faltered. She looked annoyed—a flash of irritability crossing her features—but she quickly masked it. “As you command.”

Syris took a bite of the eel.

It was cold. The texture was smooth, but the spices woke up his senses. It was delicious!

He ate in silence, each bite a reminder of the woman currently scrubbing his floors. He chewed slowly, savoring the burn, letting the physical sensation distract him from the emotional ache.

“Is it tasty?” Lyssa asked, hovering by the bed.

“Yes,” Syris said, his voice flat. “It is… acceptable.”

Lyssa preened at the meager praise. She stepped closer, invading his personal space. She placed a hand on his thigh, her fingers trailing up toward his sash.

“Since you have eaten,” Lyssa whispered, her voice dropping to a sultry hiss. “Perhaps we should… mate? To speed up the digestion? It is good for the metabolism.”

Syris flinched. Her touch felt cloying.

He stood up abruptly, the platter clattering onto the side table.

“No,” Syris said, stepping away from her.

“But King—”

“I have duties,” Syris lied. “I must… inspect the walls. The humidity is… wrong today.”

“And leave the tray,” Syris ordered, walking briskly toward the door. “Do not wait for me.”

He practically fled the room.

Syris walked fast, putting distance between himself and the suffocating atmosphere of the Nest. He needed air. He needed to clear his head.

He turned down the corridor that led to the central atrium. He passed the high archway that looked out into the inner sanctuary of the Garden.

Something caught his eye.

Syris stopped. He took a step back, hiding himself in the shadows of the archway.

There, standing by the edge of a small, thermal pond nestled among the ferns, was Ren.

She was facing him, though she didn’t see him. Her attention was entirely consumed by the water.

The pond here was different from the others. It bubbled gently, the mineral-rich water shifting colors from turquoise to deep violet as the steam rose. It sparkled under the bioluminescent moss like liquid opal.

Ren was staring at it with wide, curious eyes. She leaned forward, her hands clasped behind her back, watching the colors swirl with an expression of pure, childlike fascination.

“What is she doing?” Syris muttered to himself.

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