It was true that Afiele was safe. Happy—well, Sasi and Culin would beg to differ some days. But they knew their father, Lord Lantal, was beloved. He went about slaying the undead that appeared with Afiele’s small household retainers, who were, of course, better than other [Lord]’s standing forces because they fought the undead at least once a week!

They might be poor, but they were good fighters. And there was always enough to eat, even if it was the same sort of thing.

The problem was…it was so boring.

“Mother. There’s nothing to do.”

“Sasi, please. I’m working on this dinner. Ah—Edert, can you try to make a custard? We have the eggs for it…”

The [Cook] twisted his hands as he and Risel stood together in the small kitchen of the keep. Sasi folded her arms, but her mother was too preoccupied to notice.

“But will it be properly Calanfer-style custard, Lady Risel?”

“I’m sure Princess Seraphel won’t mind, Edert. She has been very gracious. Just do your best—don’t make it too sweet, mind, we can always add sugar—”

“I’m terrified, milady! If I should offend her…”

The man wiped at his balding pate. He was a low-level [Cook], although Sasi and Culin thought he was great. But if he was high-level—like over Level 30—he wouldn’t have been employed in Afiele. He would have taken his Skills to the capital or a bigger city.

Risel soothed the nervous man.

“If there is any problem, Edert, I will take full responsibility. Your name need never come into it. The custard? And for the salad, I think some of our imported produce. Strawberries?”

“That’s costly, Lady Risel.”

Sasi’s mother grimaced. Sasi glanced at the bowl of small, slightly wizened strawberries shipped from up north. Or maybe as far as Baleros? She longed to sneak a few. Culin actually tried, edging towards the bowl with the delicacies. His mother instantly turned and gave him a warning look.

“Those are for Princess Seraphel and dinner, Culin. Hands off. We have enough, Edert. Duchess Grishen has kindly given some of her stores to us. We must thank her when she arrives…which means you will be more polite, Sasi.”

“Mother. Duchess Grishen hates me!”

The young [Lady] complained loudly. Risel looked shocked, but absently so as she turned back to the menu for the [Princess]’ repast tonight.

“She does not. She adores you, Sasi. She just doesn’t tolerate bad manners…at all. You must be polite.”