1711, Aethiel Palace, Kestramore City

    "How will I face you today, after all that's happened between us?" Catarina quietly murmured as she stared at her reflection in the bronze mirror.

Dark circles had formed under her eyes, a product of her sleepless night. She tiredly slipped the cooking apron on and tied the sash around her waist, then yawned.

    "Are you unwell, Catarina?" Jessamine voiced out in concern. "Usually, you are already out and about at times like this."

    "I haven't slept well. A little bug crept into my ear and wouldn't stop buzzing all night."

Little did Jessamine knew that the 'bug' was in fact Catarina's own conscience, telling her to admit her true feelings, but of course, she was too proud and was unwilling to do that.

       The cooking competition was held in the furthest section of the royal gardens, near the river, which had gradually returned to its former self after several days without rain.

Seven counters were set up side by side, and on each counter were a variety of fruits and vegetables, beef, chicken and venison, as well as flour and eggs.

On the ground beside each of the counters were makeshift stoves, and at the front, a bit farther away from the judge's table was a big firewood oven, specially built for the occasion.

        Catarina found herself in the fourth counter from the left, and to her right was Jessamine. Much to her chagrin, on her left, was Marguerite le Prince.

       "Good day, ladies," Princess Demitria greeted, her voice loud and clear. "As you have been informed earlier, today, each and every one of you must prepare a dish that would suit our liking. If you succeed, then the odds of you being chosen at the end is very likely.

        In front of you are a variety of ingredients from each region of our kingdom. To your left, we have a selection of choice cuts of beef and mutton from Riviera, and beside it, we have whole chickens, quails, and eggs from Bourles. Next to that is a spread of fruits, vegetables and mushrooms from Esterdel, as well as honey and sugarcane from Lorewell.

On your right, you will salt, dried fish, oysters and crawfish from the Isles of Vitale, wheat and oat from Grange, spice and herbs from Beaummiers, and lastly, milk, butter and cheeses that were prepared here, in Kestramore City."

Catarina was pleased to see that all the ingredients she required were available, and as soon as Demitria signalled for them to begin, she quickly retrieved the rolled up piece of parchment that she had tucked in her sleeve.

Madame Mulberry's Excellent Egg Dishes: Fabulous Fritattas

7 free-range and corn fed chicken or duck eggs

A quarter pint of a happy cow's milk

A handful of plump and succulent cherry tomatoes

A handful of mushrooms harvested from the forest of dryads

A stick of butter, made with love

As much goat cheese as your heart desires

A teeny tiny pinch of salt

She did not know whether the mushrooms were harvested from the forest of dryads or not, but they were indeed mushrooms, so they would have to do.

As Catarina began to chop the mushrooms and tomatoes, Marguerite too had begun working on her own dish.

     Although she often pretended to be oblivious to mundane tasks such as cooking and chores in order to preserve the image of a sheltered young lady, the truth is that Marguerite was quite well versed in those areas.

Following the downfall of House le Prince, they were no longer capable of hiring excellent and talented cooks, as they would understandably demand higher pay. Mediocre cooks were hired, and needless to say, their cooking was also mediocre, thus unsuitable for the le Prince's noble palates.

Marguerite had begrudgingly taken over the strenuous task, and to tell the truth, she had become quite good at it.

      Today, she had decided to make a classic fruit tart, a delicacy that could only be afforded by the upper class. The tart required generous amounts of white sugar, heavy cream, butter, and loads of fresh fruit, ranging from cherries, apples and berries. It was a dish that would showcase her skills, as well as to maintain her noble façade.

As she began to make the shortcrust, her eyes flickered towards the Crown Prince, who stood tall beside the judge's table. Marguerite had no feelings for him whatsoever, and to be frank, she never had feelings for anyone.

     But now, her future depended on him and this silly little fruit tart. If she could not make the best dish, then she would ensure that the other dishes would be much worse in comparison.

She glanced towards Catarina, who was whipping up the eggs and cream in a wooden bowl. Marguerite silently reached for the jar of salt.

    "Present your dish, Lady le Comte,"  Princess Demitria's voice echoed from afar. Jessamine glanced at the burnt berry clafoutis she had made, served with a side of split whipped cream. A giggle left her lips as she made her way forward.

Following Eleanora's perfect and mouthwatering cherry tart, Jessamine's berry clafoutis was almost pitiful to look at, though she could not care less about what the royals thought about her.

    "The pastry is burnt in some parts, and completely raw in the others. Have you ever even lifted a pan in your lifetime?" the Queen huffed as she threw her fork down distastefully.

    "No, I haven't, Your Majesty," Jessamine retorted. "A sword has been thrust into my hands as soon as I learned how to walk. I doubt that rest of the ladies had ever raised a sword in their lifetime."

Queen Isabel scoffed. "And you are proud of that? You cannot cook, you favour fighting and violence, and you talk back! Can I even call you a lady?"

    "You asked a question, and I merely answered. I don't think I did anything wrong," Jessamine said sweetly. "And I do not think that being good at martial arts makes me any less of a lady. I am as much as a lady as the Princess herself. Furthermore, if it weren't for people like me, then the Amarisians would have long invaded our kingdom."

The Queen huffed indignantly but was ultimately unable to say a single thing. Everyone could tell that she was in the wrong, and she herself knew that. You do not shame the very person who protects your kingdom and guards the crown on your pretty little head.

  
    "You may return to your station, Lady le Comte," Princess Demitria eventually said. "Next, Lady de Fontaine!"

Catarina's eyes lit up at the mention of her name, and she excitedly lifted up the dish she had prepared. The frittata was absolutely perfect. The eggs were soft and fluffy, and the sautéed vegetables glistened appetisingly.

    "You may serve it now," Princess Demitria said, gesturing to the small plates on the side of the table.

Catarina nodded and quickly picked up a knife, cut the frittata into smaller pieces and loaded them on the plates.

    "This does not look too bad," the Queen remarked, poking at the egg delicacy with her silver spoon.

Julian too was impressed that Catarina managed to put together something that appeared to be not only edible, but also tasteful. As soon as the frittata touched his taste buds though, all of those sentiments went down the drain.

      The frittata was unbelievably salty, as if someone had dumped an entire sack of salt into the egg mixture. Although the vegetables tasted quite decent, the saltiness of the eggs overpowered everything, and Julian wanted nothing more but to spit it out from his mouth.

But once he looked up, he saw her looking at him, her dark eyes gleaming with hope, eager to hear what he had to say.

        Julian sighed softly and glanced back at the dish in front of him. He dug his spoon into the frittata, and lifted up a huge chuck and shovelled it into his mouth. He could taste the grains of salt as he chewed, but he kept his face straight, not allowing even a single sliver of emotion to escape.

However, even though Julian hid the fact that the dish was unpalatable to protect Catarina's feelings, the Queen had no reason to do so.

    "It's too salty!" she spat, and this time, instead of simply tossing away the fork, she took a step further and flung the plate away, smashing it on the ground.

Catarina flinched in shock at the sudden commotion, and immediately shook her head in disbelief.

That cannot be, she thought. She had added only a little pinch of salt, just like Madame Mulberry had instructed. There is no way that it would be salty as to warrant such a reaction.

With trembling hands, she reached for a spoon and scooped up a portion of the frittata and plopped it into her mouth.

Eating the frittata was like chugging an entire barrel of salt water, and Catarina barely managed to swallow it.

    "Forgive me, Your Majesty," she grimly spoke. "It was not my intention to present such an awful dish."

The Queen scoffed and looked away, refusing to meet Catarina's teary gaze, as if the young lady was so far beneath her. "I am not even surprised anymore that you've made that. I believe that I have set my expectations too high."

    "Pardon?"

    "Why, an orphan girl like you would have no clue when it comes to cooking. I doubt that you are well versed in any other area either. But do not assume that I intend to antagonise you. I pity you, I truly do. It must have been so difficult, to grow up motherless."

    "Motherless?"

That was the final straw, and Catarina could no longer hold back her tears. She did not make a single sound, not a single cry, not a single sob. There was only silence while the tears flowed down her cheeks.

    "I know you did not choose to grow up without a mother, but it definitely shows in your behaviour-"

    "No, I did not," Catarina interjected. "And tell me, Your Majesty, who in their right mind would choose such an option?"

    "Look, she's talking back! Did your father even bother to hire a governess to oversee your education? You are about as well behaved as a common scullery maid!"

Catarina's grief promptly melted away, and all that remained was blistering rage. She swiftly took off the apron and slammed it onto the ground, staining it with mud and grime.

    "You know what, I quit! Not only was I forced to come here against my own will, but you have also repeatedly insulted me and my friends in every way imaginable! My father sent me here believing that we would be treated well, but you treat us like circus animals! I refuse to take part in this stupid ceremony any further, and you can send me to the guillotine if you want, for I no longer care!"

The Queen's face had grown pale white as if she had forgotten how to breathe. She wordlessly watched as Catarina stomped off furiously, and it was only when the girl became out of sight did she regain her breath.

    "Insolent girl!" she spat, slamming her fists against the table. "Not only will I send her to the guillotine, but I will also have her drawn and quartered!"

She glanced at Julian and said, "It's a good thing that she showed her atrocious behaviour early hand. Imagine what would happen if you had accidentally chosen to marry that foul little brat."

To her surprise and confusion, her son refused to meet her in the eyes and abruptly stood up from the table.

    "Julian? I am speaking to you!"

The Prince finally relented and turn to face his mother. All his life, he had been subservient and obedient to his mother, but now, he had begun to question whether it was the right thing to do.

    "You have gone too far, Mother," he said with a frown.

    "Oh? So you intend to side with that brat instead of the woman who gave birth to you?"

    "Yes," he retorted exasperatedly. "You are my mother, and I therefore love you, but I can also tell that you are completely in the wrong. You do not know her well enough to assume such things, and even if you did, would it hurt you to spare her feelings?"

Julian had spoken these words incredibly calmly, and there was not a single shred of anger in his tone, only disappointment.

Before the Queen could even open her mouth to speak, however, a shrill scream echoed from the other side of the gardens, near the shallow stream.

Julian could immediately tell that it was Catarina, and without wasting a moment, he immediately ran off in her direction.

The mud sloshed underneath his feet, almost making him trip and fall down onto the ground, but he trudged on.

Catarina's screams continued to reverberate throughout the garden, her tone full of fear and pure horror. It was not long before he discovered her by the stream, her legs sprawled on the mud, her eyes wide with terror.

    "Lady de Fontaine!" Julian called out, hastily rushing to her side. Catarina turned to face him, her lips trembling and her cheeks dribbling with tears.

    "What happened ?" he asked warily, quickly assessing if there were any injuries on her body. There were none though, despite her dishevelled appearance. "You must tell me if you are hurting somewhere-"

He barely managed to finish his sentence when Catarina shakily lifted her hand and pointed in the direction behind him.

    "Look... Look.." she whimpered weakly, her voice as soft as a whisper.

Then, Julian noticed the smell in that particular area of the garden. It was the stench of death, but not that of some animal. He had smelt it before, in the morgue of Lavillia Perra.

    "Look.."

Julian turned around, already knowing what he would soon witness. And sure enough, there, half-submerged in the muddy water was the bloated corpse of Miriam Breckenridge.