Liana's appointment as Emperor Theron's personal chef struck the palace like a bolt of thunder. For many, it was an outrage; for others, a tasteless joke. But for Liana, it was a battlefield.
Her new chambers were lavish — silk curtains, carved furniture, gold accents. But no amount of luxury could cover the isolation and hostility pressing in on her. Elara's memories of being a pariah in her own home now bled into a new reality: an outsider in a nest of vipers.
The Imperial Kitchen was a world of its own. A vast hall with towering stone ovens, heavy wooden counters, and a hierarchy as strict as the court itself. The Head Chef, a large, mustached man named Grimald, was the embodiment of the old guard. He and his lieutenants — proud, seasoned chefs — eyed Liana with barely concealed disdain and curiosity.
"So this is the 'prodigy' the Emperor dug up," Grimald growled on her first day, his deep voice bouncing off pots and pans. "A girl who can't even hold a knife right. Don't get in the way, brat. Go peel potatoes. And try not to burn water."
Liana felt Elara's cheeks flush with shame — but her chef's mind took over. She was no brat. She was Liana — the chef who once earned Michelin stars. She grabbed the pile of potatoes, the dull, heavy knife, and got to work.
Her movements were clumsy at first, but muscle memory began to stir. And while her hands peeled, her eyes watched — how others chopped vegetables, how they butchered meat, how they seasoned dishes. It was all so... basic. Wasteful. Inefficient.
The first few days were filled with subtle sabotage. An apprentice would "accidentally" spill hot water near her. Another would bump into her while carrying a tray. Knives would "slip" from nearby counters, and key ingredients would mysteriously vanish from her station.
But Liana had worked in pressure cookers more intense than this. Her instincts sharpened. She dodged, anticipated. Once, on sheer reflex, she even caught a falling knife inches from her foot — earning a blink of surprise from the apprentice who had let it drop.
"Oops. Rookie," he muttered with a mocking smirk.
Liana just stared him down. Cold. Unmoving. His smirk faltered.
Amateurs, she thought, peeling potatoes. What a joke.
Despite the hazing, Liana saw the imperial kitchen as a treasure trove. At night, after everyone had gone to sleep, she would sneak back in. By lantern light, she'd examine the stores: grains, cured meats, withered vegetables. A pantry full of limits — and possibilities. She found a forgotten jar of spices, a hand-crank grinder, and even a piece of dried ginger she knew how to rehydrate.
But her focus remained on Emperor Theron.
He continued to send his personal attendant — a silent, young eunuch named Kael — to fetch her daily "offerings." These secret dishes, crafted from humble scraps with the refined skill she still possessed, became the highlight of Theron's day.
One morning, she made a simple oat porridge — infused with rehydrated ginger and a hint of honey she'd found hidden away. Theron, usually resigned during meals, closed his eyes as he tasted it. The warmth of the ginger, the soft sweetness of honey... it lit a spark in his dulled palate.
"Kael," Theron said, voice more animated than usual, "tell the chef this is the finest porridge I've ever tasted."
Kael bowed low to deliver the message. And Liana — for the first time in this world — felt the warm glow of praise. A fragile seed of connection, faint but real, had begun to grow between chef and Emperor.
As Liana prepared official meals for the court and secret "treats" for Theron, the kitchen became her observatory. Servants gossiped freely around her, never expecting the "new girl" to matter.
She listened.
She heard of failing grain supplies in the northern provinces, of tax burdens driving peasants to starvation, of corrupt officers hoarding and rerouting goods.
"More spoiled wheat from the border," one servant griped as she chopped vegetables. "Where's all the gold going? People out there are eating bark."
Liana stared at the wilted cabbage on the counter, at bread made from poor flour. This cabbage... says more than any scroll, she thought grimly. Bad ingredients. Bad governance. Food reveals the soul of a nation.
She began to see that the kitchen's poor quality wasn't just a matter of ignorance. It was a symptom — of rot that ran deep. For Liana, cooking had always been an art. Now, it became a lens — for truth.
One afternoon, while preparing a stew for the court, she noticed something strange.
A chef — bulky, with shifty eyes — poured a pale powder into the stockpot meant for a group of nobles. It wasn't salt. It wasn't any known spice. And the way he glanced around, furtive and tense, was wrong.
Her instincts flared. Every fiber of her training screamed. She approached casually, pretending to reach for something. The powder had almost no scent — but there was a bitter, metallic note she recognized... from a documentary on historical poisons.
Poison? The word hit her like lightning.
This wasn't kitchen rivalry. This was conspiracy.
She acted on instinct.
"Chef Grimald!" she called out — louder and clearer than she expected. "The stock — it's burning! I can smell it from here!"
Grimald, furious, stormed over. The shifty cook froze, powder still in hand. Liana, moving fast, nudged his arm — spilling the rest onto the floor.
"Clumsy brat!" Grimald barked, but he was already sniffing the stew. "It's not burning, fool! What did you do?"
Liana shrugged, forcing an innocent tone. "My senses are sharp, Head Chef. Maybe yours are... a bit dull today."
Grimald growled, but the seed of doubt was planted. He ordered the stew discarded and remade. The cook shot her a venomous look — she ignored him.
That night, back in her chambers, Liana sat on the edge of her bed — heart still pounding.
The guilt of I should've studied something else was gone.
In its place, a cold, burning resolve.
This empire was sick. And its sickness had seeped into its food.
Her cooking would not just be survival — or a distraction for a bored Emperor. It would be her weapon. Her way of seeing. Her way of changing the bitter taste of this world.
I'm not just a cook, she thought, staring at her hands. I'm the eyes and ears they don't expect. This empire needs a new flavor.
And I'm the only one who can give it.