The afternoon sun filtered through the garden of Astley Castle, painting dappled patterns across the table where Saphy's family sat in quiet anticipation. The aroma of fried chicken and freshly prepared sides hung thick in the air, golden and rich, almost tangible in the warm light. Lisa leaned forward slightly, her eyes bright and curious, betraying the gentle battle between composure and temptation. William's fingers twitched near his fork, caught between the ingrained manners of a noble child and the raw desire to dive into the feast. Even Charles, ever the composed patriarch, seemed to struggle to maintain his calm, his jaw tightening as though to restrain the unspoken longing in his gaze.
No one spoke. The tension was palpable, almost edible, charged with anticipation. The basket before them wasn't just a collection of food — it was a promise of something extraordinary.
Saphy's smile deepened as she surveyed the eager faces. She could see it in their eyes: the barely restrained curiosity, the spark of wonder she had been waiting for. With a few concise instructions to the maids, the preparation began in earnest. Plates were arranged with precision: one golden drumstick, one thigh, and a generous handful of fries on the side. On a smaller tray, three little sauce cups were set — glossy ketchup, creamy mayonnaise, and Saphy's signature pink-red blend. The cups were shallow and wide, designed for easy dipping and minimal mess, a thoughtful touch that reflected the careful attention she had given to every detail.
Next came the drink. From repurposed wine bottles, the maids poured the carbonated orange juice Saphy had crafted earlier. The moment the liquid touched the glass, it fizzed and sparkled, tiny bubbles racing to the surface as if celebrating its own arrival.
Just as one maid reached to pour William's, Charles raised a hand."Wait. William is still young — you shouldn't serve him alcohol."
Suppressing a laugh, Saphy shook her head. "It's not alcohol, Father. It's a juice I made myself."
Charles blinked, flustered, then cleared his throat. "Ah… yes, of course."
The minor misunderstanding resolved, the maids completed their task, placing every plate and glass with practiced precision. In moments, the table was complete: golden chicken, crisp fries, shining sauces, and bubbling citrus fizz — a meal fit for a royal banquet, even in the informal setting of the garden.
Lisa's gaze fell to the plates. "Where are the utensils?" she asked, a hint of hesitation in her voice.
Saphy smiled. "Mother, this one is meant to be eaten with your hands."
Lisa blinked. "With our hands?"
"Mm-hm," Saphy replied, demonstrating with a playful grin. "Pick it up, dip it in the sauce, and enjoy. If you try to cut it with a knife, the crust might fall off."
Maya, watching with quiet amusement, chuckled softly. "Alright, my dear. I'll trust you on this one."
One by one, they followed her lead. Each took a piece of golden chicken, dipped it into one of the sauces, and brought it to their lips. The first bite was cautious, almost reverent.
The crust cracked sharply beneath their teeth, a sound that seemed to echo softly across the garden. The flavor that followed was deep, layered, and alive — golden and savory, perfectly seasoned with salt and spice. Beneath that flawless exterior, the meat was tender, juicy, and warm, each bite a delicate balance of texture and flavor. It wasn't just delicious; it was transformative, a testament to care, precision, and creativity.
Lisa closed her eyes, murmuring, "Oh my… It's so crisp outside, yet so soft inside."
Charles, typically stoic, allowed a thoughtful hum to escape as he took another, slower bite. Even William abandoned restraint, leaning eagerly toward his plate as though the world might vanish if he didn't claim every morsel.
Next came the sauces.
Lisa tried the ketchup first. Its bright tang and gentle sweetness cut through the richness of the fried coating, refreshing her palate while enhancing the natural savoriness. William, ever curious, sampled the mayonnaise next. Its creamy smoothness melted into the hot chicken, transforming each bite into a comforting, indulgent experience.
But when they dipped the chicken into Saphy's mixed sauce — a glossy pink-red blend infused with honey, lime juice, and a hint of black pepper — the flavors unfurled in perfect harmony. Sweetness arrived first, followed by a zesty tang that danced across the tongue, finishing with a warm, lingering kick from the pepper. It was complex, yet effortless, a symphony of taste that made each bite a revelation.
Lisa let out a soft, awed sigh. "This… this is divine."
Charles nodded, unable to find the words, while William grinned unabashedly, eyes shining with delight.
Then came the fries. Long, golden, slightly curled at the edges, they were crisp yet fluffy inside — a familiar yet elevated version of the potato chips they had enjoyed before. Each bite delivered a soft crunch followed by a satisfying warmth, a comforting texture that made one piece irresistible after another. It was familiar, yet completely new.
Finally, the sparkling orange juice rounded out the meal. Poured into clear glasses, it bubbled and fizzed like captured sunlight. Each sip was a burst of sweet, tangy refreshment, the carbonation tickling the tongue, washing away the richness of the chicken, and leaving a bright, clean finish that perfectly balanced the meal.
Lisa set her glass down, her expression soft with contentment. "Saphy," she said, pride and affection in her voice, "this meal could lift anyone's spirits."
Saphy only smiled, watching the quiet joy on their faces. This was the moment she had been waiting for: the pure, wordless satisfaction that any cook dreams of seeing. It was, in every sense, the perfect afternoon meal — golden, laughter-filled, and alive with warmth, comfort, and love.
After the last crumbs were eaten and the laughter faded into the sun-dappled air, Saphy folded her hands neatly on the table.
"Father," she said softly, though her voice held a quiet resolve, "I have something to ask."
Charles regarded her curiously, nodding for her to continue.
"Father," Saphy began, "as you've seen today, even the simplest ingredients can become something extraordinary when treated with care."
Lisa smiled gently. "She's right, Charles. Who would have thought that humble root vegetables — once considered peasant food — could become something as delightful as these potato chips?"
Saphy's eyes sparkled. "Exactly. Every ingredient has its own charm, a hidden potential. It just needs someone willing to see it."
Charles leaned back, measured and thoughtful. "And where are you going with this, my little chef?"
"I want to explore more," Saphy said firmly but with warmth. "To discover new ingredients — not just from our lands, but from everywhere. From frozen northern wastes to blazing deserts, from tropical jungles to open meadows. I want to taste, learn, and bring everything here."
"If money is the issue, it's not," she added quietly. "I'll open a shop later — to sell what I create. Practicality, not mere ambition."
"Judging by today's reactions, your shop will thrive," she continued, eyes bright. "It'll fund my ingredients, my experiments, and everything I need to bring new flavors to this land."
Charles laughed, a warm sound that made the tension dissolve. "Do you think money is the issue? For the Astleys? Any problem that can be solved with money… isn't a problem at all. You don't need to worry."
Then, with a small smile, he added, "And your shop idea isn't bad at all. After tasting your dishes today, everything else seems bland by comparison. I believe, in the future, you'll create countless wonderful dishes that will make our land more vibrant."
He paused thoughtfully. "We are a port city, after all. Importing ingredients will be far easier than it would be for inland cities."
"But importing foods from other lands will require the king's permission," Charles noted, voice deliberate.
"Sebastian, use a preservation spell on these new dishes and send them to the palace," he continued, confident. "After tasting them, the king will surely agree."
A mischievous glint appeared in Charles's eyes. "Although… knowing the king, he might enjoy these dishes so much that sending royal merchants after them wouldn't be entirely off the table."
Saphy blinked. "Father… do you mean he might literally try to steal my chicken?"
Charles chuckled. "Only if it's worth it. And today, I daresay, it very well might be."
A few days later, at the royal palace…
"Marvelous!"
A thunderous voice boomed from the king's study, shaking the hallway.
"Such… church… use taste!" King Richard exclaimed, taking another enormous bite. "One can never have enough!"
Through the open doorway, chaos reigned. Chicken bones littered the table, some with ends meticulously bitten off. Bits of sauce glimmered on plates, and the aroma of fried food mingled with melted cheese. The king was reveling in every bite, entirely absorbed.
Wilhelm, the ever-loyal butler, remained calm amidst the chaos. "Your Majesty, there's also a letter that came with it," he said, setting it near the king's plate.
"What is it?" the king asked, mid-chew.
Charles had sent far more than Saphy planned. While she intended to send twenty-five pieces, Charles, anticipating the king's legendary appetite, had dispatched two hundred, preserved magically to retain freshness. Saphy had even added cheese sauce to some pieces.
Richard glanced at the pile and realized the truth: even two hundred pieces would be gone in no time.
As if on cue, the little prince and princess appeared at the doorway. "Father… may we try some?"
"Denied!" the king barked, not even looking up. "These are mine!"
Wilhelm muttered under his breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I fear even two hundred pieces will not last the day."
The king leaned back, sauce smeared across his fingers, eyes sparkling. "I have never known joy like this. Truly, one can never have enough!"
Outside, palace staff peeked cautiously, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or run for cover. The chaos, the warmth, and the unrestrained delight of tasting something extraordinary made it clear: Saphy's cooking had conquered the king — in a thoroughly messy, unforgettable way.
Wilhelm sighed. "Your Majesty… in the letter, it—"
"Just summarize it! No need to read the whole thing," King Richard interrupted, still chewing.
"Lady Sapphire wishes to create more dishes," Wilhelm said carefully, "but she is limited by available ingredients. She requests permission to import various ingredients from other lands."
Richard's eyes sparkled. "Wonderful! And what do they need? Gold?"
Richard waved a hand toward Wilhelm. "Why are you here, then? Go to the finance minister!"
Wilhelm's head throbbed. "Your Majesty… to import from other countries, your permission is required."
"Oh!" the king exclaimed. Then, grinning, he added, "On second thought… send our own ships and merchants. That'll be faster."
"Understood, Your Majesty," Wilhelm muttered, caught between relief and exhaustion.
He scooped up some of the remaining chicken, fried and slathered in sauce, and handed it to the little prince and princess. Their eyes lit up as they ran off, squealing with delight.
Seeing this, Richard let out a loud, displeased snort.
The kitchen at Astley Castle, the garden, the royal palace — every plate, every bite, every spark of delight — bore witness to the beginning of Saphy's culinary revolution. It wasn't just about food; it was about joy, discovery, and the promise of a world made brighter, one extraordinary meal at a time.
And as the sun dipped toward the horizon, golden light spilling across the land, one thing was certain: Saphy's adventure had only just begun, and no kingdom — not even one ruled by a king with a legendary appetite — would ever be the same again.