They remained silent, and waiting patiently for Kaive who had left to fetch the chief cook. No one spoke, even the queen's sobs had faded into shallow breaths.
The door opened. Kaive stepped in, followed by Dianne, the chief cook. She was in her mid-fifties, red hair streaked with gray and pulled into a tight bun beneath a plain linen head wrap.
Her brown kitchen gown was neat but creased from long hours of work. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her fingers rubbing together as if scrubbing away invisible stains.
She bowed stiffly, her eyes flicking from everyone in the room, down to the unconscious Ziven, then finally to Olessia, and bracing herself.
"I'm here," Dianne said quietly, ready to answer the question.
"What was the last meal you prepared for His Royalty Ziven?" Olessia asked.
"Porridge," Dianne replied after a brief pause. "If I remember correctly. I served it with fruit as an appetizer in the dining hall." She swallowed hard.
