The aroma of cinnamon and vanilla filled the castle's kitchen as Eliza carefully poured the mixture into the hot pan. There was something therapeutic about the act of cooking, in the way ingredients transformed under her hands. It was a moment of peace amid the chaos that seemed to consume her life lately. However, not everyone shared her enthusiasm.
"Miss Eliza, I've already told you that you don't need to do this," protested Margaret, the head cook, hands on her hips and a look of disapproval that rivaled Ronan's. Her gray hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her apron looked as immaculate as always, despite the morning's hustle and bustle.
Eliza smiled as she flipped a golden piece of French toast with a spatula.
"I know, Margaret, but I needed to distract myself a bit. Besides, I promise to clean everything up when I'm done."
