Sugar Sweet

It's too late at night for anyone else to be burning sugar down here.

Yet the scents of sugar and chocolate waft through the dusty halls, from the depths of the palace kitchen and storeroom.

I pad down the hallway, stifling a yawn, passing beneath the still flames of candles dotted along the halls. I was coming down here for the express purpose of practicing a coffee recipe, but it seems that someone else has beat me to it. But who?

I pause outside the kitchen, and listen, watching the crack of firelight dribbling from the open door. I give up and go in. I can't very well make a fire pit in my room and brew coffee that way with some alchemy that I don't know. And Dad will kill me if I set one of those Persian rugs on fire, if Bruno doesn't beat him to it.

I lean around the door.

'Eh — Heine?!'

He turns around. His golden cat eyes blink wide in the dark. Firelight spills from the stove and edges him in the blackness. Paper packages of sugar and bars of chocolate are scattered over every surface. He moves to speak, but a saucepan spits and hisses alarmingly on the stove, forcing him to snatch it off and drop it on the marble board inlaid in the table.

'Prince Licht? What are you doing here at this time of night?'

I grin and pull up a stool. 'I could ask the same.'

'I couldn't sleep,' he says. He cautiously dips a spoon in the saucepan.

'What, really? But you've gone out like a light whenever I've seen you fall asleep. Like flicking a switch.' I poke him in the arm. 'That would explain a lot — do you have a switch?'

'I do not.' He raps my knuckles with a wooden spoon.

'A wind up key, then. Like a toy.'

Heine sighs.

'Or perhaps a fairy.'

He looks a little surprised, and fingers his cheek, before realising that he's writing in a scrawling, chocolate font on his skin. He swipes it away. A fairy with copper pots and pans, weaving with sugar and gold.

I smirk and drop the punchline he's no doubt waiting for. 'You know, a brownie: the small dark-haired ones that you leave things for so they don't get fed up and wreak havoc in your house.'

'I'm offended. ...And dare I ask what you've been reading recently?'

I chuckle, and dance away from the conversation, resting my head on my shoulders and hiding behind my long tangle of golden hair.

Heine takes the spoon, dripping with something sweet and burnt. He lets it cool; gives it a taste. Instantly, I recognise the scent and my head snaps up fast enough to give me whiplash. 'Can I have some?'

He shakes his head and licks the spoon clean. 'Only good children get caramel, and you weren't exactly endearing yourself to my good graces earlier.'

I grumble, then crank up my dials as far as they can go and give him my best puppy eyes, at the perfect ratio of desperation, pleading, and lost puppy/kitten/small child.

A brief sigh of exasperation filters through Heine's lips. 'You shouldn't be able to beg so well at your age, Prince.'

'Happens when you're the youngest child. And no, my three year-old sister doesn't count.'

Heine gives in and passes me a tarnished silver spoon laden with caramel, merely to shut me up if nothing else.

It glows black and golden in the dark. Good caramel is melted sugar, reduced to a pale, creamy brown texture used in desserts. Caramel sauces are mild and sweet, and go well with chocolate.

My eyes widen.

Hot starbursts of sugar explode on my tongue, unmelted clusters of crystals dissolving in a swirl of molten, burnt sweetness and sultry decadence.

I press a hand to my lips and try to regain my powers of speech. 'What... What is this?'

'Caramel.'

'I know that... Wow.' The second taste is even stronger than the first, and it soaks into my palate.

Heine pushes up his glasses. 'I'm afraid I always seem to burn it.'

I can't even take the time to tell him that it's probably because the stove was too hot — and he also hasn't stirred it enough, leaving unmelted crystals of sugar in the mix — because I'm too busy licking away every last trace, my senses a mess of heat and flavour and sugar. 'It is burnt... It shouldn't be good, but it is...'

It's strange. In all the desserts I've had — made by famous pastry chefs and dessert artisans from kingdoms far and wide — I've never had anything like this, with as much flavour.

I go back for another spoonful, but Heine lifts the sauce pan out of reach and my spoon hits the tabletop. 'No double dipping, thank you.'

'Then can I have another spoon?'

I take another spoonful, spoon dripping, and blow on it. Steam wreathes in the dark. I nearly burn my tongue, but it's worth it.

The clock strikes the half-hour.

Heine takes the saucepan off the table and brings it back to the stove. Then steam billows and clouds everywhere, as he pours water into the caramel. I blink. I don't think that's quite right…

'Don't you have a shift at the cafe tomorrow, Prince?'

'Don't you have lessons to prepare?'

'I finished them prior to this.'

'Of course you did.' I flop onto the table, fingering the rings and knots in the wood. 'The master asked me to practice making a new coffee recipe, and I…'

I look up, trying to place the scents of chocolate and milk. Heine carefully bites off the corner of a chocolate bar with sharp teeth, and cuts up the rest, as fast and as accurate as a metronome with his knife. Almost a little too accurate… okay, that's scary. Fire flickers in the depths of the stove.

'Are you making hot chocolate?'

'In a way.'

Interested, I get up and walk over.

The chocolate slicks the base of a polished copper pot, and melts as Heine stirs it. You can get drinking chocolate powder and add water or milk to it, so perhaps he'll—

Heine pours in the barest splash of milk — a teaspoon, if you were being generous — and a slightly more substantial trickle of water.

'You're leaving it like that?! It may as well still be a chocolate bar!'

'Hmph. I said, "in a way," did I not?'

'Yeah, but sheesh!'

It does have my interest piqued, however.

Heine runs a wooden spoon around the edges, and it hisses on the hot metal. He points it at me. 'Hot chocolate should be chocolate, not chocolate milk.'

'Hrmm… I guess, but — that's still just melted chocolate!'

Heine dips in a spoon, and I snatch a taste over his shoulder. He gives me a disgusted look and tastes for himself.

'Was that an indirect kiss?'

'It was a regrettable course of action, in hindsight.' He's a pint-sized storm cloud when he's irritated, to be sure.

He tastes again. A quiet blush marks his cheeks, and there's a soft sparkle in his eyes. Come to think of it, he does like desserts, doesn't he?

'A-Ah, Teach, it's burning.'

'Quicker than normal…'

'This is normal?!'

Heine takes the saucepan of caramel off the heat, reading the foil wrapper of the chocolate as he does so. 'It seems that the chocolate stocked by the palace is of a somewhat finer sort than what I'm used to.'

I take a ragged breath. This is wrecking my nerves. 'More susceptible to burning, at any rate.'

'Mm.' And Heine tips the caramel syrup into the chocolate.

'A-A-A… Ahh!'

He jumps and nearly splashes the scalding liquid all over us. 'What? What is—'

'You don't put caramel in hot chocolate!'

'Why not?'

'Err…' My pointed finger of accusation hovers, uncertainly.

Heine pushes his glasses up, and says, 'Why not? What, now that you work at a cafe, do you suppose yourself to be the patron saint of beverages?'

'…This is just wrong.'

This feels somewhat like watching a train wreck in slow motion. A rather well-organised one. I give up and collapse back in my chair, watching with reluctant curiosity.

Chocolate and caramel mingle in the dark, making liquid gold. A kettle hisses on the stove, the spout breathing clouds of steam. Heine takes it, and pours hot water over a drip-brew sieve laden with coffee grounds, swirling the water through with almost as much skill as I, using a battered tea kettle rather than a silver teapot, for that matter.

'Let me guess: you're making coffee as a back up for when this whole caramel slash hot chocolate ship goes south and over the edge of the world map.'

'No, Prince.' I'm definitely driving him up the wall, but he's not roundhouse kicking me in the head yet. I'd probably have to get a lot raunchier before my pretty face risks any kind of peril.

Heine takes the fresh cup of steaming coffee — and pours it straight in a saucepan.

I drop my head on the table with a bang. 'Heine…'

'Would you cut the theatrics, Prince?'

'What did that cup of coffee ever do to you? And what the h_ are you doing to it — you reduce sauces over heat, not coffee!'

'Reduce the amount of smart remarks.'

'…Wow. Gee, wow.'

Steam wreathes and curls as Heine reduces the coffee down, the liquid evaporating and the coffee itself becoming a stickier syrup. Which he pours into the hot chocolate. Caramel. Hot chocolate caramel. With espresso.

'I'm struggling to actually phrase my thoughts as a cohesive sentence over here,' I say. 'Actually, no, don't start, I'm not asking a grammar question.' I can well see him pulling out his pointer and starting an English lesson in the middle of the night.

Hot chocolate. Caramel. Espresso. My word, he's either a genius or he's completely mad.

I throw my hands up. 'What else are we going to put in it — whiskey?!'

Heine pauses, and tilts his head to the side, and I realise, aghast, that he's taking me seriously.

'A joke, it was a joke — I'm underage and I want to be able to actually taste it!'

Heine gives me a look. 'We're not putting alcohol in it, Prince. I was merely wondering if we the kitchens actually had whiskey on hand before my thoughts caught up with me.'

'So you say.'

He pours what looks like liquid gold into a cup, and I realise that he's actually done.

'Hey, wait… can't I have some?'

'After all your protesting, you actually want to "poison yourself with a chocolate bar?"'

I raise an eyebrow at his tone of voice, no doubt a copy of mine. 'No, I'll try it. Please,' I finally force out through my teeth.

He pours another cup, and we clink them together.

I take a sip.

'Are you dead yet, Prince?'

'Just shut up and take my money already.'

Hot, molten chocolate; undertones of bitter, sugary caramel and a bass line of tantalising espresso. 'This is a good thing, Teach.'

'…And those turns of phrase mean… what?'

'It's slang. And it's not hard — it's good, for goodness' sake!'

'Really? And why is that?'

I'm tempted to roll my eyes, but I answer anyway. 'It's different… I've never had anything like it before. It kind of makes all the desserts I've had before pale by comparison.'

'It's not a dessert.'

'It's got so much sugar in it that it may as well be.'

'Regardless… You're saying that everything you've ever tried, made by master pastry chefs and chocolate artisans, pales in comparison to an over-rich hot chocolate flavoured with burnt caramel?'

'Well, is there something wrong with that?'

'No, but… I think you may be biased.' Heine pushes his glasses up. 'Even though you're now working in town, it's obvious you know little of commoner life and are only exposed to high-class tastes and experiences. Isn't it possible that you like it merely because it's different, not because it has any actual merit?'

I stare into my half-empty cup. 'Well, when you put it like that. I guess anything new or different would win me over like a kid in a candy store.'

He's probably right, but… 'I guess it's… bold. Yeah, that's right. Bold. The pastry chefs and artisans in the city make traditional recipes with milder flavours, but something richer or bolder in flavour would have appeal for a lot of people. Myself included.'

I lower my voice. 'And stop bad-mouthing yourself, Heine-darling. I have some taste, don't I?'

Heine blinks. Then gives me a wry smile. 'Well met, I'll give you that. But I think you being a child may have something to do with it.' I give him an unimpressed look. He takes a sip and raises his eyebrows above the rim. 'It seems as though only young people can stomach so much sugar and chocolate.'

'You're drinking it — are you calling yourself a child?'

His spine cracks and he spits, 'I am not a child!'

I laugh so hard that I nearly spill my drink all over my lap, and I have to wipe away tears.

'Teach, I'm kidding! You always take the bait so easily…'

'That's not amusing, Prince.'

'Then tell me why I'm laughing so hard.'

The clock chimes again, and I realise it's already past midnight and into the morning.

'Oh d_! I've got a shift tomorrow!'

'Didn't you have to practice a coffee recipe?'

'Double d_!'

A surprised laugh bubbles from Heine's lips, surprised that he's actually laughing at a stupid joke.

I shouldn't be laughing at all — I should be completely freaking out — but it's that time of night: past midnight and way too late to be staying up, the time to crack up over the littlest things, with a friend and a drink of something sweet.

'Okay, I've gotta go.'

'What about your coffee recipe?'

'I'll wing it! Better yet, I'll whip this up for everyone and call it the Heine, what do you think?'

'Don't you dare—'

'Catch me if you can!'

'Nice try, Highness!'

He does catch me, dragging me to a halt as we wake up half the palace, both of us still trying to stop laughing, stop smiling, and I whisper in his ear, heedless of the bewildered guards gathering in the hallway, and ask if he could tell me the recipe sometime.

The End

A/N: Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!