Larsa was not the best cook. To be terribly honest, none of the Solidors were, nor had they ever been. It was not a skill that was needed by generations of noblemen; servants or handmaids or other hired help had always been there for the House.

Yet he fancied he was doing a rather well job cooking his romantic dinner. His soon to be culinary masterpiece stood boiling over a hot stove and he spent the time it was cooking shooing off the regular palace chefs, all of who tried desperately to help the emperor with his failing dinner. The emperor stood adamant and did his best at creating a meal for his lady.

When he dismissed the worried cooks away, he lost himself in daydreams of how his dinner would pan out. The boiling water spilled over when he was thoroughly focusing on his reveries, the sweltering liquid pouring onto his hand.

He shouted loudly and flailed his hand, now shining red with a burn, cursing in ways only Ria and a pirate would. Larsa went quickly to cooler water, thrusting his stinging hand into the water and left it there to numb.

Ria had seen from the doors to the kitchen what had happened and had fetched, from under the counters, bandages and a curative pad, both of which turned the sweltering white mess on his hand into a red rash in only a few hours. She took care of her wounded "chef", and the horrible mess he had created, sheltering Larsa in her arms when she realized it wasn't just his hand that was hurt, but his pride as well.

Neither minded the failed diner. They spent the night at an expensive restaurant instead, which was surely more romantic and delicious than the mighty emperor's original plan.