"The goose, at least," said Michael in response to Mimi's goosey speech, "seems interested in the dining pleasure of our prince."

That little line was enough to send the kitchen staff giggling nervously, though Jacob's laugh was decidedly forced.

"I don't think he needs this Suzaraine dish or whatever it is called," said Lucy suddenly as she stepped into the kitchen's center.

Abe gasped at the pure sacrilege of her statement. "But Lucy, he's the prince. The son of the king. He—"

"He's not even the heir, nowhere near it," she said bitterly. She whirled around to face the kitchen door, black hair streaming out behind her like a cape; she hadn't braided it up like the servants tended to do. "He's just a spoiled piece of royalty who waltzed in here so His Madness could impress the King. Ignore him, Jacob."

Mimi fumed. As if Lucy had ever even met him. She did not know him. Prince Matthias was not spoiled. He was wonderful, he was perfect.

"What's your problem?" asked Wilhelm.

It was at this time Lucy realized her position as the hub of kitchen attention, and her face flushed and her body tensed. "Nothing," she snapped with a furtive look at Michael. "Nothing but the now-ignored fact that a man was murdered here not even a week ago and yet no one seems to care about anything beyond their silly routines and our guest celebrity."

"Lucy," Michael warned.

He was only next to visit her fresh wrath. Immediately her glare was on him, filled with anger Mimi had never seen from her before. "No, Michael! I'm sorry, but I'm sick of waiting around here hoping everything gets better and pretending nothing happened. What are we waiting for, a repeat of the past? You hire a priest to bury him and hope that's the end of that!"

His face darkened. "I did the best anyone could do for his poor soul, may he rest in peace."

"I know, but is there nothing else?" She ripped a roll, left over from breakfast, from its pan and raised it as if to throw it before tearing off a bite and swallowing. Then she marched from the kitchen, eyes red.

The kitchen was then understandably silent. Mimi half-forgot what she had been thinking.

Abe giggled. "Lucy's funny."

Jacob rolled his eyes and Michael smacked the boy in the back of the head. Mimi felt it was somewhat deserved.

"Now where were we?" asked Michael as Abe scowled and rubbed his poor head. "Oh, yes. A dinner recipe no one knows."

"Make something up," seemed to be the general suggestion from several cooks.

"I guess that's what I'll have to do," said Jacob. "If there's any truth to Lucy's tirade he made up the whole thing. I've never heard of it."

Michael gave his first smile since before Lucy. "And there lies the mark of a true cook, lad. I'll help. "

Jacob stole a glance at Mimi. "No, no, that's fine. I'm the idiot who agreed."

"Please, I've the experience and seniority."

"I want to help!" said Abe. "You said I'm getting better."

"I'll do it myself, thank-you very much!" Polite phrases did not bury the tone that was nearly as scary as Lucy's.

Jerome snatched a roll and headed for the door. "Well, then I am out of here. This room is the fury center of the manor today."

"That's about right," Abe said under his breath. He grabbed a pail and headed to the door. "I guess I'll just go for mop water, then. And… mop."

"And I'll do… something with the goose." Jacob gave Mimi a look lasting longer than a glance. "I'll… figure something out."

"You're sure?" asked Michael.

"Trust me." He scooped Mimi up and bolted from the kitchen.

"Well?" he asked in the safety of the hallway. "You know this dish?"

She was still mad at him. "Put me down."

"Gladly." He dumped her unceremoniously to the floor.

"Jerk." She shook her wings in an attempt to calm the mess of her feathers. Why was she granting such vanity to the ugly splotch of grey that was she? "Yes, I know it. At least I think I do. We had it sometimes at home. My father would sometimes serve it to his guests. I thought the name of it was interesting, but I thought it was disgusting."

"So it's real, though? People eat it?"

"Some do." Where had fled her expectations for an apology. "I can't believe this is the first thing you say to me. Questions about food."

He frowned. "I spoke to you this morning."

"Like that even counted. I can't believe you would even say that. Like I don't see you everyday." She stared down the hall; the space was dark, cold, and miserable. Anyone could approach and see them, see her, the stupid goose. "You're making me talk out here."

"No one cares. No one is going to come. Mimi, just tell me how to make this stuff."

"See? You're doing it again! You yell at me the other night and now you're just—"

"I never yelled at you! I would say, Miss Goose, you are the one who had the severe overreaction that night. I just asked a question."

"That was none of your business."

"And I'm not even a good enough friend at this point to hear about it?" His beady eyes bored into her, and she felt the subtlest prick at her heart. He sighed and bowed his head. "Fine. It was absolutely nothing. It was late, we were both tired, and it's not a big deal. I'm sorry about whatever I said."

Mimi said nothing.

"Now can I have the recipe?"

It was probably the best apology she was going to get from him, and much of the fight fury dissipated. "Fine. But I'm still mad at you."

"Fine." He crossed his arms and waited.

She took a deep breath. "I don't actually know how to make it."

"You just made me go through all that so you can—"

"You're a jerk," she said quickly. "At least I'm helping you. You're supposed to be this wonderful cook who knows everything."

Jacob looked furious, but he held it in. "Look, I just want to do my job. Do you know anything about it?"

She closed her eyes and tried to remember. A dig through memories, years before Lavender ruined everything, a stew of disgusting food, of fish and rice and vegetables. Carrots. She had grown them herself. Bits of truffle. Something else, something else. Lavender had never asked for it. How would she have prepared it if Lavender had? "Trout, from the river. Good and clean and fresh."

"Abe can get some at the market."

"Carrots. You slice the carrots very thin, very small. I'd cook the fish with rosemary, I'm sure there was rosemary. I never liked that taste and I remember it. Then you mash it up or whatever you cooks do. Then you mix it with rice. I think there were truffles. The rice should be brown . . ."

"You're good," Jacob said. "Or at least a good liar. Let's go."

"Where?"

"Back to the kitchen. We're going to figure this out."

"Now?"

He was already headed back to the kitchen. "This is your fiancée, if I guessed correctly. So therefore I imagine you'd want to be where you can make sure I don't poison him. Also I don't think you have any idea what you are talking about besides tastes from forever ago. So I guess I'd like to please your prince. Make him happy during his stay. And if you love him I'd imagine you would want the same for him. So let's just throw things together until we have something presentable."

And so the experimenting began. Abe's shopping list quickly grew from mere trout to various vegetables and grains Mimi all but threw out of her head to Jacob's condensing. The poor boy was sent off with a sack of coins and a bewildered visage, but eager to shop all on his own—it would be good for him, Jacob figured.

Jacob went through fish after fish as Mimi racked her brains for just what was in that long-ago food. They had nothing to do with lunch and the rest of the cooks seemed more than happy to distantly watch Jacob with awe as they handled the mid-day meal.

The resulting dishes weren't at all bad. In fact, they began tasty and only improved in subsequent versions. Nothing tasted quite right to Mimi (amazing how a bad taste could remain in her mind) but the appearance of other servants seemed happy to take the rejects off of Jacob's gnarled hands.

The cooking was fun, Mimi quickly realized. From her place in the corner she ruled the kitchen, at least the part Jacob occupied. She was his source for ingredients and suggestions. It was revenge enough: the great cook had to listen to her. Possibilities flew from her mind and ingredients replaced themselves nearly as quickly as they came.

But, finally, around five o'clock, Jacob pulled something from the stove that looked just like that her father's invisible servants had served.

"Trial number I lost count," Jacob announced as he spooned some of it onto a dish for Mimi. "I think this one smells the best."

"I hated the original." She took a burning taste. "Hot. Water. Now"

"What about the dish?" he said as he went for water. The kitchen was empty save for them. "Is this finally the Suzeraine or do we need to make another attempt?"

She took another nibble and paused. Her taste buds must have changed when she went bird. But… "This is it, Jacob. I swear this is it."

His ugly face lit up. "You had better be telling the truth." He stuck a fork into the stew and tried it. "Oh… wow! This is good. You didn't like it before?"

"No. But I like this."

"Probably because I made it." He took another bite then called "Success!"

Apparently the other cooks had been hiding in the hallway. Mimi prayed they hadn't heard the goose conversation. Michael, Jerome, and Wilhelm burst into the kitchen, expressions expectant. "Well?" asked Jerome.

"I've made something wonderful, and I think I'm going to go ahead and assume it's a Suzeraine."

"You can't do that safely," said Michael.

"I figure if it's not, this is good enough he won't care."

"Even though you already said you knew exactly what it was."

Jacob waved the comment away. "I will tell him I prepared it special for him. Emphasis on the word "special". That should please His Madness." He winked at Mimi.

She smiled to herself. At least their fight was over.

They gathered around to taste the dish. Everyone loved it. And Mimi had helped. Was that pride she felt?

"It's the best stuff you've ever made, Jacob," said Wilhelm. "I mean, ever. You'll have to teach us, if you remember it. You just threw all this stuff together?"

"More or less," said Jacob. "I've never… experimented like that before."

"Well, get it onto a dish, then," said Michael. "It's nearly dinner time."

"Already?"

"Yes, and let's hope this works. Impress the Prince. We can't all worry as much as Lucy." Apparently poor Lucy had been the running gag of the day.

Plates were presented, one for the Duke, one for Prince Matthias. Mimi hoped she'd like. If he did, she would tell him that night she had helped.

The dishes were carried out. The kitchen staff waited in silence, Mimi along with them. She had never felt this way about cooking, never for Lavender, not even when it was the nothing more than the feminine skill she was to learn. She had helped make something for her prince.

Time passed.

Finally, a servant appeared and instructed Jacob to go to the dining room.

This was it. She could hardly wait.

A few minutes later he returned.

"Well?" asked Michael.

"They liked it," Jacob said. His face was expressionless.

Mimi's heart twirled. Prince Matthias had liked it.

Applause broke through the kitchen.

Jacob did not join in. He slowly approached Mimi. "Let's go. I'm done for tonight."

Jerome had just pulled out a bottle of wine from seemingly nowhere. "But Jacob, we—"

"Let's go," he repeated.

She stared. Something was wrong. "Jacob."

"Or you can stay. I don't care. But I'm going and good luck getting your dress after I lock the door."

"I'll come."

No one noticed them leave the kitchen.

Jacob said nothing as he stomped through the hall. He didn't bother to carry her or even look at her. It was like during their fight, except he wasn't mad at her. They finally reached his quarters. The moment Mimi stepped in, he slammed the door behind her. The sound actually echoed. Then he quickly crossed the sitting room to the door to his own room. "Goodnight," he said harshly. "I hope you have a fantastic tryst tonight."

She groaned. She thought they had unofficially decided not to go back to the Prince argument. "Jacob, are you still mad about that?"

"No." He had not quite closed his door.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Is it the Suzeraine? I thought it turned out well."

For a long time he said nothing. His hand clenched the door, claws digging into the wood. "'Well' isn't good enough, apparently."

"You said they liked it."

"The Duke did. At first."

"Prince Matthias…" Her heart, previously so buoyant, collapsed. "He didn't like it? But we worked so hard. I swear that was it. I thought of everything I could… What went wrong? It wasn't the Suzeraine? Was I that off?"

"It was the Suzeraine," he confirmed, still not turning around. "Sort of. "

"Sort of?"

"We missed something. You missed something."

"Well, I've never made it before!" she defended. "What did we miss?"

Slowly, he turned around. He looked sicker and more terrified than Mimi had ever seen or imagined him. "I don't know. Some herb. Just a little bit of flavoring. I can't even recall the name of it."

"An herb? We forgot an herb? Who cares? What difference does that make?"

"Your prince cares, apparently. He's the one who pointed it out. Right there, in front of His Madness."

Yes, Prince Matthias would be so detailed like that. "So? He was just offering you a tip."

"His Madness didn't think so."

Mimi's breath caught in her throat.

"I have to make it again," Jacob continued. "The Duke commanded me to make it again and to make it right. He was furious."

"Furious over food?"

"I think told you how insane he is. According to him, I've insulted him. He said I was his prized cook, and then I would do something so devious as to insult his own guest. Oh, and apparently I lied. I said I knew how to make this thing and then I didn't even make it right. So I am a liar."

"But you did lie about that."

He didn't respond.

"All right," said Mimi. 'This isn't so bad. So your pride has been hurt and this duke is a madman. You'll make it again. We'll get the herb. I'll ask the prince tonight what it is and then we'll get it and—"

"Mimi." He let go of the door. "You heard about the Duke. He's killed people. He killed the family here. He's killed servants. He told me something else. If I don't make this correctly, I'm dead."

She could not speak.

"I'm sorry I said what I said the other night." He took hold of the door again.

"When the Duke said that," she began, "What did the Prince do?"

"Absolutely nothing."

It was past two o'clock. Mimi stormed through the hallways, enough screams inside of her to wake the entire manor if she so chose. Her hair flew behind her. She had not touched it that night, not braided it, not brushed it. If Prince Matthias loved her, he wouldn't care. If he loved her, he would have an explanation for all of this.

He was waiting for her, as usual. Sitting on the floor, spectacles on, a book in his lap. Somehow it was not so cute.

"Prince Matthias!" she shouted.

He smiled and stood up. "Mimi the Spelled!" he shouted back, as if it were all a great joke.

She did not laugh. "What happened today?"

He blinked and took off his spectacles. "What do you mean?"

"Your dinner. Your stupid dinner."

"Oh." He blushed. "That. I didn't realize you had head about that."

For crying out loud, had she heard about it? That was what he asked? The emptiness of the hallway was huge. Yet she felt she could fill it with her screams. "What did you do?"

"I ordered something. The Duke kept speaking of his marvelous cook. I decided to test Jacob."

"With that God-forsaken dish?"

He shrugged. He did not seem the least bit bothered. "I thought he knew it. He said he did. We always have it at the palace."

"You could have asked for something else!" She wanted to hit him. It was all she could do to stand back, hold her space.

"I wanted Suzeraine."

"You wanted Suzeraine." She swallowed and realized tears were in her eyes. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Another shrug. What was his problem? "Mimi, I'm sorry. I… I had heard stories about the Duke, but I didn't realize he could go so far as to sentence his cook to death!"

"Well, he did. Because of you."

"Mimi, I'm hardly the one who sentenced him to death."

It was too much. Whatever willpower held her to a single spot broke and her feet carried her across the hall to the Prince, where she slapped him across the face as hard as she could. "He's my friend!"

Prince Matthias grimaced, hand to his cheek. She had done well there. "I thought you were mad at him."

"I didn't want him dead." Horror came over her. "You didn't… you didn't do this on purpose for me? This wasn't some sort of revenge?"

"Why would I think like that? Wow, you hit hard."

"Thanks," she replied automatically. "Then why? Why did you request that food? This morning of all times?"

"I was hungry for it."

"Don't lie to me." Tears were coming fast. "You're lying. If you love me, you wouldn't lie. Do you love me?"

He stared down at her, eyes hard. She had never seen him look that way. She took another step back, suddenly frightened.

"Yes," he said. "I do love you. I've told you that. I want you to marry me. I did this for you."

"I don't understand."

"You wouldn't." He picked up the book he had been reading, looked at it, and then dropped it the floor where it lay, pages bent. "You have no idea what it is like to be me. I have no power. None. I'm a good son. I'm smart. You know that. Yet because I'm the youngest I get nothing but a tract of land smaller than this dukedom. That is my inheritance. My brothers are spoken of through neighboring lands while I'm nothing. Then I come here. Find this place. And I find you. You're beautiful, you're smart, you're incredible. And you're under a spell you tell me nothing of. You spend last night speaking of nothing but a mere deformed cook who apparently warrants more of your attention than I do. "

She took another step back. "What? Are you jealous of Jacob? You're actually jealous of him?"

"I'm sorry. It was stupid and I guess I can understand if you want to hate me now."

He did not sound sorry. Mimi repeated his words over and over in her head and could not detect the slightest trace of sorry. "Why would you do that? That doesn't make sense. That's not even a reason."

"You care nothing for me," he said softly. "I thought you did. I thought you'd forgive me for this. I did one stupid thing. I suppose I was jealous. I proposed marriage to you, but you don't care enough to make it the first thing on your mind, to even take time to consider it. So I put your friend to a little test. I was mad. I didn't think it would turn out so badly."

"But you knew he wouldn't know the dish?"

A dry smile flickered over his face. "I suspected. At the most, I knew he wouldn't get it completely right."

"That herb." She brought her hand to her forehead. "One single herb. What is it?"

"The common name is shadow's breath." He paused. "I don't think it even grows around here."

Her mind froze. "What?"

Another smile. "It doesn't grow around here. You can't find it around here."

She couldn't breathe. Her knees shook, and she fell against the wall. "But you told him to make it."

"Like I told you, I didn't think the Duke would actually threaten to kill him. I'm sorry."

He still wasn't sorry. She stared at him, her prince, the one she had always wanted, tall and handsome and wonderful and… he had no care for what he had just done.

"Goodbye," she muttered as she turned.

"Mimi, you can't leave!" he called, voice suddenly panicked.

The ring was on her finger. She had worn it, anticipating, in spite of everything, a sensible explanation. She pulled it off and flung it behind her.