Orram laughed loud and long, the small room echoing with the sounds of merriment. The queen smiled tightly, but her expression quickly returned to a worried frown.
“You have no idea how good that feels after a day like today,” the king gasped, wiping his eyes.
“I’m glad I could ease your suffering with my own,” Relam replied with a pained look that sent his father chuckling again. “Shall I do the other thumb tomorrow?”
“Better pace yourself, you only have so many fingers,” his father warned. Then, he chuckled again. “Stuck it back with pitch,” he repeated.
The discussion was interrupted by the opening of the servant’s door just behind the king. Griffin emerged, beaming. Relam’s gaze passed over the archway behind the servant and he grinned. The opening was packed with palace staff, smiling and waving, eyes shining with pride.
“Your majesties, good evening,” Griff began. “Your highness, congratulations! We of the staff are most proud of you and your accomplishments, and are pleased to serve you.”
“Thank you,” Relam said humbly. “I never could have done it alone.” He looked back at the entrance. “Thank you. All of you.”
The servants packing the doorway bowed shyly and retreated, hurrying back to the kitchens. Griff bowed as well, then straightened, smiling.
“And tonight, we shall celebrate you, your highness. Please let me know if there is anything you need.”
Griff snapped his fingers imperiously and servants scurried forward with bowls of steaming potato and leek soup, accompanied by warm, perfectly round dinner rolls and a slab of yellow butter. Relam picked up his spoon and dug in eagerly.
“Perfect, Griff,” he announced. The cook’s potato soup had always been a favorite of his. Creamy and thick, with chunks of potato and leek, well-spiced. In short, perfect.
“I shall pass along your compliment,” the servant said formally. “I will be back soon with the main course.”
“Any hints as to what it is?”
“Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” Griff replied, wagging his finger in reproach. Then, he disappeared, leaving the royal family to their meal.
The moment Relam’s spoon clinked against the bottom of his empty bowl, Griff was back with more servants and a huge covered tray. Sharp knives were set at each place and wide platters were laid in front of each of the diners.
Griff stood opposite the king, taking carving tools from another servant and sharpening them, even though Relam could see the edge was perfectly keen. Griff was a bit of a showman on occasions like these. More than a bit, the prince amended as Griff tossed the carving fork and caught it, smiling.
Then, Griff whipped the lid off the tray with a flourish, beaming around the table. On the platter sat quite possibly the largest chicken Relam had ever seen. The skin was golden brown and crisp, and the prince could see the spices underneath that had been roasted into the meat. Onions and peppers spilled from the central cavity of the bird, aromatic steam billowing around the opening.
“That is one big bird,” the king observed, duly impressed.
“This,” Griff announced, “Is no mere bird. This is a wild Mizzran Swift Chicken, renowned for the amount of meat on its bones and the wonderful flavor. It was caught earlier this week and brought to the capital directly.”
“Amazing,” Relam said, gazing at the carcass. His mouth was already watering.
Griff smiled and began breaking the bird down into pieces, legs, wings, breast meat, thighs. Relam was watching the legs wistfully. The meat there would be extremely flavorful, juicy-
“Your plate, your highness,” Griff interrupted.
Relam started in surprise. Normally, his parents would be served first. He hesitated, unsure of himself, then at a nod from his father passed Griff the plate.
The servant smiled and began piling meat on the prince’s plate. Breast meat mostly and, yes, one of the legs. Plus a steaming mound of the peppers and onions. Griff returned the plate to Relam and set about filling his parent’s plates while the prince dug in.
The meat practically fell from the bones and was delightfully juicy. Every morsel exploded with flavor the moment Relam put it in his mouth, and the onions and peppers were perfect companions with their acidic nature. Relam put down his fork and knife and picked up the leg, ripping great strips of meat from it with his teeth, chewing contentedly.
“Perfect,” he heard his father mutter around a mouthful of food. “Heavenly, really. Mizzran Swift Chicken? I must speak with Lord Vicet about finding more of these.”
“They are exceptionally rare, your majesty,” Griff replied, almost apologetically.
“Then I’ll speak with him about breeding more,” the king decided, filling his mouth again. Relam nodded agreement, too busy eating to speak.
Griff bowed wordlessly and retreated, leaving the royal family to their meal. Relam and his father ate voraciously, ripping apart the meat with hands as often as forks and knives. The queen ate at a more sedate pace, cutting slices of breast meat into regular pieces and consuming them almost daintily.
Nearly an hour later, when the bird had been reduced to a pile of stripped bones, Griff reentered the dining alcove and cleared the platter away.
“My compliments to the chefs,” Relam murmured, too stuffed to move. “Thanks, Griff.”
“It was my pleasure and honor,” Griff replied, bowing. “Congratulations again, your highness.”
Relam nodded acknowledgment, barely stifling a belch that threatened to break free. He rubbed his stomach ruefully, noting that his belt seemed rather tight.
“You should pass the trials every day,” the king suggested, groaning. “I’m not sure I’ve ever eaten that well. And I’ve been king for years.”
“We’ll be sure to do this again though,” Relam murmured, his eyelids drooping. “Best chicken ever. Wonder what makes the Mizzran birds so large and tasty?”
“Maybe all the exercise clambering over rocks and such,” the king suggested, yawning. He frowned suddenly. “Strange, it’s not even late
