Lord Chef

By Cassandra Hamm

All Remy wanted to do was hurl the cobbler at Lord Filch’s smug face. Instead, she gave him her brightest smile and a big slice.

“Delcio cobbler, sire.” She stepped back to join the other servant, an older woman named Kyanne, at the tapestried wall of the dining room. “Made with fresh fruit and—”

“Yes, yes.” Filch stabbed the cobbler with his fork, piercing the crumbly top layer and scooping out violet delcio chunks swimming in sweet sauce.

Remy’s stomach rumbled as she imagined snatching the plate out of Filch’s feeble hands. The Faithful had only allowed her one bite to ensure she wasn’t trying to poison the tiny dictator.

Violet juice dripped from Filch’s lips as he gorged himself on the delicacy. Remy tugged at the tight collar of her lavender jerkin. Could she make it look like an accident if she spilled cobbler on Filch’s ridiculous, royal purple cape? Or if she grabbed the key hanging from his belt?

The other servants would probably help, but she’d have a hard time escaping the fortress with gun-wielding soldiers patrolling the grounds. And she couldn’t leave without Axel.

Filch shoved the last bite into his mouth and smacked his lips. Remy held her breath.

This was her first time serving Lord Filth. If he didn’t like her creation, he’d send her to the dungeon. If he did like it, she’d still be stuck here. Lose-lose.

Axel and I will get out of here, she promised herself.

“More, chef!” Filch snapped.

Remy bit her tongue and deposited another slice.

“Not that plate. A new one.”

A plate for every portion? How spoiled was this man?

Kyanne disappeared into the servants’ passage with the used plate as Remy prepared a new dish. What a waste.

The doors burst open. Two men entered the gilded dining room, one with a thick mustache, the other in chains.

Axel!

One eye was swollen and blackened, and his lips trickled blood. She longed to run and hug her maybe-boyfriend or to at least tackle Mustache Man, who held a gun to Axel’s back. How dare they threaten him?

“The prisoner, as requested,” said Mustache Man.

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” Filch straightened. “You’re dismissed, Martim.”

Mustache Man frowned. “But sire—”

“Silence.” Filch’s smile was slick, like regadio oil. “The rebel and I are just going to have a conversation.”

At least Filch wasn’t referring to Axel as a leader. That meant the dictator probably didn’t know he’d captured the head of the rebellion.

As the doors banged shut, Filch splayed his fingers across the silk tablecloth. “Tell me where your hideout is and you’ll eat tonight.”

Axel spat blood on the pristine floor.

They haven’t given him any food? Remy had the sudden urge to shovel cobbler in Axel’s mouth regardless of the consequences.

“Surely you’re hungry.” Filch held out the new plate of cobbler.

How dare he use my food as a bargaining tool! She wanted Axel to eat, but from her hand, not Filch’s.

“I know you want this.” Filch shook the plate as if talking to a dog. “Now tell me where your insignificant rebels are.”

“If they’re so insignificant, why do you care?”

Remy hid a smile.

Filch’s manicured fingers dug into the tablecloth, his face an alarming shade of red. “Stop playing games with me. That scum isn’t worth your life.” He jabbed a finger toward Remy. “Or hers.”

Axel blanched, contrasting with the deep crimson of his cheek scar.

Ignoring her pounding heart, Remy mustered a nonchalant tone. “The rebels won’t last long without me.”

“Did I give you permission to speak, chef?” Filch shot her a glare as sharp as a butcher knife.

“I thought you’d be relieved to hear they’ll probably die without my culinary creations. I mean, have you tasted a rebel’s cooking?” She mimed gagging.

Axel covered his snort with a frail, unconvincing wheeze.

“I’ll cut out your tongue, chef.” Filch held up the serrated knife he’d used at dinner.

Remy flinched.

“Don’t hurt her!” Axel shouted. “She has nothing to do with this.”

Filch’s eyes snapped toward Axel like a predator to prey. “So I was right. She is your weakness.”

Remy’s gaze fixed on the key at Filch’s hip—the one that unlocked all the prison shackles. A ridiculous, glorious plan filled her mind.

“Tell me where your rebels are hiding.” Filch grasped Remy’s jaw with cold, juice-smeared fingers. “Or your impertinent chef will be speechless.”

Remy tugged her chin free and smashed the pan in Filch’s face with a satisfying crunch! He slumped against the chair with a groan.

Remy tore the key from his belt and sprinted toward Axel.

He gaped. “You smashed a cobbler in Filch’s face.”

Grinning so hard her cheeks hurt, she opened the first lock.

He slid his wrists out of the manacles, revealing red, chafed skin. More scars to add to his collection—not that they would make him any less handsome.

She was unlocking the chains at his ankles when she heard a chair scraping against tile. She whipped around. Filch swayed, leaning heavily against the table.

Dropping the key, Remy ran for the fallen dish. Filch opened his mouth just as she snagged the slick metal pan and swung as hard as she could. A loud crack! resounded as the dish smashed into Filch’s jaw. He collided with the floor in a mess of purple chunks.

Axel struggled to his feet, key in hand. Remy grabbed his free hand and tugged him toward the servants’ passage, trying not to over-analyze. She threw the door open.

Kyanne dropped a fresh plate, scattering ceramic shards. Axel made a strangled noise.

Remy swallowed. “Please tell me you hate Filch as much as we do.”

Kyanne glanced at the dining room, her mouth twisting like she’d eaten something sour. “Who doesn’t?”

“Perfect.” Remy stepped over the broken plate. “Time to go. The rebels need their leader.”

Axel smirked. “And their chef.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cassandra Hamm is a psychology nerd, jigsaw puzzler, and hopeless romantic who spends most of her time lost in another world. She hosts Instagram writing prompt contests every other month. Her work appears in various anthologies, including Stories that Sing and Bingeworthy from Havok Publishing, Warriors Against the Storm, and Faces to the Sun. She suspects she may one day end up as a cat lady (or the owner of a Warrior Clan).

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