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Weekly Contest #270
Soup splattered across the kitchen floor as Iliya’s wooden spoon clattered into the heavy iron cauldron. Just a pine cord popping in the hearth, where she’d been preparing a late supper for the royal family. “Aught well?” Laelan asked from where he sat near the ingle. The armor he’d been oiling lay in a forgotten heap before him. Just the two of them in the large kitchens this evening; she’d dismissed her staff immediately after dinner, given the misadventures of the day. She turned toward him, the shimmer of flame off her pewter ewers match...
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