How Does It Taste, the Spoonful I Fed You?
The knock sounded at the door—tap, tap, tap. I drew in a deep breath and opened it.
“...You’ve arrived, Your Highness.”
There she stood just beyond the threshold. Dressed in plain commoner’s clothes with her hood slightly lowered. Yet the pitch-black hair and vivid crimson eyes revealed beneath it could not be hidden even in the shadows.
Victoria von Roseria.
She looked up at me, the corners of her lips curling upward by a fraction as she offered that signature arrogant smile.
“You are late, Sir Lowenheim. To leave this one standing at the door. Such a sin is by no means light.”
“...M-my deepest apologies.”
“Fufu. A jest, merely a jest.”
The princess laughed playfully and stepped into the room with far too much natural ease, as though it were her own private chambers. It was a cramped space—one bed, one table, one brazier. A shabby room utterly unfit for an imperial princess to enter. The realization made fresh embarrassment wash over me, and I cleared my throat awkwardly. She, however, lifted her nose slightly to the aroma filling the room and narrowed her eyes.
Then she stopped before the brazier, where steam rose from the pot.
“So.”
Victoria tilted her head at an angle. Those mischievous red eyes flicked back and forth between the pot and me.
“Is this what you prepared for this one? What is its name? Come, let us hear just how magnificent a supper the Vice Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guard has laid out.”
Her tone was the height of arrogance, yet her eyes sparkled with pure curiosity. Exactly like a child standing before a gift box.
I swallowed hard.
“...It’s Chicken Cacciatore.”
“Cacciatore?”
“Yes. Chicken seared until golden, then simmered slowly with vegetables, red wine, and tomatoes… It was originally a hunter’s dish, so it may seem somewhat rustic compared to court cuisine, but the flavor is by no means—”
Perhaps it was the tension. Explanations poured from my mouth in a rambling flood. Even the old habit from my previous life of describing menus to customers resurfaced, and I couldn’t stop myself. The ingredients, the technique—
—Right then.
A white finger slid gently over my lips.
“……!”
I froze where I stood.
Victoria had drawn so close that her breath brushed my face. The scent of roses engulfed me. With her index finger still resting on my lips, she smiled softly.
“That is enough.”
“......”
“Explanations are unnecessary. The fact that you made it for this one is all this one needs.”
Her voice was so tender that my heart skipped another beat against my will. Victoria withdrew her finger and smiled brightly.
“Now then… let us eat together. Before it grows cold.”
And so we sat facing each other at the narrow table. Two bowls of steaming cacciatore, a few slices of golden toasted bread. A humble meal, nothing more.
Victoria sat with her chin propped on her hand, gazing at me in languid contentment.
...That stare was the problem.
How should I describe it? She wasn’t looking at the food at all—only at me. Those red eyes fixed steadily, as though waiting for something.
What is this? Why isn’t she eating? Is she suspecting poison?
No—in that case, I should taste it first, right? Like a food taster. Yes, exactly.
Having reached that conclusion, I picked up my spoon. I scooped up some of the steaming broth and was about to bring it to my lips when—
“Ah—”
“...Yes?”
Victoria had opened her mouth wide, making a deliberate show of it. Her small red lips formed a perfect circle. Both eyes gently closed. Head tilted slightly forward.
“Ah—”
What is this? What on earth is this woman doing?
My mind went blank. What did that mean? Was she yawning? No, people don’t wait so obediently when yawning. Then could it be… No, impossible. An imperial princess of all people? It couldn’t be.
I decided to pretend I hadn’t seen it. Yes, I must have imagined it. I lowered my gaze and moved the spoon toward my own mouth again—
—Crack.
The air froze.
I instinctively halted the spoon. Very slowly, I lifted my head.
Victoria was narrowing her eyes. Those same eyes that had been softly closed were now piercing straight through me. Within those vivid crimson irises, something indescribable flickered. The pale flash I had witnessed in the audience chamber was now aimed directly at me. Her mouth remained open.
“Ah~”
“......”
“Ahh~?”
The words were undeniably cute. The syllables were undeniably lovely. Yet that gaze alone screamed: Feed me this instant, or your neck will be the first thing devoured.
Ice-cold sweat cascaded down my spine like a waterfall.
Hey, stay calm. Think rationally.
What does she want right now? She wants to be fed. She wants me to spoon-feed her with my own hand. The greatest princess in the empire, the future empress, is asking me to…
If I refuse? Death. If I ignore it? Death. If I’m even a second late? Probably death.
There was only one answer.
With trembling hands, I redirected the spoon I had been bringing to my own mouth. I carefully placed a piece of tender chicken and some broth upon it, then slowly, reverently—as though handling a live bomb—carried it to her parted lips.
“...P-please, eat.”
Victoria’s lips gently closed around the spoon.
In that instant, the princess’s expression transformed. The playfulness, the arrogance, that chilly light—all of it melted away like snow. In its place rose an expression I had never seen before.
Her eyes widened slightly, then closed again, slowly, ever so slowly. As though savoring something for a long, long time.
No—as though remembering something for a long, long time.
Before I could ask what it meant, the princess opened her eyes. She chewed and swallowed the contents of her mouth with deliberate care. Then, with a sly smile, she lightly licked her lips and gazed at me with the most satisfied smile the world had ever seen.
“......It is truly delicious.”
Like a well-fed beast, she added in a low, purring voice.
“Truly… delicious. Your cooking.”
It was praise. Without question, the highest praise imaginable. As a chef, it was a moment I should have celebrated. In my previous life, I would have clenched my fist in triumph in the kitchen.
Yet for some reason, as she looked at me while licking her lips, what I felt before joy was an inexplicable chill. As if what she had tasted wasn’t the dish… but me. As if she would never let go now. As if she were whispering that someday she would definitely tear her prey apart with her own hands and devour it.
While a fresh trickle of cold sweat ran down my back, Victoria opened her mouth demonstratively once more.
“Ah~”
“......”
“Ahh~?”
It looked like tonight was going to be very, very long.
Ah—
Whenever Victoria opened her mouth like a baby bird, Kyle would scoop up another spoonful and place it on her tongue. The moment that spoonful touched her, she fell into a small ecstasy once again.
Delicious.
It really was delicious.
First the tomato’s acidity tickled the tip of her tongue. Not sharp, but a rounded sourness born of long simmering. Once that sourness awakened her sleeping appetite, a gentle sweetness followed, rolling in softly. The deep, subtle sweetness concentrated from tomatoes and vegetables simmered thoroughly. And beneath it all, a rich umami that anchored everything.
At the profound flavor rising from within her tongue, Victoria unconsciously closed her eyes.
As the hot broth slid down her throat, warmth slowly bloomed from the center of her chest. The heart that had shivered in the cold imperial palace all its life seemed to melt completely with that single spoonful.
Ah, yes. This taste.
It was clearly a different dish from the clear, rustic soup of that day. Richer, deeper, more splendid… Yet why? The quality of this warmth touching her tongue remained utterly unchanged from that day.
Victoria opened her mouth again.
Ah—another spoonful.
And another. And another.
The idea of feeding herself never even crossed her mind. Simply opening her mouth like a baby bird and accepting what he offered her—that alone made her heart so full that nothing else mattered.
A man who held the rank of Vice Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guard, carefully bringing a spoon to her lips with a face tight with tension. How lovable that awkward, earnest touch was.
Imperial dignity? The majesty of an empress?
For this single moment, she could forget them all. For as long as this bowl lasted. For as long as this time of him feeding her something warm continued.
Because she wanted to receive the touch of the man she loved as nothing more than an ordinary woman.
Ah—another spoonful.
It was happiness. Simply, boundless happiness.
How many spoonfuls had she received like that?
Suddenly.
“...Hm?”
Victoria sensed something strange.
The bowl Kyle was scooping from—the one placed before him—had somehow been emptied to the bottom. Meanwhile, the bowl in front of her remained completely full, its steam long since faded.
She had been so absorbed in being fed that she hadn’t touched it with her own hands.
Only then did she realize.
Kyle had not taken a single spoonful for himself. He had silently fed every last bite of his own portion into her mouth alone.
“......”
Victoria’s heart throbbed once more.
This foolish, earnest man. Not eating a single bite of his own, satisfied simply with feeding others. He had been the same at the market. A person who had spent his entire life cooking warm meals for other people’s mouths while always putting his own meals last.
The moment she realized it again, something surged up inside Victoria’s chest.
So the princess said,
“...Hand it over.”
She gently took the spoon from Kyle’s hand.
“Y-Your Highness?”
Paying no heed to his flustered reaction, Victoria pulled the still-untouched, full bowl in front of her into the space between them.
Since he had given his entire portion to this one, this time this one would give her portion to him.
She picked up a fork and began carefully separating the tender meat from the chicken leg bone.
It was clumsy. The hands of an empress destined to rule the continent—the same hands that became so fierce when gripping a sword—were struggling pathetically over a single piece of chicken. The meat kept crumbling, the fork kept slipping. After all, these were hands that had never served anyone, never once scooped food for another in her entire life.
Even so, she did not stop. Piece by careful piece. She placed the separated chicken onto the spoon and gently added warm broth. Exactly as he had done for her.
Then she extended the spoon toward Kyle.
“...You too. Have a bite.”
“...Pardon?”
“I said, eat. How can you… not take even one spoonful of what I made into your own mouth?”
After the words left her, her face grew strangely hot.
It was embarrassing. What ridiculous behavior. The great Victoria von Roseria, extending a spoon to feed a man by hand after separating the meat herself.
Yet the hand she had already offered could not be withdrawn. Nor did she wish to withdraw it.
“...Ah, go on.”
Kyle flinched, then waved his hands in awkward refusal.
“N-no, Your Highness. How could I possibly dare eat from Your Highness’s own hand… I will eat it myself.”
Refusal. The expected reaction.
But Victoria had no intention of retreating. Instead of withdrawing the spoon, she tilted her head slightly and curved her eyes into gentle crescents. The kindest, most affectionate smile rested on her lips.
If you don’t eat…
She whispered,
“...you’ll die?”
Her voice was warm as spring sunlight, her smile beautiful as a flower. Only the content of her words carried no trace of jest whatsoever.
She watched Kyle’s face turn deathly pale. He swallowed dryly, then slowly lowered his head toward the spoon with a trembling hand.
And at last, he accepted the piece of chicken she had prepared.
“......”
Chew, chew.
Victoria quietly watched him eat with that tense expression.
Ah.
Just watching him like this filled her heart with something indescribable.
This one had fed someone. With these hands that had only taken, cut, and burned throughout her life. With these hands that had never once warmly cared for another… she had placed a warm spoonful into the mouth of the man she loved.
That it could feel so fulfilling.
A smile unconsciously bloomed on Victoria’s lips. Not a mask, not madness. Like when she chose vegetables at the market, like when she stole glances at him through the window—just a woman’s shy, radiant smile.
“...How is it?”
Victoria asked, her cheeks flushed.
“The spoonful this one fed you… how does it taste?”
Kyle, having swallowed the food, looked at her with an expression that said he had no idea how to answer.
Even that honest, flustered face—how could it be so lovable?
Victoria decided it didn’t matter what he said. This moment, this warm time.
In this life, may it continue not with blades, but with such a spoonful.
She simply wished for that alone.