Thank Goodness the Little Guy Isn't Here. Seriously.
Catherine had received countless proposals and meeting requests over the years.
And aside from official encounters and a very select few, she had turned most of them down.
There was no special reason.
They were bothersome, they got in the way of her research, and she simply saw no need to entertain every person who begged for an audience.
Even so, Catherine never refused exchanges with her liege and his kin or retainers.
It was not that she particularly cared about her reputation.
It was half curiosity about outside news, half simple courtesy.
The pinnacle of power was a position that gathered vast amounts of information simply by existing, so that was also why Catherine had accepted Elizabeth’s invitation so readily.
At any rate, her business trip and rest had stretched on for quite a while, and Catherine too was curious about how the world had been turning lately.
The reception room she was guided into was as large as the study.
An antique table stood packed to the edges with snacks and drinks.
Yet no one laid a hand on any of it.
“So, how is the romance going?”
Elizabeth asked the moment her guest sat down.
“Pfft—! Cough!”
Catherine’s throat seized. She whipped her head aside. She had choked.
Elizabeth, however, only grew more certain.
“Kyaaaaaaah! I knew it! I knew it!”
“D-Duchess. Th-that, cough! What do you mean by that?”
“As if you don’t already know.”
Elizabeth waved a hand and plucked one of the many sweets spread across the table—the sweet dorayaki Catherine had brought, the pastry that present-day Karem had named Ban Cake.
“How famous do you think the news is that you fell for your personal chef at first sight the moment he grew up?”
“Who fell for whom at first sight! Who!”
“Oh my. Then is the order of events the reverse?”
An openly probing gaze.
Her light-brown eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“The savior from a persecuted past, feelings you never realized or had kept hidden at a young age, an opportunity that arrived hand-in-hand with crisis?”
Karem’s past and conduct, Catherine’s reactions—rumor had only been the spark. There were plenty of other clues.
Elizabeth pieced the sequence together. So it had been the other side that made the move, not this one. Her fist tightened without her noticing.
“A sweet, tender love painted straight out of a picture! I haven’t even tasted this pastry yet and my mouth is already sweet-and-sour.”
“I haven’t even accepted it yet!”
“‘Yet’ means the feelings are there, but you simply aren’t ready to accept them.”
The successive hits shattered Catherine’s composure—shock, embarrassment, blank astonishment. Elizabeth savored every reaction with a spinning smile.
“The confession and the feelings themselves are fact.”
“No, that—ah, um, tha—”
“As for status, with his skill no one in Iceland would make an issue of it. Age? If anything, now that Karem has grown it feels more natural.”
But Elizabeth instinctively knew that the reason Catherine was creaking like a broken magic tool right now was not something so minor.
“Before the curse, Karem was eleven. Considering the age of engagement before a political marriage, that is not such a young age after all.”
Elizabeth absently pressed her forehead.
“Something’s about to surface.”
“Duchess.”
“Just a moment. Atanitas. Just a moment.”
Her mind itched.
It was not a headache.
That sensation of long-forgotten memories announcing to the present that they had once existed was called déjà vu.
A woman’s intuition struck without warning.
“…Don’t tell me, Atanitas. Was it your first time as well?”
“Who!…Who…. Tha—”
Catherine started to snap, then lowered her own voice.
As if she simply could not bring herself to lie.
Then the answer was already clear.
Elizabeth set the pastry down, thoroughly startled.
The thought that at that age she had never once dated…! never even crossed her mind.
Even so, that was a remark that crossed the line by a long shot.
More importantly, that was not what mattered now.
What mattered now were two things: the keywords of a love between a little boy who one day became a young man and a cursed girl who had never known love.
A story packed full of every keyword that could stir a woman’s heart!
But—
“The pastries are drying out and the drink you brought is growing cold, so shall we leave this story here?”
“Yes. Please do.”
“I’ll wait with a joyful heart, then?”
While Catherine barely managed to calm her choking cough, Elizabeth picked up the dorayaki she had just set on the plate once more.
The pastry was a combination of things she already knew well.
Two pancakes browned to a perfect golden hue.
Inside, mashed pea paste.
A dessert sandwiching a side dish meant for the main course. Had it been anyone ordinary, she would never have dreamed of the combination, let alone touched it. But the maker was who he was.
Karem had made this.
Then there had to be a reason, somehow.
That reason was vanilla—irresistible to anyone.
“Duchess.”
“Hmm? Mary?”
“Please try splitting it in half first.”
Mary took the round sides of the dorayaki and broke it cleanly in two. Elizabeth followed with a pounding heart.
Rustle-rustle—
Split open under the reception-room lights, the dorayaki showed a color completely different from its bright-brown, well-toasted surface.
The sight was not unfamiliar.
The yellow vertical grain of a pancake riddled with tiny holes.
A light-green paste spread thick enough that the middle swelled slightly plump.
Of course the light-green paste—the mashed peas—was far finer in grain and far denser than any side dish she knew.
But will these two really go well together?
They must, or Catherine would never have brought them, yet beyond the savory-sweet scent of the butter-rich pancakes she could smell nothing else, so her hand hesitated.
“Duchess. Shall I check it for poison?”
“No.”
“But Duchess—”
“There is no reason to check for poison.”
Still, she could not stare at a guest’s gift forever. As always, Elizabeth restrained her lady-in-waiting and bit into the corner of the halved dorayaki.
Certainly the pancake was as well baked as its appetizing exterior suggested.
Like the soft give of lips, the split pancake was moist and fluffy.
Then came the taste of the light-green pea filling.
Mashed peas could taste like this?
The mashed peas she knew were nothing special—peas crushed just enough to keep some shape, simmered thin enough to lift with a fork, salty and savory with a hint of acidity: nothing more than a steak side.
But the mashed-pea filling revealed between pancakes that crumbled while still holding moisture was different.
There was no grassy pea smell at all.
Because of that, the unique savoriness came through even stronger.
The sweetness of the added sugar blended without the slightest jarring note.
Beans and sugar.
She had doubted the pairing, yet once sweetness joined the near-powder-fine mashed peas, the chestnut cream she had once eaten at the royal palace rose unbidden in her mind.
Above all was the marriage with the soft pancake.
The filling that held its own against the pancakes wrapping it above and below was far too soft to believe it had been made from beans. The fine grains caught nowhere—not on teeth, tongue, or palate.
Far from being buried beneath the pancake’s flavor, it lifted that flavor higher still and created a perfect harmony of taste and aroma.
The way she knew of eating pancakes was simple.
Butter, then a generous pour of syrup; if one wanted something hearty, sausage, egg, and bacon; if one wanted sweetness, fruit, jam, custard cream, and the newly arrived whipped cream. Endlessly straightforward.
Even a variation went no further than fruit in the batter or frying in bacon fat instead of butter.
“From your reaction, it seems you like it.”
“A texture and taste quite different from syrup or jam. Impressive.”
“Is that so?”
Catherine said it while taking a nibble of the dorayaki Mary held out.
Seeing that, Elizabeth narrowed her eyes for the briefest instant.
Is that so? That sounded exactly as if she had brought it without ever tasting it herself.
“Would you care to try the drink as well?”
“If it is a drink, is it the one you brought with you, brewed?”
“Yes. Alrune’s Tear, steeped from roasted Alrune.”
At Catherine’s gesture Mary lifted the teapot that still held its heat, and the waiting lady-in-waiting shrewdly extended Elizabeth’s cup.
Glug-glug—
“Roasted Alrune…”
At the unexpected meeting of those two words Elizabeth unconsciously furrowed her brow. Catherine would never serve something she herself could not eat, yet the prejudice that it was a monster still nagged.
That prejudice vanished the moment the profound aroma rose from the cup the lady-in-waiting held out.
“The color is very deep, yet the aroma is lovely and profound.”
“Be careful. The taste is as bitter as the color.”
“Is that so?”
Something that smelled this good was bitter? She had never encountered such a scent. If she had to compare it, perhaps it was closest to freshly roasted nuts.
Elizabeth looked down at the fine light-brown foam on the surface, then carefully tilted the cup.
“Hup!”
The instant the intense bitterness touched the tip of her tongue it struck the entire inside of her mouth.
A moment later, as the bitterness subsided, a seductive aroma lingered.
“…Just how does an aroma like this come about?”
With every breath in and out the fragrance grew stronger.
“You said it was water brewed from roasted Alrune?”
“I never imagined Alrune could produce a scent like this either.”
“Besides the aroma, this bitterness is excellent for refreshing the mouth, but—”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at Catherine and tapped the table with a dry biscuit.
“Isn’t this more than bitter? I’m tasting astringency as well.”
“It’s because it was roasted more strongly than usual.”
“…Is this revenge for earlier?”
“I said nothing.”
When Catherine gestured, the waiting Mary drew a small sugar jar and whipped cream from the basket.
“Then how about the combination my house elf adores.”
At the silent invitation Elizabeth nudged her cup forward a little. Mary immediately spooned in a generous amount of sugar and piled a thick cloud of whipped cream on top.
“This is Brownie’s Joy.”
“Brownie as in…your kind?”
“Yes. The name was given because even our own kin can drink this aromatic bitter water with joy.”
You may mix the cream into the drink, or drink first and cleanse your palate with the cream—either is fine. With those words, Elizabeth raised the cup again.
Slurp—
Certainly none of the first intensity remained.
Perhaps because of the sugar, the bitterness and astringency had lessened.
In their place a refreshing sweetness took hold and made the seductive, elegant aroma stand out even more.
Even the residual astringent bitterness clinging to the tongue was cleanly washed away by the whipped cream that had begun to melt into the hot drink, leaving only a faint milk fragrance.
“Enjoy a sweet pastry, wash the taste remaining on the tongue with the drink, then enjoy the pastry again as if for the first time.”
“As expected of the Duchess. To discover the method of infinitely enjoying pastries.”
Elizabeth shook her head as though it were nothing special toward Mary, who was sincerely admiring her.
“Come to think of it, Karem isn’t here today?”
“Do you have business with the little guy?”
“No. I simply remembered he was said to be a personal attendant.”
“The little guy is closer to a chef than an attendant. Moreover, that is only this one’s business here, is it not?”
Of course Catherine thought it was fortunate. Had the little guy been present, it was as good as a confirmed future that she would have been roasted twice as thoroughly.
Mary, who had no way of knowing her master’s heart, proudly puffed out her chest and openly displayed her satisfaction.
“The little guy said he had business at the blacksmith and went out just a short while ago.”
Catherine accepted another dorayaki, held it in her mouth, and took a mouthful of Alrune’s Tear.
The pancake that had soaked up the bitter liquid crumbled as though melting, and the sweet pea filling dissolved and slid smoothly down her throat.
“I don’t know what he’s preparing, but he must have thought of a new cooking utensil.”
He rarely went out for any other reason, after all.
For a time the reception room was filled only with the peaceful sounds of cups and dishes meeting and of drinks and pastries being enjoyed.
Bang—!
“Duchess! Duchess!”
Urgent footsteps shattered the peaceful atmosphere.
Sizzleeeeeee—!
Sizzle-sizzle-sizzle-sizzle—!
Gopain’s blacksmith shop.
In the place now called Govanius’s blacksmith shop, the sound of meat grilling and a mouth-watering sweet-and-spicy aroma mixed with hot smoke and steadily claimed the cold alley.
“Karem. Can I have one skewer?”
“Would that be all right!? It’s not done yet!”
“Wyvern meat is fine even if it’s a little underdone!”
“Nonsense!”
Attached Material
— Ban Cake (Dorayaki) —
A picture drawn by ChatGPT.