Tartiflette

"Your majesty," I give a slight bow acknowledging his demand. "It is called Tartiflette. I can explain it better once it is before everyone." I plead in my heart to any listening gods that the Prince will be in good humor. I can't read him with the mask of boredom he has used to conceal himself. I had hoped we would work well together after our meeting, and how we had worked together with Agathe's punishment, but his cold nature has been on display since, despite us having had time alone, or with trusted advisors. Thus, reading him has become a task for the divine.

He doesn't acknowledge me with a verbal response, only tilting his head. I try to stifle my intuitive sigh of relief, not wanting to offend him in any sense.

The doors burst open and the servants pile in with the next course of our meal. They circle around placing a plate before the Prince first, and then the rest of us. They uncover the platters to reveal a dish of potatoes and lardons covered in cheese. I stand again to explain this course.

"This dish is known as Tartiflette. That is the name of the cheese melted over cooked potatoes and lardons. Lardons are a type of pork from the belly region and are small cubes of meat, as you can observe. The Tartiflette is a milder cheese and is soft even before melting it over the potatoes. This dish is a favorite among the people but is rarely eaten among the noble class due to the placement of lardon meat on a pig. They often consider it too cheap for their taste. Don't let this deter you, it is delicious, and my favorite. Tonight is about Villefranche foods, and where would we be without the common folk." With the end of my monologue I sit. This is the riskiest of the courses, as it is a lowers status dish. Yet I felt pressed to include it, as it is a staple of winter cuisine, and my favorite.

I lift my fork for all to see and call "bon appétit". Again it is echoed to me, but this time all the men follow the tradition. I take the first bite as the hostess, proving the safety of the food.

"Why is this your favorite?" Bertrand asks once I have swallowed.

"I love milder cheeses like Tartiflette, Conté or Brie. It is creamy because it is melted, and the lardons have a unique salty smoked flavor I enjoy. I find the mélange of flavors satisfying. What Is your favorite dish?" I explain and counter.

"It Is called Pastilla. It is like a tart here with a crust encasing a filling, but it has eggs, chicken and almonds layered inside. The crust isn't the same as a tart. It is sweeter main course with a powdered sugar and cinnamon sprinkled over It."

"That sound divine. I will have to have our cook find a recipe for it."

"Our camp cook could teach him how to cook It." The Prince breaks his silence with that suggestion.

"That would be perfect for our upcoming feast. What is your favorite food your highness?" I try to continue his participation.

"I like this." He gestures at the Tartiflette before him. I beam, though I suspect he is merely humoring me.

"Good, we will have to have it again. Do you have any requests for the feast?" He looks me in the eyes, pausing as if in thought.

"I trust your judgement." He says, and then turns his gaze down the table, ending the conversation. Why is he so stoic and impossible?

"Bertrand, do you have any more requests?" I try my friend, hoping he will help me decide on a menu.

"You were able to create this menu in short notice. I am sure you will do well for future feasts." He smiles at me encouragingly.

"This wasn't short notice. I have been planning this for almost two weeks and had simple not planned on attending myself." I protest.

"Why wouldn't you have attended?" Bernard looks at me with concern.

"Have you truly not heard Prince Clement-Victor's reputation?" I repeat my earlier question. I am met with a blank stare. I sigh and explain. "I figured he would execute me to stabilize his position." He stops mid bite dropping his fork on his plate with a loud clank. Some of his food flings over onto the Prince. I freeze, ready for his anger.

"Bertrand pay attention" Is the man's only rebuke as he wipes away the flecks of potato.

"Sorry your Highness." Bertrand says before turning to me, his eyes full of speculation. "You went into that meeting today planing to die?"

"Yes" I don't desire to explain further, but I am sure I will receive more questions.

"Why?" His one syllable question strikes. I was right.

"You noted I am charitable. The only way I could see to protect my people was to sacrifice myself."

"Then Why are you here now?"

"Prince Clement-Victor was merciful. He saw another way to use me, and I kept my life."

"You are a strange creature," Bertrand observes, before turning to his disinterested master and asking, "How long do you plan on keeping her?" My eyes widen at the insinuations. Am I a trinket to be thrown away?