CHAPTER 12: POTATO POTATA

As soon as Reginald's eyes devoured the contents of the letter, an icy chill seemed to cut through the air. The Emperor was en route to Wolfhard territory, and the letter's words felt like a clarion call. Reginald's voice barely faded before my feet moved on their own. Without a word, I bolted from the room, leaving Raina standing there, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. The Emperor was the guest I had both dreaded and anticipated. Now was the time for Arthur Romaeus van Wolfhard II to make his mark.

Inside the kitchen, the scent of roasted meat and thick gravy clung to the air, heavy, rich, but it did nothing to stir my appetite. The cool stone floors echoed my haste. My hands trembled as I climbed up to retrieve the potatoes hidden in the top cabinet, their rough skins seemingly mocking me in their simplicity. I washed my hands meticulously, the water cold against my skin, before peeling them. The rhythmic scrape of steel against flesh filled the kitchen. The other cooks stopped their work, staring at me with disgust, as if I were some street rat sullying their pristine domain.

"Help me remove the skin instead of just glaring." My voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

The head cook sneered, his voice thick with disdain. "Young master, what are you doing? Are you trying to poison the household? Ending the Wolfhard bloodline with, of all things...commoner food?"

I didn't stop peeling. Didn't even look up. But my grip tightened around the knife. Then I exhaled slowly.

"You do realize my mother is a commoner, don't you? Or is it beneath you to let her eat a meal of her kind without your lofty critiques?" I lied effortlessly. I had no idea if Sushila liked potatoes, but today, her name would serve my cause.

The effect was immediate. At the mention of the Fourth Lady, the air in the kitchen shifted. The cooks straightened, their disdain melting into forced obedience. Suddenly, they were eager to follow my instructions. Hands that had once hovered in contempt now moved with urgency. Ingredients were gathered, knives flashed, flames roared to life.

I wasted no time. Four dishes. Simple. Common. Earthly.

For as long as I had been in this world, my tongue had been shackled to the taste of nobility, feasts dripping with excess. Meat, meat, and more meat. Beef, pork, lamb, chicken, venison, boar, hare, pheasant, swan, goose, salmon, eel. Even the rarest seafoods, oysters, crabs, whale, delicacies I had only read about in my past life. And yet, despite my newfound wealth of flavor, my soul craved the simplest of things. The food of the forgotten. The food from back home, the kind my sister and I grew up eating under my grandmother's care.

Because Grandma couldn't afford meat with the insane inflation. Something as humble as potato soup or stir-fried greens held memories richer than any noble banquet. She had nothing, yet she made it enough. Every month's end, after collecting her meager pay, she'd return with canned tuna, chicken liver, gizzards, beef kidney, whatever she could afford. If luck was on our side, ground beef.

And on rare paydays from her part-time jobs, she'd buy us fast food, a greasy burger, a salty pile of fries, a cheap soda fizzing against our tongues. Instead of cooking, she'd just smile and watch my sister and me dig in. "I already ate," she'd say.

But now, I knew better. She hadn't eaten.

She was just pretending to be full so we could eat without worry.

I swallowed hard.

I really hope they're okay. With me gone… at least that's one less mouth to feed. Maybe Grandma will have it a little easier now.

I shook the memory away and focused on my task.

I started with the fries. No one knew the true origin of French fries, with both France and Belgium fighting over the claim. But here, in this world, it was an unknown delicacy, and I would be their creator.

Here, there was no vegetable oil, only animal fat. Beef tallow and pig lard were the frying mediums, their rich, meaty essence imparting an unmatched depth of flavor. I sliced the potatoes with precision and dropped them into the molten fat. The sizzle was music to my ears, the fries emerging golden and crispy. Without Earth's myriad of sauces, I had to improvise, just a sprinkle of salt, a dash of pepper, and a drizzle of honey.

Next, mashed potatoes. Already peeled, chunked, and boiled, the potatoes transformed under my hands. I mashed them, adding salt, pepper, and a touch of butter and milk for creaminess. The memory of my grandmother's kitchen wafted through my mind, the simplicity of her cooking a soothing balm to my chaotic reality.

Then, potato fritters. Grated potatoes mixed with chopped onions, eggs, flour, salt, and pepper. The mixture came together with the perfect consistency, ready to be fried in the remaining animal fat from the fries. I watched them crisp into golden perfection.

And lastly, the baked potato. The commoner's staple. A peasant's lifeline. But they had been eating it wrong. I split one open, added butter, let it melt into the steaming flesh. The commoners had no idea that adding butter transformed them into something divine, especially in winter.

And just like that, I had introduced the first fries, mash, fritters, and buttery baked potatoes into this world.

By the time I was done, the air was thick with the aroma of golden, crispy, buttery warmth.

The head cook inhaled deeply, eyes wide with something between awe and disbelief. "Young master, how did you—"

I wiped my hands on a cloth. "Mind your own business. Wouldn't want to accidentally poison you with this commoner food." My voice dripped with sarcasm. "Make sure these are served at dinner." I ordered, striding out of the kitchen for a breath of fresh air.

Stepping outside, I sucked in the crisp evening air. The stars had begun to pierce through the sky's deepening blue, but the night was anything but peaceful.

I looked up. The grand Wolfhard gates stood tall before me. And beyond them, knights. Lined up like an unshakable wall, guarding a carriage as golden as the sun itself.

The flag above it bore the imperial insignia: a crowned shield, flanked by two lions on either side, their claws outstretched as if grasping for the crown.

My heart skipped a beat.

The Emperor had arrived.

Two knights dismounted. One raised a trumpet, the other unrolled a scroll. The voice that followed was thunderous.

"By decree of the Crown, it is with great honor and solemnity that we proclaim the arrival of the Sun of the Empire, the Sovereign of the Stella Empire. The trumpet shall sound, the gates of House Wolfhard shall open, and all within this estate shall gather in reverence!"

The trumpet's call rang through the air, its echo vibrating through the stone walls of the palace.

The Patriarch strode forward, a shadow of authority and expectation, barking orders for the gates to open. Behind him trailed his wives, all but Sushila and his many children, their steps a perfect symphony of obedience.

The gates groaned open. The golden carriage rolled inside, its knights following in rigid formation.

The moment it halted, every single person in the estate dropped to one knee.

The Patriarch. His family. The servants. Every last soul bowed in submission.

Except me.

I stood where I was, arms folded.

The carriage door had not yet opened. And yet.

I began to count.

5…4…3…2—

Before I could reach 1, the air shifted. A biting chill crept up my spine as the world around me slowed, time itself seemingly holding its breath.

A sudden hush.

A shimmer of frost crept across the golden carriage, its surface growing slick with ice. The windows misted. The temperature plummeted.

The carriage had become a tomb of ice, its frosted walls a chilling prison.

The horses reared back with wild, desperate cries, before an unnatural stillness overtook them, ice crawling up their legs, encasing them mid-motion. Within seconds, their terror was preserved in frozen sculptures, wide eyes locked in fear beneath a glistening prison of frost.

The knights armor began to crystallize as they panicked.

Silence.

My breath curled into the frigid air, vanishing like a whisper as frost slithered along the palace entrance, inching closer with a hunger that mirrored the cold creeping into my bones.

And then—

A single crack echoed.

The door creaked open.

The Sun of the Empire had arrived.

And something, something unnatural, had arrived with him.