Chapter 86 - Donuts
The water in the pot bubbled furiously, macaroni swirling in the roiling liquid like drowning sailors. Luxana stood before the stove, her regal posture at odds with the mundane task of pasta-watching.
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"Fascinating, isn't it?" Cillian's sardonic voice cut through the steam. "I've heard watching paint dry is next on the royal agenda."
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Luxana's eyes narrowed. "At least paint has the decency to stay put. Unlike some pests I know."
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Cillian clutched his chest in mock hurt. "Your words wound me, Your Majesty. Almost as much as your cooking might."
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"Bold words from someone who probably can't tell a spoon from a fork," Luxana shot back, reaching for said spoon to stir the pasta.
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"Oh, I can tell the difference," Cillian smirked. "One's for eating, the other's for catapulting food as far away from your cooking as possible."
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As Luxana stirred, the pot suddenly boiled over, sending starchy water hissing onto the stovetop. She jumped back with a yelp.
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Cillian's laughter echoed through the kitchen. "Bravo! I didn't realize we were making Vesuvius erupt. Truly, your culinary skills know no bounds."
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"Shut up and help me, you useless lump," Luxana growled, frantically turning down the heat.
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"As you command, Oh Queen of Culinary Disasters," Cillian bowed with exaggerated flourish before sauntering over. He peered into the pot, grimacing. "I've seen more appetizing things in a swamp. Are you sure this is pasta and not some new form of biological warfare?"
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Luxana elbowed him sharply. "If you're not going to be helpful, go make yourself useful elsewhere. I hear the dungeons need scrubbing."
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"And miss this spectacular show of incompetence? Wouldn't dream of it," Cillian grinned, dodging another elbow jab.
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As they bickered, the pasta continued to cook - or rather, disintegrate - in the background. The kitchen filled with the smell of overcooked starch and the sound of increasingly creative insults.
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"You know," Cillian mused, eyeing the mushy mess in the pot, "I think you've stumbled upon a new state of matter. Not quite solid, not quite liquid. We could call it 'Luxana's Folly'."
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"Keep talking," Luxana threatened, brandishing the wooden spoon like a weapon, "and you'll be wearing this 'Folly' as a hat."
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Their eyes met over the steaming pot, challenge sparking between them.
As their eyes locked in a battle of wills, the forgotten pasta chose that moment to stage a rebellion. With a sudden, violent burble, the pot erupted like a starchy volcano, sending a geyser of overcooked macaroni into the air.
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"Duck and cover!" Cillian yelled, diving dramatically to the floor as if avoiding cannon fire.
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Luxana, caught off guard, received a face full of pasta. She stood there, stunned, strings of limp macaroni draped over her head like a bizarre culinary crown.
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Cillian peeked up from his position on the floor, his eyes widening at the sight. A snort escaped him, quickly evolving into uncontrollable laughter. "All hail Queen Pasta-face, first of her name, ruler of the overcooked and lady of the limp noodles!"
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Luxana, still in shock, slowly reached up to peel a noodle off her cheek. She stared at it for a moment before flicking it at Cillian with deadly accuracy. It landed with a wet 'splat' right between his eyes.
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"Oh, it's war now," Cillian declared, grabbing a handful of the fallen pasta from the floor.
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What ensued was nothing short of culinary chaos. Pasta flew through the air like edible projectiles. Luxana, abandoning all royal decorum, used a colander as a helmet, charging at Cillian with a battle cry that would have made her ancestors proud.
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Cillian, not to be outdone, fashioned a pasta-launcher out of a ladle and a stretched-out dish towel, cackling maniacally as he fired overcooked missiles at the advancing queen.
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"Take that, you pasta-flinging fiend!" Luxana shouted, lobbing a glob of congealed macaroni that caught Cillian square in the chest.
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"Ha! You'll have to do better than that, Noodle Nose!" Cillian retorted, dodging another pasta projectile that splattered against the wall behind him.
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Their laughter echoed through the kitchen, punctuated by the wet 'thwacks' of pasta hitting various surfaces - and people. The once-pristine royal kitchen now looked like the aftermath of a very starchy explosion.
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In the midst of their battle, neither noticed James entering the kitchen. The poor chef stood frozen in the doorway, his jaw dropping at the sight of the queen and her companion covered in pasta, surrounded by what looked like the aftermath of a macaroni massacre.
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"I...I'll come back later," James muttered, slowly backing away from the scene of pasta carnage.
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Luxana and Cillian paused their battle, turning to see James's retreating form. They looked at each other, then at the disaster around them, and burst into fresh peals of laughter.
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"Well," Cillian said, plucking a noodle from his hair, "I think it's safe to say breakfast is ruined. Fancy a trip to the royal pizza parlor, Your Pasta-ness?"
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Luxana, still giggling, nodded. "Lead the way, Lord of the Limp Noodles. But first..." She grinned mischievously, grabbing the last handful of pasta from the pot. "Think fast!"
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As they exited the kitchen, leaving a trail of starchy footprints behind them, one thing was certain: it would be a long time before anyone let Queen Luxana near a pot of pasta again.
As the laughter subsided, Luxana and Cillian surveyed the pasta-strewn battlefield that was once a pristine royal kitchen.
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"Well," Cillian smirked, plucking a noodle from his hair, "I suppose we should clean this up before the royal guard mistakes it for an invasion of sentient spaghetti."
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Luxana rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Fine. But if you start singing 'It's a Hard-Knock Life,' I'm banishing you to the dungeons."
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They set about cleaning, following the proper steps to sanitize the kitchen after their culinary disaster. Cillian filled a sink with hot, soapy water while Luxana gathered the scattered utensils and dishes.
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"You know," Cillian mused as he scrubbed a pot, "I think we've discovered a new method of redecorating. We could call it 'Pasta Chic.' It'll be all the rage in noble circles."
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Luxana snorted, wiping down the counters with a sanitizing solution. "Yes, because nothing says 'royal elegance' like overcooked macaroni stuck to the walls."
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As they cleaned, they bickered good-naturedly, tossing insults back and forth like the pasta they'd thrown earlier. Finally, the kitchen began to resemble its former glory.
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"There," Luxana declared, surveying their work. "Now, let's try something that doesn't involve boiling water. I'm thinking...chopped salad?"
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"Ah yes," Cillian drawled, "because nothing could possibly go wrong with sharp knives and your legendary grace."
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Ignoring him, Luxana reached for a knife and a cucumber. She began to chop with more enthusiasm than skill, her movements quick but unsteady.
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"Careful there, Your Majesty," Cillian warned, a hint of genuine concern in his voice. "We don't want to add royal blood to the salad dressing."
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"Oh, please," Luxana scoffed, "I can handle a simple-OW!"
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She dropped the knife, a thin line of red appearing on her finger. Cillian was by her side in an instant, torn between concern and the urge to say 'I told you so.'
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"Well," he said, examining her finger, "I suppose we now know why the royal taste-testers are so well-paid. Shall I fetch the royal band-aid bearer?"
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Luxana glared at him, but there was no real heat in it. "Just hand me a cloth, you insufferable jester."
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As Cillian wrapped her finger, their eyes met, a moment of understanding passing between them. Then, true to form, Cillian couldn't resist one last jab.
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"You know," he grinned, "if you wanted to add some color to the salad, there are less dramatic ways than bleeding into it."
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Luxana groaned, but a smile tugged at her lips. "Shut up and hand me the tomatoes. And this time, you're on chopping duty."
After their pasta disaster, Luxana and Cillian decided to attempt a seemingly simple dish: oatmeal, with a side of fresh vegetables.
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"Oatmeal," Cillian declared, holding up a sack of oats. "Even you can't turn this into a catastrophe, Your Royal Gruel-ness."
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Luxana snatched the sack from him. "Watch and learn, Lord of Low Standards. I'll handle the oats, you deal with the vegetables."
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As Luxana set about preparing the oatmeal, Cillian turned to the cucumbers and tomatoes with exaggerated caution. "Ah yes, because nothing says 'trust' like giving the queen's nemesis a sharp object."
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"Just cut the vegetables, you insufferable pest," Luxana retorted, pouring water into a pot and setting it on the stove.
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Cillian began slicing the cucumber with theatrical precision. "You know, I once saw a man juggle knives. Perhaps I should try that to liven up this culinary adventure."
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"Don't you dare," Luxana warned, dumping a generous helping of oats into the rapidly boiling water. The oats immediately formed a thick, gluey mass.
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"Congratulations," Cillian quipped, pausing his vegetable prep to slow-clap. "You've invented a new building material. Shall we inform the royal architects?"
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Determined to salvage her creation, Luxana grabbed a wooden spoon and began stirring vigorously. Meanwhile, Cillian had moved on to the tomatoes, slicing them with surprising skill.
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"I didn't realize we were making oat cement," Cillian mused, eyeing Luxana's struggle. "Though I suppose it could be useful for filling in the cracks in your culinary skills."
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Luxana shot him a glare. "It just needs more water," she insisted, reaching for a pitcher. As she poured, her enthusiasm caused water to splash over the sides, creating a miniature oat tsunami on the stovetop.
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"Marvelous," Cillian drawled. "I've always wanted to see what an oatmeal waterfall looked like. Perhaps we should add the tomatoes for a pop of color?"
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In her haste to clean up the spill, Luxana's elbow knocked the pot. It teetered precariously, then toppled off the stove.
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Time seemed to slow as the pot fell, its contents arcing through the air in a spectacular display of culinary failure. Cillian, acting on instinct, lunged forward to catch it, dropping his knife in the process.
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The result was chaos. Cillian caught the pot, but not before a wave of scalding oatmeal cascaded over them both. They slipped on the oat-slicked floor, crashing together in a tangle of limbs and laughter.
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As they lay there, covered in failed breakfast and giggling like children, Luxana found herself sprawled atop Cillian. Her laughter faded as she noticed a series of tiny, faint black dots tracing the curve of his ear.
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Curiosity piqued, she reached out, her fingers hovering near his ear. Don't tell me-, she thought to herself, eyes widening in realization.
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"Oh, those are my piercings," Cillian said casually, noticing her gaze.
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Luxana froze, her hand suspended in mid-air.
WHAT? Why hadn't I ever noticed? Luxana thought to herself, shocked with widened eyes.
The kitchen fell silent, save for the slow drip of oatmeal from the overturned pot and the roll of a stray tomato across the floor. In that moment, covered in failed breakfast and lying on the floor of the royal kitchen, Luxana discovered yet another surprising facet of her enigmatic companion.
Luxana's eyes widened further at Cillian's casual revelation about his piercings. Before she could fully process this information, Cillian added with a mischievous glint in his eye, "And that's not all. I've got tattoos too."
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Luxana's jaw dropped. "Tattoos?" she whispered, both scandalized and intrigued.
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Cillian smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Oh yes. Want to see them? I'd be happy to show you right here and now."
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His hands moved to the hem of his shirt, and Luxana felt her face flush hot. She scrambled off him, slipping slightly in the oatmeal mess.
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"That won't be necessary!" she exclaimed, her voice higher than usual. "We're in the middle of the kitchen, for heaven's sake!"
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Cillian's laughter echoed through the room. "Relax, dummy. I was just teasing. Though your reaction was priceless."
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Luxana huffed, trying to regain her composure. "You're impossible," she muttered, but there was no real heat in her words.
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As they began to clean up the oatmeal disaster, Luxana couldn't help but steal glances at Cillian, wondering what other secrets he might be hiding beneath his cocky exterior.
So, he's a demon contractor, an S Rank Assassin, 7th Key of Minsan, and has piercings and tattoos? What's next? Another tragic childhood where he was raised by wolves but the wolves were actually undercover CIA agents?
Maybe his blood is actually premium gasoline and that's why he can't go on dates at restaurants with open flame policies. "Sorry babe, can't do Italian tonight—I'm highly combustible and legally banned from approaching candles since The Incident."
Wait, I forgot to mention he's allergic to normal human problems! "Taxes? Oh no, I'm exempt because I signed a contract in blood stating I'd handle the Dark Lord's accounting during tax season. Healthcare? My left nostril actually produces antibiotics when I sneeze backwards."
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His tattoos probably have tattoos. His piercings have their own Instagram accounts with more followers than countries have people. When he walks into Hot Topic, they hand him a paycheck out of respect. Luxana thought to herself as she began cleaning the oatmeal mess.
A sudden calm washed over Luxana, tempering her earlier enthusiasm. As she rose from cleaning the mess, she turned to Cillian, who was busy tidying up the tomato and cucumber carnage.
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"I'm sorry for playing like an air-head," she said, her voice soft and tinged with guilt. A small, apologetic smile crossed her features as she lowered her gaze. Then, with renewed determination but noticeably more restrained excitement, she looked up. "I'll make us donuts," she declared. "I promise, they'll turn out good."
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Cillian's reaction was swift and unexpected. "N-no need," he retorted, a flicker of disgust crossing his face as he turned to wash the vegetables in the sink.
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Undeterred, Luxana quietly began gathering the all-purpose flour, intent on beginning her baking project. The kitchen fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the sound of running water and Luxana's measured movements.
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Cillian turned towards her, his voice tinged with disappointment. "I said, no need. Please." He paused, then added, "I'll make it instead."
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Luxana met his gaze, her voice calm and steady, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "I heard sugar-coated donuts are your favorite."
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"That's exactly why I don't want you to mess with it," Cillian shot back, resuming his vegetable preparation on the counter behind Luxana.
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The kitchen lapsed into silence once more, Luxana working diligently despite Cillian's protests. The tension in the air was palpable, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.
To be Continued...
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