The arrival of Emilie, Alice, and Eowin a short time later brought Leah’s excited recounting of her day to an abrupt close. Now that Eowin was there, that meant it was time to play, and the two scampered off toward the small table that had been set up in the corner of the restaurant, especially for them and other kids. It had crayons, paper, and other toys that Draden had been slowly buying for his daughter and the restaurant.

  That was another thing he had to despise the original piece of his soul that had been her father for. When he first took over, the girl’s sole toy had been a tattered stuffed animal, and whatever mud she brought in from the stream out back. He knew people lived like that, and that it wasn’t uncommon in this world. But this was his daughter, and he wanted better for her!

  The two girls began chattering as they started drawing,

  Marcus and Coradine were working on the new wards for the restaurant and had temporarily suspended Leah’s magic lessons until they were finished. The new protective wards could take one day or multiple days to complete. They wouldn’t know until they had begun and started to make some concrete progress.

  Draden waved Emilie and Alice into the kitchen. “I spoke with the construction foreman, Brin. He’s the same man who did the restaurant, and that you both have seen eating here before. He agreed to make two carts and to modify the front of the restaurant, though it will take a few days.” He continued cooking while outlining everything that he had discussed with the man.

  Emilie smiled. “So, what you're saying is that we’ll finally start being able to actually earn the coin you’re paying us?” She joked.

  Alice nodded. “By the way, boss. Mister Elmsworth said he’ll have a fresh batch of bread delivered right before we open tonight. He asked if we needed more or if the previous amount had been fine. You hadn’t mentioned that we needed more, but…”

  Draden smacked his face and groaned. “I meant to actually go and talk to him earlier, but somehow it just slipped my mind. Ugh, whatever, I guess we’ll just run out a little early, is all.”

  Seeing his reaction, Alice sighed in relief and spoke up. “I actually told him that we had run out last night, but that you hadn’t mentioned anything to me. The delivery person is going to bring two orders. One the same size as yesterday, and then the second one will hold the extra we should need to get through the night.”

  Draden grinned and nodded. “That’s a nice compromise, and thank you for speaking up to him. I did forget to mention it to you last night with everything going on.”

  With their short meeting over, the two went back out front and started setting up the tables and wiping everything down.

  Draden watched the two women retreat to their tasks, a familiar sense of order settling over the restaurant. The simple, repetitive motions of wiping tables and arranging chairs brought a sense of peace to the place. This was his home and sanctuary, and he would keep it that way for as long as he could.

  He turned his attention to the kitchen. The scent of simmering chili, marinating chicken, and the faint, sweet aroma of baking biscuits filled the air. There was still work to be done, a veritable mountain of it, before the first customers arrived. As he began methodically dicing yet another pile of onions for the street tacos, his mind drifted to the matter of the City Lord, of the nobles, and of Tavian.

  The rhythmic thump of his knife on the cutting board was a steady beat for his thoughts. Marcus was right. His food was his weapon. It was how he would spread his influence and gain loyalty. Each satisfied customer was a small victory, another thread woven into the fabric of the community he was inadvertently creating. It wasn't one built through fear or blood; the sword he still had strapped to his back wouldn’t even be involved during its day-to-day operations. It would depend on loyalty and goodwill. It would be slow, but in the end, the strength he would gain would be enough to keep his family safe.

  It would have to be.

  Draden prepared a large meal for everyone, giving them all the energy he could before the restaurant opened and the place got busy.

  Unfortunately, with Coradine busy at the moment, he wasn’t able to make any slushies or new refreshing drinks for everyone. With how sick he was getting of the almond snack balls though, he really needed to come up with another snack to replace it.

  Just before they sat down to eat, the delivery of bread arrived, and Draden accepted both orders that were brought, asking the man to thank Elmsworth for him.

  Alice took a bite of the familiar bread first, her eyes widening happily at the texture. It was hearty, with a dense, chewy crumb and a crust that offered a satisfying resistance before yielding. She then dipped a corner into her chili, watching the rich, dark-red broth soak into the bread’s porous structure. When she finally brought it to her mouth, the flavors were as delightful as they had been since he introduced the food a few days earlier.

  The chili was deep and complex, the slow-simmered ground beef tender, punctuated by the earthy creaminess of the pinto and kidney beans. There was a gentle, building heat from the chili seasoning, a warmth that was perfectly balanced by the sweet tang of the tomatoes and the subtle bite of the vegetables. The bread, now heavy with the chili’s broth, provided a perfect, comforting counterpoint to it all.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  But, as always, while the food was delicious and different from anything he had ever tasted, it was the qi that truly set it apart. It was a grounding, restorative force that sank deep into her muscles and bones, soothing the lingering fatigue from the previous day's work. It undid knots of stress she hadn't even realized were there and healed the damage it came across in small amounts.

  She exhaled happily and rolled her shoulders and neck, tension she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding onto disappearing with each bite. “This job has the best health plan ever, boss,” Alice joked, already bringing another spoonful of chili to her mouth.

  Emilie nodded in agreement, already halfway through her bowl. “She’s right,” She added, gesturing with her spoon. “The biscuits and bread are perfect with it. I think this is one pairing you should keep on the menu permanently.”

  Draden simply nodded, a small smile touching his lips as he watched Leah meticulously build a wall of beans around a piece of beef on her spoon before devouring her creation. He ate his own meal quickly, the familiar energy reinforcing his meridians. They were no longer depleted, not after everything he had eaten, but there was still a dull ache that may have just been in his mind that acted as a constant reminder of the morning’s confrontation.

  Eowin had split her biscuit and was taking the pieces of ground beef and stacking them inside to create a saucy sandwich.

  Mealtime with everyone was a harmonious affair, and it was almost as though they were an odd little family just enjoying a meal. Instead of an employer and his employees. Draden enjoyed the atmosphere and hoped it never changed.

  ***

  The first customers arrived just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Only a few minutes later, another group arrived, and then another. Within twenty minutes, the restaurant was full, and the main eating area was filled with the dull hum of people eating, conversations, and chairs constantly being scooted back or forward.

  In the middle of it all were Emilie and Alice, who were responsible for keeping it all going with their efficient, weaving movements between the tables. That night was even busier than the last. Word had clearly spread, and the crowd was a mix of familiar faces—miners, guards, merchants—and new ones, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and hope.

  Draden moved about the kitchen like the eye of a storm; he was a whirlwind of focused energy. His hands were a blur of constant movement, chopping, scooping, and plating. The sizzle of meat hitting the hot skillet for the street tacos, the rhythmic thud of his knife dicing ever more onions for the toppings, mixed with the soft splash of chili being ladled into bowls—it all became a one-man concert of organized chaos.

  He was in what had quickly become his element, the kitchen and its immediate, tangible demands pushing the larger, more existential threats to the back of his mind. He was a chef, a provider, a father, and in here, he was in control.

  It was during a momentary lull, as he was assembling a row of gyros, that he felt it. A shift in the atmosphere of the dining room. It wasn't loud or obvious, but the low hum of conversation faltered for a second, a subtle ripple of awareness passing through the crowd. Draden glanced through the pass-through window.

  Standing at the door, letting in the cool evening air, was a man who immediately felt out of place. The clientele of the restaurant, despite having only been open for a short time, ran the gamut. It had farmers, miners, blue-collar workers, but it also had plenty of people who would be considered more educated or better off in this world.

  This particular fellow, on the other hand, was out of place because of one simple thing: he wasn’t there to eat. He was carrying paperwork and dressed in the drab, functional robes of a city administrator. His face was pinched, his lips thin, and he carried himself with an air of self-importance.

  He scanned the bustling room with disdain before his eyes landed on Draden in the kitchen doorway. Ignoring Emilie’s polite attempt to seat him, the man strode directly toward the kitchen.

  "Draden Varsk?" He asked, his voice reedy but loud enough to cut through the noise. Several patrons turned to look.

  "I am," Draden said, stepping forward to block the entrance. "And this is a private kitchen. If you want to eat, you'll have to wait for a table."

  The administrator sniffed, presenting a large piece of paper from his stack of paperwork with a theatrical flourish. "I am not here to eat. I am from the City Office of Commerce. You may call me Fanwid, and I am here to deliver this official notice." He held it out. "By order of the City Lord, a new commerce tax is being levied on all businesses operating outside the city walls but benefiting from its patronage. Furthermore, your establishment will be subject to a series of health and safety inspections, beginning tomorrow morning."

  The threat was as clear as it was suffocating. This wasn't a sword or a dagger; it was a slow, bureaucratic strangulation. The taxes would be crippling, and the ‘inspections’ would be a tool for harassment, designed to find endless, costly violations until he was forced to either submit or close. Macron was making his move.

  Before Draden could reply, Marcus was there, moving with a speed that belied his age. He placed a hand on the administrator's shoulder, his grip surprisingly firm.

  "Fanwid, was it?" Marcus said, his voice deceptively pleasant. "I believe you're mistaken. This establishment falls under the protection of the Whispering Grove. The City Lord may not recognize us as a proper sect inside the city; however, outside of it is another matter entirely. As such, any new levies or inspections must be submitted to our council for review. It's an old city charter, I'm sure you're aware of it. We wouldn't want to cause an… inter-jurisdictional incident, would we?"

  Fanwid paled. It was true, the Whispering Grove’s status was a gray area, an unofficial power that the City Lord tolerated but didn't control inside the city. To openly challenge them over a restaurant was a risk he wasn't authorized to take.

  "I… I was not aware of this arrangement," He stammered, pulling his shoulder free.

  "Well, now you are," Coradine added, appearing on Fanwid's other side. Her smile was sharp as a shard of ice. "You may inform the City Lord that any further communications should be directed to us. We will handle them accordingly."

  Utterly outmaneuvered, Fanwid could only sputter a hasty retreat. He shifted his papers, gave a stiff, jerky bow, and practically fled the restaurant, the eyes of every patron following him out the door.

  “Thanks for the help,” Draden said to Marcus and Coradine, still watching the door. “I don’t think Macron liked us interfering with his home life. Maybe he knows how it feels when someone places a target on you that wasn’t there before?”

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