The scent of yeast and warm smoke greeted Lara as she entered the kitchen.
Mira was wiping a copper ladle for the third time, not because it needed it, but because there was little else to do.
Across the room, Seralyn sat primly on a stool, folding napkins with the seriousness of a court scribe. She looked up when Lara entered.
"I'd like to cook a meal," she announced.
Both girls froze.
"You'd like to what?" Mira asked slowly, as if she'd just heard someone announce they wanted to wrestle a bear.
"Cook," Lara repeated. "It's a recipe from home. My mother used to make it."
"I think we can manage that," Seralyn said.
"I know you can," Lara replied with a small smile. "But today… I want to do it myself."
Mira blinked. "You're not a kitchen maid, my lady. The king won't like you to..."
"I'm not a noble lady either," Lara interrupted, laughing softly. "And I don't mind getting my hands dirty."
