Winter Field Chapter 13

To the greeting he offered with a measure of sincerity, the Grand Duke responded only with a nod. Rensley sat in the chair and prepared for his meal. In his heart, he wanted to grab the goose leg whole and tear into it ravenously, but now that things had come to this, the only thing left to preserve was a shred of dignity no bigger than a mouse’s tail.

However, as he lifted his knife and fork, the appetite that had surged up gradually began to subside.

‘If it is all right with you, how about Your Highness the Grand Duke attends to other matters while I eat?’

Rensley wanted to ask the Grand Duke, who was leaning against the opposite wall and staring fixedly at him, but he could not bring himself to say it and moved as if maintaining his composure.

As expected, the food his hand reached for first was the goose meat, cooked to a golden, savory turn. A distinct aroma wafted from the well-roasted goose, as if it had been seasoned with something besides salt. Rensley liked spices. Especially in meat dishes like this, there was no ingredient that enhanced the flavor quite like the right spices.

It was a meal after fasting for nearly an entire day. As he sliced the thick, tender flesh neatly and lifted it with his fork, a drop of oil fell with a drip from the crispy skin. He opened his mouth and pushed in the first food of the day.

“Mm!”

At the first bite, Rensley’s eyes widened. An exclamation escaped even through his closed lips. Startled, Rensley looked at the Grand Duke without realizing it.

“Is it to your taste?”

At his question, Rensley smiled awkwardly, nodded his head emphatically, and diligently chewed and swallowed the meat in his mouth. He took a sip of the tea placed beside him and picked up his knife and fork again.

He gazed at the tray with eyes full of curiosity as to what to try next, but inside his head, shock was spreading like quiet ripples.

It tastes terrible…

How could this be, it tastes terrible? Truly, it was horribly tasteless.

Roasted goose meat is harder to make unpalatable than delicious. Especially when one is as famished as he is now, the meat should have already been stripped clean to the bone. Had his tongue temporarily malfunctioned because he was too nervous?

He set down his knife and fork and carefully spooned up the soup. The soup, which seemed to be made of root vegetables and various other vegetables, tasted—astonishingly—almost exactly like the goose meat.

Rensley barely managed to suppress the trembling in his hands and the corners of his eyes. Striving to maintain his composure, he tasted the bread and cheese in turn. Dear God. Fortunately, the bread and cheese tasted normal. Feeling profound relief, this time he offered a greeting that came truly from the heart.

“It is truly delicious. Thank you.”

There was no reply. For a moment, he wondered if the Grand Duke had deliberately meddled with the food to punish the servant who had deceived him, but Rensley soon dismissed the petty imagination. A person who, if he found him displeasing, could have him prepared for drawing and quartering right then had no reason to play such tiresome tricks. He seemed like someone who detested troublesome things.

Rather, Rensley wanted to ask. Does Your Highness the Grand Duke find such food to his taste? It was true that the palates of Oldenland and Cornia people could not be exactly the same, but…

“You must be busy with official duties; I am fine dining alone.”

“Do not worry about me and take your time eating.”

Were the Grand Duke not present, he could at least grumble in satisfaction, asking what kind of cooking skill this was, but he was in no position to show that it tasted bad. Rensley nodded with a smiling face.

In any case, he had to fill his empty stomach and eat up all the food the Grand Duke had personally carried to him. Rensley carefully tasted and analyzed the cooking bite by bite.

Spices were used excessively in each dish. The bread and cheese were fine as they were made as is, but the roasted meat and the red soup were smothered in all kinds of spices. Spices are something that, when used well, enhance flavor, but when overused, ruin the taste of food.

Thinking it over, he could roughly guess why the chef of Loudkhen Castle made such food. Oldenland was far removed not only from the imperial capital but also from the center of the continent where the other kingdoms gathered. There was a possibility that the latest culinary methods had not been properly transmitted.

Cooking doused in a heap of spices had gone out of fashion at least twenty years ago. Around fifteen years ago, when Rensley was six or seven, it was said there were still occasional chefs who served such food, but nowadays, no chef of the nobility cooked this way.

No matter how expensive the seasonings, what meaning was there if they made every ingredient taste the same? The cooking style that had been fashionable among nobles wanting to flaunt their wealth in an era when spices were exceedingly rare still remained in the remote region of Oldenland.

The quality of the goose meat itself was excellent, so if only salt and pepper had been used, it would have been truly delicious. It was an ordeal to force down strongly flavored food on an empty stomach without even a single glass of wine to accompany it, but still, with the help of the bread, cheese, and tea, he somehow managed to clean the goose plate and soup bowl spotlessly.

Even a time that felt more like penance than a meal eventually came to an end. Setting down his spoon with the satisfaction of one who had completed a great task, Rensley rose to his feet and gave his thanks.

“I have eaten well, Your Highness the Grand Duke. I am alive thanks to you.”

“Food culture is something that cannot be learned solely through books.”

The Grand Duke approached and looked at the cleanly emptied plates as he spoke.

“You have come from such a far-off place that I was worried the food might not suit your palate, but it was an unnecessary concern.”

“Do not worry. I eat anything well.”

Better to eat tasteless food than to starve to death. Though he had lived enduring all manner of contempt, he was still a descendant of a royal family in name—he inwardly scoffed at himself anew for griping about taste after having fasted a full day.

Rensley, who had been briefly immersed in self-criticism, was startled to see the Grand Duke reaching a hand toward the table as if to clear the dishes and grabbed his wrist, only to be startled again and hurriedly snatch his hand away.

“I beg your pardon.”

Having the act of placing a finger on his palm to write letters tolerated had only been until a short while ago, when he was Princess Yvette.

The amber eyes that faced him like those of a judge cast a shadow over his conscience before he even did anything. Rensley averted his eyes and pretended to tidy the table, though there was nothing to clear.

“Your Highness, please leave it. I will clear it away.”

“Do you intend to leave this room in that attire?”

“Ah…”

There were not many dishes, so the clattering sound ceased quickly. Instead of lifting the tray, the Grand Duke looked at Rensley from close range and lowered his voice to inform him.

“The wedding day will be decided soon. The priest said he would produce an auspicious day before the sun sets today.”

Rensley could only blink, unable to say anything. Even though it was already decided, he felt breathless as it suddenly drew near and became reality. He himself could not identify which emotion was most prominently showing on his face right now.

His gaze, reflexively searching for somewhere to go, landed on the long window behind the Grand Duke’s back. Because the guards had left the inner wooden door open when they searched the bedroom, the scenery outside was visible as it was through the glass.

On the surrounding walls were several windows, as well as portraits of Oldenland nobles who must be the Grand Duke’s parents or ancestors. And beside the fireplace that almost faced the bed stood a towering mechanical clock the size of a person, the likes of which Rensley had seen before.

A merchant had once brought a clock that moved using power, calling it the latest invention made in the imperial capital, to the King of Cornia. The King was very pleased with the object and decorated the main castle hall with it, and later purchased one more to place in the central church in Celestine Square so that commoners could also use it.

But there were hardly any people in Cornia who knew how to read time by watching the metal rod that rotated at a constant speed over the round disc. Rensley had not learned either. However, even without looking at the clock, he could feel with his body that evening came faster in Oldenland compared to Cornia.

Behind the Grand Duke, who had finished lunch not long ago, the sky was already preparing to cast down the sunset. As if the sky, which had been cloudy during the day, had cleared instead at dusk, the sun had grown large and red.

Amid the scenery of Oldenland, where most things had been painted only in densities of black and white, the abruptly unfurled crimson sky felt eerie and mournful rather than beautiful. Large, dark birds could be seen flying off and shrinking in the distance as they went in flocks.