Melting your Precious Heart

Chapter 7 - Proposal?

This fried rice is truly exceptional, but I find it rather rude to eat directly off his plate. It feels inappropriate to share a plate when there’s an expectation of keeping our meals separate. The social nuances of dining etiquette weren’t lost on me. Food is often a reflection of personal space, tastes, and emotional ties, and thus sharing a plate could easily be misinterpreted as breaking down those barriers, blurring the lines of our otherwise structured relationship.

“Get me a spoon and a plate; I really want to eat this fried rice,” I said, lowering my gaze to the spoon I had just picked up. The delicious aroma wafting through the air was hard to resist, enticing my senses with promises of warmth and comfort. Yet even as the craving intensified, a fleeting thought crossed my mind—he was hungry too, and after all, he was the one who had masterfully crafted this delightful dish. It seemed only fair to offer him some of his creation, to acknowledge the effort and artistry that had gone into it. But how could I balance my desire for this sumptuous meal with the social norms that often dictated our interactions?

“A plate? There’s only a small portion of fried rice here. Let’s just share this plate, princess. Wait—I’ll get you a spoon,” he replied with a casual ease that startled me. Wait, did he just say we’re sharing a plate? I paused, taken aback. Was it just me, or did it feel like he just proposed something far more significant than merely sharing food? The air was thick with unspoken implications, and my heart raced at the thought.

Felix’s Point of View

Before Princess Eira arrived in the kitchen, I found myself diligently working away, lost in the rhythm of cooking. His Majesty the King had requested pancakes for breakfast, but a minor crisis had arisen—unfortunately, we were a little short on ingredients for the amount requested. When the person in charge of the kitchen left to fetch more supplies, I couldn’t resist seizing the opportunity. The leftovers, which were destined for disposal, seemed far too good to waste, so I decided to ask for permission to utilize them. The head chef generously allowed me to go ahead, and that’s how I ended up crafting a humble yet delicious batch of fried rice.

Just as I was about to finish cooking, the ambiance of the kitchen shifted with a rather loud and distinctive voice behind me—one I instantly recognized as belonging to Princess Eira. Her tone was sharp, and it pierced through my concentration like a sudden chill.

“What are you doing here?! Who gave you permission to use our kitchen!?” she demanded, her voice a blend of authority and surprise, as if demanding answers from an uninvited guest in her realm.

I turned around, confirming my memory; it was indeed Princess Eira, the embodiment of grace and authority. Even with her annoyance bubbling just beneath the surface—a palpable energy that heightened the tension—I couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked, her features illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.

“Oh, Princess! Good morning! Are you hungry?” I asked, hoping to defuse the tension. My intentions were pure; I merely wanted to share my culinary efforts and perhaps win her over with a simple dish.

“A little bit, but that’s not the point! What are you doing here?” she replied, her worry obvious. It seemed she hadn’t crossed the line of trust that kept us at arm’s length, similar to how we interacted when we were in the carriage. Gelid, guarded, yet undeniably compelling.

“Don’t focus on the small details, Princess. Come sit here; I’ve prepared something just for you. Have a taste,” I said, gesturing towards a seat, eager to draw her away from her suspicions.

“But—” she started, her brow furrowed in concern. There it was again; that spark of distrust in her eyes. She did not seem to trust my intentions one bit, but I was determined to win her over with kindness and culinary magic.

“Don’t worry; it’s not poisoned. Just have a bite,” I smiled warmly at her, hoping to ease her suspicions with sincerity. Thankfully, my smile seemed to work as she cautiously took a spoonful of the fried rice, the steam rising in lazy tendrils.

“It’s good! No, it’s so good! What do you call this?” Her reaction was delightful; there was a sparkle of joy in her eyes, and it warmed my heart to see her enjoying my dish. I had known she would, as fried rice is unbeatable for breakfast when one is hungry and tired.

“It’s called fried rice, Princess. As for your earlier question, His Majesty wants more pancakes, which is why I’m in the kitchen, but we were short on ingredients, so the staff went to gather more for me,” I explained as best I could, the excitement of her approval filling the air. Why was I rambling so much?

“You will make pancakes, right? Then why did you cook something else without permission?” she pressed, her adorable, frustrated expression almost prompting a smile from me.

As her annoyance mixed with curiosity, I found myself captivated by her fiery spirit, the way it lit up her features with a vibrant glow that made her all the more enchanting. Each shared moment in this bustling kitchen was slowly weaving the threads of something beyond just a mere servant’s duty. The lines that had defined our relationship were blurring, and I couldn’t help but wonder where this new connection might lead us. What started as a simple meal was transformed into a delightful dance of shared trust, burgeoning camaraderie, and perhaps something more profound yet unexplored.

"I apologize for cooking without your permission," I began, my voice a mix of nervousness and sincerity. "I noticed the leftover rice earlier, and when I inquired with the chef about it, he mentioned that it would be disposed of. So, I thought to myself, why not put it to good use? Plus, I was feeling a bit hungry," I added with a small chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood. "Oh, and the ingredients I used were simply leftover vegetables from that basket over there," I explained, gesturing towards the spot where I had gathered the ingredients for my fried rice, emphasizing that I hadn't taken anything fresh or new.

"Could you please grab me a spoon and a plate? I’m eager to dig into this fried rice," I said, letting out a sigh of relief. It seemed like the savory aroma of the fried rice had mellowed the princess’s initial irritation.

"Wait, a plate? Given that there's only a small portion of fried rice, how about we share it? Don’t go anywhere, I’ll get you a spoon," I suggested.

However, as soon as I finished speaking, I noticed the princess’s face flushing with a reddish hue, and before I could comprehend what was happening, she abruptly stood up and dashed out of the kitchen. My mind raced with confusion. What had just happened? Did she despise the idea of sharing a plate with someone?

A heavy silence filled the room, followed by a moment of realization. "What have I done?" I muttered to myself, panic setting in. Surely, my father would be furious with me. The repercussions could be dire; the king’s wrath could lead to severe punishment, and in the worst-case scenario, my father's title as a baron could be stripped from us, leading to our exile from the kingdom.

As a baron, my father’s status only granted us the opportunity to marry into the family of a viscount, at best. It was unthinkable for someone like me, a mere son of a baron with no title of my own, to even consider proposing to a princess. I felt like a fool, forgetting the vital lessons my father had taught me concerning manners and respect for royalty.

With no means to rectify the situation at that moment, all I could do was hold onto the hope that Princess Eira would keep this incident to herself. I planned to sincerely apologize to her later; surely, everything would work out fine.

Now, with Princess Eira gone, I thought perhaps I could claim the fried rice for myself and enjoy my meal. I settled down to eat when suddenly there was a knock at the door. I opened it, and to my astonishment, it was Princess Eira returning. My heart raced at the sight of her. Why had she come back? Did she bring guards to haul me off to the dungeons? But then I noticed she was alone, without any guards. Could it be? No, surely she couldn’t possibly feel anything for me, could she? What was I even thinking in such a chaotic situation?

Gathering my wits, I addressed her as she lingered at the door. "Princess, you’re back! What can I do for you?" I asked, trying to maintain an air of innocence while simultaneously hoping to dodge any fallout from my earlier actions. It felt like an act of desperation, and I fleetingly thought of my father. "I’m sorry, Dad, but I might have to lie today."

"Felix Borgon, correct?" Her tone was unexpectedly serious, raising a knot of anxiety in my stomach.

"Y-yes, Princess, that’s correct. About earlier, when I mentioned—"

"Are you serious about that?" she interrupted, her gaze piercing.

"Serious about what, Princess?" I stumbled over my words, suddenly unsure if I should admit that I understood the gravity of the situation or continue feigning ignorance. My heart raced as I pondered whether to come clean or keep up the charade.