The Vengeful Cook
While the queen prepared to eat breakfast with the king, she marveled over her son, the same way she had every day since he was born. Nearing four years old, the young prince had already stolen the hearts of everyone in the kingdom.
Prince Brenn shared his mother’s dark hair and fair skin, but he had his father’s gray eyes and charming smile, and it was enough to melt even the hardest of hearts. More than that, he was a kind boy.
On their walks through town, Brenn had offered his apple to a child in need, and he’d encouraged his mother to free a bird caught in a trap. Even at such a young age, he already showed signs of Rose’s warm heart and Elrik’s determination. He seemed to have gotten the best from both his parents.
The family sat around the table for their morning meal, and the portly cook Fyren pushed in the trolley. As soon as the king saw it was Fyren bringing them their breakfast, he grimaced. It had been only a few weeks ago that Elrik had pardoned Fyren, and he’d already grown weary of him.
Since having his son, the king had begun to soften, and he wanted his kingdom to thrive again. In recent months, he’d pardoned petty thieves from the dungeon if they could retain gainful employment. Fyren had claimed to be a chef, but since the king had hired him, Fyren’s cooking had done nothing to support that.
“I trust everything is in order this morning,” said the king as Fyren wheeled their food up to the table.
“Yes, sire, you’ll find you have everything you need here,” Fyren told him, and removed the metal lids from their plates in haste.
He presented the king’s plate first, and to his surprise, everything did seem to be correct. When Fyren set a plate before the queen, she smiled politely and thanked him, though he’d forgotten to give her bread. It was when he got to the prince that his error became the most egregious.
“What is that?” the king asked, pointing to the chunk of meat sitting before his young son.
“It’s ham, my lord,” Fyren told him, bowing lightly when he spoke. His thick black hair was unkempt, with several matted braids running through it. His beard—which he’d promised to trim as soon as he went to work for the royal family—remained unruly and long.
“The prince never eats pork for breakfast,” the king told him. “It gives him an upset stomach, so he only has apples in the morning.”
“I’m very sorry, my king. I’ll return with one immediately,” Fyren said.
“Don’t bother.” Elrik waved at him. “You’ve been troublesome since you began work here. You’re an inferior cook, a dirty man, and I see no reason to continue your employ.”
“My king,” Rose implored to her husband, “he’s only just started.”
The king sighed and gave the cook a hard look. “Let this serve as a warning to you, then. If my wife did not possess such a forgiving heart, you would be back in the dungeon. But if you do not do your job properly, you will return in no time.”
“Yes, my lord, thank you,” Fyren said, bowing again, then turned to the queen. “Thank you, my queen.”
The cook had begun to back out of the room when the prince announced loudly, “I wish for an apple.”
No sooner had the words escaped his lips than a fresh red apple appeared on the table before him.
“Brenn!” The queen was aghast. She looked up to see if the cook was gone, but Fyren didn’t appear to be in sight. “You mustn’t make wishes in front of others. You know the rules.”
“It’s only you and Father here,” the boy said, taking a bite of his apple.
“You did not check for the cook or any other servants,” the king said. “You must always be absolutely certain you are alone before you make a wish.”
“Why, Father?” Brenn asked. “Why must I be so careful?”
“If someone found out what you could do, they could use it against you,” King Elrik said. “They would harm you to gain the use of your wishes.”
“But I would share my wishes,” Brenn said. “If anyone asked, I’d gladly share.”
“I know.” Rose smiled and reached over, squeezing her son’s small hand in hers. “But we must keep this a secret. For your safety, and for ours. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mother.” He frowned, and sadness filled his gray eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. Just be more careful,” Rose told him. “Now finish your breakfast, and when you’re done, I’ll take you out to the garden.”
“The garden?” Elrik asked, raising an eyebrow at his wife while Brenn raced to devour his apple.
The queen said, “It’s perfectly safe, Elrik. You worry too much.”
“It’s hardly safe for you, let alone a boy of his age,” the king said. He grew louder as he spoke, so his voice boomed through the dining hall. “The beasts would be much happier feasting on a soft young boy than the squawking geese.”
“It’s early in the morning, and all the wicked beasts are asleep,” Rose said, acquiescing to her husband’s fears even if she did not fully share them. “I will be out there with Brenn, and the guards will be nearby if we should need them. We won’t be out that long, and we’ll be safe.”
As soon as they’d finished eating, the queen took Brenn out to the garden. She delighted in showing him the trees and the vines, the birds and the frogs, and Brenn seemed as taken with everything as she.
When they came to her favorite flower—the pink carnations—she plucked one and gave it to the young prince. Never had she seen anyone hold a flower so delicately, so careful not to disturb a single petal, and she couldn’t have imagined that a boy of his age would be so thoughtful.
Despite the king’s warning not to linger, Rose and Brenn spent the afternoon in the garden, playing among the flowers. Rose didn’t even realize how much time had passed until she began feeling tired.
Lying down next to the stream, Rose intended to rest for only a moment, but soon both she and Brenn had fallen asleep. Her son lay in her arms as the sound of the stream lulled them.
That was when Fyren saw his chance. He knew his time under the king’s service was growing short, and the cook had to find a way to sustain himself. He’d heard rumors of the prince’s wishing power, but it wasn’t until this morning, when Brenn had wished himself an apple, that Fyren had actually witnessed it.
With that, his decision was made. Fyren would take the boy for himself and make Brenn grant him the life he’d always wanted. So he’d followed Queen Rose and her son out to the garden. Fyren had stayed hidden in the bushes, waiting for the moment when the queen was the most unguarded.
Once she was asleep by the stream, Fyren put his plan in motion. He grabbed a wild boar youngling, and before the beast could make a sound, Fyren had slit its throat with his butcher’s knife. Then he’d covered the queen’s dress with fresh red blood, and then discarded the boar’s body in the stream.
When the king came looking for his wife, he’d find her like this, covered in blood with the child missing. He would think his worst fears had come true—that a wild beast had snatched Brenn from his mother and eaten him, leaving only the boy’s blood.
Carefully, Fyren took the sleeping babe from her arms, and then dashed off into the brush before either the queen or the prince could. He kept running—traveling days with only short breaks to sleep in the darkest part of the night. He went over the cold waters of the Eisenfluss River, past the dark branches of the Verzanfrost Woods, and Fyren didn’t stop until he’d reached the highest peak of the Graulumberg Mountains, far out of the reaches of King Elrik’s kingdom.