CH. 21

Moving quietly, Rachel gathered ingredients for a simple meal—eggs from the fortress's makeshift coop, a loaf of bread, and a block of cheese that smelled faintly of mold but was still edible. The quiet was a balm to her soul, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the distant echo of her own movements. The bread was a discovery she had made in the pantry, a treasure trove of goods that had been preserved through the centuries. It was a simple staple, but the feel of the flour between her fingers filled Rachel with a sudden, inexplicable joy. She had not had fresh bread since the world had ended, and the prospect of baking something from scratch, something that smelled of home and comfort, brought a smile to her lips. Breaking eggs into a wooden bowl, Rachel whisked them vigorously, watching the yolk and white blend into a frothy golden mass. The scent of the cheese was strong but not unpleasant, a reminder that even in the most dire of circumstances, life found a way to provide. She melted the cheese in a cast-iron skillet, the heat of the pan making the edges bubble and brown.

Her eyes fell on a dusty shelf in the corner of the kitchen, where she spotted a row of canned vegetables. The sight brought a spark of excitement to her eyes, a taste of home in this fortress of shadows. Rachel carefully selected a few cans, wiping away the dust with her sleeve. The labels were faded, but she recognized the shapes of peas and carrots beneath the grime.

As Rachel pried open the first can, the sound of footsteps approached from the corridor outside. She froze, the metal spoon hovering over the skillet. The door creaked open, and the undead king's imposing figure filled the frame. Rachel swallowed hard, her heart racing as she looked up at him. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, a soft blue light that seemed to pierce the gloom. "What are you making?" he asked her, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the very stones of the fortress. Rachel took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Eggs," she replied, her voice a whisper. "And cheese. And... peas and carrots." She held up the cans, feeling a bit foolish. The king's gaze flicked to the food and back to her, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he moved to stand beside her, his height dwarfing her own. Rachel felt a thrill of fear and excitement as he took the spoon from her hand, his cold fingers brushing against hers. He deftly stirred the eggs, his movements surprisingly graceful for one of his power. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension, a dance of trust and uncertainty. Rachel watched as he cracked open the cans with a strength that she found both terrifying and exhilarating, the lid popping off with a metallic ring. The king's eyes searched hers as he placed the vegetables into the pan, the sound of sizzling a comforting reminder of simpler times. Rachel felt the weight of his gaze, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. What was she doing here, cooking in the early morning alone.

Finally, he broke the silence, his deep voice cutting through the quiet like a knife. "Rachel," he said, his tone gentle, almost concerned. "Are you okay?" Rachel took a moment to process his question, her hand still hovering over the skillet. She looked down at the bubbling eggs, the cheese melting into them, creating a delightful aroma that seemed to warm the chilly room. "Yes," she murmured, her eyes not meeting his. "Just... thinking." The king nodded, understanding in his gaze. He handed her the spoon and stepped back, giving her space. Rachel felt the weight of his concern, and it was a strange feeling, one she hadn't experienced in a very long time. She stirred the eggs, her thoughts racing. "I just wanted to do something... normal," Rachel said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Something to remind us of who we were before all of this." The king watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and strode to the pantry, reaching up to the highest shelf. Rachel's eyes widened as he pulled out a large bowl of freshly made dough. "I made this the other day," he said, his voice gruff but gentle. "It has been rising." Rachel couldn't help but smile at the sight of the undead king, a being of darkness and power, holding a simple bowl of dough with such care. It was a stark reminder that even monsters could crave the comforts of home.

The king set the bowl on the counter, the dough stretching and moving under his touch as if alive. "My mother showed me how to make it," he said, a distant look in his eyes as he remembered a time long past. Rachel felt a pang of sadness for the life he had lost, the warmth of his humanity a stark contrast to the coldness of his skin. "It's a recipe that has been passed down in my family for generations," he continued, his voice taking on a warm, nostalgic tone. Rachel watched as he began to knead the dough, his powerful hands moving with surprising gentleness. "Every time I bake it, I am reminded of her laughter, her warmth." The room was filled with the scent of yeast and flour as the king worked the dough, his movements rhythmic and practiced. Rachel felt a sudden pang of loss, a memory of her own mother's kitchen, long ago, before the world had gone to ruins. The king noticed her wistful expression and offered her a small piece of dough to knead. Together, they shaped the dough into biscuits, their hands moving in unison, their hearts beating in sync with the quiet whispers of the kitchen. Rachel felt a strange warmth blossom in her chest, a kinship forming with this creature of the night who had shown her more kindness than any human in recent memory. They laughed at their shared ineptitude with the simple task, their breaths misting in the cold air.

When the biscuits were ready, the king placed the pan into the woodstove with a gentle thud, the heat immediately enveloping the room with the promise of warmth and sustenance. Rachel looked up at him, her eyes filled with a silent plea. "Please," she whispered, "do not hurt her. She seems happy, and I don't want to see her hurt again." The king's gaze softened, his eyes losing their fiery intensity. "Penelope is safe," he assured her, his voice a solemn promise. "And she will remain so, as long as she is by my side." Rachel nodded, taking in the truth of his words. There was something in the way he spoke about Penelope, something that made her believe that he would move heaven and earth to keep her safe. "But Rachel," he continued, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to fill the kitchen. "It is not just your friend that is under my protection. You and Marcus, the children, all of you are now under the safeguard of my crown." Rachel felt a tremor run through her, the gravity of his words settling into her bones. She had never felt so protected, not since the world had turned against them, not since the day she had lost her family to the relentless tide of the undead. The king took her hand in his, his touch cold but reassuring. Rachel looked down at their joined hands, his powerful grip a stark contrast to her own small, calloused one. Yet, in that moment, she felt more connected to him than she had to anyone in a long time. "You have my word," he said, his gaze intense. "As long as you stand with us, you will never know fear again." Rachel nodded, the weight of his promise settling on her shoulders.

They worked together in silence, Rachel setting the table in the great hall with a sense of purpose that she hadn't felt in years. The heavy oak was scarred from battles long past, each groove and nick telling a story of the fortress's history. The silverware was tarnished, the plates chipped, but there was something beautiful about the imperfection. It was a reminder that even in a world of darkness, there was still room for beauty, for care. The smell of the eggs, cheese, and biscuits grew stronger, wafting through the corridors and up the stairs, coaxing sleeping forms from their beds. One by one, the survivors of the apocalypse stumbled into the hall, their eyes widening at the sight of the food. Rachel's heart swelled with a mix of pride and fear—what if they didn't like it? What if it didn't taste right after so long without fresh ingredients? The king returned with Penelope, her eyes sleepy but her smile wide as she took in the spread before her. Rachel watched as she took a bite of an egg, her expression morphing from surprise to delight. The room grew quiet as everyone else followed suit, their hunger overpowering any initial hesitation. The simple meal was a revelation, a reminder of what they had lost, but also of what they could still create.