the kitchens #23
Taking the easy way out and claiming unavailability holds a lot of appeal.
It’s too bad that Prem’s pride prevents him from doing so. Besides, it’s an opportunity for work, and as awful as it sounds to return to the palace, he does need money.
He doesn’t expect that, upon showing up, he’ll be whisked aside and asked just how much money he wants.
Prem frowns at the pinched face of a staff member he’s never spoken to before. “How much? The normal rate is fine…?”
She clears her throat and seems to suppress an eyeroll. “Something like…what didn’t happen between you and the prince does not have a ‘normal rate,’” she tells him icily.
“What didn’t happen…?”
“One hundred thousand baht,” she returns.
Prem frowns harder. “What?”
The woman glares at him. “I will not allow you to extort the royal family like this.”
Now, Prem is angry. “I’m not doing anything? I came here to work. I was told that the prince’s engagement party—”
“There you are!” Samsi practically shouts. He gives the scary woman an apologetic look, then drags Prem back towards the kitchens.
Confused and more than a little annoyed, Prem lets himself be taken back, where he starts following Samsi’s instructions. He hears the voices of the other chefs though, the ones who had been so unkind to him previously, and braces himself. He’s so distracted by all of this happening at once, and then involved in the process of cooking, that it takes a while before he hears someone talking about Prince Todsatid’s fiancée.
Prem doesn’t know why this makes him angrier and he begins chopping a carrot with a level of malice which has Samsi redirecting him to other, non-knife-related tasks.
“This was a bad idea,” Samsi murmurs.
“I’m fine,” Prem says, too loud.
Prem hears one of the other chefs scoff, and he doesn’t have to look to know he’s drawn the attention of Boon or Ball or Babe—one of those people he’d really have rather never seen again.
“--going in.”
The new voice is accompanied by the sound of the door opening, and Prem is suddenly holding his breath, all of his other thoughts cast aside as he wishes for invisibility. He just needs to let Ten pass by, and it will cement how little any of it meant, and although it hurts to feel used, to feel lied to, to think of lying in Ten’s bed and clutching that stuffed rabbit that he’d surely left behind (hadn’t he?), at least this first meeting will be over.
He’ll be ignored, and he will get over it.
“Cook.”
That could mean anyone, so Prem doesn’t move.
“Cook.” He hears the shuffling of feet, and the other chatter of the kitchen has died down. “Khun Prem, krub.”
Prem swallows, and slowly turns around.
Prince Todsatid is standing before him, looking contrite, with his chin to his chest, but there’s something eager about the way his eyes meet Prem’s. “Cook,” Ten repeats plaintively.
Prem’s throat clicks. “Prince Todsatid. Er— Congratulations. Is there something you need?” Prem looks around meaningfully, and he notes the way Ten does the same.
Looking miserable—although Prem can’t fathom why—Ten starts to shake his head, then hesitates. “I’m glad to see you’re well.”
“K-krub,” Prem replies.
Ten nods…and leaves.