That night, Khamene and Ron went to the nearby restaurant about ten minutes away from Witcher Price.
The restaurant, simply called The Food Tavern, was quite small. It was thirty feet long and twenty feet wide. The lights from the glass chandeliers hanging on the ceiling provided dim lighting, washing the place in a brownish-orange glow. The walls were of white stone, the floors made of wood, moldy and black in spots from the various spills from different liquids over time.
Khamene and Ron entered the tavern. Ron led the way to a table by the wooden door. Immediately, the smells of cooked meat and cheap alcohol enveloped them, Khamene's nose assaulted.
They sat down across from each other. The circular table was covered in a white cloth, a candle-lit lamp placed in the middle.
On the other side of the tavern was a long counter that served as the bar. Three men with big bellies and white beards were conversing, each nursing their beverage that was their poison for the night. Beyond the counter was a tall man that Khamene didn't recognize.
He cocked his head to that direction. "He seems new."
Ron followed Khamene's gaze, leaning in with his hands folded on the table, palms cupping his elbows. "Bert probably fired the last guy, as he usually did. Let's hope this new guy lasts longer than a month in here."
They watched the man. He was not much older than them, probably in his middle or late twenties. He had jet-black hair, green almond eyes, and a sharp jawline. Perhaps his most striking facial feature was the slash of a scar on his right cheek. Wearing a brown vest over a plain white tunic, a towel slung over his shoulder, he turned around to the stove made of red brick and had to manually be lighted with a match. Then he grabbed a pan hanging above, set it down, and walked to the square cool-a-ware to take out a plump piece of tenderloin steak and two eggs (the cool-a-ware was their version of the refrigerator in our world, large steel canisters that looked like oversized safes).
The whole time, he had an air of precision and professionality about him, his movements steady and rhythmic, as if he was dancing a dance he'd been dancing since his childhood.
"Isn't he great?" a voice from behind them. It sounded like "Issssn't he great?"
Khamene's shoulders bounced in surprise, then turned to the voice. By their table, Bert stood, a muscled man with one blind eye, two holes in the middle of his face that was his nose, and black lips. His skin was a pale yellow, scaly and hairless. He was wearing a black tunic and trousers, a white apron wrapped around his waist (although, Khamene had never actually seen Bert cook before, had never even seen him hold a pan in his life). A red bandanna was wrapped around his hairless head.
"I'd give him two more weeks before you find something wrong with him," Ron told him.
Bert smiled. When he did, his fangs appeared, his forked tongue sliding out of his lips. Khamene didn't want to think of himself as discriminatory, but he'd always found Reptils to be quite creepy. These half-snake and half-human hybrids did not quite look right.
"Nah, Thill's the besssst," Bert said. "My ssssales have been through the roof since I hired him. He's a really good cook."
"How'd you find him?" Ron asked, leaning back in his chair.
Bert shook his head, his tongue subconsciously shooting out of his mouth, then back in again. "I didn't. He came to me. Just entered one day and asssked if I was looking for a cook. I told him that I already had a cook, but he insissssted that he was great. He made lunch for me that day, and after I finished my plate I fired the cook that I had at the time. I already forgot hisssss name."
Khamene's nose scrunched disapprovingly. Bert really did not have a care for his employees.
"How long has he been working here?" Ron asked.
"Almost a month now." Bert smiled. "More girlsss are coming here just to see him. I really don't see what's sssso good-looking about him, but as long as he'sssss bringing in the money. Talk about a blessssing from the Unnamed One, am I right? Anyway, what do you two want? The usual?"
Ron nodded. "Our food better taste better now. I have higher expectations now that you seem to like your new cook."
"Thill's the best, I promise," Bert said. "Drinks?"
"Just two sodas."
Bert clicked his tongue. "Let Khamene sssspeak for himself."
Khamene forced a smile. "Soda's fine. We won't stay long. We still have midterms to study for."
"You guys are too focused on school." Bert began walking away and to the counter, patting Khamene on the shoulder.
Khamene turned around once more and saw Thill with the deep green eyes looking at him. The two stared at each other for two seconds before the cook looked away.
Strange, Khamene thought.
"He is very good-looking, I'll give him that," Ron said. "I'd climb that tree if I was attracted to guys. You know what I mean?"
"Unfortunately, I always know what you mean," Khamene replied.
A minute later, Bert returned to their table with two glasses of soda. He spoke some more with Ron, while Khamene mainly stayed in the background.
His father's visit had caught him off guard. What had surprised him even more was how he'd felt upon seeing King Heralla--not joy, not excitement, nothing.
He had felt nothing.
Khamene loved his father very much, of course, but beneath such an emotion, at the deepest parts of his heart, rested a ball of resentment towards his father. Ever since becoming the king fifteen years ago, Heralla had been busier than ever, which was normal. He was the king, after all.
Khamene had always tried to be the considerate son, especially since his mother seemed to be happy with their new arrangement, although he was also sure that his parents had been spending less time with each other, what with Heralla's responsibilities and all.
Still, a father should never forget his family. Shouldn't they be a parent's most important priority in life, regardless of position and authority? Khamene didn't know anymore. Maybe he was just being too sensitive.
Disappointment rose up within him, not at his father, but at him, now realizing what he had truly been feeling.
Some time later, their food arrived: a cheesburger for Ron and soy sauce and black bean noodles for Khamene.
The two looked up at who was serving their food. Thill looked down at them, no smile, no hospitality. He set the plates in front of the two boys and lingered for a second. Ron and Khamene exchanged a glance.
"You're the king's son," Thill said to Khamene. It was not a question.
"I am," Khamene said.
Thill nodded, then walked away without another word.
"Yikes," Ron said, bringing his plate of food closer to him. He took a bite, then closed his eyes in satisfaction. "Damn, this is really good. I'm impressed. He may be a good cook, but he sure is not kind. Maybe he should just stick to cooking and not serving."
Khamene began to eat, feeling Thill's eyes on the back of his head. He forced himself not to look back.
Strange, he thought again, and took a bite.