Flavors of the Frontier

"Dinner is served," Wyll said, hands flourished, a full boar, perfectly cooked, lay carved and steaming on a wide wooden platter, the scent of roasted herbs and spiced fat drifting into every corner of our little space.

"A noble hunt followed by a noble meal. You wouldn’t believe the presentation standards I was raised under. Crusted pheasant, saffron glaze... ribbons of edible gold, even. But none of that ever really satisfied me. I used to sneak into the kitchens, learn from the old chefs. That’s where the real magic was."

Karlach grinned. "You snuck into kitchens? What a rebel."

"Oh yes," he said proudly. "While the other heirs were polishing etiquette, I was learning to braise."

Shadowheart snorted softly next to me. She leaned over just enough for her shoulder to brush mine. I caught her look—a sideways smirk, aimed at me. She mouthed, braise?

I grinned. "The true path to power."

"Oh, absolutely," she whispered, hiding her laugh in her goblet.

Wyll was still talking, describing some long-winded memory about poached goose and basil reductions. Karlach was loving every second, laughing and nodding. Shadowheart gave me another glance and rolled her eyes dramatically. Our little alliance was solidifying nicely.

Lae’zel said nothing. But she ate. Slowly, methodically, with sharp focus. Every bite seemed like an experiment, every texture a revelation. Halfway through the meal, I saw her shift slightly, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed. When she moaned—soft, involuntary—I knew.

The food wasn’t just good. It was doing something to her.

"The texture.." she muttered under her breath. "It... resonates. Rich. Oily. Tender."

Wyll beamed. "High praise from a Githyanki. I’ll take that."

I didn’t correct him. Not entirely. Credit were credit is due.

But Lae’zel’s gaze kept drifting to me, intense and low. Hungry.

Shadowheart set down her cup. "At least you’re good for something, Wyll."

He winked. "Most things, actually."

She turned to me instead, brushing him off completely. "Thank you, but I’m good."

The fire popped. We all kept eating, the silence stretching just long enough to be comfortable. Lae’zel licked her bowl clean, holding it like a ritual chalice. When she was finished, she stared at me with a heat that didn’t match the temperature of the meal.

"I yearn for more," she said with intensity.

"Oh, there's more boar to go around," Wyll offered cheerfully.

"No," she said. Her eyes locked on me. "My ritual. Now."

She grabbed my wrist—not hard, not rough, but firm. Her touch wasn’t what it used to be. There was strength, yes, but her body had softened. Rounded. She pulled me toward her tent, and I let her.

The others watched.

"So, Wyll" Karlach said, leaning back with a dirty grin. "You’re up next then, you ready?"

Wyll, clearly remembering the rule of secrecy, cleared his throat, "I don’t want to talk about it."

Shadowheart turned red almost instantly. "It’s... I also had a hard time in the beginning. But it gets better."

"Much better," Karlach added, eyes gleaming.

Wyll frowned. "It didn’t hurt, I just wasn’t ready."

They both nodded like they understood entirely.

Then a sound—something soft, rhythmic, wet—echoed faintly from Lae’zel’s tent.

Wyll looked toward it, brow arched.

"Well," he said, slowly standing, "I’d better get ready for... whatever that is."

Karlach bit her lip. "Can’t wait."

Shadowheart didn’t look away from the tent. "Yes... I will deal with him after you."

Karlach laughed. "Then I’ll give him a show."

The fire popped again. The night was far from over.