Curses and Cream Puffs
Chapter Four
A whole family of witch hunters. It was enough to make your stomach turn.
“I suppose nothing brings family closer than hunting people like animals,” she muttered and her new “husband” glowered at her.
“I did not hunt you and I’ll remind you that you’re still alive and not in prison.”
“You’re a prince.” Lena rummaged around in his kitchen, frowning at how sparse the food was, since the kitchen itself was quite nice. Much bigger than her kitchen back home.
“You need to stock these cupboards,” she told him. She went to the desk in the corner of the sitting room and plucked up a pen and piece of parchment paper, scribbling a list of things on it.
“Here,” she said primly.
“You’re sending me on errands now?”
“Unless you want me to boil you in a stew, you need enough food here for two people,” she shot back. He just rolled his eyes.
“I’ll see what I can do after I speak with my father,” he grumbled, pocketing the list. With nothing else to do and feeling a little bitter about her predicament, Lena spent her afternoon rearranging the entire house. It started with her moving a chair to a spot she liked better; and soon not a single piece of furniture in the house was where Damien had had it. Feeling inspired, she dug his socks out of the drawers and made sure none of them were balled up with their actual match.
“There. That’s for assuming I’d look like a demonic hag just because I’m a witch,” she sniffed. She heard the front door open and bounded down the stairs. Damien had in fact stopped by the market and Lena snatched at the bags, taking them into the kitchen and putting things away.
“Look at these perfect oranges,” she said. “We’ll definitely need to find something for you little cuties to do.” She set them off to the side and continued her appraisal. Damien had been eyeing her like she had an extra head while she talked to her ingredients, but now he was frowning around at his living room.
“Did you...did you move the couch? And the chairs? And the dining table?”
“Well, dear husband, this is our shared home now,” she said breezily, and he scowled.
“Stop that. And don’t move my things around.”
“It looks better this way.”
“Put it back the way it was.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“Damien.”
“Forget it.” Damien shook his head and tried rearranging the furniture back the way it had been before. Lena remained in the kitchen, making lamb stew and fresh bread for dinner. Damien couldn’t seem to get the furniture quite right, and moved everything around three times before giving up.
“That smells good,” he said hesitantly. Lena tried not to preen.
“The kitchen is my domain,” she said. “You’re not allowed in here. The emptiness of these cupboards was a disgrace. Now sit and eat your stew.”
Reluctant semi-captive or not, Lena couldn’t resist preparing food. They ate in tense silence, but Lena noted with some smug satisfaction that he polished off the entire bowl. They continued their silence while Lena tidied up the kitchen and contemplated what to do with her fresh oranges.
“I think you want to be a cake,” she told them, holding one up and squinting at it. “Yes. Definitely a cake.”
Damien laid down on his thin mat on the floor as Lena flitted upstairs, locking herself in his room again. For good measure she pushed the dresser in front of it. She still didn’t know how much she could really trust him. She brushed her hair and climbed into the bed, falling asleep quickly since she’d barely slept the night before.
In the morning she heard a shout of annoyance. “Lena! What did you do to my socks?”
Lena started laughing so hard she almost fell out of the bed while he continued to mutter darkly to himself downstairs. When Lena got up, he was gone; possibly off somewhere with that creepy brother of his. Lena got started on her orange cake, and soon the whole house smelled like sugar and oranges. While it was baking she skipped over to Damien’s closet, casting an enchantment that dyed all his shirts bright pink.
“Not bad for a morning’s work,” she said, flopping on the couch.
“I suppose nothing brings family closer than hunting people like animals,” she muttered and her new “husband” glowered at her.
“I did not hunt you and I’ll remind you that you’re still alive and not in prison.”
“You’re a prince.” Lena rummaged around in his kitchen, frowning at how sparse the food was, since the kitchen itself was quite nice. Much bigger than her kitchen back home.
“You need to stock these cupboards,” she told him. She went to the desk in the corner of the sitting room and plucked up a pen and piece of parchment paper, scribbling a list of things on it.
“Here,” she said primly.
“You’re sending me on errands now?”
“Unless you want me to boil you in a stew, you need enough food here for two people,” she shot back. He just rolled his eyes.
“I’ll see what I can do after I speak with my father,” he grumbled, pocketing the list. With nothing else to do and feeling a little bitter about her predicament, Lena spent her afternoon rearranging the entire house. It started with her moving a chair to a spot she liked better; and soon not a single piece of furniture in the house was where Damien had had it. Feeling inspired, she dug his socks out of the drawers and made sure none of them were balled up with their actual match.
“There. That’s for assuming I’d look like a demonic hag just because I’m a witch,” she sniffed. She heard the front door open and bounded down the stairs. Damien had in fact stopped by the market and Lena snatched at the bags, taking them into the kitchen and putting things away.
“Look at these perfect oranges,” she said. “We’ll definitely need to find something for you little cuties to do.” She set them off to the side and continued her appraisal. Damien had been eyeing her like she had an extra head while she talked to her ingredients, but now he was frowning around at his living room.
“Did you...did you move the couch? And the chairs? And the dining table?”
“Well, dear husband, this is our shared home now,” she said breezily, and he scowled.
“Stop that. And don’t move my things around.”
“It looks better this way.”
“Put it back the way it was.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“Damien.”
“Forget it.” Damien shook his head and tried rearranging the furniture back the way it had been before. Lena remained in the kitchen, making lamb stew and fresh bread for dinner. Damien couldn’t seem to get the furniture quite right, and moved everything around three times before giving up.
“That smells good,” he said hesitantly. Lena tried not to preen.
“The kitchen is my domain,” she said. “You’re not allowed in here. The emptiness of these cupboards was a disgrace. Now sit and eat your stew.”
Reluctant semi-captive or not, Lena couldn’t resist preparing food. They ate in tense silence, but Lena noted with some smug satisfaction that he polished off the entire bowl. They continued their silence while Lena tidied up the kitchen and contemplated what to do with her fresh oranges.
“I think you want to be a cake,” she told them, holding one up and squinting at it. “Yes. Definitely a cake.”
Damien laid down on his thin mat on the floor as Lena flitted upstairs, locking herself in his room again. For good measure she pushed the dresser in front of it. She still didn’t know how much she could really trust him. She brushed her hair and climbed into the bed, falling asleep quickly since she’d barely slept the night before.
In the morning she heard a shout of annoyance. “Lena! What did you do to my socks?”
Lena started laughing so hard she almost fell out of the bed while he continued to mutter darkly to himself downstairs. When Lena got up, he was gone; possibly off somewhere with that creepy brother of his. Lena got started on her orange cake, and soon the whole house smelled like sugar and oranges. While it was baking she skipped over to Damien’s closet, casting an enchantment that dyed all his shirts bright pink.
“Not bad for a morning’s work,” she said, flopping on the couch.