As Kile flipped through the pages, I played with the jars of herbs. The kitchen made me think of what a scientist’s lab would look like, only with food. I opened some, inhaling them or feeling the texture.

“Smell this,” I insisted, holding up a jar to Kile.

“What’s that?”

“Saffron. Doesn’t it smell delicious?”

He smiled at me and went straight to the back of the book he was holding. “Aha!” he said, turning forward to find his page. “Saffron chicken. Want to give that a try?”

“Sure.” I clutched the jar in my hand like it was my big contribution to the night.

“All right. Saffron chicken . . . so, let’s preheat the oven.”

I stood next to him, staring at the buttons and dials. Probably the ovens in normal people’s homes didn’t look like this, but this massive, industrial setup seemed like it might launch a satellite if we touched the wrong thing. We looked at the stove like it might give us some instructions if we waited long enough.

“Should I get more butter?” I asked.

“Shut up, Eadlyn.”

The chef walked past and mumbled, “Dial on the left, three fifty.”

Kile reached over and turned it as if he knew what to do the whole time.

I glanced toward Fox and Burke. Burke was clearly acting as their leader and loudly giving orders. Fox didn’t seem to mind at all, laughing and joking without being obnoxious. They peeked back over at us several times, Burke sneaking in a wink now and then. Past them, Erik and Henri were working quietly, with Erik doing a minimal amount of labor, only assisting when Henri asked for it.

Henri’s sleeves were rolled up and he’d gotten some flour on his pants, and I kind of loved that he didn’t seem to care about it. Erik was a little messy himself, and he didn’t bother wiping any of it off either.

I looked at Kile, who was buried in the cookbook. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” As I walked away, I heard him quietly try to get the chef’s attention.

“Looking good, boys,” I said, pausing by Fox.

“Thanks. This is actually kind of soothing. I never cooked much at home, nothing like this anyway. But I’m looking forward to trying it.” Fox’s hands stuttered for a moment, trying to find his rhythm again.

“This will be the best asparagus you’ve ever had,” Burke promised.

“I can’t wait,” I replied, moving to the far end of the table.

Erik looked up, greeting me with a smile. “Your Highness. How’s our dinner looking?”

“Very bad indeed,” I promised. He chuckled and told Henri the state of our poor supper.

Their hands were covered in dough, and I could see bowls of cinnamon and sugar waiting to be used. “This looks promising though. Do you cook as well, Erik?”

“Oh, not professionally. But I live on my own, so I cook for myself, and I love all the traditional Swendish foods. This is a favorite.”

Erik turned to Henri, and I could tell they were talking about food because Henri was alight with excitement.

“Oh, yeah! Henri was just saying there’s this soup he has when he’s sick. It’s got potatoes and fish, and, oh, I miss my mother just thinking about it.”

I smiled, trying to imagine Erik alone trying to master his mother’s meals and Henri in the back of a restaurant already having conquered every recipe in his family’s memory. I kept worrying that Erik felt like an outcast. He certainly worked to separate himself from the Selected. He dressed differently, walked at a slower pace, and even carried himself a little lower. But watching him here, interacting with Henri, who was too kind for me to dismiss, I was so grateful for his presence. He brought a little piece of home to a situation twice removed from Henri’s idea of normal.

I stepped away, allowing them to work, and went back to my station. Kile had collected some ingredients in my absence. He was dicing garlic on a wooden brick next to a bowl of something that looked like yogurt.

“There you are,” he greeted. “Okay, crush those saffron threads and then mix them in the bowl.”

After a moment of blank staring, I picked up the tiny bowl and mallet I assumed was meant for thread crushing and started pressing. It was a strangely satisfying exercise. Kile did most of the work, smothering the chicken with the yogurt mix and throwing it in the oven. The other teams were at various stages of prep as well, and in the end, the dessert was ready first, followed by the appetizer, and our entrée pulled up the rear.

Realizing belatedly that Kile and I should have made something to go with our chicken, we decided to use the wrapped asparagus as a side, all laughing at how poorly we’d planned this.

The whole lot of us crowded around one end of the long table. I was sandwiched between Burke and Kile, with Henri across from me and Fox at the head. Erik was slightly removed but still clearly enjoying the company.

Honestly, I was, too. Cooking made me nervous because it was totally foreign to me. I didn’t know how to cut or sauté or anything, and I despised failing or looking foolish. But the majority of us had limited experience, and instead of it becoming a stressor, it became a joke, making this one of the most relaxed meals I’d ever had. No formal place settings, no assigned seats; and since nearly all the china was in use for our very full house, we were using plain plates that looked so old, the only reason they could possibly still be here was sentimentality.

“Okay, since they were supposed to be the appetizer, I think we should try the asparagus first,” Kile insisted.