I watch as a fly sits upon the steak oozing on my plate. The royal chef always undercooks red meat. I really wish Father hadn’t sentenced the previous royal chef to death. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. All he did was spit in mother’s food one time. And honestly, it wasn’t unwarranted. The night before, my mother told him that she would personally make sure that his family received less rations because I burnt my tongue. It was too hot, but my mother always over reacts. “You are your father’s only heir. It is prudent we protect you.” “The soup was just a little hot. It really was my fault. You don’t have to punish the cook!” “Don’t talk back to me! Every hair on your head is more important to this kingdom than his entire useless life.” She whipped her pointer finger towards the cook. By this point, he was crying into his apron. “Yes, you are right mother! I am the heir... to a kingdom! When I am king, there will be assassins, warlords, and rebellions at my door everyday.” I glanced over at Father. He nodded his head and opened his mouth to speak. Mother glared at Father and he returned to his soup silently. “And you have always taught me to be a be a benevolent ruler, have you not? Overcooked soup is not a capitol offense.” “Do not talk back to your mother!” She snarled. Father dropped his spoon into his bowl and one of the door guards audibly gasped. “I’m sorry, Mother.” The argument was over. “You know I love you. I just want what’s best for you and the kingdom. You know that, don’t you?” I didn’t make eye contact with her, but I could still feel the intensity of her stare. “I know, Mother.” And the next night, the sous chef told my mother that the royal cook had spat on her roast chicken. He was dead and buried before the morning and the sous chef had become the new royal cook. I grimace at the raw steak. “I’m not eating this.”