“Nora, you are serving tonight, right?”
The voice cut through the kitchen noise like a knife.
I froze, the wooden spoon heavy in my hand. The fire hissed, pots bubbled, the smell of roasted venison filled the air, but all of it dimmed the moment I heard that sharp voice.
I turned my head slowly. Of course, it was her.
The head chef.
She stood in the middle of the kitchen as if she ruled it, her apron spotless even though the rest of us were covered in flour, sweat, and the smoke of the hearth. Her chin tilted high, her eyes narrowed slightly, always watching for mistakes. She was only in her early thirties, but in wolf years, that was still young, still full of strength. She carried herself like a queen trapped in a kitchen, like this place wasn’t worthy of her but we all had to worsh
