The First Patriarch: Streaming My Cosmic Harem

Chapter 39: Chapter 39: Sweet-Berry Sugar Crisps

"Hmm... honestly, I don’t know much about fine dining," Azriel replied, running a hand through his damp, pitch-black hair.

He dug through the fragmented memories of the body’s previous owner, trying to find any reference to local cuisine, but came up entirely short.

"Back in the clan, food wasn’t exactly an art form. It was just whatever beast meat we hunted, cooked directly over an open fire with some wild spices sprinkled over it to mask the gaminess. I have no idea what this world actually has to offer."

He offered her a warm, inquisitive smile, stepping a bit closer to her.

"So, what about you? What do you like to eat, Rose?"

Seeing him ask her so intently, Rosalind shrugged lightly, a faint, practical smile pulling at her lips.

"There is nothing I particularly dislike. I just eat whatever is efficient, good for my Aether core, and healthy."

Azriel froze.

He stared at her as if she had just confessed to a horrific, unpardonable crime.

Moving with absolute, theatrical exaggeration, he slapped a hand over his mouth, his lips parting into a perfect ’O’ shape of pure, unadulterated existential dread.

Rosalind shifted under his heavy stare.

Her furry white ears perked up defensively, and she suddenly felt a bizarre prickle of guilt, as if she had just done something profoundly wrong.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You seriously don’t have a single favorite food?" Azriel asked, dropping his hand but keeping his voice filled with dramatic disbelief.

"Ummm... no," she admitted, her gaze wavering slightly.

Azriel closed the distance between them, gently reaching out to grab both of her bare arms.

He looked her dead in her golden eyes, his tone deadpan but intense.

"You don’t have that one special comfort food? The exact dish you crave when you are completely stressed over, utterly exhausted from work, and just thinking about a single bite of it is enough to completely lighten up your mood?"

Rosalind’s gaze dropped to his chest, her proud shoulders slumping just a fraction.

Her white-and-black striped tail gave a tiny, embarrassed twitch behind her, and she mumbled in a rare, low voice, "Nooo..."

Azriel hummed, his expression softening as he let his hands slide down her arms to loosely hold her hands.

"Hmm. Then let’s change the question. Was there something you loved to eat back in your childhood?"

Rosalind fell quiet.

Her golden eyes grew distant, navigating through centuries of buried memories, times from an age before she was a GrandMaster, before the brutal weight of the House of Bastet and the entire Eastern Region sat squarely on her shoulders.

Slowly, a bright, genuine spark ignited in her eyes, and they lit up with a childlike warmth.

"Yes," she said, her voice lifting with an eagerness she hadn’t shown before.

"There were these Sweet-Berry Sugar Crisps. They were small, golden dough twists fried in beast-butter, completely glazed in wild rock-honey, and stuffed with a cold, whipped milk cream. It... it was my absolute favorite thing."

Looking at the sudden, breathtaking brightness in her eyes, Azriel let out a soft, amused sigh.

"Then why didn’t you just say that from the start?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Don’t tell me you stopped eating them entirely?"

Rosalind’s cheeks instantly flared up with a brilliant pink blush.

Her cat ears flattened tightly against her white hair in pure embarrassment, and she tried to pull her gaze away from him.

"I mean... those are strictly for toddlers and young children," she muttered, her fierce Duchess persona trying and failing to reassert itself.

"How could a woman like myself, a GrandMaster, be seen publicly eating something so childish?"

Azriel let out a rich, echoing laugh that filled the quiet bedroom.

He didn’t let go of her hands, instead, he stepped even closer, pulling her slightly toward him until the tips of their toes were almost touching.

"A GrandMaster of the Empire," he repeated, his voice dripping with fond, unbothered amusement

"Rose, you’re a literal natural disaster in a tank top. If you walked into the kitchen and demanded a mountain of Sweet-Berry Sugar Crisps, do you honestly think anyone would have the guts to call you childish to your face?"

Rosalind’s blush deepened, her gaze darting away as she mumbled, "The gossip networks would have a field day. ’The Crimson Duchess dotes on toddler sweets.’ It’s a matter of prestige, Azriel."

"To hell with prestige," Azriel said smoothly, a wicked, brilliant idea instantly sparking in his eyes.

He released her hands, only to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his side.

"If the great Duchess can’t order children’s food, then your resident, heavily favored slave certainly can. Where’s the estate kitchen?"

Rosalind blinked, her golden eyes snapping back to his face in surprise.

"The kitchen? Why?"

"Because we are skipping the ’healthy and efficient’ fuel today," Azriel declared, flashed a blinding, incredibly charming grin.

"We are going down there, and you are going to command the head chef to give us all the honey, dough, and whipped cream in the inventory. If anyone asks, the greedy, uncultured mortal slave threw a tantrum and demanded a childish snack, and the benevolent Duchess simply indulged his pathetic whimsy. See? Your reputation remains completely spotless."

A soft, breathless laugh escaped Rosalind’s lips, the ridiculousness of his logic completely disarming her. Her tail flicked behind her with a happy, relaxed rhythm.

"You really are a shameless rogue, aren’t you?"

"Only for you, Rose," he murmured, his voice dropping into that smooth, melt-worthy cadence that easily sent a familiar shiver straight down her spine.

He nudged her shoulder gently with his own, his eyes flashing with a playful, wicked glint.

"Now, lead the way, Rose. My stomach is practically digesting itself, and I desperately need to see what the terrifying Crimson Duchess looks like when she’s completely covered in powdered sugar."

Rosalind let out a soft, melodious laugh, the rigid walls of her noble persona completely crumbling under his easy charm.

A brilliant, genuinely happy smile graced her lips as she leaned into his side, completely surrendering to his relaxed pace.

"Well, there’s actually no need for us to go to the kitchens," she murmured, a trace of her usual regal smugness returning as she pulled her hand away.

"I can just order everything from right here, and I’ll have my personal assistant bring it directly up to my sitting room. But..."

She leaned in close, her cat ears twitching with mischievous delight as she whispered against his ear

"...I am absolutely telling her that you were the one who demanded it."

Azriel chuckled, completely unbothered by the threat. "Sure," he said smoothly, flashing her a confident wink.

"Let her think I’m a spoiled slave. As long as I get my food, I don’t mind playing the part."