As we stepped inside, several heads immediately turned.
Not toward me, of course. But toward the silver-haired woman walking beside me.
Despite wearing clothes that had only just been purchased, simple yet fitting her frame far better than the oversized shirt she had worn that morning, Veralyn still drew attention in a way she could not control. Her perfect posture, her calm stride, and her face that was beautiful in a cold, untouchable way. A few male patrons nearly choked on their drinks. A noblewoman seated at a corner table promptly elbowed her husband, who had been staring for far too long.
Meanwhile, I walked beside her looking like a servant who had been tasked with escorting a princess on an outing.
The contrast was rather painful, if I was being honest.
The interior of the restaurant was no less impressive than its exterior. Polished wooden floors gleaming under the light, round tables draped in white cloth, small candles flickering on every surface, and the aroma of cooking that filled every corner of the room in a way that made stomachs speak up immediately. Fortunately, this time it was not mine.
We had barely taken a few steps inside when a woman emerged from the kitchen. She was in her forties, sturdily built, wearing a white apron covered in seasoning stains. Her dark brown hair was tied up high, and her eyes were sharp, like someone long accustomed to assessing the quality of everything in a matter of seconds, humans included.
She was Madame Lorna.
This entire restaurant ran because of one person, and that person was her. Every patron who came here did not come for the venue. They came for her cooking. Across the entire continent, her name was known as the brightest star in the culinary world. Royal officials, high-ranking nobles, even merchants from overseas would wait for hours just to taste her dishes.
Of course, no one knew that the majority of the "revolutionary" recipes that made her famous actually originated from ideas I had stolen from renowned chefs in my previous life. Recipes that in my original world might have ended up collecting dust in a cookbook on a store shelf had become culinary masterpieces that had never before existed in this one.
Madame Lorna approached with a speed that was unusual for someone of her build. Her eyes immediately swept across the scene before her, me, then Veralyn, then back to me.
She leaned in and whispered right beside my ear.
"First time I have ever seen you come in with a woman other than that hyperactive girl."
I felt something twitch at my temple.
Not because of the odd nickname she had given Serena. I was used to that by now. But because of what her words implied. As though she had never imagined I was capable of bringing any woman other than Serena anywhere. As though Veralyn's presence beside me was some sort of natural miracle that could be explained by neither science nor magic.
I swallowed my irritation and put on a calm face.
"Enough of that," I said flatly. "Can you give me the usual table?"
Madame Lorna pulled back, a small smile etched on her lips.
"Of course," she replied warmly. "It has been quite a while since you last visited. I will have the best dishes sent to you right away."
She waved to one of the servers, signaling them to escort us to a table at the back of the restaurant. A section separated from the crowd, surrounded by wooden walls carved with creeping vines and a small window overlooking the garden behind the building. The tables in this area were fewer and spaced farther apart, reserved for guests who did not wish to be disturbed.
Or in my case, the spot I usually occupied to eat alone while reading business reports from Serena.
As we sat down, Veralyn surveyed her surroundings with an expression I could not quite read. Her eyes moved from the carved walls to the small crystal lamp above our table, then to the garden view outside the window. She said nothing, yet there was something in her gaze that was different from usual. Not overt admiration, but something subtler. Like someone who had just realized there was a part of the world they had never seen.
"This is the second most popular place in the city after the shopping center," I said, pouring water into her glass. "You have never been here before?"
Veralyn was quiet for a moment.
"I..." her finger touched the rim of the glass without lifting it, "I was too busy studying."
The sentence was spoken lightly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. But I knew what lay hidden behind it.
For years at the academy, while other students enjoyed their free time in the city, visiting restaurants, exploring the market, or simply going for walks, Veralyn had confined herself to the library or the training hall. Every minute spent studying, practicing, and proving herself. She had never given herself permission to enjoy the simple things.
Not because she did not want to. But because she felt she had not yet earned the right.
I looked at her briefly, then gave a quiet nod without commenting further.
"In that case," I said, "consider this a fresh start."
Veralyn looked at me for a moment. Her lips moved slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but in the end she simply nodded.
Before long, a server arrived with the first course. Madame Lorna was not playing around. A soup with a clear broth whose aroma alone was enough to make a stomach weep with gratitude, followed by warm bread with herbal butter, and a plate of roasted meat with a sauce that could not be found anywhere else on the continent, naturally, because the recipe came from another world entirely.
Veralyn took her first spoonful. For an instant, her flat expression faltered ever so slightly. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before returning to normal.
"Good?" I asked.
"...Not bad," she answered.
I had come to know this pattern well enough by now. "Not bad" in Veralyn's language meant she was thoroughly enjoying it but would sooner die than admit so openly.
We ate in comfortable quiet. Every now and then I would mention the name of a dish as it arrived, and Veralyn would listen without much comment. The restaurant's atmosphere, lively yet not noisy, made the moment feel almost normal. As though we were simply two ordinary people enjoying lunch together, not a prince's former fiancee who had nearly been executed and a reincarnator pretending to be a mysterious NPC.
But midway through the third course, something changed.
Veralyn, who had been raising her glass, suddenly stopped. Her movement froze. Not a gradual pause, but an instant freeze, like someone who had just seen something that made her entire body seize up.
Her eyes were fixed on something beyond the small window beside our table.
I followed her gaze.
In the garden behind the restaurant, two people walked side by side at a leisurely pace. A middle-aged man in a simple merchant's jacket with a short, well-kept beard. Beside him, a woman with pale silver hair left loose, dressed in clothing that was modest yet refined, like the wife of a wealthy trader.
To anyone who saw them, they were nothing more than an ordinary couple enjoying the afternoon.
But Veralyn was not just anyone.
She was the former fiancee of the crown prince who had spent years studying every detail about the royal family. Every face. Every name. Every posture. All of it had been stored in her mind for a long time.
"Raymond," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible, and for the first time today, there was a real tension behind it. "That is..."
"Yes," I replied calmly, raising my glass and sipping the water as though nothing were happening. "I know."
King Reinhart and Queen Eleanora von Asteria.
Strolling through the garden behind a restaurant in disguise, as they were known to do.
Veralyn set her glass down with a hand that trembled slightly. The posture that had begun to relax was now rigid once more. Her back perfectly straight, her shoulders tense, and the expression on her face returning to the cold mask she had worn for years.
The reflex of a queen-to-be who was no longer a queen-to-be.
I looked at her for a moment.
This was going to be an interesting lunch.