Never in my life did I think Bloodmoon's territorial peace would hang on the structural integrity of a wooden spatula and a vat of spicy plum glaze.
Yet there was Diego standing over a eight-foot pit of roaring embers, wearing a red apron embroidered with the words 'THE KING CRAFTS THE CRACKLING.'
"It’s about territorial dominance through culinary superiority," Diego declared, using a massive pair of iron tongs to flip a six-foot rack of wild boar ribs. A cloud of savory smoke swirled around his hair. "If the Southern Guild sees that our roast pork is dry, they will sense weakness in our supply chain."
I leaned against the preparation table and rubbed my temples. "They are merchant lords. They came to ratify a joint tariff agreement, not to judge your charbroiling technique."
"A well-g
