A rival? Maybe. Maybe not. How can he know until he meets them? The Housekeeper may have an interest in foreign cuisine, or long to collaborate with another cook, or feel a sore need for a break. There’s too much they could be, in this place where anything may be possible, so why fret about it when he could just meet them and find out?

Though he hoped they at least still liked good food, well-prepared. It would rather complicate everything if they didn’t.

“Thank you, everyone. Please, go and mingle while I prepare. Vas-” Ah. No. That’s not the name he should use, is it? Right? “Vasilia, would you. Accompany me to the kitchens?” It. Really ought not to be a question. If he’s Captain, you see. Captains generally give orders, but, questions were acceptable sometimes. And this seemed questionable enough?

Already she stands at the ready, seeming at once poised, but in an instant she will melt into a steady march behind him, and no one will mark the transition. She remains watchful of their surroundings. She does not look at him as she answers. “As you wish...Captain.” 

He cannot see the concern, gathering at the corners of her eyes.

As they left the court, Dolce clung to the one rule that must hold true, no matter the custom: Food had to be brought from where it was prepared to where it would be enjoyed, as quickly and directly as possible. The complications of grav-rails might’ve stumped another Captain. But Dolce had, perhaps, the second-most experience amongst the crew in gravitational thinking. If he could not find the kitchen, then perhaps they were never meant to be found.