Away from the Fire

"David!"
I flinched, even before Chef Yuri caught me by my ear, tugging it hard, to get me to my feet. "What did I tell you!" She dragged me away, smacking me with a spoon.
"But!"
"No buts!" She scolded tossing me back at the foot of the fireplace sending up a fine cloud of ash in the process. "You belong in the kitchen. Get that through your skull before I beat it into you."
"Yes, Chef Yuri." I told her, as I picked myself up, brushing myself off. I hardly glanced at the door, but she smacked me again with the spoon. "Get to turning those spits." She said pointing to the hogs tied over the fires. "If you let these burn, you'll spend the night scrubbing every inch of this place.
I grimaced. Sure, yah, whatever, she probably would still find reason for me to lose yet another night of sleep in this hole of a kitchen.
I grabbed the metal spits, the heat hardly penetrating through my calloused hands and turned them. Belong to the kitchen? Ha. Hardly. I didn't want to stay here for the rest of my life. Slaving away so that the rich and mighty could enjoy a good cooked meal. Why couldn't I see the rest of the palace? What harm could come from that? Tracked dirt? Like the maids didn't spend all day making the place spotless anyways.

-Inspiration from watching Anastasia. "Demetri, you belong in the kitchen."