Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband novel Chapter 177

Chapter 177: A Feast Fit for Legends

Twenty minutes later, the Royal Kitchens of the palace were under siege by Primrose.

"Out of my way!" Primrose commanded, tying a borrowed apron over her dusty combat gear. "I need six pots of boiling stock! I need the freshest venison you have! And where is the heavy cream?"

The Royal Chefs, terrified of the woman who had just nuked a moon, scrambled to obey.

Primrose moved like a whirlwind. This was her element. She didn’t need the Heart of the Tide or the Nine Tails here. She just needed a knife and fire.

She chopped vegetables with machine-gun precision. She seared meat until the crust was perfect. She balanced spices by scent alone.

The Warlords were hovering by the door.

"Is that the Glazed Boar?" Rurik whispered, pressing his nose against the glass. "She hasn’t made that since the Winter Festival."

"It smells like victory," Rajah groaned, clutching his stomach.

Inside, Primrose tasted the sauce. It needed more depth. She didn’t have her usual spices, but she improvised. A pinch of star-anise. A dash of red wine.

She wasn’t just making food. She was pouring every ounce of relief, love, and "we-survived-the-apocalypse" energy into the pot. This was how she tamed the cubs. This was how she won the Warlords.

And this was how she would welcome her ancestor home.

The Royal Dining Hall was silent, save for the sound of silverware scraping plates.

Ophelia sat at the head of the table. In front of her was a feast that would make kings weep.

Braised Venison in a Red Wine Reduction.

Creamy Potato Gratin with a golden crust.

Roasted Root Vegetables glazed in honey and herbs.

A rich, dark Consommé that smelled like a warm hug.

Ophelia took a bite of the venison.

She chewed slowly.

Her eyes went wide. She stopped moving.

"Grandma?" Primrose asked nervously, wiping her hands on a towel. "Is it okay? I know tastes have changed in a thousand years..."

Ophelia swallowed. She looked at Primrose.

"Okay?" Ophelia whispered. "This isn’t food. This is... witchcraft."

She shoveled another bite into her mouth.

"The flavor," Ophelia moaned. "It’s crying on my tongue. We ate boiled turnips! We ate dry jerky! What is this sorcery?"

"It’s called ’cooking with love’," Vali said sagely, his mouth full of potatoes. "Auntie Prim is the best feeder in the world."

"She tamed us with this," Caspian admitted, cutting his meat elegantly. "I was a cold, distant Duke until she made me a seafood risotto. Then I was hers."

Ophelia looked at Primrose with newfound respect.

"You," Ophelia pointed a fork at her. "You are definitely my favorite descendant. Forget the magic tails. This ability is the real superpower."

She turned to Luna. "Pass the potatoes. If I stop eating, I might die of sadness."

The meal was winding down—Ophelia was on her third plate—when the doors opened.

Prince Bastion walked in. He hesitated when he saw the mountain of empty plates.

"Lady Ophelia," Bastion said respectfully. "I apologize for interrupting the... feeding frenzy. But there is someone who wishes to speak with you."

Ophelia paused, a chicken wing halfway to her mouth. Her fox ears twitched.

"I know that smell," she said, her expression darkening. "Dust and self-righteousness."

She put the chicken wing down. She wiped her mouth with a silk napkin.

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