Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband novel Chapter 44

Chapter 44: The Taste of Home

The Prince’s Chambers

The guards dragged Primrose into the next room, and her heart shattered.

If King Caspian’s room was a palace of cold opulence, Prince Orion’s room was a mausoleum. It was silent, dark, and the only light came from a few dim crystals embedded in the ceiling. In the center of the room, nestled inside a giant, cushioned pearl-shell, lay the Prince.

He was tiny. He couldn’t be more than five or six years old. His hair was the same pearlescent white as his father’s, but his skin was a dull, sickly grey. His small tail, which should have been vibrant, was pale and motionless.

"He does not wake," Crustar the Crab-chancellor whispered, clicking his claws nervously. "He does not eat. The magic in his chest is calcifying."

Primrose shook off the guard’s grip. Her legs were still trembling from the King’s pressure, and she could taste blood in her mouth, but the Nanny Instinct overrode the fear.

She swam—awkwardly—over to the shell.

"Hey there, little one," she whispered, reaching out to touch his forehead.

"Do not touch the Royal Heir!" a guard barked.

"Quiet!" Primrose snapped, not even looking back. "I’m checking his temperature."

His skin was freezing. Not just ocean-cold, but void cold. The grief was sucking the heat out of his body.

She looked at the King, who was floating near the ceiling, watching her with those terrifying, dead teal eyes.

"He needs heat," Primrose stated, her voice shaking but firm. "Internal heat. And fat. His body is cannibalizing its own magic to survive."

"We have tried heating spells," Caspian said, bored. "They burn his skin."

"Not spells," Primrose said. "I need a kitchen."

She paused, looking at the tray of raw fish the guards had prepared. She frowned.

"And I am not feeding him raw fish," she added. "That feels... morally complicated. I need shellfish. Clams. Scallops. And heavy cream."

The Royal Kitchen (The Thermal Vent)

The Kitchen was a marvel of deep-sea engineering. It was built around a massive volcanic thermal vent in the floor of an adjacent cavern.

To cook underwater without the soup dissolving into the ocean, the Jiaoren chefs utilized Magical Air Pockets.

Primrose stood inside one of these shimmering bubbles. The moment she stepped through the barrier, the water fell away, leaving her hair dripping and her dress heavy. The air inside was dry, hot, and smelled of sulfur from the vent below, which acted as a natural stove.

The ingredients she had asked for were laid out on an obsidian slab.

Giant Rock-Clams (A safe, non-sentient protein).

Sea-Cream (Rich, heavy dairy from sea-cows).

Sweet-Kelp (A sugar substitute).

Golden Algae (Which looked and smelled surprisingly like saffron).

King Caspian hovered outside the bubble, floating in the water, watching her through the shimmering translucent wall. He looked like a man watching an insect perform a circus trick.

Okay, Primrose, she thought, tying a piece of seaweed around her waist as a makeshift apron. Hard Mode cooking. Let’s go.

She grabbed a knife made of sharpened shell.

She didn’t cook like the Royal Chefs, who used magic to slice and levitate ingredients from a distance. It was precise, cold, and impersonal.

Primrose cooked with her hands.

She shucked the Rock-Clams, chopping the white meat into tiny, melt-in-the-mouth cubes. Chop. Chop. Chop. The rhythm was comforting.

She threw the fat into the heated stone bowl sitting directly over the vent. It sizzled. The smell of searing garlic-kelp and clams filled the air bubble.

"Don’t be shy, little onion," she muttered to the bulb of sea-root she was dicing. "In you go. Sweat it out."

Outside the bubble, Caspian’s fin twitched. He watched her talk to the vegetables. It was efficient. It was... practiced.

She poured in the Sea-Cream. She added the Sweet-Kelp. She stirred it slowly, creating a thick, golden chowder.

It wasn’t a potion. It was Comfort Food. It was a recipe she used to make back in the restaurant kitchen on Earth—a simple Clam Chowder, adapted for the ocean.

As she stirred, she forgot where she was. She forgot the scary King. She forgot the dungeon. She let her mind drift back to the kitchen radio on Earth.

She started to hum.

It wasn’t a sea shanty. It wasn’t an Imperial hymn. It was a classic jazz tune that used to play on loop at the five-star restaurant where she worked.

"Fly me to the moon..." she hummed, stirring the golden soup. "Let me play among the stars..."

Outside the bubble, King Caspian froze.

His teal eyes widened. His tail stopped swishing.

He knew that melody.

He hadn’t heard that melody since the day he died—twenty-five years ago in this world, but barely a moment ago in his memories.

Impossible, Caspian thought, his heart skipping a beat. That is... Frank Sinatra?

He moved closer to the bubble, pressing his hand against the barrier. He stared at the Fox-kin woman. She was swaying slightly as she cooked, talking to the soup, humming a song from a dead world.

"Who are you?" Caspian whispered, the words lost in the water.

The Feeding

Primrose finished the soup. It was a rich, golden yellow and incredibly thick.

She poured it into a specialized Gourd-Bowl with a narrow spout—designed for feeding infants underwater without spilling. She sealed the lid tight.

She stepped out of the air bubble, the water rushing back around her. Because the soup was heavy with cream and fat, it didn’t dissolve instantly in the water; it held its density, like a bubble of oil.

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