Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-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.

"Where is he?"

"The Throne Room," Bastion said. "He cannot leave the pedestal."

Ophelia stood up. "Right. Let’s get this over with."

She marched out of the hall. Primrose, the Warlords, and the kids scrambled to follow, abandoning their dessert.

They entered the ruined Throne Room. The moonlight filtered through the shattered roof.

The massive statue of the First Lion sat in the shadows. Its ruby eyes were dim.

Ophelia walked right up to the statue. She crossed her arms. She looked tiny next to the twenty-foot stone beast.

"Well," Ophelia said loudly. "I’m back. You going to try and squash me again, Leo?"

The statue rumbled. The stone cracked as the spirit within stirred. The ruby eyes began to glow a faint, tired red.

"OPHELIA."

The voice wasn’t the booming roar that had threatened Primrose. It sounded... old. Weary.

"YOU LOOK... THE SAME."

"And you look stiff," Ophelia shot back. "You turned yourself into a rock? Really? You always were dramatic."

The statue was silent for a long moment. The tension in the room was thick. Rajah had his hand on his sword.

"I THOUGHT YOU RAN," the Ancestor admitted. His voice was heavy with a thousand years of regret. "I THOUGHT YOU ABANDONED US."

"I know what you thought," Ophelia said, her voice dropping. "You shouted it loud enough. ’Traitor.’ ’Thief.’ You chased my clan into the shadows."

"I WAS WRONG."

The words echoed in the large room.

Primrose gasped. Emperor Leonis looked shocked. The First Lion never admitted fault.

"I SAW THE SILVER SOVEREIGN," the statue continued, looking at Primrose. "I SAW THE PURIFICATION. YOU DID NOT STEAL THE HEART. YOU BECAME THE SHIELD."

The massive stone head lowered, creaking as it bowed toward Ophelia.

"I AM SORRY, LITTLE FOX."

Ophelia stared at the statue. Her tails twitched. She looked like she wanted to yell. She looked like she wanted to cry.

Instead, she sighed.

"You’re a stubborn old cat," Ophelia said. She walked up and patted the statue’s giant paw. "But you kept the Empire standing while I was sleeping. So... I guess we’re even."

She turned around, looking at the assembled family.

"Besides," Ophelia grinned. "I’m alive. You’re a rock. And I just ate the best meal in history. I think I won."

"DO NOT PUSH IT," the statue grumbled.

"Come on," Ophelia waved to the group. "I want seconds. And I want to know why that Tiger," she pointed at Rajah, "is looking at the Lion Princess," she pointed at Leonora, "like she is the dessert."

Rajah and Leonora both froze.

"I do not!" Rajah protested, his face turning purple.

"Oh, please," Ophelia laughed, linking arms with Primrose. "I’ve been awake for six hours and even I can see the sexual tension. It’s thicker than that gravy you made."

She marched them back toward the dining hall.

"So," Ophelia asked Primrose. "Tell me about this ’Wedding Cake’ concept. Is it large? Does it have rum?"

Primrose laughed, the sound echoing through the palace halls.

"Yes, Grandma. It has rum."

"Excellent," Ophelia declared. "I’m going to like this century."