Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 40: Taking Out the Trash

The underground cistern was quiet, save for the dripping of slime and the ragged, wheezing breaths of Marquis Grieve.

The Toad noble was lying in a heap of mud, his velvet suit ruined, his face swollen and purple from where the Wolf Lord had nearly taken his head off.

He groaned, trying to push himself up. His webbed hand slipped in the muck.

"My... my collection..." Grieve mumbled, spitting out a tooth. "I must... escape..."

Click. Clack. Click. Clack.

Footsteps echoed on the stone. Not the heavy, panicked boots of Warlords. These were precise, polished, terrifyingly calm footsteps.

Two figures emerged from the shadows of the tunnel.

Balthazar, the Wolf Butler, stood on the left. He was wearing a pristine black tailcoat and adjusting a pair of white gloves that remained miraculously clean despite the sewer air.

Alistair, the Snake Butler, stood on the right. He held a clipboard and a mana-lantern.

"Disgusting," Alistair noted, looking at the Marquis with the same expression one might use for a cockroach on a salad. "The Archduke was correct. The sanitation in this sector is appalling."

"Master Rurik left a mess," Balthazar sighed, looking at the unconscious Toad guards and the broken furniture. "He always forgets to bag the refuse."

Grieve squinted at them. "You... you are servants. Help me! I will pay you! I have gold!"

Alistair checked his clipboard. "Actually, according to the Imperial Bank update from five minutes ago... you have nothing. Your estates have been seized. Your accounts are frozen. Even the velvet on your back has been repossessed to cover legal fees."

Grieve paled. "What?"

"You are bankrupt, former Marquis," Alistair said coldly. "And you are under arrest for kidnapping, extortion, and—most unforgivably—ruining the Young Master’s dinner plans."

Balthazar snapped his fingers.

From the tunnel behind them, a squad of Shadow-Guards (courtesy of Duke Lucien) marched in. They didn’t carry handcuffs. They carried Iron Chains.

"No!" Grieve shrieked as they hauled him up. "I have rights! I am a noble!"

"You are a criminal," Balthazar corrected, his monocle glinting. "And you are going to the Iron Hold. The deepest cell. No water. No flies."

"And no window," Alistair added.

The guards dragged the screaming, thrashing Toad away into the dark.

Balthazar watched them go, then pulled a bottle of strong cologne from his pocket and sprayed the air.

"Shall we inform the Masters that the trash has been collected?" Balthazar asked.

"Let them mourn first," Alistair replied, turning off his lantern. "We have a bakery to clean."

The two butlers turned and walked away, leaving the sewer empty, silent, and finally... toad-free.

Ten minutes after the Butlers departed, a figure stumbled into the sewer entrance, flanked by two very unhappy Royal Guards.

It was Princess Leonora, still wearing her crooked fox mask and clutching the half-eaten Moon-Cake Rajah had given her like a holy relic.

"General?" Leonora whispered, peering into the dark, smelly tunnel. "General Khanda? Are you... conquering the sludge?"

She had lost them in the crowd when the fireworks went off. She had spent the last hours trying to track the massive Tiger by following the trail of terrified civilians, which eventually led her here.

"Princess," one of her guards pleaded, holding a scented handkerchief to his nose. "Please. The General is gone. The smell is... treasonous. We should return to the Palace."

"Nonsense!" Leonora adjusted her mask. "A warrior wife does not fear humidity! If Rajah is down here fighting evil, I shall... offer tactical support!"

She took a brave step into the muck.

Squish.

She looked down. She had stepped in a puddle of green slime left behind by the Toad guards.

"Ew," Leonora squeaked, her ’Warrior Princess’ persona cracking instantly.

Just then, a Shadow-Guard (one of the ones left behind to secure the scene) materialized from the wall. He didn’t bow. He just pointed a finger back toward the surface.

"Closed," the Shadow rasped. "Clean up in progress. Civilians leave."

Leonora bristled. "I am not a civilian! I am Her Royal Highness—"

The Shadow-Guard just stared at her.

Leonora coughed. "Right. Well. Inform the General that... that the ’Fox Citizen’ secured the rear perimeter! And... and found no threats!"

She spun around, nearly tripping over her own cloak.

"We are leaving!" she commanded her guards. "Our work here is done!"

As she scurried back to the fresh air, clutching her Moon-Cake, she whispered to herself.

"I hope the Lady Chef is okay. She makes good snacks. And if she’s gone... Rajah will be sad."

Leonora stopped. She looked at the moon above the city.

"I command you not to be dead, Baker Woman," she ordered the sky. "That is a Royal Decree."

The Thistle Manor (Or what was left of it)

While the "Little Whiskers Daycare" was bustling with chaotic love and determination, the Thistle Manor was filled with cold drafts and whining.

Since Archduke Cassian had shattered their credit rating, the servants had quit. The magical heating was turned off. The larder was empty.

Baron Lupin Thistle sat in his armchair, wrapped in three blankets, sneezing violently. His face was still swollen from his magical hives.

"Ungrateful," Lupin wheezed, blowing his nose on a curtain (since they were out of handkerchiefs). "She’s ungrateful! We raised her! We fed her... occasionally! And now? She vanishes!"

Lady Petunia was pacing the floor, wearing all her jewelry at once because it was the only way to keep it safe from debt collectors.

"It is a stunt!" Petunia screeched. "I tell you, Lupin, that girl has a flair for the dramatic! ’Oh, look at me, I’ve been kidnapped by a Marquis!’ She did it to embarrass us!"

Cassia sat at the vanity, staring at her reflection in a cracked mirror. "Mother, if she’s dead... does that mean I’m the prettiest daughter by default?"

"You were always the prettiest, pumpkin," Petunia snapped. "But that’s not the point! The point is—if she is gone, who is sending the stipend?"

Barnaby was lying on the rug, staring at the ceiling. His stomach growled loudly.

"I went to the bakery," Barnaby moaned. "I thought... since she’s gone, maybe I could just take the cakes. I am the heir, right?"

Lupin perked up. "Did you? Did you secure the assets?"

"No!" Barnaby wailed. "There was a Wolf at the door with a cleaver! And a Snake told me if I touched a muffin, he would calculate the value of my organs and sell them to cover the cost!"

Petunia gasped. "The Warlords! They are guarding her shop? Why?"

"They think she’s coming back," Barnaby sniffled. "They looked... scary. The Tiger broke a table just by leaning on it."

Lupin sank deeper into his blankets. "This is a disaster. If those men loved her... and they find out we treated her... poorly..."

He gulped.

"They will come here," Lupin whispered. "They will blame us."

"Don’t be silly," Petunia scoffed, though her hands trembled. "We are her family! We are the victims! Surely, if she drowns, the Archduke will give us a ’Bereavement Payment’?"

She looked at her husband with greedy eyes.

"Lupin! Write a letter to the Archduke! Tell him we are devastated! Tell him we need... compensation for our emotional distress!"

"And food," Barnaby added.

"And a new mirror," Cassia chimed in.

Lupin reached for a quill with a shaking hand. "Yes. Yes. Emotional distress. We are... heartbroken."

He sneezed again.

Outside, the wind howled. The Thistle family didn’t care that Primrose was gone. They didn’t care that she was cold, or scared, or lost in the deep.

They only cared that their meal ticket had stopped printing.

And they had no idea that if Rurik, Rajah, Cassian, or Lucien ever read that letter... emotional distress would be the least of their problems.