Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 41: The Sunless City

The first thing I noticed was the silence.

It wasn’t the peaceful silence of the daycare after the cubs went home. It was a heavy, crushing silence. The kind you feel at the bottom of a very deep well.

The second thing I noticed was the cold. It seeped into my bones, a damp, pervasive chill that made my teeth chatter before I even opened my eyes.

I tried to move my arms to rub warmth into them. I couldn’t.

Clink. Ratt-le.

My eyes snapped open.

I wasn’t dead. I wasn’t in my old apartment eating instant noodles.

I was lying on a slab of cold, smooth black rock. And my wrists were shackled to the wall.

The shackles weren’t made of rusty iron like Grieve’s cage. They were carved from a heavy, iridescent material that felt like volcanic glass, cold and unbreakable.

I sat up, my soaked festival dress clinging uncomfortably to my skin. I looked around.

Okay, Primrose. Gamer brain on. Assess the environment.

I was in a cell. But it wasn’t a normal dungeon. Three walls were solid, carved rock that shimmered with natural veins of blue and green ore.

The fourth wall—the door—wasn’t bars. It was a shimmering, translucent curtain of water.

I reached out a hand toward it.

ZAP.

A stinging jolt of cold energy hit my fingertips. I yanked my hand back.

Right. Magic water-wall. Noted.

I looked past the barrier. And my breath caught in my throat.

I wasn’t just underwater. I wasn’t in some bubbly, cartoon Atlantis.

I was in a colossal air pocket deep beneath the sea floor. A cavern so vast I couldn’t see the ceiling, only distant, glittering stalactites that hung like inverted mountains.

Below me lay a city.

It wasn’t built. It was grown. Structures rose from the cavern floor, spun from glowing, bioluminescent coral in shades of electric blue, deep violet, and seafoam green. Bridges woven from thick, shimmering kelp—that famous dragon-yarn silk—connected spire to spire.

There was no sunlight here. The entire city was lit by its own natural glow, casting long, strange shadows. It was beautiful. It was alien. And it was utterly terrifying.

This is the Jiaoren Kingdom, I realized, shivering. The Sunless City.

I remembered the lore. They were the weavers of the deep. They didn’t just live in the water; they manipulated it, spun it, built with it.

And they hated land-dwellers.

A shadow fell over my water-door.

A guard approached. He had a long, powerful tail covered in scales that shifted from indigo to silver. He wore armor crafted from sharkskin and carved shell, and held a spear tipped with jagged obsidian. His face was sharp, beautiful, and utterly cold.

He looked at me like I was a particularly disgusting piece of seaweed that had drifted in.

"It wakes," the guard said. His voice was melodic but hard, echoing strangely in the damp air.

"I have a name," I rasped, my throat raw from the salt water. "Primrose. I am a citizen of the Empire."

"You are flotsam," the guard corrected. "Trespassing in the Deep Courts."

"I didn’t mean to trespass," I tried to explain, pulling against the glass shackles. "I was kidnapped. I fell into the current. I just want to go home."

The guard didn’t even blink.

"The King will decide your fate, Land-Walker. Until then... try not to die. It makes the water unclean."

He turned and swam away—literally swam through the air outside my cell, the humidity was so high—leaving me alone in the glowing dark.

I slumped back against the cold rock wall.

I had survived the Toad. I had survived the drowning.

But now I was a prisoner at the bottom of the world, at the mercy of a King who hated my kind.

I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing the shop. The smell of cinnamon. The sound of Vali yelling at Rurik.

I’m alive, guys, I thought desperately, hoping the sentiment could somehow travel miles upward through the crushing ocean. Don’t give up on me. Because I’m not giving up yet.

Hard Mode just unlocked a new level. And it was freezing down here.

Day 4 of Operation: Waiting for Prim.

If you walked past the Little Whiskers Daycare a week ago, you would have smelled cinnamon, heard laughter, and felt a sense of peace.

If you walked past it today, you would hear shouting, smell burning (followed by aggressive cleaning magic), and feel an aura of intense, military-grade stress.

The sign on the door had been updated by Jasper.

OPEN FOR BUSINESS.

Menu: Limited. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Refunds: Negotiable (If you dare).

Management: The Pack.

Inside, it was a war zone.

"TOO MUCH FORCE!" Luna shrieked, waving a wooden spoon.

General Rajah Khanda froze. The massive Tiger Lord was covered head-to-toe in flour. He was currently punching a ball of dough like it was an enemy combatant.

"I am kneading!" Rajah defended, wiping sweat from his forehead (and leaving a flour streak). "The recipe said to ’work the dough’! I am working it into submission!"

"You’re killing the yeast, General!" Luna groaned, adjusting her apron. It was Primrose’s spare apron, tied tight to fit her smaller frame. "You have to be gentle! Fold it! Don’t concuss it!"

Luna had become the de-facto Head Chef. She had spent enough time watching Primrose to know the basics, and unlike the Warlords, she didn’t try to solve culinary problems with violence or money.

"Move," Lord Rurik Jaeger grunted, shouldering Rajah aside. Rurik was holding a meat cleaver that looked suspiciously like a modified battle-axe. "The meat is prepped. I have cubed the ham. Precision cuts."

Luna looked at the pile of ham. It was... mostly cubed. Some of it was pulverized.

"Good job, Lord Rurik," Luna sighed, wiping her hands. "Just... try not to glare at the oven. It won’t bake faster if you intimidate it."

"It is taking too long," Rurik growled, staring at the glass door of the oven as if challenging the heat to a duel.

At the counter, Archduke Cassian Argentis sat on a stool that was too small for him. He was wearing his finest silk robes (now dusted with sugar) and inspecting a gold coin with a jeweler’s loupe.

A terrified Squirrel-kin mother stood before him, trying to buy a single muffin for her child.

"The currency is acceptable," Cassian announced, dropping the coin into the till. "However, looking at your fiscal trajectory... have you considered investing in a high-yield savings account for the child? Buying muffins daily is financially irresponsible."

"I... I just want a snack," the mother squeaked.

"Here," Jax slid a muffin across the counter, flashing a charming grin. "Ignore the Snake. He thinks fun is tax-deductible. Enjoy the muffin, ma’am."

As the mother fled (happily), Cassian narrowed his eyes at the thief. "You gave her the ’extra-chocolate’ one. That lowers our profit margin by 0.4%."

"It raises customer satisfaction by 100%," Jax winked. "Trust me, Archduke. Happy customers come back. Scared ones call the guards."

Duke Lucien Crepusci was nowhere to be seen. But every time a crumb hit the floor—zip—a shadow would snatch it up and deposit it in the trash.

The shop was spotless. Terrifyingly spotless.

---

The Junior Search Party took their roles very seriously.

Vali was the Foreman. He marched between the kitchen and the front, holding a clipboard (which he couldn’t really read, but it looked official).

"Table Four needs napkins!" Vali barked. "Table Two is crying! Deploy the cookies!"

Arjun sprinted to Table Two, holding a plate of Luna’s slightly-burnt-but-edible cookies. "Tactical treat delivery!"

Jasper sat next to Cassian, calculating their burn rate. "If Luna continues to burn 20% of the biscuits, we will be in the red by Tuesday."

Silas was the Quality Control. He sat on a high stool, tasting everything Luna made. If he nodded, it was sold. If he frowned, Rurik ate it (as punishment for bad chopping).

And Clover?

Clover was the Greeter.

She sat by the door with her safety rock. Every time a customer came in, she looked up with big, watery olive eyes.

"Welcome," she whispered. "Please buy a bun. The money is for Primrose."

It was a devastating sales tactic. Customers bought five buns just to make the sad bunny smile.

---

Around noon, the rush died down. The team collapsed.

Rajah slumped against the refrigerator. "Cooking is... harder than war. My arms are tired."

Rurik was eating a rejected burnt biscuit. "Hmph. It lacks... soul."

Luna leaned against the counter, exhausted. Her hair was messy, her nose had a smudge of flour, and her arms ached.

"I don’t know how she did it," Luna whispered. "Every day. Alone. With all of you... helping."

"She is exceptional," Cassian admitted, rubbing his temples. "I underestimated the labor cost of a simple muffin."

Jax walked over to Luna. He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket (likely stolen) and gently wiped the flour off her nose.

"You’re doing great, Carrots," Jax said softly. "The cookies are edible. No one died. That’s a win."

Luna leaned into his touch, too tired to be shy. "Thanks, Jax. But... it’s not the same. The dough feels wrong. The oven feels cold."

She looked at the empty apron hook where Primrose’s main apron used to hang.

"We’re just... keeping the seat warm," Luna murmured.

Vali walked over. He looked at the tired adults. He looked at the slightly lopsided cakes in the display case.

"It’s good enough," Vali declared firmly. "We hold the line. Tomorrow... we try to make the soup."

Rurik choked on his biscuit. "Soup? That involves... liquids. And boiling."

"We can do it," Vali said, his eyes fierce. "Because if we stop... then she really is gone."

The bell jingled. A new customer walked in.

Rurik stood up, grabbing his cleaver. Rajah slapped the dough. Cassian straightened his spine. Luna grabbed her spoon.

"Welcome to Little Whiskers!" Vali roared. "Sit down and eat! Gently!"

They were a disaster. But they were open.