Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 42: The Hail Mary and The Audit of Wrath

The Little Whiskers Daycare (After Hours)

The "Closed" sign was flipped. The cubs were asleep in the nap room (guarded by a very tired Vali).

The Four B.A.D.s were cleaning up.

General Rajah was sweeping the floor with a broom that looked like a toothpick in his hands.

Lord Rurik was aggressively scrubbing a baking tray.

Duke Lucien was counting the remaining spoons.

Archduke Cassian was at the counter, balancing the day’s ledger. He was tired. There was flour on his nose. He missed Primrose with an ache that felt like a physical wound.

Knock. Knock.

A royal courier stood at the glass door, looking terrified to interrupt four Warlords doing chores.

"Delivery," the courier squeaked. "For Archduke Argentis. Marked ’Urgent’."

Cassian sighed. He waved a hand, unlocking the door with a pulse of magic. "Enter. Deposit. Leave."

The courier dropped a letter on the counter and fled into the night.

Cassian picked it up. It was sealed with the crest of a Wilted Rose. The Thistle Family.

"What do those parasites want?" Rurik grunted, not looking up from his scrubbing.

"Likely an inquiry about their missing daughter," Rajah suggested, leaning on his broom. "Perhaps they have joined the search?"

Cassian broke the seal. He unfolded the parchment.

He read it once.

He read it twice.

The temperature in the bakery dropped twenty degrees. Frost began to creep across the wooden counter. The ink on the page started to hiss.

"Cassian?" Lucien whispered from the shadows. "You are freezing the muffins."

Cassian didn’t speak. He laid the letter flat on the counter.

"Read it," Cassian hissed.

The other three gathered around.

To His Grace, The Archduke,

We write to you in this hour of unparalleled tragedy. Our hearts are shattered by the disappearance of our... beloved... Primrose. The emotional distress is overwhelming. My wife has fainted three times. My son is wasting away from grief (and hunger).

Since Primrose was our primary provider, her absence has left us in a precarious state. We are certain that a man of your generosity understands that ’Bereavement Compensation’ is standard.

Please forward 50,000 Gold Coins to the attached account to cover our suffering. Also, a delivery of food would be appreciated. We prefer the high-grade roast beef.

Sincerely,

Baron Lupin Thistle

Silence.

Then, a sound like a cracking bone.

Rurik had snapped the metal baking tray in half with his bare hands.

"They want... money?" Rurik growled, his voice vibrating with a predator’s rage. "She is missing. She might be dead. And they want... roast beef?"

"I will crush them," Rajah stated calmly. He walked toward the door, reaching for his sword. "I will go to their manor. I will lift it off the foundation. And I will throw it into the sun."

"No," Cassian said.

Rajah stopped. "Why? They deserve pain!"

"Physical pain is temporary," Cassian said, his golden eyes glowing with a terrifying, cold light. He took off his sugar-dusted reading glasses and polished them slowly. "They are greedy. They are vain. They care only for status and gold."

Cassian smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was the smile of a Treasurer about to foreclose on a kingdom. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"If you hit them, Rajah, they become victims," Cassian purred. "But if I destroy them... they become nothing."

He snapped his fingers. Alistair, his snake-kin butler, materialized from the back room (where he had been organizing spices).

"Alistair," Cassian commanded. "Bring me the Red Ledger."

Alistair’s eyes widened. "The Red Ledger, sir? The ’Total Liquidation’ protocol?"

"Yes."

Cassian dipped a quill into a pot of red ink.

"They want compensation?" Cassian whispered, writing furiously. "Let us calculate their debts."

Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

"Item One: Baron Thistle took a loan from the Iron Bank in 348. Never repaid. With interest... that is the deed to the Manor."

"Item Two: Lady Petunia has outstanding tabs at every jeweler in the capital. I am buying those debts right now."

"Item Three: Barnaby Thistle has gambling debts in the Lower District. I am calling them in."

Cassian slammed the quill down.

"Alistair. Execute Order 66-B."

"The order is?" Alistair asked, pen poised.

"Foreclosure," Cassian declared. "Immediate eviction. Seize the furniture. Seize the jewelry. Seize the silk off their backs. Leave them with nothing but the clothes they are wearing and a single loaf of stale bread."

"And their Title?" Lucien asked softly.

"Revoked," Cassian said, signing his name with a flourish. "I am freezing their noble status pending an investigation into ’Child Neglect and Financial Fraud’. They are commoners as of... right now."

Rurik grinned, a wolfish, savage expression. "Can I be the one to deliver the eviction notice?"

"No," Cassian said, handing the parchment to Alistair. "Balthazar and Alistair will go. I don’t want you to kill them, Rurik."

Cassian looked at the Thistle letter one last time. He crumpled it up and tossed it into the oven incinerator.

"I want them to live," Cassian whispered. "I want them to be poor. I want them to work. I want them to know exactly how Primrose felt every single day she lived in that house."

He turned back to the counter.

"Now," Cassian said, his voice returning to business-mode. "Who moved the cinnamon? We have a bakery to run."

One Hour Later

Baron Lupin was waiting by the door, rubbing his hands together.

"The courier is back!" Petunia squealed. "Is it the gold? Is it the beef?"

The door burst open.

It wasn’t a courier.

It was Balthazar (Wolf Butler) and Alistair (Snake Butler), flanked by a squad of Repo-Goblins.

"Good evening," Alistair said, holding up a scroll that glowed with magical red light. "We are here to collect."

"Collect what?" Lupin stammered. "The compensation?"

"The debt," Alistair corrected.

Balthazar stepped forward. He picked up a Ming vase. "Seized."

He pointed to the rug. "Seized."

He pointed to Petunia’s necklace. "Seized."

"What is happening?!" Cassia screamed as a goblin took her mirror.

"You are being evicted," Balthazar explained politely. "The Archduke sends his regards. He also mentioned that if you require ’Roast Beef,’ the local workhouse is hiring dishwashers. They pay in scraps."

Alistair shoved them out the front door. The heavy oak doors slammed shut. A magical "CONDEMNED" sign appeared in glowing letters.

The Thistle family stood in the rain, shivering, holding nothing but a loaf of day-old bread.

"But..." Lupin wheezed. "We are family!"

"Correction," Alistair called from the other side of the door. "You were collateral."

Click. The lock turned.

And for the first time in their lives, the Thistles were truly on their own.

The Dungeon of the Deep

It had been seven days.

Seven days of staring at the same bioluminescent moss. Seven days of eating raw kelp paste (which was nutritious, but lacked texture). Seven days of shivering in a dress that was slowly disintegrating in the salt water.

I had tried everything.

I tried picking the lock with a fish bone. (The lock zapped me).

I tried befriending the guards. (They didn’t speak "Land-dweller").

I tried to dig out. (The floor was solid volcanic rock).

King Caspian de Maris had ignored me completely. To him, I was just ocean trash waiting to be discarded.

I sat on the cold stone slab, hugging my knees. My "Gamer" brain was running the simulations.

Option A: Wait for the Dads. (Too slow. They can’t find me down here).

Option B: Die of hypothermia. (Hard pass).

Option C: Play the Ace.

I remembered the only thing the merman king cares about is Prince Orion, his son.

I knew what the Prince had. In the game, it was called Pearl-Blockage. It was a magical malnutrition common in young Jiaoren who had lost a parent. Their grief hardened their magic, turning their tears into pearls inside their bodies before they could cry them out. It was painful, and eventually, fatal.

The cure wasn’t a potion. It wasn’t a spell.

It was Soup. Specifically, a warm, high-fat, comfort broth that melted the magical blockage.

I stood up. I walked to the water-wall. I didn’t flinch when it sparked.

"Guard!" I yelled, my voice raspy.

The Shark-kin guard swam over, looking annoyed. "Silence, Land-Walker."

"I have a message for the King," I said, gripping the edge of the stone. "Tell him... tell him I know why his son isn’t eating. And tell him I can fix it."

The guard laughed. "You? A dirt-walker? Fix a Royal?"

"Tell him," I hissed, channeling every ounce of my "Head Chef" authority. "Or when the Prince fades, you can explain to the King why you ignored the only person who offered a cure."

The guard stopped laughing.

The Royal Chambers

The King’s private quarters were a masterpiece of underwater opulence.

Mother-of-pearl walls. Imported white sand. Jellyfish-silk curtains.

King Caspian de Maris sat on a divan carved from giant clam shells and blue velvet.

He was breathtaking.

Pearlescent white hair.

Shimmering scales.

Seafoam silk robes.

A massive iridescent tail shifting between blue, violet, and silver.

Two mermaid maids massaged his shoulders.

"Your Majesty," a clicking voice echoed.

Caspian sighed. "Speak, Crustar. Make it brief."

The Crab-kin Chancellor bowed awkwardly. "The prisoner. The Land-Walker."

"Is she dead?" Caspian asked. "If so, flush the cell."

"No, Sire. She... she made a claim."

"They always do."

"She said... she knows what ails Prince Orion."

Silence.

Caspian’s hand froze.

"And," Crustar whispered, "she says she can help him."

BOOM.

Caspian’s eyes snapped open—stormy teal, glowing with magic.

Pressure.

Rippling water.

Curtains thrashing.

Sand spiraling.

Caspian slowly rose, tail coiling beneath him.

"A Land-Walker claims to know the secrets of the Royal Deep?"

"She was very insistent, Sire."

Caspian’s beautiful, dangerous smile appeared.

"Interesting."

He floated toward the exit.

"Bring her to the Prince’s Chamber."

Caspian paused, voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"But warn her, Crustar. If she lies..."

He bared his sharp teeth.

"...then she will learn what hopelessness truly means."