Cooking for a Cruel Queen

After the company's entire plane crashed and everyone on board died, we all found ourselves transported into a novel, tasked with winning the favor of a queen.

The system's icy voice issued its prompt: [The queen's male consort possesses a voice as melodious as a lark's.]

Our handsome secretary smiled with quiet confidence. That very day, he stationed himself along the queen's usual route and began to sing a modern pop song.

The queen was thoroughly pleased. She summoned him onto her carriage.

Our colleagues looked on with unconcealed envy.

"Looks like the bonus is his."

"How lucky. The queen is wealthy and beautiful. Not only does he get to spend the night with her, he'll make a fortune too."

But the next day, we saw the secretary hanging from a tree in the royal garden. His body was completely naked, riddled with arrows, his eyes still wide open in death. The voice he had once cherished was now a vessel crammed with thick, crude bamboo spikes.

At the same time, the system's cold notification sounded once more.

[All challengers' lives have entered the countdown. Please complete your conquest as soon as possible.]

The secretary was dead, and the atmosphere instantly turned razor-tense.

Our receptionist broke down in hysterical sobs. "Weren't we supposed to be winning the queen's favor? How can people actually die? I don't want to be a challenger anymore. I want to go home!"

The others were just as shaken, their faces drained of all color.

"Who said this would be easy? The queen was clearly pleased with him yesterday, and today he's dead. He didn't even last twenty-four hours. She's so brutal—how are we supposed to win her over?"

"It's impossible. We'll never make it back home. We might as well wait here to die!"

Only I remained as calm as before, replaying everything that had happened the day before.

The company had organized an overseas trip. Then the plane crashed. When we opened our eyes again, we had all transmigrated into a novel as challengers.

Our target was the story's female lead—the Queen Rara McKayla.

She ruled the world, peerlessly beautiful, yet notoriously mercurial. History recorded countless examples of her cruelty.

The system had given each of us ten health points, which could be exchanged for special advantages.

Every time we got close to the queen and earned her praise, our health points would increase.

Yet, the entire company had been assigned to the servant quarters as menial laborers. Forget winning her favor—we didn't even have the chance to see her.

The secretary, stroking his handsome face, was utterly confident he could win her over. When he learned that the queen's favorite consort possessed a beautiful singing voice, he spent all his health points at once to exchange for a heavenly one.

Yesterday at dusk, he truly did catch her attention. Before our very eyes, he was summoned onto her carriage. He hadn't gone more than a few steps before we all heard indescribable sounds coming from inside.

At eight that night, the secretary was still excitedly bragging in the company group chat.

[Oh my god, getting close to the queen really does increase your health points.

[She called me handsome just once, and I gained twenty points. She even kissed me. Now I'm up to sixty.]

Everyone was filled with envy, leaving message after message, hoping he wouldn't forget them once he rose to success.

But after a single night passed, the group chat was flooded with ninety-nine voice messages.

All of them were desperate pleas for help from the secretary, each more horrifying than the last.

"Help me, please! The queen says I love dancing, so she keeps making me dance. If I stop or fall even once, she cuts me with a knife—my arms, my thighs, my calves… It hurts so much. It hurts!

"The queen is a demon, a madwoman… Winning her favor is worse than dying!!!"

Listening to his recordings left everyone pale with terror.

And when we were ordered to clean the royal garden and saw his corpse lying there, we collapsed to the ground, unable to stand.

At that moment, the system's voice sounded again, eerily hollow.

[Current survivors: 35. Prize pool: 1.5 million.

[One health point sustains one day of life. Once depleted, the system will erase you.

[Please strive to complete the mission and return home alive.]

When the announcement ended, every face had gone deathly pale.

After witnessing the secretary's gruesome fate, many had intended to stay still and wait. But the system had left us no way out.

Approach the mercurial tyrant and die—or remain quietly where we were and die all the same.