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.]