The Hungry Princess Who Cooked Up a Kingdom

The moment her parents kicked the royal bucket, Princess Eleanor had one pressing question—not about state affairs, not about ruling wisely, but about dinner. With no one left to tell her what to eat, how much to eat, or which fork to use for salad (which, frankly, she never liked anyway), she saw an opportunity.

So, in an act of rebellion and terrible decision-making, she fired the entire royal kitchen staff.

Finally free, she rolled up her silk sleeves and prepared to cook for herself. There was only one small problem: she had no idea what she was doing.

She started simple—bread. It turned into a charred rock.

Soup? Grey sludge.

A roasted pheasant? It resembled a burnt shoe.

Day after day, meal after meal, everything she cooked turned into a tasteless, lumpy catastrophe. Even the palace mice refused to touch it. Despite adding aged wines, gold-plated cutlery, and fancy candles, the only thing she got out of it was hunger and heartbreak.

Her hair thinned, her gowns grew baggy, and her nails started breaking under the strain of stirring burnt porridge. A starving queen-to-be was a bad look. Something had to be done.

The Search for the Perfect Cook

Admitting defeat, Eleanor locked the palace kitchen and set off in search of a cook. But because she was still a spoiled princess at heart, she hired, fired, and occasionally executed anyone who dared serve her a dish that was anything less than perfect.

If the food was too spicy—off with their heads.
Too bland? Straight to the dungeon.
Too healthy? Treason.

She ate like a queen for a few days but kept ruining it by sending the cooks to the gallows faster than she could digest their meals. Eventually, word spread. No one wanted to cook for her anymore.

Desperate, she imported the finest foreign chefs, paying them obscene amounts of gold for their services. For a while, she dined like a goddess, even putting on a bit of royal plumpness.

That’s when disaster struck.

The neighboring king took one look at her empty treasury and realized she was broke. Without a second thought, he invaded, conquered her lands, and kicked her out of her own castle.

The Starving Princess

Eleanor, once lavishly pampered, was now homeless, broke, and very, very hungry.

She started begging for food, but most people recognized her as the princess who executed half the country’s chefs, so they offered her nothing but suspicious glares and stale breadcrumbs.

Hunger gnawed at her. She tried stealing.

She broke into kitchens, swiped pies cooling on windowsills, and raided smokehouses for sausages. But as with cooking, she was terrible at it.

She was caught trying to sneak into an inn’s pantry. The punishment? A swift hand amputation.

Just as the executioner raised his axe, a wealthy woman in red stepped forward, tossing a velvet purse of silver coins onto the table.

From Thief to Cook

The woman was the owner of the very inn Eleanor had tried to rob. Instead of letting her starve or become a one-handed beggar, she offered her a job as a servant.

And so, Eleanor spent her days sweeping floors, setting tables, and washing dishes, but most importantly—she learned how to cook.

At first, she burned everything. The head chef, a terrifying widow with arms like tree trunks, shouted, slapped wooden spoons against the counter, and threatened to turn her into soup stock.

But Eleanor learned.

She mastered the art of stirring without splashing, cutting without losing fingers, and kneading without cursing. Slowly but surely, she became a proper cook.

Then one day, fate came knocking.

The Return of the King

A huge party of nobles arrived at the inn for a three-day feast, including the very king who had stolen her kingdom.

He was miserable. Despite owning her land, he had one tragic problem—there were no decent chefs left. Thanks to Eleanor’s royal tantrums, most of the cooks had either fled, starved, or found safer employment as grave diggers.

So, when he took a bite of her roasted lamb with rosemary butter, he nearly wept with joy.

Desperate for a chef, he offered the innkeeper a mountain of gold in exchange for her best cook.

The innkeeper, unwilling to part with her beloved, foul-mouthed head chef, instead sold off Eleanor.

The princess-turned-kitchen-hand was marched back to her old palace—this time, not as its queen, but as its chef.

A Surprising Twist

For months, Eleanor cooked for the king, turning his meals into legendary feasts.

One day, he demanded to see the cook who had brought such joy to his taste buds. When she stood before him, he recognized her green eyes, her sharp nose, and her expression that screamed ‘I hate you’.

It was her kingdom he had stolen.

He could have had her executed on the spot, but she had saved him from a life of flavorless gruel, so instead… he married her.

And so, Queen Eleanor reclaimed her throne, not through war, strategy, or rebellion—but through perfectly seasoned roast duck and a flawless crème brûlée.

After that, she never set foot in the kitchen again.

The End.