The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Just like in the matter with Earl Vaelis, in this case, the Prince seem to be rather bolder. Even after several failures, he never back down.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a soft silvery glow over the royal gardens. Prince Laethor spared no expense. Lanterns lined the paths, delicate strings of flowers hung from branches, and the scent of fresh blooms mixed with the aroma of an extravagant array of dishes. The garden was transformed into a dream-like setting. Rare delicacies were spread across the large table, and a string quartet played an elegant tune, their melody drifting gently in the evening breeze. Laethor had orchestrated every detail perfectly. It was a feast meant to impress, to sway. To win.

Laethor stood in the center of it all, his eyes shining with confidence. He wore an elaborately embroidered coat of dark blue, each thread chosen to make him appear regal and distinguished. The nobles watching from a distance whispered among themselves, intrigued by the prince's bold gesture. He had made sure everyone knew about tonight, turning the dinner into a public spectacle of his relentless pursuit of the queen.

"Your Majesty," Laethor greeted, bowing low as Queen Elowen approached. His eyes glimmered, the charm practically oozing from his every move.

"I hope the setting meets your liking. Only the finest for Silvarion Thalor's cherished ruler."

Elowen nodded gracefully, her gaze scanning the elaborate setup before landing on Laethor. She gave him a small, polite smile.

"You certainly went to great lengths, Prince Laethor. It is... very impressive," she replied, her voice carrying the kind of calm warmth one might use in polite conversation. But beneath the gracious exterior, she was tired. Exhausted of the games Laethor insisted on playing.

"Your kindness in joining me here honors me beyond words," Laethor continued, gesturing for her to take her seat. He moved quickly to pull the chair out for her, his eyes watching her every move as if seeking some sign that his efforts were being appreciated.

Elowen thanked him and took her seat. She looked at the spread laid out before her: platters of rare fruits, intricately decorated dishes, all of it a testament to Laethor's desire to impress. She glanced across the table at the prince as he took his seat.

"It's rare to find such exquisite ingredients in this region," Laethor said, picking up a glass of wine and swirling it thoughtfully.

"I had them brought all the way from Serewyn, just for tonight. I wanted to share a taste of my homeland with you, Your Majesty."

Elowen nodded, her eyes meeting his.

"It seems you went through considerable effort for this dinner. I appreciate it, Prince Laethor." Her tone was warm, yet there was a distance there, a subtle coolness beneath her words that spoke volumes.

Laethor smiled, though a flicker of irritation flashed in his eyes for just a moment.

"I would do anything for our kingdoms to grow closer, Your Majesty. I feel that our destinies are intertwined—together, we could bring great prosperity to both our lands."

Elowen held his gaze, her expression unchanging.

"It is indeed noble to wish for prosperity," she said softly. She took a small sip from her glass, her eyes never leaving Laethor's face.

He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering as he spoke, though he ensured it was loud enough for the watching nobles to hear.

"You must understand, Your Majesty, that my heart beats for more than just politics. My desire to be by your side is not only for our kingdoms—it is personal."

Elowen remained composed, her eyes calm.

"I see," she replied.

"I thank you for your sincerity, Prince Laethor." She gave him a small smile, one that never quite reached her eyes.

Laethor continued speaking, his words flowing with charm and eloquence, but each line was met with Elowen's carefully measured responses—polite, gracious, yet ultimately distant. The nobles watching from afar murmured among themselves, some admiring the prince's tenacity, others recognizing the queen's unspoken rejection.

As the night wore on, the music played on, and the dinner continued, but no matter how many charming anecdotes Laethor shared or how many times he tried to steer the conversation to more personal matters, Elowen's demeanor remained unchanged. She was poised, diplomatic, and unwaveringly polite, yet she gave him nothing to latch onto, nothing that would imply she had been swayed by his elaborate display.

He thinks he can win me over with grandeur and spectacle, she thought, her gaze momentarily shifting to the moonlit garden.

But my kingdom and my people come first. Always. And he's not even as attractive as Mikhailis for the slightest.

Laethor, sensing the evening slipping through his grasp, forced another smile, his confidence starting to wane. He had expected at least a flicker of interest, a hint of a softening, but Elowen had given him none of that.

___

A few days later, Prince Laethor orchestrated an "attack." It was a scene straight out of a rather good-written play, but Elowen knew it the moment it began. She was traveling in a carriage to meet with allied nobles outside the city—a diplomatic visit that Laethor had somehow managed to insert himself into, insisting that his presence would demonstrate his dedication to Silvarion Thalor.

The convoy was moving along a forested path when suddenly, the clatter of hooves and shouts filled the air. A group of masked men burst from the trees, their weapons gleaming in the midday sun. The guards surrounding Elowen's carriage moved quickly to form a defensive line, their swords drawn as they prepared to protect the queen. It was all so theatrical, so clearly orchestrated. Elowen, sitting inside the carriage, barely had to think twice before recognizing the true source of the "attack."

"Stand firm! Protect the queen!" one of the guards shouted, their voice echoing through the woods. The mercenaries closed in, their movements aggressive but oddly restrained, as though they were careful not to inflict real harm.

And then, there was Prince Laethor. He burst onto the scene, his expression one of fierce determination, his blade flashing as he cut down one of the mercenaries with a flourish.

"Fear not, Your Majesty! I am here!" he called out, his voice loud and commanding, designed for the audience that was undoubtedly watching.

The skirmish continued for several more moments, Laethor's every move perfectly choreographed for maximum dramatic effect. He fought with just enough skill to appear impressive, though Elowen noted the way he seemed to be aware of every movement of the attackers, as though he knew their next steps before they took them. The mercenaries fell one by one, their "attack" faltering as Laethor "heroically" pushed them back, his sword cutting through the air in wide, showy arcs.

Finally, the last of the mercenaries turned and fled, disappearing into the forest as quickly as they had appeared. Laethor sheathed his sword, his chest rising and falling dramatically as he turned to face Elowen's carriage. He approached, his expression one of concern, his eyes filled with what he likely believed was heroic resolve.

Elowen stepped out of the carriage, her gaze meeting Laethor's as he approached.

"Your Majesty, are you unharmed?" he asked, his voice filled with what seemed like genuine worry.

"I am unharmed, thanks to your... intervention, Prince Laethor," Elowen replied, her voice even, though her eyes held none of the admiration he so clearly sought.

"It seems I owe you my thanks."

Laethor smiled, his eyes brightening.

"It was my honor, Your Majesty. I would face any danger for you."

Elowen inclined her head, her lips curving into a polite smile.

"You are very brave, Prince Laethor. I appreciate your efforts." Her words were courteous, but her tone remained distant, her gaze steady and unreadable.

Laethor seemed momentarily taken aback, as though he had expected more—some sign of gratitude, some hint of admiration. But Elowen offered none. She turned back towards her carriage, her demeanor calm and composed. "Shall we continue?" she asked, her voice carrying just enough authority to make it clear that the discussion was over.

Laethor forced another smile, nodding quickly.

"Of course, Your Majesty. As you wish."

____

From the comfort of his chamber, Mikhailis watched the entire charade unfold. The tiny lenses on the chimera ants gave him a clear view of the forest path, of Laethor's "heroics." He couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in amusement.

The prince really thinks he's in a fairytale, huh? Mikhailis thought, leaning back in his chair, his glasses reflecting the dim light of his room.

<Laethor appears to be putting on quite the performance,>

Rodion's voice echoed in his mind, the AI's tone carrying a hint of sarcasm.

"You can say that again," Mikhailis muttered, a grin spreading across his face.

"But this whole thing—it's pathetic. We can't let him keep this up. More like, I'm getting second-hand embarrassment watching this guy,"

<Agreed. His actions have thus far been overly theatrical, and his attempts to gain favor through staged events have been more detrimental than beneficial. Perhaps it's time to make a more impactful intervention?>

Mikhailis's grin widened.

"You know, Rodion, I think you're right. Let's show the prince what real drama looks like." He paused, his gaze shifting to the screen displaying the Elder Tree.

<The Elder Tree? Are you planning to involve the sacred site?> Rodion asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Oh, not really harm it," Mikhailis replied, his tone casual. "Just... make it look like the prince did. A little nudge to shift public opinion." He leaned forward, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

"Get the chimera ants ready. Let's give Laethor's next romantic gesture a bit of a twist."

____

The next evening, Laethor had planned yet another elaborate attempt to win Elowen's favor—a romantic gesture at the sacred Elder Tree. He had arranged for an entire ceremony, complete with gifts and vows, hoping that the symbolism of the ancient tree would somehow sway Elowen's heart. The tree, after all, was a symbol of Silvarion Thalor's history, its roots running deep into the heart of the kingdom.

But as Laethor and his entourage approached, something seemed... off. The bark of the Elder Tree had darkened in places, a strange substance clinging to its base. It looked as though the roots had been disturbed, sullied by something unnatural.

The nobles who had gathered murmured among themselves, their expressions turning from curiosity to disapproval. The Elder Tree was sacred, untouchable. To harm it—even inadvertently—was a grave offense.

"What... what is this?" Laethor muttered, his eyes widening as he took in the sight. He turned to his attendants, his voice lowering as he hissed, "How did this happen?"

But before his attendants could respond, a small voice echoed through the clearing—a child's voice, innocent and filled with concern.

"Mom! That person is sullying the Elder Tree!"

The murmur among the nobles grew louder, their disapproval now directed squarely at Laethor. The prince's carefully cultivated image began to crack, the expressions of those around him shifting from admiration to disdain.

Laethor tried to regain control, forcing a smile as he spoke.

"There must be some mistake. I would never—"

But the damage was done. The nobles continued to whisper, their eyes filled with suspicion and judgment. The sacred tree had been disturbed, and Laethor—in their eyes—was responsible.

___
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Back inside the castle, Mikhailis is still looking as he drink his hot tea.

The banquet that evening was tense, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken words. Laethor, seated at the high table, could feel the weight of the nobles' gazes on him, their whispers cutting through the air like knives. He tried to smile, to charm the courtiers as he always did, but it was clear that the events of the past day had left a mark.

From his chamber, Mikhailis watched, his grin widening as he saw the growing frustration on Laethor's face. "He's squirming," he muttered, his tone filled with satisfaction.

<It would seem that public sentiment has shifted,> Rodion replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. <Shall we push a little further?>

Mikhailis leaned back, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.

"Yeah, I think it's time. Let's see how far we can push before he cracks." He turned his gaze to the tiny figure of the Hypnoveil chimera ant, watching as it flitted towards Laethor's camp.

____

In the midst of the banquet, as the nobles conversed and Laethor tried to salvage his reputation, a sudden shout echoed through the hall. One of Laethor's advisors, his face pale and his eyes wide, stood abruptly from his seat, his voice filled with panic.

"What should we do?! If the Queen of Silvarion Thalor doesn't marry the prince, our kingdom's economy will collapse, and we're already in a cold war with the Technomancer League's faction, Vesperia!"

The room fell silent, every eye turning towards the advisor—and then towards Prince Laethor, whose face had gone pale. He opened his mouth, then closed it, his eyes darting around the room as he tried to form a response.

Elowen, her eyes sharp and her expression hard, addressed Laethor directly.

"I wonder if that is the truth, Your Highness?" she asked, her voice carrying through the hall, each word cutting through the silence.

Laethor stumbled over his words, his confidence faltering as he tried to regain control.

"Your Majesty, I... I assure you, there is no need for concern. The advisor misspoke—"

Elowen stood, her voice commanding as she spoke.

"We will search for the truth. I want envoys sent to both Serewyn and Vesperia to verify these claims." She turned her gaze to the gathered nobles, her eyes filled with resolve.

Earl Vaelis, known for his military prowess and unwavering loyalty, stepped forward without hesitation.

"I will lead the envoy, Your Majesty," he said, his voice steady, his gaze fixed on Laethor. Laethor clicked his tongue in frustration, his eyes narrowing as he watched Vaelis.

Vaelis gave Laethor a cold, assessing look, his voice calm but firm.

"Rest assured, Your Majesty, we will uncover the truth."

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with anticipation. And then, as if on cue, the grand doors of the banquet hall swung open, and Mikhailis entered, his usual lazy smile on his face. He looked around at the gathered nobles, then at Elowen and Laethor.

"Ah," he said, his tone light and almost amused, "Did I enter at the wrong time?"