The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Your Highness entered the banquet hall, his usual lazy smile plastered on his face as he scanned the gathered nobles. The tension was almost tangible, and the weight of dozens of curious eyes turned towards him the moment he crossed the threshold. He casually waved a hand, as if brushing away an invisible cloud of awkwardness.

"Did I crash the party at the wrong time? Should I have worn something more dramatic?" he said lightly, his gaze lingering on Elowen, who gave him a small nod, relief flashing briefly in her eyes.

Mikhailis then looked at Prince Laethor, noting the flicker of annoyance in his gaze that he tried—unsuccessfully—to hide.

He's already feeling the heat, Mikhailis thought with satisfaction.

He could read it in the subtle twitch of the prince's lips, the way his eyes narrowed for just a second.

Laethor, feeling cornered, plastered on a strained smile and addressed the nobles.

"Now, everyone, let us not get sidetracked. Tonight, we celebrate the strengthening bond between Serewyn and Silvarion Thalor." His words dripped with charm, but the earlier disruption had chipped at the carefully constructed facade.

He tried to speak with authority, to regain his grip over the gathered nobles, but the whispers that had spread through the hall spoke of doubts. His eyes briefly flicked to Your Highness, and the frustration behind his gaze deepened.

Mikhailis remained on the sidelines, looking like he was simply enjoying the evening. He swirled the wine in his goblet and watched as Laethor struggled to maintain his charm. Inside, though, he was reveling in the cracks appearing in the prince's composure.

You thought you could make everything perfect, but all it takes is one loose thread, and it all starts to unravel, he mused.

The spectacle was almost too entertaining.

The banquet then continues, the atmosphere slowly settling into a forced normalcy. The musicians resumed their melodies, and the servants moved gracefully between tables, refilling goblets and offering dishes. Conversations started to pick up again, though the tension from earlier lingered in the background. Nobles attempted to engage in polite discussions, their laughter sounding somewhat strained as they glanced occasionally towards Prince Laethor, who was visibly struggling to maintain his composure. The queen remained regal and composed, responding to the courtiers with her usual poise, but the undercurrent of what had transpired continued to hum beneath the surface, making the entire affair feel somewhat fragile.

When the banquet finally began to wrap up, Mikhailis made his move. He excused himself politely, leaving the crowd of nobles behind. He preferred the calmness of the royal garden, especially after an event so laden with underlying tension. The garden was a haven of quiet compared to the clamor of the banquet hall. The chirping crickets and the glow of the moonlight through the tall branches relaxed him. He settled on a bench, tipping his head back to gaze at the stars.

That was tiring. But I guess the objectives was achieved well.

<Mikhailis, I sense presence>

Rodion suddenly chimed in.

But Mikhailis already know.

The sound of footsteps broke through the stillness, and he turned slightly, watching as a figure approached from the shadows. Prince Laethor, accompanied by his bodyguard, strode into the garden, his face set in a grim expression. Mikhailis straightened a bit, one brow raised in curiosity.

"Well, well," Mikhailis said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

�"Here I thought your target was the queen, but it turns out it was little old me all along. Should I be flattered?"

Laethor didn't even bother with the pleasantries this time. The charm he so carefully maintained in public was nowhere to be found. His eyes were sharp, cold, and calculating. The mask had fallen. He let out a breath, the hint of irritation from earlier still present.

"You're sharp, Your Highness," Laethor admitted, his tone devoid of its previous warmth.

"You've probably figured out by now that the courtship—the dinners, the theatrics—were all part of a plan. But they were not my true goal."

Mikhailis cocked his head, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Then what is your true goal, Prince Laethor? Because all I've seen so far is a desperate attempt to win the queen's favor." He leaned back casually, crossing his arms.

"But I'm guessing there's more to it than that. As you even took the chance, of having the audacity of entering the royal garden of my private chamber without an invitation,"

Laethor stepped closer, his bodyguard lingering a few paces behind, her sharp eyes darting around as if ensuring they were alone. He sighed, and for a moment, the arrogance drained from his posture, replaced by something that almost resembled weariness.

"You're right. It was all just a performance," Laethor said, his voice quieter now, lacking its usual luster.

"I wanted to speak with you, Your Highness, because you're not like the others in this kingdom. You think differently, you understand things that others don't."

Mikhailis raised an eyebrow, feigning boredom.

"Oh? Flattery now? I'm starting to wonder what you're really after, Laethor." His tone was dismissive, but inside, curiosity sparked.

He's dropping the act entirely—must be something important.

Laethor's eyes sharpened as he continued.

"My kingdom—Serewyn—is the Kingdom of Mist and Eldritch Alchemy. We are struggling, Your Highness. Economically, we're dying. Our lands are infertile, and to make matters worse, we're in a cold war with the Technomancer faction of Vesperia. They're sabotaging us from the shadows. We need help, and I believe that help could come from you."

Mikhailis let out a soft chuckle.

"Me? You're putting quite a lot of faith in someone who's supposed to be nothing more than an arm candy consort, aren't you?"

Laethor's gaze hardened.

"Don't mock me. I know what you are capable of. I've done my research." He took another step forward, his tone lowering.

"I have scouts, Your Highness. They've seen the changes in Silvarion Thalor—the sudden boom in agricultural success. The prosperity that coincided with your arrival here. I know you're behind it. I need that expertise to save my kingdom."

Rodion suddenly chimed in.

<Be careful, Mikhailis. This man is desperate, and desperation can make people dangerous.>

Mikhailis stayed quiet, not replying to Rodion, but his mind shifted gears. He began to analyze Laethor like a puzzle, observing the details others might miss. The way Laethor's eyes darted between Mikhailis and his bodyguard, the subtle clench of his jaw, the tension in his posture—it all painted a picture of someone on the edge, someone who had taken a gamble and was hoping desperately for a win. The prince's words had stripped away any pretense, and now he stood there, openly admitting his kingdom's weakness. It was a bold move—but also a desperate one.

So that's the truth, Mikhailis thought, his gaze narrowing.

He needs help, but he can't make a formal request, or he'll expose his kingdom's vulnerability.

"This isn't just about winning over Elowen, is it?" Mikhailis said, finally breaking the silence.

"If you went through the official channels, it would look like Serewyn was on its knees, begging for aid. And that would make you weak. Instead, you come to me—someone without political power, someone you think you can manipulate without turning this into a diplomatic issue."

Laethor inclined his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Mikhailis.

"Exactly. I can't ask Silvarion Thalor for help. But I can ask you. And I'm willing to offer something in return. Our alchemy, our potions—they're some of the finest in the land. Eldritch alchemical products, things you won't find anywhere else. We could trade. Or if you want, I could make an official trade with Silvarion Thalor, but there would some of potions that perhaps you want to personally request."

<Laethor's offer seems intriguing, but do not underestimate the value of Serewyn's alchemical products, Mikhailis. Their potions are not easily found outside their borders. The typical trades only involve common potions of lower purity. However, their range is vast—many potions that even I would find fascinating to study. Protecting their rarity is a key to their nation's influence, much like how Silvarion Thalor guards its woodworking craft and the magical trees. Eldritch alchemy is their lifeline.>

Mikhailis tapped his chin, appearing to think it over.

"Interesting," he said slowly, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"You know, Your Highness, I have to admit, you're quite the negotiator. Coming all this way, putting on such a show, just to get me to talk to you. You must be desperate."

Laethor's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
Continue your journey with empire

"I am. My people are suffering, and I'll do whatever it takes to change that. You're right. I can't afford to fail."

Mikhailis stood, the lazy grin still in place, but his gaze was thoughtful.

"Well, I'll give you points for honesty. But if you think flattery and grand gestures are going to convince me to help you, you've got another thing coming." He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto Laethor's.

"You want my help? You're going to have to offer me something worthwhile. Something more than just pretty words."

Laethor smirked, a hint of his previous arrogance returning.

"I expected as much. I'm prepared to negotiate further—but know this, Your Highness, I won't stop until I get what I came here for."

Mikhailis let out a low laugh.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you." He turned, his posture relaxed, though his mind was already working through the possibilities.

"Stay out of trouble, Laethor. I'll let you know if I decide to help." He began to walk away, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder, his eyes sharp.

"And just so you know," he added, his tone dropping, "if you try anything underhanded, I'll make sure it backfires on you in ways you can't even imagine."

Laethor watched him, the tension in his posture evident. He didn't respond, and Mikhailis turned, walking away with a casual wave. As he moved further from the prince, his smile widened.

This is getting interesting.

The quiet night air filled the garden once more, the distant sound of the banquet fading away. Your Highness walked slowly, his thoughts swirling as he considered Laethor's words.

The Kingdom of Mist and Eldritch Alchemy is desperate for help. And they think I have the key. He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

"This is going to be more fun than I thought," he muttered to himself, already planning his next move.