The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

"Actually," he said, voice low but steady, "I prefer to rest here, amidst these whispers of the past."

He lowered himself onto a cushion of moss-woven cloth that unfurled at once, as if the floor anticipated his wish. One drifting lantern dipped, casting soft light over the pages nearby.

As the priestesses' footsteps receded, Mikhailis leaned back, gaze tracing the slow rhythm of shifting shelves. The faint flutter of pages sounded like a distant shore. He exhaled, letting the layered hum of memory settle over him.

Closer, he thought, eyelids half-closing. Closer to the deeper threads of this world— and, perhaps, to the knots hidden inside my own.

He sat quietly, lost in thought, feeling for once that he was closer to unraveling the deeper threads of this world—and perhaps, himself.

Mikhailis twiddled the slim glass vial between his fingers, its contents swirling faintly with a violet shimmer. The vial made a soft clink as it tapped against his knuckle. His gaze flicked toward the shelves again—some still shifting ever so slightly as the wind moved through the breathing library. He leaned forward a little, peering at the closest text, one with a cover like pressed bark and letters etched in shimmering root-sap.

The two priestesses, Talyra and Nessa, lingered nearby, neither leaving as they initially said. Instead, they exchanged glances, then took seats across from him on the same sprawling cushion that fanned out from the floor like a soft bloom of moss and silk.

Perhaps they were told to keep watch. Or… maybe they were curious.

The Saintess had bowed gracefully, hands pressed together at her chest, and spoken gently before leaving, "Please rest here, Prince Mikhailis. The Tree stirs slowly, and I will return when it breathes anew." Her voice had held a note of warmth he hadn't expected.

Now, without her presence, the atmosphere eased. The pressure of ancient prophecy gave way to quiet wonder. Mikhailis let out a soft breath, reclining slightly with one hand still toying with the vial, the other gently brushing over a worn folio. The look in his eyes remained sharp, calculating—yet softened by a flicker of curiosity, a boyish glint that emerged when something truly caught his attention.

"This place is something else," he muttered aloud, more to himself than anyone. "Like walking into a forest that remembers everything you've ever forgotten."

Talyra chuckled softly. "That's how many describe it… though most do not seem to enjoy it as much as you."

He glanced up with a crooked grin. "Well, my bedroom doesn't rearrange itself with air currents. Bit jealous, actually."

Nessa laughed—a soft, elegant sound—and covered her mouth too late to hide it. "You are… not what I expected."

"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You imagined a stiff noble with twelve rings, gold-plated boots, and a stick up his royal backside?"

Talyra's lips twitched. "Something like that."

"Shame. I left the stick at home today." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave them a mock-solemn nod. "A conscious decision. I've heard they make the Tree uncomfortable."

That got a full laugh out of both women, their veils swaying slightly as they relaxed.

"But really," Mikhailis added, smile lingering, "I didn't come here to impress anyone with titles. Half of those were made up by the palace just to pad out my intros."

Nessa tilted her head. "Then why did you come?"

He shrugged, holding up the vial. "Curiosity. And maybe because I wanted to understand something no one else seems to."

Talyra's gaze dropped to the glass in his fingers. "Is that… something important?"

He opened his mouth to answer with some clever remark—then paused.

Because at that moment, Nessa, still chuckling from one of his jokes, bumped lightly into him as she moved to sit closer, her hand brushing his arm. The vial slipped from his fingers, hit the edge of the cushion—

tink

And rolled.

Then—

crack

"Oh, shit."

The soft pop of glass breaking was barely audible. A tiny hiss followed, like a whispered exhale, and a puff of violet mist rose, curling into the air.

Mikhailis froze.

The two priestesses blinked, confused.

Internally, his brain screamed.

No no no no—

A flash of memory blazed through his mind.

—Back in his personal workshop with Estella and Rhea. Rhea rolling her eyes, Estella giggling behind her teacup as he held up a flask.

"An aphrodisiac?" Estella had asked, blushing to her ears.

"For… testing purposes," he had said, far too quickly. "Scientific. Imagine the sales numbers if the formulation works. I call it—uh—Velveteen Vigor."

Rhea: "You're a menace."

Estella: "You're a genius."

And now…

He was staring at the shattered vial on the floor of an ancient, sacred library, watching the gas curl upward like a mischievous ghost.

T-thankfully it was only a micro-dose…

He held his breath for a second. Then two.

Nothing happened.

No racing heart. No flushed cheeks. No sudden need to throw decorum out the window.

He slowly exhaled in relief.

Huh. Not affected… Did I build immunity?

He glanced over to the priestesses.

They were fine. Calm.

He allowed himself to breathe again, deeply this time.

"Ah… just an old sample," he said casually, waving a hand through the air. "Low-risk. Minor potion residue. Shouldn't be anything to worry about."

The priestesses didn't seem alarmed, just mildly puzzled.

Nessa smiled gently. "You carry strange vials for a prince."

Mikhailis smiled thinly. "Wouldn't be fun otherwise."

They moved to sit again, this time around a curved reading bench carved into the floor near a pile of ancient tomes that looked only lightly used. Mikhailis settled between them—only realizing a moment later that the cushions were narrower than expected. Their robes brushed his sleeves, and Talyra's shoulder was lightly against his. Nessa's leg crossed over near his, and she adjusted her seat with the soft rustle of fabric.

Well… this was a development.

Still, he played it cool. "So," he said brightly, leaning back and tossing an arm lazily behind his head, "if I asked the library for a scroll on forgotten seduction rituals, would I be escorted out, or promoted?"

Nessa choked on a laugh.

Talyra pressed her fingers to her lips, giggling. "Depends if you ask nicely."

He gave them an exaggerated bow of his head. "Then I shall be extremely polite. Your wisdom on the matter would be invaluable."

They laughed again, more freely this time. Talyra leaned a little more against his arm, her smile warm. "You're dangerous."

"Only if I get bored," he said, giving her a wink.

They exchanged glances—small, secretive. A flicker of blush had begun to creep into both of their cheeks, subtle at first.

He tilted his head. "Are the cushions warmer than usual? Or is it just the company?"

Nessa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, visibly flustered. "You're terrible."

"And you're both still sitting here," he countered, smirking.

A beat passed. Then Talyra shifted slightly, her voice quieter. "Your Highness…"

The tone caught him.

Mikhailis turned.

Both women were looking at him now—not with the sharp-eyed formality of priestesses, but with something softer, warmer. Their cheeks held a faint flush, eyes slightly unfocused.

He blinked once.

Twice.

Then mouthed, oh no.

His brain caught up.

The aphrodisiac.

I really did build immunity.

And they… hadn't.

Mikhailis rose slightly from the cushion, adjusting his robe with a casual tug. "Hmm. I think I'm… very interested in—whoa."

Before he could finish the sentence or fully stand, he felt gentle hands press against his chest and shoulder.

"You need to rest," Talyra said, her voice soft but insistent.

"Yes, don't strain yourself," Nessa added, gently pushing at his side.

Their hands moved with noble intent.

But landed entirely in the wrong places.

Their palms pressed into the folds of his robe—directly where a very distinct, very undeniable shape had formed. The unintended contact lasted a single second.

But it was more than enough.

"Ah—!" Nessa squeaked, jerking her hand back like she'd touched a hot kettle.

Talyra froze mid-motion, her fingers still brushing the fabric, eyes wide as they trailed down—and down further.

Even under the ceremonial folds of moonleaf and velvet, it was… unmistakable.

The two priestesses blinked in unison, cheeks rapidly reddening, expressions hovering somewhere between awe and alarm.

"T-that's…" Nessa murmured, her voice suddenly very small.

"…definitely not a scroll," Talyra finished, her words barely audible.

Mikhailis coughed, straightened, and swiftly took one elegant step back. His hand moved almost instinctively to clasp the edge of his robe, not quite hiding anything—but giving him a moment to recover his composure.

"It's… fine, it's fine," he said quickly, forcing a smile. "I'm far more interested in the books. Books. Yes. Very thrilling things, books."

He pivoted, eyes flicking toward the nearest breathing shelf as if it were the most fascinating thing in the entire realm. "Did you know this entire section is coded with lunar harmonics? Truly a marvel of sacred engineering."

Behind him, the girls still hadn't moved. Their silence was louder than any incantation.

Mikhailis cleared his throat, voice a notch deeper, more serious. "Really though. Inside the shrine… we should be careful. It's sacred ground."

Neither of them responded immediately. He could almost hear the questions forming in their minds—the same kind of stunned, disbelieving questions his former academy roommates used to whisper in the baths.

He resisted the urge to rub his temples.

Okay. Crisis avoided. Kind of. Probably.

Still… something felt off. Unusual.

He waited for Rodion's dry interjection, a sarcastic remark, a warning chime, anything.

But the AI remained completely silent.

No commentary. No scans. No updates.

That more than anything made Mikhailis uneasy.

Rodion?

Nothing.

He exhaled slowly and turned back toward the girls. They were seated now, carefully keeping their hands to themselves. Still flushed, still watching him—but saying nothing.

Mikhailis decided to pretend the last thirty seconds hadn't happened.

"So," he said, clapping his hands lightly, "any chance the Breathing Library has a section on ancient Silvarian architectural harmonics? I have a theory about the acoustics in the Tree's sublayers…"

Both priestesses blinked—then nodded, almost too quickly.

"Yes. That section is near the northeast curve," Talyra said, voice a bit too high.

"I'll… show you," Nessa added, rising a little too fast.

They walked beside him again, quieter now, steps a little more measured. But Mikhailis caught it—the occasional glance, the way they avoided meeting his eyes too long, or how Nessa's fingers twitched slightly when they brushed near his sleeve.

He kept his tone light and his pace relaxed. But internally?

He was very alert.

The aphrodisiac… even if diluted… even if unintended… had left its mark.

And he didn't know yet how the Grove would respond.

Or what kind of echo this accident might cause.