The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

"Hey," he said softly, his voice losing its usual teasing tone.

"At the very least, I'm alive, okay? So don't make such a face."

Cerys froze under his touch, her wide eyes meeting his. For a moment, she looked conflicted, as though unsure of whether to scold him again or fall into his reassurance. Her hesitation broke when she leaned in carefully, her arms wrapping gently around his neck. She held him loosely, mindful of his injuries, her warmth pressing against him like an anchor.

Mikhailis smiled faintly, ignoring the pain shooting through his side. He let his hand drop from her cheek, his fingers brushing against her red hair.

Her embrace lingered for a moment before she pulled back, cheeks tinted red. She hesitated, her gaze flickering uncertainly between his eyes and his lips, as if waging an internal war. Finally, without warning, she leaned in again, brushing her lips softly against his. Mikhailis's eyes widened slightly, surprise sparking through him as the kiss deepened. Her lips were gentle yet desperate, her warmth and unspoken concern pouring into every careful movement. Her tongue flicked gently against his lips, coaxing a response he hadn't expected. There was no hesitation now—she was trying to say what words could not, to express the raw relief and lingering fear she carried.

Mikhailis blinked once before responding instinctively, his hand rising to rest lightly on her back. He let himself lean into the moment, ignoring the dull ache in his side. Her kiss was tender, almost trembling, as if she feared he might vanish again if she let go. He could feel it all—the worry, the guilt, and the relief she wasn't voicing—threading through her every motion.

Time stretched and blurred as her lips lingered against his, her fingers brushing gently along his bandaged shoulder as though to reassure herself he was still there. When she finally pulled back, her face was flushed a deep crimson, and her breaths came softly, uneven. Mikhailis's gaze lingered on her, his own thoughts momentarily quiet.

"You… you're wounded," she stammered, her voice catching as she cleared her throat awkwardly.

"You shouldn't… do anything too cheeky. Just lay down. I'll prepare breakfast."

A faint, lazy grin tugged at Mikhailis's lips.

"Fine, fine. You win. But…" He paused, his tone teasing as his eyes softened.

"You're blushing, Lone Wolf."

Cerys shot him a glare, though the red across her cheeks only deepened.

"Quiet, Your Highness."

With a flustered huff, she turned sharply toward the campfire, leaving him lying there with a crooked grin and a flutter of something unfamiliar lingering in his chest.

Mikhailis couldn't tear his eyes away as Cerys worked. First, she brought over a mist fish she'd already caught and cleaned earlier. He hadn't even noticed it until now. The fish was strange, its scales shimmering faintly like mist, its fins sharp and translucent. Cerys didn't hesitate. She sliced into it with precision, her knife moving swiftly as she portioned the meat and removed anything unusable.

She seasoned the fillets with an assortment of herbs she must have foraged, sprinkling them with practiced ease. Then, she skewered the pieces and set them over the campfire, rotating them carefully to ensure even cooking. Her movements were deliberate, controlled—the same focus she used when swinging her sword.

She's really something, Mikhailis thought, his lips curling into an appreciative smile.

He opened his mouth to comment, but Rodion's voice interrupted, buzzing softly through his glasses.

<Focus, Mikhailis. We need to discuss the anomaly.>

Mikhailis's expression shifted, his eyes sharpening slightly.

"Tell me everything," he muttered quietly, ensuring Cerys wouldn't hear.

<The Chimera Ant soldiers were observing from a hidden distance while you were unconscious. The woman's arrival coincided with the appearance of another entity—a creature resembling a mini-dragon. It attacked you before attempting to grow larger.>

"Grow?" Mikhailis echoed, frowning faintly.

<Correct. However, the woman eliminated the creature effortlessly before it could fully manifest. She then collected its remains and vanished.>

Rodion's voice hummed faintly in his ear, the matter-of-fact tone masking something Mikhailis couldn't quite place—unease.

Mikhailis's brow furrowed as Rodion continued.

<There is limited footage. The Chimera Ant soldiers were able to capture brief visual data before the woman became aware of their presence. I will display the clearest sequence.>

A faint flicker in his glasses' interface made Mikhailis close one eye instinctively. The screen shifted as Rodion fed the footage directly into his vision. It was grainy and distorted, clearly captured hastily, but the figure of the woman stood out starkly against the misty darkness.

She moved like a wraith, her form blurring as though the world itself couldn't keep up with her speed. In the moment the mini-dragon—a scaly creature half the size of the Crystalgloom Serpent—began expanding, her silhouette darted forward. Mikhailis's sharp eyes could just catch the faint arc of a weapon—something slender and glowing—as it sliced clean through the beast's throat. Blood scattered through the air in fine mist, the creature's mana flare collapsing on itself as it shrank back to its original state.

The woman didn't hesitate. In a single, fluid motion, she scooped up the dragon's remains—small, almost pitiful now—and turned away. The footage cut out abruptly as the Chimera Ant soldiers retreated further into cover.

Rodion's voice returned, low and measured.

<That is the most detailed perspective I can provide without endangering the Chimera Ant soldiers further. Attempting to gather additional data risks detection.>

Mikhailis stared blankly at the cavern ceiling, his thoughts whirling.

Who the hell is she?

Her presence, her power—it didn't just unsettle him; it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Someone who could obliterate something that dangerous in an instant wasn't just strong. She was unnatural. That kind of strength didn't belong in the hands of ordinary humans.

"Rodion…" Mikhailis whispered, his voice barely audible, "was she watching me? Did she… notice anything?"

<Unclear. There were no indicators of her observing you directly. However, her precision and timing were… suspiciously deliberate.>

"Suspiciously deliberate," Mikhailis repeated under his breath. Great.

As he let the thought linger, a sudden voice broke through his focus.

"Your Highness?"

Cerys's soft voice snapped him back to the present. Mikhailis blinked, instinctively plastering a lazy grin on his face as he turned to look at her. She was standing close now, hands on her hips, her fiery red ponytail swaying slightly as she leaned forward.

"You're spacing out again," she said, frowning. "Does your body still hurt?"

Mikhailis hesitated for half a second before scratching his head awkwardly. "Ah… sorry. Still a little groggy, I guess."

Cerys's sharp gaze narrowed. "You need to eat, Your Highness. You lost a lot of blood." Her tone softened slightly as she gestured toward the fish she'd just finished cooking. "Your body needs food to recover."

Mikhailis's stomach growled faintly, betraying him. He gave her a lopsided smile, though he noted the faint blush dusting her cheeks as she turned away briefly.

"Alright, alright," he said, his voice light. "I'll eat."

Cerys knelt beside him, scooping a piece of the roasted mist fish onto a plate she'd fashioned from a flat, clean stone. She prepared a small spoonful, turning back to face him. The faint red on her cheeks deepened as she held it toward him.

"You're too weak to feed yourself properly," she said, her tone matter-of-fact but slightly flustered. "I'll do it."

Mikhailis blinked, staring at her in surprise. "Wait, you're going to—?"

"Just open your mouth," she snapped, though her blush betrayed her composure.

Mikhailis smirked faintly, leaning back against the wall and opening his mouth obediently.

"You cutie little punk."

Cerys glared at him, her lips pursing slightly, but her hand didn't waver as she fed him the first bite. The fish was soft, smoky, and perfectly seasoned, melting on his tongue like something far more luxurious than campfire food. He raised an eyebrow, genuinely impressed.

"Wow," he said after swallowing.

"You're really good at this. Lone Wolf by day, five-star chef by night?"

"Be quiet and eat," Cerys huffed, though he didn't miss the faint satisfaction in her expression.

As she continued feeding him, Mikhailis let his eyes drift to her face. There was something oddly peaceful about this moment—the way her focus shifted entirely to caring for him, her movements both meticulous and gentle. It felt… normal. Too normal, considering everything that had happened.

For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to relax, taking in the quiet warmth of the firelight, the smell of roasted fish, and the soft hum of Cerys's presence.

I guess I could think about the other things later.