The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Vyrelda's gaze lingered on Mikhailis as he adjusted his glasses, leaning casually against the inn's wooden frame. The golden afternoon light illuminated his disheveled hair and faint smirk, and despite her doubts, Vyrelda couldn't deny the sense of intrigue growing in her chest. When she had first seen him arrive at the border village, she had expected someone entirely different. This man—the supposed Prince Consort of Silvarion Thalor—was nothing like the noblemen she had encountered before.

Her skepticism had been immediate and sharp. How could this man be the one Queen Elowen had chosen to stand by her side? The Queen, after all, was a woman of grace and intellect, with a strategic mind that saw through layers of deception. She had seen her navigate court intrigues with ease, weaving alliances like a masterful tapestry. Yet here was her chosen consort, lounging with an air of carefree frivolity, cracking jokes that bordered on irreverence, and seemingly oblivious to the weight of the position he held. Vyrelda had dismissed him as an eccentric at best, a fool at worst. But then she remembered…

She remembered the cliff.

The image of Mikhailis diving headfirst after Cerys still burned vividly in her mind, replaying like a memory she couldn't escape. It hadn't been a calculated leap; it was impulsive, reckless even, and defied every instinct Vyrelda had trained herself to follow. Her own body had locked in place as the scene unfolded, her tactical mind overwhelmed by the split-second chaos. Save Cerys? How? The odds had been insurmountable, the situation unfolding too quickly to even assess a strategy. And yet, Mikhailis had acted without hesitation, his body moving with a fluidity born not of calculation, but sheer instinct. She hated to admit it, but the idea of leaping after Cerys hadn't even crossed her mind. It wasn't that she didn't care; it was that every rational part of her screamed survival—her own survival. To risk herself on what seemed like an impossible save felt foolish, almost suicidal. But Mikhailis had done it anyway.

As her gaze lingered on him now, standing casually at the inn, adjusting his glasses as though none of it had happened, she couldn't shake the gnawing question in her mind: What kind of man risks everything for someone he barely knows? The thought unsettled her. It wasn't courage in the conventional sense. It wasn't born of duty or obligation. There was something raw, unfiltered, and deeply human about the way he had moved that day.

She glanced at Cerys by the fire, the Lone Wolf who had earned her name for a reason. Vyrelda knew her well—knew her preference for solitude, her distrust of others, and her tendency to rely on no one but herself. And yet, here she was, sitting with a quiet ease that Vyrelda had never seen before. The flicker of light from the hearth danced over her features, and her normally sharp, distant gaze softened when it rested on Mikhailis. There was no denying it—Cerys trusted him, perhaps even admired him.

The realization hit Vyrelda like a cold gust of wind. How does he do it? How does he break through the walls that even the Queen's most trusted knights can't? The firelight cast shadows across her face as her thoughts churned, her sharp eyes narrowing. It wasn't just trust she saw. There was something deeper, an unspoken connection that simmered beneath the surface. Respect, certainly. Gratitude, perhaps. But was there more? Affection? Vyrelda couldn't be sure, and the uncertainty gnawed at her. The Lone Wolf didn't form attachments—at least, not easily.

Her gaze shifted back to Mikhailis, who now stood leaning against the wooden frame of the inn's doorway, his smirk as maddeningly casual as ever. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Planning my demise, Vyrelda?" he teased, his tone light but carrying that frustrating edge of insight. "If so, make it quick. I'm still sore from my heroic escapades."

"I promise I'm harmless. Mostly."

She arched a brow, her tone cool.

"Harmless isn't the word I'd use, Your Highness."

He grinned.

"Fair enough. But try to go easy on me, alright? I'm still recovering from my heroic cliff dive."

Cerys snorted softly, and Lira, ever composed, hid a smirk behind her hand. Vyrelda's lips twitched, but she quickly masked it. Perhaps there is more to him than meets the eye.

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Later, in the warmth of the inn's common room, Mikhailis recounted their harrowing journey through the mist-shrouded wilderness. The fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows across the room as he spoke with his usual mix of humor and nonchalance.

"So there we were," he began, gesturing dramatically, "dangling from vines like a pair of very unfortunate monkeys. The horse, by the way, was absolutely no help. In fact, it spent most of the ordeal neighing its protests as though blaming us for the predicament."

He paused, letting the imagery settle in the room. Lira rolled her eyes subtly, but Mikhailis caught the slight tug at the corner of her lips, betraying her amusement. Estella leaned forward, her brow furrowed with curiosity, while Cerys sat by the fire, her arms crossed but her gaze betraying her own interest in the story.

"And then, as I was clinging to those vines for dear life, Cerys here decided to make things even more interesting by slipping just enough to give me a heart attack," Mikhailis continued, shooting a teasing glance at the red-haired knight. "I swear, she did it on purpose to test my reflexes. I mean, who else could make a cliffside tumble look so graceful?"

Cerys scoffed, though the faintest hint of color rose in her cheeks.

"If I remember correctly, Your Highness, you were the one flailing like a fish out of water."

"Flailing? Hardly," Mikhailis retorted, feigning indignation.

"I prefer to call it 'dynamic acrobatics.' Anyway, after an elegant—yes, elegant—maneuver, I managed to secure us both on a rocky ledge. The horse, miraculously, had landed safely a few meters below, tangled in vines but otherwise unscathed. It stared at me like I was the one who put it in that mess."

"You did," Lira interjected dryly, her calm voice cutting through the laughter that rippled through the room.

Mikhailis smirked, unfazed. "Details, Lira. Details. Anyway, once we were on solid ground, I had the distinct pleasure of realizing that we were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mist wolves that seemed to find us incredibly appetizing. Truly, a delightful vacation spot."

"And you survived by… what? Charm and wit?" Vyrelda's voice was sharp, skeptical, though her eyes held a glimmer of intrigue.

"Close," Mikhailis replied with a grin. "Improvisation. The mist wolves are territorial but not particularly brave. A few makeshift torches and some herbs that gave off a strong, unpleasant smell were enough to keep them at bay. Not to mention, I rigged up a few traps with the vines and some loose rocks. One wolf triggered it and spooked the others. They decided we weren't worth the effort."

Cerys nodded, her voice quieter now. "He handled it well. Even with his injuries."

Mikhailis gave her a playful wink. "Coming from the Lone Wolf herself, that almost sounds like praise." Continue reading on My Virtual Library Empire

"It's an observation, not praise," she shot back, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Estella leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed as she studied him. "You're full of surprises, Your Highness. I wouldn't have pegged you as the survivalist type."

"Well, you know what they say," Mikhailis said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Adversity brings out the best in us. Or, in my case, the wildly resourceful, devilishly handsome survivalist that's been hiding under this charming exterior."

Lira rolled her eyes again, but there was a faint smile on her lips. Vyrelda, meanwhile, found herself watching him more closely, her skepticism tempered by a growing sense of respect. She couldn't deny it—his methods were unconventional, even eccentric, but they worked. And more than that, they revealed a side of him she hadn't expected: a man who could think on his feet, adapt to any situation, and somehow make it out alive.

Perhaps there's more to him than I thought, she mused, though she kept her expression neutral. For now, she would watch and wait, piecing together the puzzle that was Mikhailis.

Cerys rolled her eyes but didn't interrupt. Lira's expression remained unreadable, though her fingers tightened subtly around the edge of her chair.

"After the… graceful descent," he continued, "we found ourselves surrounded by mist wolves. Lovely creatures. Very friendly. They just wanted a bite—of us."

"How did you survive?" Estella asked, her brow furrowed.

Mikhailis shrugged. "Improvisation. Found some herbs that worked as repellents, cooked up a makeshift barrier, and voila—no wolf snacks that night."

Vyrelda listened intently, her skepticism waning with every word. His methods were unconventional, to say the least, but undeniably effective. He spoke of using the environment to their advantage, crafting tools and traps from whatever they could find. It wasn't what she expected from someone of his station, and it left her… impressed.

As the story unfolded, she couldn't help but notice how Lira's gaze softened, or how Cerys's posture relaxed slightly. Even Estella, usually shrewd and guarded, seemed genuinely intrigued. Mikhailis had a way of drawing people in, breaking through their defenses with ease. It was disarming.

Is this what the Queen saw in him? Vyrelda wondered. Is this why she chose him?

"Alright," Mikhailis said, clapping his hands together.

"Time for the main event. Estella, you're up."

The merchant rose gracefully, smoothing her skirt.

"Thank you, Your Highness." She turned to the group, her expression poised and confident.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself. I am Estella Marlowe, head of the Marlowe Trading Company."

Vyrelda's eyes narrowed. She didn't trust merchants as a rule, and this one was no exception.

Estella continued, her tone steady.

"I must confess, I was aware of His Highness's identity before our meeting. The Prince Consort of Silvarion Thalor is not an easy man to disguise."

Shock rippled through the room. Cerys's eyes widened, Lira's composure faltered for a split second, and even Vyrelda's icy demeanor cracked.

Before anyone could speak, Mikhailis raised a hand, silencing them.

"Go on," he said, his tone calm.

Estella hesitated, her hands clasping tightly in front of her as she drew a measured breath. The faint flicker of uncertainty in her eyes didn't escape Vyrelda, though it was quickly replaced with a composed resolve. "Initially," Estella began, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of vulnerability, "I saw His Highness as an opportunity. A potential bargaining chip to advance my company's interests. He represented leverage, a means to secure something greater for the Marlowe Trading Company. At the time, I didn't think beyond the immediate gain." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle in the room before continuing.

"However, circumstances have... shifted. I've come to understand more about the man behind the title, and it's changed my perspective entirely. We've since forged an agreement—a partnership, if you will." Estella's gaze swept across the room, meeting each pair of eyes with sincerity.

"This isn't merely a transaction anymore. It's a collaboration with intent and purpose, and I intend to see it through."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Vyrelda's fists clenched at her sides.

What kind of agreement? she wondered. And why was I not informed?

Estella's voice softened. "I am here to offer my services in His Highness's endeavors. My resources, my network, and my expertise are at your disposal." She bowed deeply. "I look forward to working with all of you."

The room fell into tense silence. Then, to Vyrelda's astonishment, Mikhailis chuckled.

"Good, good," he said, leaning back in his chair.

"You're officially the ace of my plan. Don't let it go to your head."

Estella blinked, clearly taken aback by his nonchalance.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

Vyrelda's patience snapped.

"When did this happen?" she demanded, her voice sharp.

Mikhailis waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh, you know. Here and there. Business people doing business things."

She turned to Lira, searching for answers. The maid shook her head, her expression equally puzzled. Frustration bubbled within Vyrelda.

How does he keep so much hidden?