The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis remained sprawled on the sofa, one arm resting behind his head, eyes occasionally glancing over at Lira as she continued to play "Harvest Sun" on the Vii console. She had grown visibly engrossed in the game, leaning forward in concentration as she tried to manage her virtual farm with the sort of intensity that Mikhailis found both endearing and amusing. He watched as she tended to the strawberries, her brow furrowed as she adjusted their placement to catch the maximum sunlight.

"Ah, the joys of farming," he muttered, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Lira shot him a quick glare but kept her eyes on the screen, her tongue sticking out slightly in focus. He couldn't help but chuckle.

Who would have thought my elegant maid would lose herself to this kind of game?

He leaned back, his fingers lightly tapping the rim of his glasses, and activated the projection feature. His field of vision shifted instantly to an aerial view of the city of Verdant Canopy. Prince Laethor Idryn had just entered through the massive gates, an elaborate entourage surrounding him. The prince's party was ostentatious, a dazzling display of fine silk banners, richly adorned guards, and carriages that practically shone in the afternoon sunlight. Commoners gathered around, murmuring to one another, curiosity and unease spreading among them.

Mikhailis narrowed his eyes at the scene, the smile slipping from his face. There was something inherently flashy about Laethor's entrance that rubbed him the wrong way. The prince rode at the head of the entourage, wearing an elaborate uniform that shimmered with gold embellishments. He was tall, with carefully styled hair and a confident expression that spoke of practiced charm.

So that's the famous Prince Laethor. Mikhailis thought, his gaze sharp as he watched the way Laethor waved at the crowd.

His smile was pleasant, but there was something behind it—something calculating.

"Rodion, what have you got on this guy?"

<Laethor Idryn, prince of the eastern territories of Serewyn. He is known for his strategic cunning, as well as his exceptional charisma. He is also rumored to be a potential suitor for Queen Elowen—much like Earl Vaelis, though Laethor is reputed to be significantly more politically adept. Reports from various sources describe him as highly manipulative, with a penchant for leveraging alliances to serve his interests.>

Mikhailis frowned slightly, watching Laethor smile at the onlookers.

More cunning than Earl Vaelis, huh? That's saying something.

<His arrival is unannounced, which suggests an ulterior motive, likely to catch the queen—and consequently the court—off guard. He presents himself as a friend, but given his ambitions, it is highly likely that he has political designs on Silvarion Thalor, possibly even on the queen herself.>

Yeah, I figured as much. Mikhailis sighed, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest of the sofa.

The guy's clearly no ordinary guest—he's a rival. And not just politically, but personally too.

He mulled over the information, his gaze sharpening as he considered the potential ramifications. Laethor wasn't here just to exchange pleasantries; he was here to make a move, to stake his claim.

<We should prepare for contingencies. Laethor's strengths lie in charm and subtle coercion. If he gains the support of key factions, our position could become precarious.>

Mikhailis smirked, his eyes glinting.

Of course, charm and manipulation. So what's our play, Rodion? Confront him directly? Sabotage his efforts? Or let him think we're harmless while we quietly pull the rug from under him?

<Given his apparent skill set, the latter seems optimal. Allowing him to underestimate your position would provide us with an advantage. A show of indifference could lull him into overconfidence.>

Mikhailis let out a quiet laugh.

So we're playing the long game. Acting like the aloof, disinterested consort while keeping tabs on his every move? I can handle that.

He folded his arms, watching the prince continue his grand entry.

<Precisely. Additionally, the chimera ant soldiers are tailing his entourage. They will provide updates on the prince's activities and any interactions of interest. Their presence will remain unnoticed, as instructed.>

Good.

Mikhailis's gaze darkened slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

I'll let him play his hand, but I'm not going to let anyone take what's mine.

____

The council room was filled with a low murmur of voices, advisors and officials exchanging hushed comments. Queen Elowen sat at the head of the long table, her golden eyes fixed on the grand doors as they opened, revealing Prince Laethor. She wore a neutral expression, though her brow twitched with surprise, and she rose from her seat as the prince strode confidently inside.

Laethor gave an elegant bow, his charisma evident in the way he moved, every gesture calculated to impress. He approached with a smile that seemed both warm and formal, his eyes locked on Elowen.

"Your Majesty," Laethor greeted, his voice smooth, the kind of tone that immediately commanded attention. "It is an honor to be here, though I apologize for the sudden arrival. Matters of urgency and opportunity do not always allow for forewarning."

Elowen inclined her head slightly, her eyes cautious.

"Prince Laethor, your presence is… unexpected. We were not informed of your visit."

He smiled, seemingly unaffected by her pointed comment.

"I know, and for that, I sincerely apologize. I only wished to bring tidings from Serewyn personally, and there are matters I wish to discuss—potential avenues for collaboration that could benefit both our nations."

Elowen nodded slowly, her gaze assessing.

"We are always open to discussions that could strengthen ties. Please, make yourself comfortable. We can discuss this further."

Laethor took a seat, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He turned, addressing the advisors around the table, effortlessly weaving himself into the conversation, speaking of alliances, resources, and opportunities for mutual prosperity. His charm and eloquence were evident, and Mikhailis, watching through the projected feed, couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation.

He's positioning himself as a potential ally—no, as a potential leader, Mikhailis thought, his hand tightening around the armrest of the sofa.

He hated seeing Elowen put in a difficult spot. Her smile was polite, but there was a stiffness to it that Mikhailis recognized. She was not comfortable, not entirely.

<Rodion, where are the chimera ant soldiers positioned?>

<Three are positioned outside the council room, maintaining a perimeter. Two are within, hidden behind structural barriers. They are monitoring Prince Laethor's entourage, who remain close to the council chamber.>

Good. Keep them on high alert. Something about this guy… I don't like it.

____

Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door broke the tension in the royal chambers, jolting Lira from her game. She fumbled with the controller, quickly setting it down as she sprang to her feet, smoothing out her dress and trying to regain her composure.

"C-come in," she called, her voice slightly shaky.

The door opened, revealing Serelith, a mischievous smile playing at her lips. Her gaze darted between Lira, who was desperately trying to appear dignified, and Mikhailis, who looked completely at ease on the sofa.

"Lira~ You need to do your duties~" Serelith teased, her tone dripping with mockery.

"There is a foreign prince coming, after all."

Lira's face flushed, her eyes narrowing at Serelith.

"I am well aware, Lady Serelith. I was merely… indulging for a moment."

Mikhailis chuckled, amused by the exchange.

"Indulging is one way to put it. You were on your way to becoming the top farmer in Harvest Sun, weren't you, Lira?"

Lira shot him a glare.

"Your Highness, must you—"

But Serelith had already turned her attention to the console. She tilted her head, her curiosity piqued.

"A game? Is this what had you so captivated, Lira? Let me see." She stepped forward, taking the controller and sitting on the couch beside Mikhailis, leaning in with a grin.

"I'll give it a try," she said, ignoring Lira's attempt to dissuade her. Lira watched in dismay as Serelith pressed random buttons on the controller, navigating through menus without any regard.

"Wait! Be careful, Lady Serelith—you'll—" Lira began, but it was too late.

Serelith had pressed the "New Game" option, and Lira's save file disappeared in an instant. Lira's mouth fell open, her eyes wide in horror.

"Oh, dear," Serelith said, her tone innocent, though her smirk suggested otherwise.

"Was that… important?"

Lira turned to Mikhailis, her expression somewhere between a plea for help and a scolding. He simply shrugged, putting on his most innocent smile.

"That is definitely not my fault," he said, holding his hands up defensively.

Lira let out an exasperated huff, folding her arms. Serelith, meanwhile, seemed unimpressed by the game at first, her fingers moving lazily over the controller. But slowly, as the virtual farm took shape on the screen, her expression shifted, her focus narrowing.

Mikhailis watched with a knowing smile.

"I'd be careful, Lira. Looks like Serelith's getting into it."

Lira shot Serelith a look, her lips curving into a determined smile.

"It doesn't matter how long you play, Lady Serelith. I'm going to beat your farm's size eventually."

Before Serelith could respond, there was another knock at the door. This time, a maid stepped inside, bowing politely.

"Lady Lira, it's time to prepare for the prince's arrival."

Lira sighed, casting a reluctant glance at the screen before nodding.

"Yes, yes. I'm coming." She turned to Serelith, pointing a finger.

"Don't think this is over. I'll be back."

Serelith barely looked up, her attention still fixed on the screen.

"We shall see, Lira~ We shall see."

Serelith start to play the game, and of course, Mikhailis's gaze return to the screen of his glasses.

"Now let's see what you are planning,"

Mikhailis continued observing Prince Laethor's activities through the feed, a frown slowly forming on his face. The prince was doing well, far too well. He had managed to insert himself seamlessly into the council discussions, charming the advisors and presenting himself as a well-intentioned diplomat. He spoke eloquently about alliances, economic partnerships, and opportunities for collaboration, positioning himself as someone who could bring valuable resources to Silvarion Thalor.

Mikhailis could see how difficult it was for anyone to openly dismiss Laethor. His charm, his knowledge, his calculated words—all of it was designed to make him appear indispensable. Rodion's voice broke into Mikhailis's thoughts.

<Laethor's strengths are indeed formidable. His charm, coupled with subtle threats and promises, makes him a dangerous adversary. To counter him, a more subtle approach is required. We must make moves without revealing our intent.>

So, play the long game and make him think he's winning? Mikhailis thought, a smirk forming on his lips.

I can do that.

He watched as Elowen's expression remained calm, though he could see the signs of unease—the slight stiffness in her posture, the forced smile, the glances she gave her advisors. She was caught off guard, clearly not expecting Laethor's sudden visit, and now she was faced with growing political pressure.

<The prince's entourage includes several individuals who are likely spies, gathering information about the castle and its workings. We must remain vigilant, Mikhailis.>

Yeah, I got it. Keep our cards close, don't make any sudden moves.

Mikhailis's gaze narrowed as he watched Laethor smile charmingly at Elowen, his eyes glinting with something that made Mikhailis's gut twist with unease.

I'm going to attend that evening banquet, he decided, his eyes darkening.
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I want to see this guy up close. Let's see if he can keep up the act.

Rodion's voice held a hint of caution.

<Attending the banquet will allow for observation, but be wary. Laethor's influence is growing, and certain factions within the kingdom may already be aligning with him.>

Let them. This is a battle of wits, and I'm not losing.

Mikhailis rose from the sofa, his eyes still fixed on the projection of Laethor, who continued to charm the council with ease. His smile returned, though it was colder now, a determined edge in his gaze.

You want to play, Prince Laethor? Let's see how well you do when I'm around.