The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

"Messier than court rumors suggest, I'm sure."

"It's wonderful," she said simply. Lantern light danced across her face, highlighting a genuine tenderness that caught him off guard. She passed a workbench where four chimera ant workers—each crimson-scaled with graphite mandibles—arranged shimmering crystals by size. When she drew near, they froze mid-task, antennae quivering.

Serelith blinked. "They're… adorable." One tiny worker attempted a salute with both forelegs, only to drop a crystal chunk on its own foot. It chirped indignantly. She giggled, kneeling to set the gem back on the tray. "I didn't know your research assistants were so industrious."

Mikhailis rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "They handle cataloging and basic tool maintenance. Elowen okayed their presence under strict secrecy."

She rose, brushing imaginary dust from her gown. "I wonder what else is happening inside that clever head of yours, Mikhailis. I'm very interested."

He swallowed—a flicker of nerves among pride. "Then let me show you the piece that's kept me awake."

He crossed to a locked cabinet, inputting a quick series of rune taps. The iron latch clicked open. From a padded shelf he withdrew a slim box carved of heartwood. Even the grain shimmered with subtle magic. He set the box on the main table, motioning her closer.

Serelith leaned in, both palms braced against the scarred wooden surface. "Something tells me this is more than a dried leaf."

Mikhailis lifted the lid. Inside lay the emerald-etched leaf, veins glowing faintly like moonlight on riverwater. Even encased, it seemed alive.

Serelith's breath hitched audibly. She edged closer, her shoulder brushing his. The heat of her body seeped through the thin air between them. "That pulse… I can feel it."

"It won't spoil, won't respond to flame or frost. Rodion's measured a life pattern, but even high-order spells register nothing. It's… wrong in a perfectly quiet way."

She lifted a hand, hovering a bare inch above the heartwood frame. "May I?"

"Please—carefully."

Mana shimmered at her fingertips, silver threads weaving into a delicate lattice. She guided the filaments onto the leaf. Mikhailis watched, heart hammering: the swirl of her magic always felt like a spring breeze, gentle but irresistible. The leaf shivered under the touch, glow brightening then dulling to a soft throb.

Serelith's lashes fluttered closed, lips parting in concentration. A single bead of sweat slid down her temple. Mikhailis instinctively wiped it with his thumb, earning a distracted smile.

Moments passed. Finally she lowered her hand, exhaling slowly. "It's dormant—but aware. Like a child pretending to sleep." She tapped her chin. "There's a resonance… familiar, almost. Verdant Canopy's old magic? But deeper."

Mikhailis frowned thoughtfully. "I suspected a link to Thalorian root-lore—stories of trees storing memories. But why a leaf?"

"Maybe it's a key," she whispered, eyes shining. "A fragment that unlocks something still buried."

He stared at the leaf, awe swirling with dread. If that's true, what door am I about to pry open? Gently, he closed the box. "We need more data. Tomorrow I'll request the oldest Canopy records. Elowen will approve—she already knows about the leaf."

Serelith's eyes flicked up, curiosity sparking. "And no one else?"

"Just Elowen." He hesitated. "And now you."

Something tender crossed her face—soft but fierce. "I'll guard it with my life." She pressed nearer, her perfume mingling with cedar and alchemical spice. Warm fingers splayed against his chest, right over his racing heart. "Maybe I can help you find the missing pieces."

Her words seemed to settle the dust, the crystals' hum dulling to a steady heartbeat around them. Mikhailis met her gaze—saw excitement, hunger, and an unspoken promise—and for the first time since discovering the leaf, he felt the creeping fog of uncertainty fade under shared resolve.

She pressed closer, her hand resting lightly on his chest. "Maybe I can help you find them."

Warmth spread beneath her palm, pulsing in time with Mikhailis's quickened heartbeat. In the soft amber of rune-lamps the thin fabric of his shirt did little to hide that throb, and Serelith's lips curved as she felt it. It pleased her—this mix of excitement and wariness that always flickered behind his jokes. He hid it well from courtiers and commanders, but not from her, not when she could feel the tremor under her fingertips.

He cleared his throat, trying—and failing—to sound purely scholarly. "Right, then. Work."

They moved to the broad oak bench in the center of the room. Its scarred surface was littered with half-full inkwells and shallow dishes where fluorescent reagents dried to crusty rings. At its heart sat the heartwood case, the emerald leaf pulsing like a steady star under crystal. Rodion drifted to the edge of the table and lowered himself with a gentle plop, stubby legs folding so the AI resembled an overstuffed cushion ready to monitor every reading.

Mikhailis began by unclasping the glass lid. A hush settled, as if the whole lab held its breath. Then he set to work calibrating a lattice of needle-thin crystal readers. Each spoke glowed a different hue, cyan or rose or sun-gold, feeding faint beams into the leaf's veins. Serelith, meanwhile, rolled back her lace gloves and summoned gossamer threads of mana. They drifted from her fingertips like silver cobwebs, looping around the circuitry with practiced ease.

Her proximity proved a far greater hazard than any volatile potion. When she leaned, the soft swell of her hip brushed his thigh, and the lavender satin of her bodice creaked the tiniest bit, an audible invitation. He coughed, fiddling with a dial that didn't need adjusting. Focus, prince. Leaf first, temptation later.

"For a secret lab," Serelith murmured near his ear, "you're awfully prone to accidental combustion."

He opened his mouth to retort when a tiny hiss rose behind them. Green foam bulged from a glass coil, threatening to overflow like bread dough in a too-warm oven. Mikhailis swore, grabbed a cork, and jammed it in place. The pressure squealed, then subsided.

"Minor setback," he muttered.

"Entire tower nearly melted," Serelith corrected, laughing as she wiped a wayward fleck from his cheek with her thumb. "You are the cutest kind of danger."

A glyph etched on the back of her glove sputtered a tired violet spark, protesting the chemical splatter. She shook her wrist; the rune faded with a petulant snap. "Tch. Good thing I brought spares. Maybe you just wanted to see me burn my gloves off?"

His smile turned sly. "I do have a certain appreciation for dangerous women in partial states of undress."

"Mmm. Flattery and fire." She shot him a smoldering glance before threading mana back into the readers. "Dangerous mix."

The emerald leaf brightened beneath their combined efforts, its veins flashing in rhythmic spirals. Serelith's magic caressed it like a healer seeking a pulse, and Mikhailis watched readings spike on the crystal dials—temperature stable, etheric output climbing.

Their hands met as they adjusted a stabilizing rune; neither withdrew. Calloused fingers against satin-smooth knuckles. His thumb traced a slow half-circle over her skin. She didn't look up, but the slight catch in her breathing made him grin.

"Your mana control is impressive," he said softly.

Her lashes flicked. "I know."

"Show-off."

She bumped his shoulder with hers, a silent likewise. Together they talked through theories, speaking in that shorthand born of late-night problem-solving: unfinished sentences, diagrams drawn in the air, assumptions the other caught mid-rising. They posited that the leaf was a biological memory vessel, grown on some ancient Thalorian stock able to bind consciousness like sap binds amber. Not spells—memories. Perhaps a librarian-tree, perhaps a living faith. The notion excited them both; their words came faster, overlapping.

"If it really ties back to Verdant Canopy," Mikhailis mused, tapping a quill against his teeth, "that might explain why it's clinging. It's waiting for something—almost a handshake protocol."

"Waiting to be unlocked," Serelith agreed. She lowered her voice to a hush that still thrilled him. "Or waiting for the wrong person, so it can bite."

He quirked a brow. "Always with the optimism."

"Darling, if you chase mysteries long enough, pessimism is the safest mood lighting."

They turned another dial. A faint ping echoed; one of the slender crystal columns cracked a millimeter. Rodion waddled over, optics pulsing.

<Warning: structural integrity of reader array at ninety-three percent. Adjust mana feed or prepare containment.>