The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

A few steps away, a beggar hunched against a crumbling wall, his face partially hidden beneath the folds of a tattered hood. Unlike the usual broken figures that dotted the lower districts, this one had sharp eyes—calculating, scanning. He wasn't watching the passing guards out of fear. No, this was assessment.

Rodion caught on before Mikhailis had to say anything.

<He's observing movement patterns. Likely feeding information elsewhere. Surveillance operative or black-market contact.>

Mikhailis chuckled under his breath. Even the lowest of Luthadel had their roles to play.

His attention returned to his companions, who had finally stopped at a well-frequented stall. A plump merchant with a broad, beaming smile was carving thin slices of mist-cured venison, each cut releasing an aromatic smoky scent that made Mikhailis' stomach rumble in appreciation.

Neatly arranged beside the venison were plates of glowing duskfruit, their faint bioluminescent glow making them appear almost otherworldly. Even in daylight, the fruit pulsed softly, as though carrying the essence of the mist itself. Next to them, golden-crusted Thalorian honeybread was stacked neatly, the embedded runes along its edges shimmering faintly.

"I'll take five," Estella declared, already reaching for a pouch of coin.

Cerys, standing beside her with arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. "That much?"

"We've earned it." Estella grinned, her enthusiasm unshaken. "Besides, it's good to try new things."

Mikhailis chuckled, watching as they shared a meal, the simple act feeling almost surreal after weeks of camping in ruins and abandoned villages. The city's ambiance was different from any place they had visited before—both grand and oppressive, the air thick with unspoken rules and quiet negotiations happening in every corner. The marketplace bustled with an eerie orderliness, people moving as if following a script they all knew by heart. Merchants conducted their transactions in half-whispers, hands exchanging goods with practiced efficiency, their eyes scanning the mist-laden streets for signs of trouble.

The mist itself felt like a living entity, shifting between the buildings, curling around signposts, and dissipating in thin wisps as it touched the arcane streetlamps that fought to keep it at bay. It was an ever-present veil, not thick enough to obscure everything, but enough to give the city a dreamlike quality—like a place constantly teetering on the edge of reality.

Mikhailis leaned on the wooden stall, taking a slow bite of the mist-cured venison. The meat was rich with an earthy smokiness, slightly tougher than he preferred, but the flavor was something unique—almost as if the mist itself had seeped into it, altering its essence. Across from him, Estella and Rhea were already halfway through their portions, both of them utterly enamored with the city's culinary delights.

"This is delicious," Estella murmured between bites, her golden eyes gleaming with delight. "I don't care if this city is built on lies; the food makes up for it."

Rhea chuckled, tearing off a piece of Thalorian honeybread and handing it to Vyrelda, who accepted it with a small nod. "You're too easy to please, Milady."

Vyrelda leaned back against the counter, casting a glance at Mikhailis. "You really think this prince's messenger is going to be worth the effort?"

Mikhailis wiped his fingers on a napkin, savoring the lingering taste. "Depends. If he's anything like the rest of this city, he'll have an angle. Which means we'll need one too."

Cerys, who had been eating in silence, scoffed lightly. "You assume we don't already." She took a measured sip of water, her crimson hair swaying as she glanced around the square. Her gaze was always assessing, calculating—not out of paranoia, but habit.

Lira, sitting beside Mikhailis, lifted her cup of mist-infused tea to her lips, her movements graceful and deliberate. Her dark eyes remained watchful, always attuned to their surroundings. "Trusting royalty in a kingdom built on secrecy is foolish," she murmured, voice as composed as ever.

Mikhailis grinned, propping his chin on his palm as he leaned toward her. "If we were worried about deception, we wouldn't have come here in the first place."

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Lira met his gaze, her lips curving into the faintest hint of amusement. "I suppose that means we're already beyond salvation."

Mikhailis chuckled, taking another bite of his food. "Exactly."

The group continued eating, the conversation shifting between idle chatter and subtle observations about the city.

Estella, naturally the most excitable of them, pointed toward another stall where a vendor was displaying vials of what appeared to be liquid mist. "That looks interesting." She nudged Rhea. "Let's check it out."

Rhea sighed, already knowing that resistance was pointless. "Fine, but don't try to buy anything cursed this time."

With that, the two of them wandered toward the alchemist's stand, their presence immediately drawing the vendor's attention.

Vyrelda, ever the skeptic, shook her head. "They're going to get swindled."

Lira hummed. "Perhaps. Or they might find something actually useful."

Cerys had barely finished her meal before her eyes flickered toward the weapon stalls, her instincts always leaning toward practicality. "I'm going to look at the blades," she announced.

Vyrelda, knowing exactly what that meant, sighed. "Try not to start a duel with a local."

"No promises."

Mikhailis chuckled as Cerys strode off, with Vyrelda reluctantly following her. Lira, meanwhile, seemed content to linger, finishing her tea with slow, deliberate sips.

The mist curled gently through the air as the marketplace thrived around them. Every person here moved with purpose, from merchants haggling in coded phrases to couriers slipping messages into waiting hands with barely a whisper. Even the guards, clad in dark, obsidian-lined armor, patrolled with a precision that felt almost unnatural—never lingering too long, never showing hesitation. The entire city was a system, one built on secrecy and quiet control.

Mikhailis found himself watching them all, analyzing their behaviors while Rodion silently assisted in the background.

<Observations: The vendor to your left is carrying counterfeit Thalorian spices. The courier at the far stall just delivered a message laced with protective runes—likely a noble's order. The guards' formation is shifting every ten minutes; their patrol routes are unpredictable but calculated.>

Mikhailis smirked, absentmindedly twirling a piece of mistbread between his fingers. Everything here runs like a well-oiled machine.

Then there was the subtle but undeniable tension lurking beneath the surface. The people of Luthadel were used to living under scrutiny, but they were also used to playing the game. He could see it in the way merchants avoided looking too long at certain guards, the way messengers never took the same path twice, the way even street performers positioned themselves strategically to listen in on conversations.

Lira leaned slightly toward him, her voice low. "You're thinking too much."

Mikhailis chuckled, flashing her a grin. "You wound me. I'm simply appreciating the scenery."

Lira's eyes flicked over the marketplace before she responded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think we're being watched."

Mikhailis didn't react outwardly, but he took another casual glance around. It wasn't paranoia—Luthadel was a city where information was power. It made sense that their arrival had drawn some attention.

<Confirmed. Several individuals have passed by more than twice in the last ten minutes. The man near the alchemist stall adjusted his glove three times—likely a signal. Another by the ration stand keeps glancing this way but avoids direct eye contact.>

Mikhailis hummed softly. Well, isn't that interesting?

Still, he wasn't in a rush to act. For now, they were simply being observed—measured. It wasn't an immediate threat, just an inevitable consequence of stepping into a place like this.

Vyrelda and Cerys returned first, with Cerys looking satisfied and Vyrelda looking irritated. "She haggled a guy into selling her a sword at a third of its price," Vyrelda muttered.

Cerys shrugged. "It was overpriced."

Lira smirked. "Practical as always."

Estella and Rhea returned moments later, Estella clutching a small pouch of what looked like glowing dust. "It's harmless," she assured them before anyone could question it. "Mostly."

Mikhailis snorted. "You have a talent for finding things that probably won't kill us."

She grinned. "That's why you love me."

The conversation drifted as they ate, the mist shifting subtly around them. Then, as Lira and Cerys moved to browse the ration stalls, Mikhailis's attention snapped to a lone figure near a supply stand.

Mikhailis had always prided himself on reading people, and the man near the supply stall stood out for all the wrong reasons. Not because he did anything overtly suspicious—quite the opposite. He was too careful, too deliberate, too unassuming. His cloak was nondescript, blending seamlessly with the muted fashion of Luthadel's lower districts, but the way he moved spoke volumes.

He was unremarkable—too unremarkable. His stance was measured, his gaze restless, scanning rather than shopping. His eyes moved constantly, tracking more than just the products on display. He never lingered too long on any one thing, never focused on a single detail. Most shoppers engaged in idle conversation, haggled over prices, or absentmindedly touched merchandise, testing its quality. But this man? He avoided touching anything directly, subtly adjusting his cloak in ways that suggested training rather than habit. His shoulders were too square, his posture too upright, even in the relaxed atmosphere of the marketplace.

Mikhailis barely needed to blink before Rodion responded, flashing data across his vision.

<Analysis complete. Subject exhibits behavioral markers consistent with trained operatives: Controlled breathing. Focused eye movements. Minimal interaction with surroundings. Likely engaging in observational reconnaissance.>

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Mikhailis resisted the urge to smirk. If the man was watching them, then Mikhailis would return the favor. Subtlety was a game he played well, and right now, it was time to set the board. He relaxed his posture, his expression shifting into something casual and unbothered as he strolled toward the stall. His steps were deliberate but lazy, just another traveler browsing for supplies.

He slowed near the merchant's stand, idly glancing at the produce—a fine selection of preserved meats, dried herbs, and bread that looked just stale enough to make a desperate man think twice before buying. The merchant himself was a grizzled old man, his hands worn from years of handling goods, his sharp gaze shifting between customers with the natural wariness of a veteran trader.

The spy was only a few feet away now, close enough that Mikhailis could see the subtle twitch of his fingers as he adjusted the fabric of his sleeve. Not nervous, just controlled. A man trained to leave no trace.

Perfect.

With a smooth, calculated motion, Mikhailis took a step forward—and collided with the stranger's shoulder.

The bump was light, just enough to be believable. Just enough to be an accident.

"Oh, my bad," Mikhailis muttered, feigning a distracted air as he glanced up, meeting the man's eyes for the briefest of moments.

The stranger barely reacted. He inclined his head in a neutral nod, muttered a quiet "Excuse me," and kept walking, blending seamlessly back into the flow of the crowd.

Mikhailis didn't watch him go. That would be too obvious. Instead, he let his hand drop to his side, fingers curling slightly.

Something metallic and cool pressed against his palm.

His lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

Smooth as ever.

He took a moment before glancing down, his fingers subtly shifting to reveal his prizes—a badge and a small, unfamiliar device.

Rodion's sarcasm was immediate.

<Congratulations, you've officially robbed an undercover Technomancer agent. If he wasn't suspicious of us before, he will be now.>

Mikhailis twirled the device between his fingers, feeling its weight, the cool metal oddly smooth against his skin. Whatever it was, it wasn't standard Technomancer gear—too refined, too seamlessly blended between arcane and mechanical elements. It pulsed faintly, a subtle hum of energy resonating beneath its surface, though he couldn't yet determine its purpose.

Rodion's analysis flickered across his vision.

<The badge belongs to a Technomancer-aligned faction. The device, however, is unique—arcane energy mixed with mechanical components. Unknown function.>

Mikhailis's grin widened. This wasn't just some disposable trinket. Whatever this was, the agent had been carrying it for a reason. And now, it was in his hands.

He slipped the items into his pocket, casually adjusting his coat as though nothing had happened. "Now this…" He chuckled to himself, barely above a whisper. "This is an interesting research opportunity."

The mist thickened around them, rolling through the streets in curling tendrils, seeping past weakened barriers like an eager predator. It blurred the city's edges, made every shadow stretch longer, every figure seem just a little less real.

Mikhailis exhaled slowly, his mind already spinning with possibilities. He'd have Rodion break the device down later, trace any magical imprints, dissect its purpose piece by piece. But more importantly, this little stunt had confirmed something—the Technomancers were watching.

And now, they had something to watch in return.

The game in Luthadel had only just begun, and he had just stolen his first move.