The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis stretched, groaning as he sat up in bed, ruffling his already messy hair. The morning mist seeped through the window cracks, curling like lazy fingers around the dim light of the lantern left burning overnight. His golden eyes flickered toward the desk where the stolen Technomancer device pulsed softly, its rhythmic hum filling the otherwise quiet room.

His fingers drummed lazily against the sheets as he blinked away the last remnants of sleep. He had fallen asleep thinking about the damn thing, and now it was the first thing he saw when he woke up. The device looked deceptively simple—smooth, metallic, no visible seams or markings—but the faint glow from within gave it away. Something about it was alive. Not in a literal sense, but in the way it pulsed, like it was waiting.

Rodion’s voice cut through his thoughts like a crisp blade.

<Analysis complete. The stolen device is confirmed to be linked to Luthadel’s mist-control network. Primary function: mist regulation. However, secondary functions remain undetermined. Energy signals indicate modifications inconsistent with standard Technomancer engineering. Possible external tampering.>

Mikhailis rubbed his chin, yawning. "Tampered with?" He squinted at the device. "That’s interesting. Who else would’ve had the guts to mess with something like this?"

A Technomancer? Unlikely. If they had modified it themselves, the inconsistencies wouldn’t be there. That meant someone outside their ranks had gotten their hands on this before him.

His fingers hovered over the device for a moment before he thought better of it. Last thing he needed was to accidentally trigger whatever hidden function lay within.

Rodion wasn’t done.

<Additionally, the device contains a passive relay signal. Current status: inactive. It has not transmitted since acquisition, suggesting it may require external activation.>

Mikhailis exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Translation: We don’t know what else it does, but it’s probably waiting for something to trigger it."

<Correct. It may activate based on environmental conditions, a specific external command, or upon reaching a designated location.>

"Great," he muttered, swinging his legs over the bed. "Just what I need, a possibly explosive mystery clock."

His gaze flicked toward the badge lying beside it. That, too, held mysteries of its own. The faint reaction it had displayed last night when brought near the device suggested it wasn’t just an insignia—it was a key.

And keys always had locks.

"Someone out there might have the real key to turn this thing on," he mused aloud, reaching over to grab the device and the badge. "I’d love to know who."

Rodion responded, voice edged with dry amusement.

<I suspect you will find out soon, whether you want to or not.>

Mikhailis smirked. "That’s what makes it fun."

He stood up, stretching his limbs as the cold air of the morning settled against his skin. The room was still dim, the lantern’s light flickering weakly, fighting against the creeping mist outside. Luthadel’s wards did a poor job keeping the lower districts clear, and his current lodgings weren’t high enough on the social ladder to benefit from stronger barriers.

He padded across the wooden floor toward the basin near the window, splashing his face with cool water before running a hand through his tousled hair. It didn’t do much. He still looked like a man who had spent half the night dissecting the unknown.

His coat hung neatly on the chair beside his desk, the dark fabric almost blending into the shadows. As he reached for it, his fingers brushed against the edge of a folded parchment.

The prince’s letter.

Mikhailis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Three days until Laethor arrived. Three days to figure out what he wanted, how much he knew, and whether his proposal was worth entertaining. Three days to decide if he wanted to get involved in Serewyn’s mess.

He wasn’t a political player, nor did he intend to become one. But there was something about this entire situation that was too carefully woven to ignore. The Technomancers, the mist manipulation, the modified device, and now a potential alliance with a prince whose kingdom was drowning in forced dependence.

There were too many loose threads.

And Mikhailis never liked unfinished puzzles.

He threw on his coat, adjusting the collar with a casual flick of his fingers. The weight of the badge and device in his pocket was a subtle reminder that today wouldn’t be simple. Not that any day ever was in Luthadel.

With one final glance at the device, still softly pulsing on the desk, he turned on his heel and made his way toward the door. @@novelbin@@

Whatever answers awaited him today, he’d find them soon enough.

Throwing on his coat, he pocketed both items and made his way downstairs.

____

The inn’s common room buzzed with the quiet murmur of hushed voices, the kind that carried secrets rather than pleasantries. The atmosphere was thick, not with warmth, but with the wary tension of a city where trust was as rare as an honest merchant. Even the servers, moving between tables with measured steps, handled their trays like they were carrying more than just food—perhaps overheard whispers, coded messages, or silent warnings passed between careful hands.

Mikhailis took it all in as he descended the stairs, his gaze sweeping the room with the lazy attentiveness of someone who saw more than he let on. The place was filled with merchants, travelers, and those who liked to pretend they were neither. A cloaked man in the far corner nursed his drink while keeping his back to the wall, a pair of traders spoke in low voices over a parchment that was quickly rolled up the moment a server passed too close, and near the window, a woman flipped a coin absently, her eyes scanning each new entrant with casual interest.

Paranoia, or just business as usual? In Luthadel, it was hard to tell the difference.

His companions had already claimed a corner table, their presence an anomaly in the otherwise reserved atmosphere. Lira, poised as always, sipped her tea with the effortless grace of a noblewoman who had long since mastered the art of appearing unbothered by the chaos around her. She barely acknowledged his arrival, though he knew she had already marked his presence the moment he stepped into the room.

Vyrelda sat with her arms crossed, sharp eyes scanning the room like a wolf assessing its territory. Even in a relatively safe space, she carried herself like a soldier expecting an ambush, and knowing Luthadel’s reputation, she wasn’t wrong to be on guard.

Cerys, her expression as unreadable as ever, methodically cut into her meal with the same precision she applied to her swordplay. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation—just a quiet efficiency that spoke of years spent in rigid discipline. If the food had any taste, she didn’t show any sign of appreciating it.

In stark contrast, Estella was fully engrossed in what could only be described as a love affair with her plate of smoked venison. She studied each bite before taking it, her golden eyes gleaming with curiosity, occasionally pausing to hum in thought. Across from her, Rhea looked like she was enduring some personal trial of patience.

"You don’t have to examine every bite before eating it, you know," Rhea sighed, watching Estella hold a piece of meat up to the light like it held the meaning of life.

Estella ignored her completely, rotating the slice in her fingers. "You see the way the mist curing settled into the meat? The flavor must be layered."

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Mikhailis smirked as he strolled over, pulling out a chair and plopping down in an exaggerated sprawl. "Careful, Estella. If you keep this up, people might mistake you for a gourmet critic instead of an overexcited troublemaker."

Estella grinned, finally taking a bite and savoring it as if proving her point. "You mock me, but you’ll regret it when I discover the secret to Luthadel’s legendary seasoning techniques."

Rhea rolled her eyes. "It’s salt and a little magic."

"And mystery," Estella added, undeterred.

Mikhailis chuckled, drumming his fingers on the table before catching Lira’s gaze. She set her teacup down, leveling him with a pointed look that immediately told him she wasn’t in the mood for nonsense. Not that it ever stopped him.

"You took longer than usual," she said, smooth as silk but edged with the underlying expectation of an explanation.

"Needed my beauty sleep," he replied, stretching. "Hard work being this charming."

Lira gave him an unimpressed look, but Vyrelda snorted, shaking her head.

"But more importantly," he continued, tapping his pocket with an easy grin, "I’ve finished analyzing our little toy."

That caught their interest. The table stilled, eyes shifting toward him with the subtle weight of anticipation.

"It’s connected to the mist network," he said, keeping his voice low despite the nonchalant delivery. "Someone modified it, but we don’t know why yet."

Vyrelda frowned. "If it’s been altered, then whoever did it had access to high-level Technomancer gear."

"Or they stole it," Cerys added simply, pushing her now-empty plate aside. "Which means someone is looking for it."

Lira, ever composed, tilted her head slightly. "The real question is: have the Technomancers noticed it’s missing?"

Mikhailis rested his chin on his palm, considering. He had taken the device under less-than-subtle circumstances, but Technomancers weren’t the type to panic over a single missing trinket. They would observe first. See who started moving differently. See who flinched.

"If they haven’t," Lira continued, her voice calm but weighted, "they will soon. You should assume we’re already being watched."

"Oh, we’re definitely being watched," Mikhailis mused, his golden eyes flicking toward the window where the marketplace was already alive with morning activity. "And not just by Technomancers."