The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 416: Power of Beauty (1)

"Smooth," Elowen whispered, almost as if she were hesitant to break the hush that had fallen over the group. The breathy quality of her voice revealed her genuine surprise. She lifted her wrist to her nose and inhaled, eyes fluttering shut in a moment of pure delight. "And it smells like herbs and citrus. You could weaponize charm with this," she added, her tone half-amused, half-impressed.

Estella responded with an understated smile. Her entire demeanor exuded a poised confidence that came from having anticipated exactly this reaction. Perhaps she'd rehearsed it in the privacy of her chamber, or perhaps she simply understood her queen better than most gave her credit for. She reached into the slim leather folder she held with her other hand, carefully unrolling it on a nearby marble bench.

From within, a neatly arranged set of sleek glass containers and ornate boxes caught the light: Dewkiss Blush, Arcane Liner, and Starshade Lip Tint—each labeled in a precise calligraphy that hinted at both luxury and meticulous craftsmanship.

"We have more," Estella explained. Her voice was measured, but there was an underlying excitement that betrayed her pride. She touched each item in turn as she spoke. "Dewkiss Blush here, of course, alongside the Arcane Liner and Starshade Lip Tint. I only used a fraction of the ingredient samples we had set aside, primarily for testing in magically charged conditions. The results were excellent, beyond even my initial projections."

Elowen straightened, setting the mirror down momentarily so she could give the products her full attention. A flicker of admiration sparked in her gaze, layered with a calculating awareness. Mikhailis recognized that look—she was assessing both the potential and the significance of what lay before her. She drew in a slight breath as she read the labels again.

"And your plan?" she inquired. The queen's tone carried the crisp authority of royalty but lacked any harshness.

Estella inclined her head respectfully. "We want to enter the Festival Market Showcase, demonstrate these prototypes to the public, and gather preliminary feedback before we commit to larger-scale production. We need to see how they hold up under the unpredictability of the crowd's magical energies—and also measure raw market appeal."

Elowen's eyes glimmered. "Do you already have a booth registered?" she asked, evidently intrigued that Estella and Mikhailis had thought so far ahead.

Estella's lips curved ever so slightly. "Under the Silvarion Pavilion license," she replied, her gaze flicking momentarily to Mikhailis with a hint of conspiratorial amusement.

Mikhailis, who had been transfixed by the interplay of light across those glass containers, suddenly blinked. The mention of licensing snapped him back into the conversation. "Wait," he murmured, brow furrowing. "Since when did we approve that?"

Before Estella could respond, Rodion's voice cut in with a tone of exasperated efficiency that Mikhailis had come to both rely on and resent. <When she asked, and you responded with an indistinct 'mmm-hmm' while half-asleep two nights ago. I filed the license. You're welcome.>

Mikhailis let out a soft, half-audible groan, rolling his eyes at the recollection. Of course Rodion would have taken advantage of his barely coherent consent. He could hardly fault the AI's logic, though—Rodion's job was to streamline processes in the background, ensuring Mikhailis's endless projects advanced smoothly.

Estella sent him a sympathetic look, and he could only shrug in defeat. The faint tension that had once coiled through his body seemed to melt away in the courtyard's gentle sunlight, as though the day itself were conspiring to ease them into a calmer frame of mind. The quiet splashing of a nearby fountain and the rustling leaves overhead made this moment feel remarkably peaceful, almost serene in comparison to the frenetic swirl of political and personal tensions that usually surrounded them.

They began walking together as a group, the hush of the courtyard replaced by the soft echo of footsteps against the worn stone path. Mikhailis fell in step beside Elowen, while Estella walked just a pace behind, the folder still tucked carefully under her arm. Vyrelda joined them too, her gold-trimmed cloak dragging softly over the pavement, an ever-watchful presence whose silent observations had undoubtedly picked up every nuance of the exchange.

As they passed under an arched doorway leading toward the main gardens, the air grew more alive with drifting flower petals. The path was lined with verdant shrubs and tall blooms that swayed gently, lending a rhythmic dance to the sunlight and shadows. Mikhailis was just about to comment on how unexpectedly calm everything felt when a herald dressed in Serewyn gold appeared—practically bursting into the scene.

"By order of Prince Laethor, a royal banquet shall be held this evening to honor Silvarion Thalor's aid. As the sun touches the central spire," he proclaimed, voice ringing out with official clarity.

All movement ceased. The group fell still, a ripple of urgency and surprise passing among them. Estella's hand tightened around the leather folder, and Mikhailis sensed her body grow tense at his side. A swirl of emotions flickered over her usually composed face: excitement, caution, and perhaps a tiny spark of dread. Elowen's gaze shifted between them and the herald, reading the subtle tensions like lines on a map.

"The festival begins at the same time," Estella said at last, her tone carrying an unmistakable note of concern. "If we miss the opening hour…" She trailed off, letting the obvious problem hang in the air.

"Then you lose momentum in the market," Elowen stated. She was gazing off into the distance, as though searching the horizon for a solution that might appear like a distant ship returning to port. Her expression was pensive, caught somewhere between the gravity of royal commitments and her growing interest in these new cosmetics.

Mikhailis ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "And I can't be in two places at once," he said, a rueful sigh escaping him. He was already envisioning the bustle of the festival—crowds, vendors, potential investors, curious onlookers. Missing that pivotal first hour would be a critical blow. Yet a royal banquet summoned by Prince Laethor was hardly something he could skip without consequence.

Vyrelda, still silent but ever astute, looked thoughtful. Her sharp eyes slid between each person, as though analyzing pieces on a chessboard. Finally, she tilted her head. "We might not have to choose," she offered calmly. "What if we split roles?"

The relief in the air was almost palpable, a gentle exhalation of tension as they latched onto this feasible solution. Without further exchange, they quickened their steps, making for one of the estate's quieter chambers—a space used for strategic discussions and discreet negotiations. It was tucked away at the far end of a stately corridor lined with stained-glass windows that cast shifting rainbows of color across the polished marble floor.

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They soon found themselves gathered around a wide wooden table, its surface so finely polished that it reflected the vibrant hues of the stained windows. The air in here was cooler, carrying the faint scent of parchment and old wax. Sunlight caught in the dust motes that drifted lazily through the room, giving the scene a timeless, almost ethereal quality.

Rodion, eager to illustrate the possibilities, projected a floating map above the table. Soft glimmers of light traced out the palace, the roads leading to the festival grounds, and the intersection points of time that danced around them like orbits of celestial bodies. Glowing red-blue lines indicated potential scheduling overlaps and constraints, while golden dots highlighted critical junctures: the hour the festival opened, the moment the banquet would commence, and approximate travel times from one site to another.

Mikhailis studied the map, leaning in, elbows braced on the table. He rubbed at his temple, acknowledging that no matter how they arranged it, there would be challenges. Estella crossed her arms, gaze narrowing as she mulled over the logistical puzzle. Vyrelda, standing behind the group, quietly assessed everything with an almost imperceptible nod.

Elowen stood at the head of the table. Even in a quieter setting, she possessed a certain regal magnetism that couldn't be overlooked. One slender hand rested on the table's edge, the other cradled her chin as she studied the floating projections. She was silent a moment longer, letting the visual details sink in before turning to them all with a decisive glimmer in her eyes.

"I will represent the crown," Elowen said at last, drawing herself up with undeniable majesty. She cast a brief, thoughtful look at Mikhailis, then returned her gaze to the map. "Mikhailis and I will attend the banquet."