The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 438: Going Back to Silvarion Thalor (4)

The queen joined her maid in the center of the glade, rolling up the sleeves of her travel robe. "We'll cook. Rice and steam-fried greens. Rhea packed those herbs I like."

Cerys sat nearby, pulling a whetstone from her saddlebag. She drew her blade slowly, checking for nicks, her posture silent but focused. She didn't look up as Vyrelda approached and casually dropped a pile of washed carrots near her.

"Elowen wants vegetables chopped."

Cerys blinked at the carrots, then at her sword, and then—very slowly—at Vyrelda.

Vyrelda just shrugged. "It's the only knife you brought."

"I use this to kill monsters."

"And today, carrots." Vyrelda turned without waiting for a reply.

Mikhailis whistled low. "If I die, I hope it's from the carrot blade."

He crouched beside the stream, drawing out a small kettle and a packet of mossy green leaves from his satchel. A small circle of stones quickly formed a makeshift stove, with one flick of his thumb and a whispered incantation lighting a slow, steady flame beneath it.

"I'll make tea," he said, mostly to himself. "Good tea. Legendary tea. Tea that touches the soul."

Rodion, of course, had something to say.

<Warning: Emotional dependency forming. Recommend immediate countermeasures.>

Mikhailis grinned. "Jealous you can't taste?"

<I have access to every chemical composition known to mortals. You, on the other hand, steep weeds and call it magic.>

"That's why it's delicious," he muttered.

Elowen had knelt near the pot, already stirring the rice and greens into a gently bubbling mix. The scent was light, spiced with dried flower leaves and soft citrus. Lira plated the side dishes—pickled roots and folded greens in neat triangles—and set a few pieces near the sword-wielding carrot chef.

Cerys muttered something under her breath. Lira didn't flinch. "You're welcome."

The smell of cooking filled the glade like a warm memory.

When they sat to eat, it wasn't in formation. It was in a loose circle—boots off, cloaks draped on low branches, weapons nearby but not clutched. They passed bowls without asking, traded bites without speech, and for a while, the only sound was the soft clink of ceramic and the stream's constant hum.

Elowen leaned against a mossy log, letting the sun warm her cheek. "This tastes like home," she whispered.

Mikhailis poured her a cup of tea and handed it over with two hands. "Drink carefully. It might make you fall in love again."

"I already did," she said quietly, sipping. "Unfortunately, with a man who talks to his AI more than to me."

"I'm sure Rodion's flattered."

<Obviously.>

"Unbelievable," Mikhailis said, rolling his eyes. "Two smartasses and one tea kettle."

Vyrelda sat with her back to a tree, eyes half-lidded. "At least we're not fighting beasts today."

Elowen grinned. "That you know of."

Mikhailis clapped his hands suddenly. "Golem dice!"

He stood, grabbing a few sticks, moss, and bits of copper wire from his pouch. Within minutes, a lumpy, grinning moss golem sat between them, arms stubby, eyes uneven.

"I taught him to play dice," Mikhailis declared. "He cheats."

The golem blinked.

Cerys narrowed her eyes. "I will break it."

"It doesn't fear death," Mikhailis said solemnly. "It knows it will be reborn in the next patch of moss."

The game began. Predictably, the golem rolled perfect numbers every round—until Lira calmly leaned forward, reached out, and snapped one of its twig arms.

The next roll came up blank.

"I win," she said, sipping her tea.

Even Cerys smiled, just slightly.

Conversation turned lazy. Vyrelda stretched like a cat while Elowen braided a small section of her hair. She grumbled at first, but didn't stop her. Mikhailis watched quietly.

"I used to hate quiet like this," Cerys said suddenly, running a finger along her blade.

Elowen glanced at her. "Now?"

Cerys didn't answer for a long moment. Then: "Now I hate it less."

Lira, sitting nearby, toyed with her cup. "It must be nice. To be seen. To be loved openly."

Elowen reached out and took her hand.

Nothing was said.

It didn't need to be.

The glade breathed with them.

They were, for this one moment, more than knights and queens.

They were whole.

They lingered in that stillness a little longer, as the breeze combed softly through their hair and the leaves whispered above with rustling secrets. For once, no one hurried to break camp. No one barked orders or adjusted weapons or checked their formation. The glade had become sacred—not because of magic or history, but because of presence. Shared warmth. Shared food. Shared silences.

But peace, as ever, came with its own limits.

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The shift was subtle.

The wind turned, carrying with it a sharper edge. A hush fell among the birds, as if the forest itself held its breath.

Cerys was the first to move, her hand already gripping the hilt of her blade.

Then—

A rustle in the canopy above.

Two flashes of movement. Blurred. Silent.

Mist-Leapers.

The creatures dropped from the treetops like ribbons of smoke. Their semi-invisible bodies shimmered against the dappled light, skin coated in chameleon mist that warped perception. One aimed for Mikhailis, claws outstretched. The other hurtled toward Lira, fangs glinting.

But Lira was faster.

With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a pouch of powder into the air. The pouch burst mid-arc, flooding the space with blinding white light and a crackle of sharp sound.

The Mist-Leaper aiming for her shrieked, veering off-course, crashing into a tree trunk and vanishing in a curl of mist.

Vyrelda's blade was out before the dust even cleared. "Form on the queen!" she shouted, already moving, eyes sharp. "Elowen, stay centered!"

Another shimmer passed overhead.

Cerys didn't wait.

She lunged upward, flipping in midair, her sword catching a glint of sunlight as she cleaved through the illusion-cloaked beast in a clean arc. The creature shrieked again—louder this time—and hit the ground with a bone-crunching thud. It twitched once, then stilled.

More rustling.

Then the ground trembled.

Thornboars.

Massive wild pigs barreled out from the underbrush, crystalline growths jutting from their backs and shoulders. They grunted and snorted like enraged machines, their hooves tearing through dirt and roots. One knight was nearly thrown by the force of a goring tusk—but Mikhailis raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

A ring of alchemical fire orbs spun into being around the boar, each one hissing with oil and rosemary essence. With a wave, he directed the orbs in a spiral. They detonated one by one—pah-pah-pah!

The Thornboar reeled, crystals cracking, smoke rising from its singed fur.

Elowen lifted both hands, her eyes glowing faintly. Glowing vines burst from the earth, weaving upward with luminous intensity, wrapping around the legs of the boars. They tried to break free, but the vines pulsed with light, tightening like enchanted ropes.

Another boar broke through the net.

Cerys didn't hesitate.

She turned without looking, sword low.

One clean backward slash.

The boar's momentum stopped in mid-charge. Its body dropped with a heavy crash.

Silence returned just as swiftly as the chaos had come.

The forest stilled.

The smell of scorched moss and rosemary lingered.

Mikhailis walked over to the remains of the first Thornboar and crouched, inspecting the jagged crystal growing from its forehead. He pried it loose with a grunt and held it up to the light. It sparkled with fractured rainbows.

"Useful," he said. "Good for potion stabilizers. Or maybe..."

<"Soap dish,"> Rodion supplied.

He snorted. "You're obsessed."

<"Cleanliness is essential. You, however, are not.">

Cerys sheathed her sword in one clean motion, glancing around. "No more?"

Vyrelda nodded, her breathing only slightly uneven. "Scouts confirmed perimeter is clear."

Elowen turned to Lira. "You alright?"

Lira's ponytail had slipped loose in the chaos, but otherwise, she looked entirely composed. She brushed a speck of blood from her sleeve. "Barely touched me. It was a poor attempt."

Cerys looked at her for a long beat, then murmured, "You threw that powder fast."

Lira raised an eyebrow. "Would you prefer I'd let it land on you instead?"

"No," Cerys said. Then, after a moment: "That was impressive."

A flicker of surprise passed over Lira's face, so quick it might've been imagined.

But she gave a small nod in return.

Their eyes lingered on each other for a moment longer.

Then Mikhailis clapped his hands. "Alright! That's enough life-threatening excitement for one lunch break."

He reached into his bag and tossed out a small snack cube. Bob—who had been hiding half-submerged behind a log the whole time—crawled out and snapped it up happily.

The group regathered in silence, breath still catching up, hearts slowly returning to calm.

Vyrelda stood once more by Elowen's side. "We move in twenty."

Elowen touched her shoulder gently. "Well fought."

The knight gave a short nod and turned.

Mikhailis slipped beside Elowen as they returned to their gear. "We were almost halfway through tea," he muttered. "I'm filing a formal complaint to the Mist-Leaper union."

She smiled softly. "Next time, finish your tea faster."

He glanced at her, then leaned in slightly. "You're glowing again."

She looked at him. "Magic?"

"No." He reached up and gently touched her cheek. "Just you."

She looked away with a small smile and tightened her cloak.

As they mounted again and the glade faded behind them, Mikhailis turned in his saddle one last time, glancing at the spot where the fire had nearly burned into disaster.

A family, he thought again. And family fights together.

But just beyond the dense trees, a new light awaited.

Moonlilies.

And peace—for now.