The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 599: The Secret Lab is Home (1)

Mikhailis flicked the lock on the hidden bookshelf and slid it shut behind him, sealing out the muffled bustle of the upper corridors. The lab’s soft amber lamps welcomed him like old friends, humming in low harmony with the rune-fans. For once, no scatter of voices chased him down the spiral steps—only the muted click of his boots and the faint clink of a teapot settling on its warmer.

He found Elowen already waiting in the center alcove, her gold-rimmed glasses glimmering as she traced a fingertip over the containment cradle. She wore no crown tonight, just a loose ivory blouse and a shawl the color of early wheat. In that gentle light, she looked less like a queen and more like a woman simply curious about the world.

"So ... this is where you disappear," she said, voice carrying quiet wonder. "Rodion showed me a schematic while I was finishing court letters. I had no idea it was this spacious."

Mikhailis set two cups on the side table, smiling. " ’Spacious’ is polite code for ’messy,’ Your Majesty."

She tilted him a playful brow. "I scrubbed stable stalls while training as heir, remember? This is positively sparkling."

Rodion’s text rippled into being above the console.

<Welcome, Queen Elowen. Your presence raises the ambient luminance by six percent. I have dimmed the lamps to compensate.>

Elowen’s laughter was a soft bell. "Thank you, Rodion. Always so considerate."

Mikhailis poured the tea—sencha with a curl of mint—watching steam swirl around her cheeks. She does look brighter lately, he mused, warmth sliding behind his ribs. Maybe this place is good for her too.

She accepted the cup, fingers brushing his in a tiny spark. "Rodion tells me you’ve been ’stirring things’ down here," she said, lowering her voice in imitation of the AI’s formal tone. "Experimental games, snack-powered research marathons—apparently you even re-mapped half the pantry into an ’ant highway’?"

He winced. "In my defense, the ants deliver biscuits in under forty seconds now."

Elowen sipped, eyes shining. "I want to see everything. No royal duties hanging over my head tonight. Thanks to those glasses"—she tapped the gold hinges—"Rodion drafted all my reports before supper."

A low whistle slipped from him. "So my AI has turned my queen into a part-time gamer?"

Another line appeared, crisp and smug.

<Correction: I have merely optimized royal workflow. Leisure activities are a statistically sound method to reduce governance fatigue—and, apparently, to encourage certain biochemical responses between married partners.>

Elowen’s face flushed rose-petal pink. She hid behind her teacup, but her smile lingered. "Rodion’s becoming cheeky."

"Bad influence," Mikhailis said, smirking at the text. "Wherever could he have learned that?"

Her laugh is softer than I remember, he thought, feeling something gentle settle in his chest.

They wandered the lab together—Elowen brushing dust from crystal arrays, Mikhailis pointing out half-finished contraptions. She lingered at the hologram table, tapping icons and squeaking with delight when a tiny dragon sprite chased its own tail across the projection. When he demonstrated the "Ant Tower Defense" prototype, she clapped and demanded the first high-score slot. They were still laughing when footsteps echoed on the stair—three distinct rhythms, fast and familiar.

Serelith appeared first, pink curls bouncing, silver monocle already glinting mischief. Lira followed, cool and poised, adjusting the bridge of her sleek rimless glasses. Cerys stomped in last, visor shading her green eyes, a crate of pastries balanced on one hip.

"You started without us," Serelith gasped, mock-offended. "Our queen betrays us!"

Elowen set the controller down, all dignity returning in a heartbeat. "Impossible. I was only... testing the controls."

"Mm-hmm." Lira’s elegant eyebrow quirked as she glided forward to stack plates. "Shall we see how ’tested’ they are?"

Cerys dropped the pastry box. "Caramel tarts from the lower market," she muttered, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "They’re still warm; hurry before the ants sniff them."

As if summoned, three bronze-backed workers peeked over the workbench. Their antennae twitched hopefully.

Mikhailis snapped his fingers in warning. The ants retreated with a guilty click, though one lingered to steal a single sugar crumb.

Rodion flashed a reprimand.

<Unauthorized pastry acquisition detected. Reducing ant rations by 0.3 grams.>

Serelith stuck out her tongue at the floating text. "No fun, Roddy."

<Noted. Initiating ’no fun’ protocol for Serelith.>

Everyone laughed—even Cerys, though she hid it behind a quick cough.

They gathered around the holotable for battle simulations. Mikhailis spun up the arena: floating platforms, pulsing power-ups, and, because Serelith demanded drama, a glitchy volcano that occasionally belched pixelated lava.

The first round exploded into chaos. Serelith hurled illusionary smoke bombs at Cerys, cackling when the red-haired knight stumbled off a ledge. Cerys retaliated by activating her visor’s precision-dash, slicing through enemies and scoring the highest hit combo. Lira, silent and surgical, dismantled puzzle nodes to rack up artifact points while the others brawled. Elowen navigated with surprising agility, sniping hazards from afar.

Mikhailis tried to keep up—but halfway through he got distracted watching Elowen grin at a head-shot victory. Serelith sneak-attacked him for the final blow.

"Unfair!" he cried. "Royal sabotage!"

Serelith blew him a kiss. "Get good, my prince."

Cerys grumbled about "cheap tricks," visor flashing error red as she flicked menus. Lira reset the scoreboard with prim efficiency.

Round two lasted longer. Cerys and Serelith formed a shaky alliance against Lira’s rising points, only to dissolve when Serelith detonated a friendly mine "by accident." Elowen, steadily improving, cleared objectives with calm focus, tongue poking the corner of her mouth—a detail Mikhailis stored away fondly.

Rodion narrated statistical oddities.

<Cerys’s accuracy decreased 7 percent after Serelith sang the ’ta-da’ fanfare in her ear. Hypothesis: auditory distraction effective.>

Serelith crowed. Cerys tightened her ponytail, swearing vengeance.

Snacks vanished. Tea cooled. Laughter rolled through the lab until lamps dimmed on a timed cycle and the old stone walls glowed honey-warm.

At last Mikhailis slumped against the railing, swirling his cup. "Alright, I concede defeat. Our queen is champion tonight."

Elowen leaned back, eyes bright behind her glasses. "Pure luck."

"Or hidden talent," Lira offered, stacking her tiles into neat towers again. "I vote talent."

Serelith stretched like a satisfied cat. "Talent, luck, who cares? The important part is I looked fabulous regardless."

Cerys snorted. "You tripped over your own smoke bomb."

"Gracefully."

Rodion chimed in.

<Recorded footage indicates ’gracefully’ included a face-plant and four seconds of screaming.>

Lira covered a laugh behind her hand. Elowen giggled so hard she almost spilled her tea.

Mikhailis felt his heart swell at the tableau—friends bantering, queen laughing freely, the secret lab alive in ways he’d never dared imagine.

This is home now. The thought settled like a warm cloak.

Serelith reached into her bag, pulling out every stray puzzle chip she’d pocketed. "Fine, returning borrowed property."

"That’s theft," Lira said, tone dry but amused.

Serelith winked. "Borrowing forever?"

Elowen helped fold the tea cloths, delicate fingers methodical. "Serelith, please remember our linens aren’t limitless."

"Yes, Highness." A theatrical bow.

Rodion unveiled another notification.

<Reminder: Cerys’s visor calibration is overdue by seventeen hours.>

Cerys rolled her eyes. "I’ll do it before morning patrol."

Serelith nudged her. "Stay a bit longer—let’s try puzzle mode."

"Another night," Cerys said, voice low but not unkind. "Need to see my family."

Lira lifted a brow but said nothing.

Mikhailis took the folded cloths from Elowen. "Let me." Their fingertips brushed again; a spark ran up his arm. She offered a soft smile—tired but content.

"And yet," Serelith purred, eyes flicking between Mikhailis and Elowen, "the most precious part of this lab is still off-limits after a certain hour."

Cerys crossed her arms. "The sacred royal slot."

Elowen’s cheeks pinked. She pushed her glasses up, but her grin was playful. "A prince consort should spend some evenings with his queen."

Lira, stacking the last plates, nodded serenely. "It is a bit suspicious how you escort us out so promptly."

Mikhailis pressed a hand to his chest. "Innocent! Completely innocent!"

Serelith laughed. "That’s exactly what a guilty man says."

Elowen set her cup aside, facing him with gentle firmness. "I already told them. They’re welcome any time."

His chest tightened. He hadn’t asked her to, but her acceptance felt like sunlight through clouds. "You really don’t mind?"

"It makes me happy to see everyone laugh here," she said simply.

Rodion’s text appeared.

<Heart rate spike. Recommend calming tea, fewer biscuits.>

He shot a glare upward. Rodion, shut up. But he couldn’t hide the grin tugging his mouth.

Soon the girls gathered coats and bags. Goodnights passed around like shared lanterns.

Serelith lingered at the doorway, blowing a dramatic kiss. "Dream of me, prince."

"Only if nightmares count," Cerys muttered, adjusting her visor.

"Rude wolf."

Lira offered Mikhailis a nod, polite but warm. "Rest well, Master."

Elowen squeezed his shoulder before ascending the stair—her royal duties awaited in the morning, but she looked reluctant to leave.

One by one they vanished, their voices fading into the passage until the bookshelf slid shut.

Cerys alone remained, standing at the edge of the lamp-light. Soft gold edged her silhouette, picking out the tired slump of her shoulders and the way her visor caught the glow like a muted crescent moon. An hour ago that visor had flared crimson in a flurry of competitive swipes; now the tempered glass dulled, hiding any flicker of emotion behind a mirrored sheen.

Mikhailis, halfway through wiping crumbs from the holotable, noticed the sudden hush. He set the cloth down, careful not to scrape the surface, and watched her from across the consoles. The playful noise of the evening—laughing, bickering, Serelith’s mock squeals—had drained away, leaving the quiet hum of mana coils and the soft tick-tick of a distant gear clock.

"Cerys?"

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