The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Chapter 238: Recovering From Fever

The weight of the fever was an unwelcome guest pressing down on Mikhailis’ body. His head felt like it was being crushed, and his breaths came shallow and labored. He lay on the thin mattress, sweat dampening the edges of his disheveled hair. His sharpness—his usual ability to crack a joke or find humor in even the direst of situations—was dulled by the relentless pounding in his skull.

Is this how I’m going out? Fevered and useless? What a way to make a dramatic exit. He grinned weakly to himself, but it quickly faded into a wince.

Rank ascension? What do you mean, Rodion? His thoughts churned sluggishly, his body too drained to muster much resistance.

Mikhailis let out a faint chuckle, though it felt more like a wheeze.

So you’re saying I’m turning into a battle-crazed maniac? That’s comforting.

Great, so I’m a Chimera Ant in a prince’s skin. That’s... less than ideal. He shifted slightly, the effort making him groan.

Okay, Rodion, focus. What do I do about this fever before I start sprouting antennae?

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling on Cerys, who sat nearby with a bowl of water and a damp cloth. Her green eyes were fixed on him, her usual stoic demeanor softened by a quiet worry she didn’t bother to mask.

"Cerys," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.@@@@

"Can you cool this fever? Just follow my... instructions."

Her brow furrowed, and she moved closer, dipping the cloth into the water again.

"Tell me what to do."

"Dampen the cloth. Place it on my... forehead. Then... switch it every few minutes." He tried to inject his usual teasing tone but failed miserably.

Cerys complied, her movements precise but careful, as if afraid to hurt him further. She pressed the cloth against his burning skin, her fingers lingering for a moment as if to reassure herself.

"Anything else?" she asked softly.

"I need to... breathe..." he muttered.

"Deep breaths. Count to four. Then out."

Cerys nodded, sitting by his side to ensure he followed through. Her steady presence was oddly comforting, even if she didn’t speak much. The weight of her concern was palpable in the small tent, a contrast to her usual detached demeanor.

"Water," he croaked, and Cerys quickly reached for a flask, helping him take a few sips.

"Don’t overdo it," she said, her tone firm but gentle.

"We’ll get you through this."

We, he thought, a flicker of amusement breaking through his haze.

Their breaths mingled, and the soft touch of her tongue against his sent a jolt of heat through him, igniting something primal and urgent. He pressed her closer, his hands trailing down her back as their kiss grew more passionate, a desperate need shared between them. She responded in kind, her grip tightening, her lips moving with a fervor that left him dizzy.

The world outside their small tent faded entirely, replaced by the warmth of her body and the racing of their hearts. He felt her shiver—not from the cold, but from the overwhelming heat of their closeness—and his hand instinctively cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her flushed skin. She tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss further, and for a moment, it seemed as though neither of them would pull away.

But then, with a breathless gasp, Cerys broke the kiss, her cheeks burning as she placed her hands on his chest, gently pushing him back.

"Stop," she whispered, her voice shaky but firm.

"We need to move."

Mikhailis blinked, his thoughts still tangled in the haze of their shared passion. He chuckled softly, his voice low and warm.

"Always so practical," he murmured, his fingers reluctantly slipping away from her.

She stood quickly, turning her back to him to hide her flustered expression.

"Pack up," she ordered, her tone carrying a hint of embarrassment.

"We’re not staying here any longer than necessary."

Mikhailis watched her for a moment, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips, before finally nodding and beginning to gather their belongings.

Still smiling, Mikhailis got to his feet, his strength mostly returned. Together, they packed their supplies, folding the tent and securing it to the horse. The chill of the mist was sharper now, prompting them to wrap the horse in additional blankets.

The ride toward Serewyn’s border was uneventful at first, the mist thickening with every mile. As they reached a rest stop, Cerys dismounted and stretched.

"We’re about half a day away," she estimated.

Mikhailis nodded, adjusting the horse’s reins.

"Good. The sooner we—"

He frowned, turning to Cerys.

"Storm’s coming. We need to find cover."

"Here?" she asked, scanning the area.

"No. Rod... instinct says there’s a cavern nearby. Follow me." He mounted the horse, reaching down to help her up.

"Hold on tight."

She complied, wrapping her arms around his waist as the horse began to gallop. The mist grew denser, the cold seeping into their clothes, but Mikhailis’ focus remained steady.

When they reached the cavern, the storm had begun in earnest, rain and wind battering them as they dismounted. The cavern was dry and spacious, its natural formation providing ample room for their supplies and tent.

As they unpacked and set up, Mikhailis glanced at Cerys, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"The journey was never uneventful, huh?"