The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Chapter 323 Erased but Not Forgotten

Mikhailis leaned against the wooden frame of the window, letting the morning mist curl around his fingers as he flicked the decrypted data chip between them. The cool condensation clung to his skin, thin tendrils of fog slipping between his fingers before dissolving into nothing. Outside, Luthadel's streets stirred sluggishly beneath the dense mist, early risers moving with the habitual caution of those who knew better than to trust the city's silence.

The room was dimly lit, the weak sunlight barely penetrating the thick fog pressing against the glass. His golden eyes traced the outlines of the noble district's distant spires, blurred by the ever-present haze. Somewhere beyond those walls, men and women played their games of power, blissfully unaware that the very air they breathed was a battlefield.

Rodion's voice, crisp and clinical, echoed in his mind.

Mikhailis exhaled sharply, tapping the chip against the wooden sill. "Extinct. Right. Because extinct people go around sending assassins in the dead of night."

Mikhailis let the chip roll across his knuckles, watching its faint glint in the dim light. "So, let me get this straight. They didn't just vanish. Someone made sure they disappeared from history." He clicked his tongue. "Which means someone had a damn good reason to bury them."

"And now they're back, running around in the shadows, messing with mist networks and trying to kill me. Great." Mikhailis flicked the chip onto the desk and ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "So much for extinction."

Rodion continued without pause.

Mikhailis narrowed his eyes. "Define 'align.'"

Mikhailis let out a low whistle, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "So, we're dealing with a power struggle. Not freedom fighters, not rebels—just another set of people trying to sit on the throne."

Fantastic. A rogue faction playing at kings while the Technomancers strangled the city, and here he was, an entomologist-slash-accidental-diplomat stuck in the middle of it.

Mikhailis reached for his tea, only to find the cup empty. He scowled. "This just keeps getting better."

The Crownless House. He rolled the name over in his mind, testing it. If they were an offshoot of House Rethis, then it meant their claim wasn't just about control—it was about legacy. They weren't trying to rule from the shadows like the Technomancers. No, they wanted to be rulers.@@@@

That made them unpredictable.

It also meant they wouldn't tolerate outside interference.

He sighed and picked up the chip again, spinning it between his fingers, lost in thought. What was their endgame? Did they really think they could usurp the Technomancers just like that? More importantly—where did that leave him?

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Mikhailis turned, glancing toward the entrance as the latch clicked open. Arvel stepped inside, his cloak damp from the morning mist, droplets clinging to the heavy fabric. The man carried himself with the stiff posture of someone burdened by duty, his sharp eyes flickering over the room before settling on Mikhailis.

Arvel gave a polite nod, the kind reserved for someone of notable rank but not quite respect. His voice, even and measured, carried the faintest edge of impatience. "His Highness, the Crown Prince Laethor, will be arriving soon."

Mikhailis raised a brow at the emphasis. "You sound excited."

Arvel's expression didn't shift, but the corners of his mouth tightened ever so slightly. "The Crown Prince prefers discretion in his movements, as you are well aware." His gaze flicked toward the window, where the mist outside clung to the streets like a waiting beast. "However, conditions have complicated the matter. He's avoiding Technomancer patrols, but the mist is thickening unnaturally along the main roads. His entourage has been forced to take alternate routes, causing delays."

Mikhailis clicked his tongue, pushing away from the window. "I assume that means they're not just trying to keep people out. They're keeping him out."

Arvel nodded once. "It is a possibility. The mist has grown heavier in patterns that do not align with standard Technomancer regulation. If His Highness's arrival is being actively obstructed, then the matter is more serious than we initially believed."

Mikhailis smirked. "So, what you're saying is, someone's already playing defense before the prince can even set foot in the city."

Arvel's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening just slightly. "That is the concern. His Highness is fully aware of the risks, but if we are to act, we must act swiftly."

Mikhailis studied him for a moment, noting the subtle tension in his stance. Arvel was loyal to Laethor—loyal in that way that wasn't just about duty, but something deeper. Respect? Devotion? Or maybe something closer to resentment, the kind that came from standing in a shadow too long.

He rolled his eyes, though his grin remained. "I'd say I appreciate the concern, but something tells me this is more about Her Majesty's wrath than my well-being."

Vyrelda's expression didn't shift. "You're not wrong."

Mikhailis leaned back, pretending to weigh his options, though everyone in the room knew he had already made up his mind. "Fine," he relented, raising his hands in mock surrender. "If it keeps you from stabbing me in my sleep, I'll take a bodyguard."

Vyrelda scoffed. "You should be more worried about what Elowen will do to you if you die on her watch."

He laughed at that, shaking his head. "Now that's a terrifying thought."

The tension in the room eased ever so slightly, but the weight of what they were about to do still lingered in the air. The plan was set. The risks were real. But hesitation was a luxury they couldn't afford.

Lira stood, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. "We'll move out soon. Cerys, Rhea, and I will clear Laethor's path and monitor the area for suspicious movements."

Cerys nodded. "If the Technomancers are increasing security, it'll be easier to find out what they're nervous about."

Rhea stretched, cracking her knuckles. "I do love a bit of reconnaissance."

Mikhailis grinned. "Just don't have too much fun without me."

Lira shot him a pointed look. "You should be more worried about your own mission."

Vyrelda turned to him, her sharp eyes assessing. "We leave in an hour. Get your gear ready."

Mikhailis sighed dramatically. "So demanding."

Rhea smirked. "You should be used to that by now, Your Highness."

With the plan set, the group began their preparations.

Lira fastened the clasps on her coat, adjusting the straps with effortless precision. Cerys inspected her weapons, her face unreadable as usual. Rhea, already prepared, leaned against the wall, watching the others with her usual mix of amusement and detachment.

Meanwhile, Mikhailis strapped a dagger to his thigh, checking its weight with a practiced flick of his wrist. He wasn't a swordsman like Vyrelda, nor a trained assassin, but he knew how to use a blade when necessary.

Vyrelda, standing near the door, watched him with an unreadable expression. "Do you even know how to use that properly?"

Mikhailis shot her a grin. "I know which end goes in the other guy."

She rolled her eyes. "Fantastic. We're doomed."

He chuckled, slipping the dagger into its sheath. "Have a little faith."

Vyrelda exhaled through her nose. "I have faith. Just not in your survival instincts."

Mikhailis patted her shoulder as he walked past. "That's why I have you, isn't it?"

Vyrelda muttered something under her breath but didn't push him away.

The group gathered at the entrance of the inn, the early morning mist curling around their feet as if whispering secrets only the city itself could hear. The golden sigils of the noble district flickered in the distance, marking the divide between the privileged and the oppressed.

Mikhailis took a deep breath, inhaling the cool, mist-laden air. Luthadel always feels like it's hiding something. Today, we get to find out what.

Lira stepped forward. "We'll rendezvous at the merchant district in three hours. If something happens, don't do anything reckless."

Mikhailis pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "Me? Reckless? You wound me, Lira."

She didn't dignify that with a response.

With a final nod, the group split off.

Mikhailis and Vyrelda stepped into the streets of Luthadel, the morning mist clinging to their coats like silent observers.