The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 433: The Royal Slip Out (2)

"For peace to last,"

Mikhailis lit his small candle and placed it on the wooden boat with a mischievous grin. "For more kisses without protocol interruptions," he said aloud, making sure Elowen could hear every syllable. Even in the gentle darkness around the lantern pond, there was no mistaking his teasing intent. She snapped him a look that was half affection, half exasperation, and in answer, she flicked a tiny splash of water at him. It landed on his cheek like a cool rebuke, sending tiny ripples across the pond's surface.

He feigned shock, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. "Assaulting your consort in public, are we?"

Elowen only rolled her eyes, though the corners of her lips betrayed her smile. "You deserve it. Always going on about kisses," she said softly, her tone holding that secret warmth she reserved just for him.

They stood there a moment longer, watching both their boats drift out into the pond, each bearing a single flame that danced on the surface. Children zigzagged behind them, chasing after glowing moth illusions that fluttered in a circle above the water. The illusions were carefully woven spells—delicate shapes of luminescent wings that swooped and soared just out of reach. The children's laughter filled the night like a chorus of bells, lifting the last remnants of tension from Mikhailis's mind.

He and Elowen left the lantern pond, stepping away from the gentle throng. Another street beckoned them with faint music and drifting aromatic scents. They meandered hand in hand, occasionally brushing shoulders when the path narrowed. Neither spoke much, but they shared smiles and silent wonders at this city transformed by night. Serewyn's usual grandeur had softened, revealing a quiet pulse of life.

Eventually, they ventured down a narrow side alley, illuminated by only a few flickering orbs of arcane light. Halfway along, they caught sight of an old bookstore, its weathered sign nearly unreadable. Mikhailis was drawn to it immediately; something about neglected tomes always kindled his curiosity. Pushing open the squeaky door, they stepped inside.

A hush enveloped them as soon as they crossed the threshold. Dust motes swirled in the dimness, dancing in the glow of a single lantern suspended from the low-beamed ceiling. Shelves crammed with books stretched all the way to the back, some leaning precariously, others stacked in haphazard piles on the floor. It was as though centuries of knowledge had been crammed into one place, waiting for someone to rediscover them.

Elowen let her hood slide back a little, eyes darting over faded spines. She touched one carefully, reading the worn lettering with a mixture of reverence and nostalgia. "My father loved old volumes like these," she murmured. "He used to say there's always a glimmer of truth in forgotten books, waiting to be found."

Mikhailis observed her with a quiet fondness. Elowen's father, from everything he had learned, had been a visionary—a king who believed in bridging gaps between people and harnessing knowledge for peace. Seeing her now, gently trailing her fingertips along the dusty edges, he sensed the echoes of that legacy.

She paused at a cracked spine, brow furrowing. "This… my father quoted this once," she said softly. The cover was half torn, the title mostly illegible.

While she gingerly turned the yellowed pages, Mikhailis slipped away toward the shopkeeper—a hunched old figure with bushy eyebrows. He smiled politely and tapped the spine Elowen had been examining. "I'd like to purchase this," he said. "No, better yet, I must."

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The man studied him for a long moment, seeming to weigh the sincerity in Mikhailis's tone. Then he quoted a price, not too high, not too low—perhaps a courtesy for the strange couple that had wandered in near midnight. Mikhailis quietly counted out coins, heart warmed by the thought of surprising Elowen with this piece of her past. He tucked the newly bought treasure into his satchel, making a mental note to present it later when the moment felt right.

Outside, the night breeze greeted them again, carrying with it the mingled scents of street spices and lingering candle smoke. They walked on, their steps light, exchanging the occasional comment about a whimsical bit of architecture or an odd sign above a closed shop. Mikhailis reveled in the spontaneity—this was precisely the kind of unplanned escapade that he'd craved, free from the demands of court appearances.

They found a ladder leaning against a building, presumably left by a tradesman. It led to a slanted rooftop above a small metalsmith's workshop. Elowen's gaze flicked to Mikhailis, eyebrows raised in question. Without speaking, they both decided to climb.

The rooftop was sturdier than it looked, though sloped. They navigated carefully, finally settling on a flat portion near the front. The city sprawled below them in a patchwork of alleyways, soft lights, and curling tendrils of mist. From here, the structures rose and fell like rolling hills, the occasional spire or turret puncturing the horizon. In the distance, the great towers of the Serewyn palace rose, half-shrouded in moonlit clouds—mist curling around them like dozing serpents.

Elowen leaned into Mikhailis's side. She said nothing at first, but he felt her take a long breath, as though trying to inhale the entire scene. "I keep forgetting I'm a queen tonight," she whispered eventually, voice muffled by the hush of the sleeping city.

He slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "And I forget I'm supposed to be just a consort," he replied. There was a wry edge to his words, but a gentle one. He found himself wanting this night to stretch on and on—no official titles, no pressing duties, just an open sky and the solace of her presence.

She turned her face up to him. Their eyes locked, and for a moment he saw a glimmer of vulnerability there, an unspoken question about what their lives might be if only they had more nights like this. He bent to kiss her, and she rose on her toes to meet him. It was slow, unhurried—an exchange steeped in the understanding of everything they'd faced, every duty postponed for the sake of this stolen peace.

A faint beep echoed in Mikhailis's mind, courtesy of Rodion.

<Please relocate. Probability of roof collapse: 2.6%. Cause: Mikhailis's unusually heavy coat.>

He broke the kiss, groaning softly. "I hate you," he whispered, only half-joking, to the intangible companion lodged in his consciousness.

<No you don't,> Rodion retorted in a smug tone.

Elowen chuckled against Mikhailis's chest, and the sound of her laughter in the still night made his heart skip. "Rodion being a killjoy again?" she asked.

Mikhailis nodded. "Precisely. Worrying about roof integrity in the middle of a romantic moment."

She smiled at him, eyes shining. "We can't have the roof collapsing. Let's go find somewhere else to—" She paused, "be married without protocols."

He snickered. "I appreciate the near-polite way you phrased that."

"It's late," she teased, "I'm losing my regal vocabulary."

They both laughed, not just at Rodion's interruption but at everything—the delicious absurdity of climbing rooftops, the fragile beauty of a city finally recovering, the simple joy of being together away from prying eyes. This was a side of their relationship that rarely had a chance to blossom in the glare of court politics.

They made their way back down the ladder with cautious steps, occasionally glancing up at the moon that bore silent witness to their secret outing. The streets had grown quieter still, and they found no trouble slipping past dozing guards or navigating deserted alleys. By the time they reached the castle's outer walls, the faintest hint of dawn glowed at the horizon, painting the sky with a thin ribbon of pale lavender.

Rodion helped them bypass a ward at a lesser-known side entrance.

<You're welcome,> the AI quipped, and Mikhailis stifled an urge to roll his eyes at the arrogance in that digital voice.

Inside, the hallways lay mostly empty. Perhaps a few servants moved about, preparing for the earliest tasks of morning, but no one questioned their presence. They climbed a spiral staircase back to their guest suite, exhaustion finally creeping into Mikhailis's bones. Yet it was a pleasant fatigue, one that came from living freely, if only for a handful of hours.

Elowen peeled off her cloak, letting it drop onto a chair. A few stray strands of her hair were caught in the clasp, and she winced when they tugged. Mikhailis stepped behind her, gingerly untangling the knot until she was free, his touch soft against her scalp. She relaxed into his hands, and he realized with a small pang how rarely they had the chance to linger in such everyday intimacies.

She turned her gaze to the dormant fireplace. "I keep wondering how long we can live like this," she murmured. "Stealing moments. Hiding away from the eyes of two kingdoms."

He rested his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. "Maybe not forever," he admitted. "But if I get ten more nights like this, I'll call it a good life."

She turned around fully then, resting her palms on his chest. For a beat, she simply gazed at him. He recognized the emotion in her eyes—gratitude, longing, a fragile sense of peace. She rose on her toes and kissed him, slow and deliberate. The sweet warmth of her lips reminded him of the candle-lit boats drifting on the pond, of the hush in the bookstore, of the quiet rooftop that had almost collapsed under them. All those moments condensed into this single, grateful connection.

When they finally broke apart, she guided him to the couch. It was a sturdy piece of furniture, wide enough for both to sit side by side with space to spare. But she pulled a blanket over them, pressing close so they shared the same cushion.

In that comfortable hush, Rodion piped up:

<You are 1.7 degrees below optimal comfort. Initiating auto-warming.>

The hearth sprang to life with a sudden whoosh, flames dancing merrily as if they had awaited the prompt. Mikhailis rolled his eyes, but a soft chuckle escaped him. "Leave it to you to measure temperature during a romantic moment," he muttered under his breath.

Elowen laughed too, her voice weaving with the crackle of the fire. She tilted her head to rest against his shoulder, and he slid an arm around her waist, drawing her in closer. Their breaths began to slow, the tension of the day melting away in the presence of that gentle heat.

They drifted off, tangled in warmth, watched over by stars and sarcasm.