The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 436: Going Back to Silvarion Thalor (2)

"I still think your naming sense is questionable," she remarked, arching an eyebrow and resting one hand elegantly on Aralis's reins. Her gaze flicked from Mikhailis to the half-glider, half-elk contraption, and then back again.

She paused, letting her statement hang in the morning air, a teasing warmth in her expression. Aralis shifted, the embroidered harness jingling with every subtle movement, and Mikhailis could see how well Elowen already handled the mare. The horse, for its part, seemed to move in time with Elowen's quiet dignity. That synergy lent an air of calm confidence to the scene.

At the same moment, a swirl of muted conversation passed through the line of Silvarion knights. Some were eyeing Mikhailis's mount with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Others exchanged amused smiles, waiting to see if the so-called "Bob" would create any comedic chaos. Further back in the courtyard, a pair of younger knights hurried to secure a final load of supplies, likely potions and small enchanted trinkets gleaned from the newly established collaboration with Serewyn.

Mikhailis inhaled the crisp morning air, relishing the faint scent of dew that clung to the courtyard. Just outside the castle's perimeter, a few city dwellers had gathered, bidding informal farewells. A child waved a small handkerchief embroidered with a rough approximation of Silvarion's crest. An older woman, face lined with gratitude, bowed as the silver-cloaked knights passed. It struck Mikhailis just how different this departure felt compared to their arrival: now, they left behind a sense of hope and new beginnings, a tangible shift from crisis to opportunity.

He patted Bob's side. The creature craned its long neck around, giving him a look that seemed to say, "Are we really doing this again?" With a small grin, Mikhailis looked up at Elowen, and she locked eyes with him. Her earlier remark about his naming sense still hung unaddressed, but he could read the subtle amusement in her face—she enjoyed ribbing him, especially in the presence of the knights who expected a certain decorum.

Before he could conjure a retort, a gentle breeze stirred through the courtyard, ruffling the banners overhead. He had a fleeting thought: Perhaps it was the castle's wards giving them a subdued send-off. The day promised travel, uncertain roads, and the forging of new expansions in both kingdoms, but for now, there was a hush of calm. Even King Haradon's stoic façade hinted at satisfaction, and Queen Melisara's earlier affection lingered in the air.

Elowen gently stroked Aralis's mane and steered the mare closer. "Truly, calling your mount 'Bob' might be the pinnacle of your questionable naming choices," she teased. Her voice carried enough volume that those nearest could overhear, leading a few knights to stifle small laughs.

Mikhailis acted scandalized, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "How dare you. Bob is short for something very elaborate, I'll have you know. I simply want to spare everyone the mouthful of syllables."

He paused, scanning the beast's ridges and gently moving wing joints. "Actually, he might prefer to be called Bob only because everything else sounded too pretentious."

Elowen's lips twitched in a smirk. "I'd guess you do enough pretentiousness for the both of you, so maybe he's balancing it out."

"Exactly." Mikhailis settled into the saddle, letting Bob get a feel for his weight. The mount shifted, testing the harness, but made no overt sign of refusal. "Teamwork, in all forms."

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

She inclined her head in a regal nod, clearly pleased with her own witty banter. Aralis padded in a slow circle, tail flicking in that content, rhythmic way. The clatter of hooves on stone was soothing, reminding Mikhailis of how journeys always began with the simplest of motions: a single step forward.

A hush fell again, and he felt the moment crystallize. A new day, fresh alliances, and a shared departure—yet echoes of old responsibilities lingered. He could almost sense the unspoken hopes and fears drifting in the space between them. Eventually, Elowen broke the quiet, voice gentling. "Ready?" she asked, posture straightening, the question as much a personal check as a command to the entourage.

Mikhailis gave a short nod. "Ready," he answered, a firm warmth in his tone. "Let's go, partner." He patted Bob's neck once more, ignoring the slight hiss the mount produced.

From behind them, Vyrelda signaled with a crisp gesture, and the silver-cloaked knights prepared to move. A few final details were exchanged among the ranks, but the general mood was one of calm readiness. In the distance, Rhea offered a brief wave, turning her attention back to the Serewyn staff with whom she'd remain. Estella, perched on the steps, looked on with an odd mixture of longing and excitement, as though her new role anchored her to Serewyn's future but also made her yearn for the journey.

Elowen turned her mare around, letting Aralis take a few strides away from the castle gates. The horse's elegant gait showcased the breeding and care that had gone into its training. She stopped just short of the main walkway, glancing back at Mikhailis with that look of expectancy he knew all too well.

He urged Bob to follow with a soft click of his tongue. The beast took an extra half-second to respond, perhaps considering whether the morning's rest had been far too short. Then it stepped forward, wings rustling faintly, and fell into pace.

In the swirl of that newly lit courtyard, with King Haradon, Queen Melisara, and so many watchful eyes behind them, Mikhailis couldn't help but reflect on how quickly circumstances had shifted. Only a short while ago, Serewyn faced disaster from unyielding toxic mists. Now, they departed as allies, leaving a blossoming partnership in their wake—The Silver Veil Atelier, a venture that promised prosperity and new ways for both kingdoms to thrive. He found it surreal but gratifying.

Elowen caught him staring at her. "You're thinking too much again," she accused lightly.

He shrugged, offering a smile that contained traces of both relief and lingering wonder. "Just letting the moment sink in."

She tilted her head, understanding shining in her eyes. "I think we both are." Then she nudged Aralis forward, leading the way toward the city's outer edges. The assembled knights fanned out behind them in two neat columns, metal and fabric shimmering in unison.

Mikhailis chuckled softly, feeling the steady rhythm of Bob's movements beneath him. The morning sun played across the rolling mist ahead, and each easy stride made him more aware of the oddly endearing mount he'd chosen. Bob's sinewy legs scissored in a purposeful gait, sometimes too purposeful, as if determined to outpace Aralis. Elowen, seated elegantly on her own steed, cast him a curious look when Bob surged forward again. She smiled—half amused, half exasperated—but didn't protest his creature's enthusiasm. He let out a content sigh, enjoying the interplay between the crisp air, the subdued hush of the early hour, and the gentle jingle of harnesses all around them.

Elowen maintained a regal bearing on Aralis. The horse's silken mane caught the light, gleaming with the faintest swirl of pastel illusions, no doubt woven by Serewyn artisans who took pride in breeding both beauty and magical resilience into their steeds. She glanced at Mikhailis once more, her cheeks warming with mild embarrassment at the curious stares from passing villagers. "I still think your naming sense is questionable," she remarked, gesturing toward Bob's elongated neck and quirky ridged back. Aralis, sensing her rider's attention, flicked her ears forward, strutting a bit more proudly.

"What?" Mikhailis replied with mock indignation, patting his mount's flank. The soft pat made Bob rumble a grumbling chuff, halfway between a purr and a disgruntled snort. "Bob has character," he insisted, ignoring the sideways looks from a nearby knight. "Besides, Rodion suggested a name that sounded like an incantation to summon cosmic doom, and I wasn't about to call him Thal'Qaranexus Glide-Alpha every time I wanted him to trot."

A dull whir in his ear preceded Rodion's dry observation.

<Correction: 'Thal'Qaranexus Glide-Alpha' is a statistically optimized designation. 'Bob' is… tragic.>

The AI's voice managed to convey both annoyance and resignation in equal measure.

Mikhailis shrugged cheerfully, a broad grin taking shape. "See? Even Rodion's bitter I chose soul over syllables." He kept his gaze on the road but couldn't resist stealing a glance at Elowen. The queen offered a soft chuckle, her hand lightly stroking Aralis's mane, as if to soothe the horse's competitive spark.

Near the front of the procession, Vyrelda took point, her polished armor reflecting slivers of morning light. The silver-dusted cloak draped over her shoulders sparkled faintly, as though each thread carried a hint of frost. She turned her head just enough to speak over her shoulder, voice pitched low and firm. "Three minutes behind schedule," she muttered. "Marked improvement, considering the romantic delays." Her posture never slackened, every inch of her screamed discipline and constant vigilance.

Behind them, near the rear of the column, Cerys rode a dark-coated courser. She sat upright, sword across her back, eyes scanning the trees and roadside. Though it might appear she was ignoring the banter, Mikhailis knew better—Cerys noticed everything. The slight rustling of leaves above prompted her right hand to twitch toward the hilt of her blade. Habit, perhaps, from a lifetime of anticipating threats. Yet she remained silent, a guardian shadow at the tail end of their traveling ranks.

Lira, poised with a certain feline grace atop a white-hooded steed, cast Mikhailis a sardonic look. "You're riding a creature that looks like it's auditioning for a circus act." Her voice, while flat, carried that wry edge he'd come to appreciate, even if it cut a bit too close to truth.

Mikhailis spread his hands in a gesture of good humor. "I'll have you know Bob has excellent reflexes and a charming glint in his eye," he declared. At the mention of his name, Bob swiveled his elongated neck around, sniffing in Mikhailis's direction. Before Mikhailis could react, the beast tried nibbling at his hair. "Stop that," he hissed, gently pushing the creature's muzzle away.

"That's not a glint of charm," Lira replied in a deadpan tone. "It's the glint of hunger."

They passed through the city's open gates, arches adorned with faint illusions that shimmered overhead. A few traveling merchants, guiding wagons filled with cloth and alchemical trinkets, paused to stare openly at the procession. Mikhailis couldn't help the grin that spread across his face at their wide-eyed fascination. He was half-tilted in the saddle, searching his pockets for something. The merchants, evidently recognizing him from some Serewyn scroll or rumor, called out with hushed curiosity. "Are you... a traveling alchemist?" one asked, sounding both hopeful and alarmed. "We've seen your face in Serewyn's bulletins."

Mikhailis winked. "Only in the sections labeled 'Public Hazards,' I assure you." With a flourish, he produced a tiny vial of orange powder from a belt pouch. "Sun-Pimple Fade Dust," he proclaimed, holding it out theatrically. "Clears blemishes, adds glow, and leaves you smelling like apricots. Ten silver, best deal you'll find this side of the mists."

The merchant blinked. "Does it work?" he asked, voice wobbling with a mix of eagerness and skepticism.

"I use it daily," Mikhailis replied in a mock-serious tone, gesturing to his own face. "Look at this glow. Radiant, no?" He managed to keep a straight face, though he felt laughter threatening to bubble over. Rodion's sarcastic sigh hummed in his ear.

<He does not use it. He merely sweats attractively.>

Ignoring the commentary, Mikhailis waited. The merchant exchanged a dubious look with a companion, but eventually rummaged for coins. Two vials sold. Mikhailis pocketed the silver with a good-natured nod, then trotted forward, leaving the merchants blinking in mild confusion and a dash of hope. Maybe they'd tried everything else and were ready for an odd solution.

The main road stretched out before them, winding through gentle hills and a low morning mist that clung to the base of towering trees. Overhead, enchanted lanterns dangled from branches, casting pastel lights—pinks, blues, and greens—that helped guide travelers along the ancient route. The Silvarion knights moved in disciplined lines, each rider mindful of the others, their polished armor reflecting glimpses of the soft lantern glow.

Aralis let out a ladylike snort when Bob attempted another surge to the front. Elowen deftly flicked the mare's reins, keeping pace and preserving her place in the formation. "Your mount has no concept of hierarchy," she remarked wryly, though her eyes twinkled with hidden amusement. "He's really determined to disrupt order."

Mikhailis leaned back casually in the saddle, letting Bob's next little leap bounce him lightly. "I like that about him," he said. "He's a revolutionary. Doesn't care about lines or titles."

A few steps behind, Lira guided her white-hooded steed closer to Cerys, who remained at the rear. She gave the stoic knight a sideways glance. "So," she began, "how do you enjoy riding with romantics who can't keep to schedule?"

Cerys didn't even turn. "They're louder than I expected," she replied, voice calm as ever, eyes still scanning the edges of the wooded path.

Lira's lips curved the faintest bit, not quite a smile but close. "You didn't answer the question." Her voice dropped an octave, a subtle challenge stirring in her tone.

"I wasn't aware it needed answering," Cerys said, expression remaining a mask of composure.

"Mmm," Lira hummed, a world of meaning packed into that single sound. She straightened in her saddle, posture unwavering. "That's fine. The real fun starts when they begin flirting in the middle of a skirmish. You haven't seen anything yet."

Cerys turned her head slightly, her gaze flicking to Mikhailis and Elowen at the front of the column, who seemed to be exchanging another quip. "I'll stab him if he does."

"You'll have to beat her majesty Elowen to it," Lira said, her tone cool and composed.