The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The vendor reached into one of his baskets and, with practiced ease, flicked a small slip of parchment onto the edge of the cart as they passed. Mikhailis caught it between two fingers, unfolding it under the cover of his sleeve, keeping his gaze forward. The clamor of the caravan's wheels and the low hum of the mist was the only noise, but in this city, even that felt oppressively loud.

He glanced briefly at the note:

The Crownless House isn't the only faction watching.

His smirk faltered. How many factions could Luthadel hold before it burst? He cast a quick look backward, but the vendor was already gone, swallowed by the rolling fog and the shifting crowd. Beside him, Vyrelda noticed the slight tension in his posture.

"Something wrong?" she asked, her voice as calm as ever, though her hand hovered near the hilt of her sword.

He slid the note into his coat pocket. "Just a love letter. Apparently, I've got more secret admirers in this city than I realized."

Vyrelda's brows drew together, unimpressed. "I'd believe it if this place wasn't on the verge of lockdown." Still, she didn't press further. She'd learned that Mikhailis rarely gave a direct answer unless forced.

He offered her a playful wink, but his mind churned. Another faction was out there—one with eyes keen enough to track his movements from the shadows. The Crownless House and the Technomancers had been trouble enough, but now a new player had stepped onto the board.

The caravan creaked to a gradual stop, jostling them both. A checkpoint loomed ahead, where a pair of mist-hunting sentinels flanked by two Technomancer enforcers methodically scanned each cart. The sentinels' glass lenses glowed red, rotating with quiet whirs as they swept the area for arcane or biological anomalies.

Mikhailis swore softly under his breath. "Guess that's our cue to leave."

Vyrelda tensed, her knuckles whitening around the wagon's rail. "They're scanning for us. If they catch us here—"

He nodded. "Right. No sense in getting pinned down." With a covert gesture, he signaled her to jump.

In one smooth motion, they slipped off the side of the cart, blending into the swirl of commoners traveling on foot. The mist was thicker on the ground, giving them partial cover. They ducked into a narrow alley lined with moldy crates and a few battered barrels, the scent of stale sewage assaulting their noses. At least it was better than being caught by the Technomancers.

Vyrelda pressed herself against the alley wall, scanning overhead for signs of watchers. Mikhailis resisted the urge to crack another joke—one miscalculated step and they'd be in a fight they couldn't win. He caught the faint glow of scanning lights as the sentinels swept over the caravan. A breath of relief escaped him when the mechanical hum receded.

No time to linger. He gestured further down the alley, where a flickering wooden sign, half-painted with alchemical symbols, hung askew from rusted hinges. An old alchemist's shop, apparently still in operation, judging by the dim glow of lamplight from within.

They slipped inside, shutting the door behind them just as footsteps clattered past the entrance. The interior smelled of bitter herbs and chemical fumes. Shelves stuffed with jars lined the walls, each jar containing unknown concoctions floating in murky liquids. A bent old man with ink-stained fingers and a permanent scowl glanced up from a cluttered desk.

"Who the hell are you?" His voice was raspy, his eyes sharpened by either caution or annoyance. Possibly both.

Mikhailis donned a casual grin. "Just two weary travelers looking to browse your fine wares."

The man rolled his eyes, sniffing. "Hmph. You think I was born yesterday? You're ducking trouble."

Outside, a hiss of mechanical limbs sliding across the pavement made Mikhailis's heart skip a beat. The old man's scowl deepened, but he gave a short nod toward a dark corner behind a stack of boxes. "Fine. Hide over there. But if the enforcers come knocking, don't expect me to lie for you."

Vyrelda's jaw tightened in silent gratitude. She moved swiftly, positioning herself where she could watch both the door and the old man, in case this turned into an ambush. Mikhailis followed, letting out a small sigh.

The muffled whir of sentinel scanners drifted through the thin walls, accompanied by the heavy thuds of enforcer boots. Every hair on Mikhailis's neck stood on end.

They're searching thoroughly. That new faction, that slip of parchment… They're determined to corner me, or corner anyone meddling with the city's delicate balance.

Rodion's voice cut through his thoughts:

<Analysis: The tracker pulse is still active. Your movements have been flagged. Someone is actively searching for you. Probability of direct confrontation: 62%.>

He breathed slowly, forcing his pulse to calm. They're persistent. But that meant he needed to be smarter. They'd already discovered too much about the Crownless House, about the old Serewynian ruins that might break the Technomancer stranglehold on the mist. If this new faction wanted him out of the picture, they might be even more ruthless.

Vyrelda edged closer, her gaze on him. "We can't keep running blindly. The city's only getting more tense."

He nodded. "I know. Once we slip past this patrol, we'll head for the safehouse." They had arranged one final meeting spot with Lira, Cerys, and Rhea in the noble district—some basement under a decrepit tailor shop. Not exactly a five-star inn, but it would do for avoiding suspicion.

The next few minutes dragged as the footsteps outside paused near the shop's door. Mikhailis's breath caught. He braced, waiting for a knock or a demand, heart pounding in his chest. The old alchemist stood behind his desk, arms folded, eyes flicking nervously at the door.

But no one entered.

After what felt like an eternity, the footsteps moved on. The tension in the air evaporated a fraction, replaced by the stale smell of old potions. The alchemist grunted, "They've gone." He eyed them both with thinly veiled irritation. "You should leave before they circle back."

Mikhailis offered a polite nod. "Much appreciated. Sorry for the intrusion."

Vyrelda turned, stepping back into the mist with Mikhailis behind her. The swirling gray enveloped them once more, though they kept to the lesser-traveled paths. With each block they passed, the city's hush grew more oppressive. Windows were shut tight, doors locked, and the few citizens on the street scurried away with lowered heads.

This place is suffocating. All because of the mist? Or is it something deeper?

They wound through back alleys, rounding a corner near a cluster of abandoned stalls. The city had a labyrinth of old byways connecting different wards, once bustling with trade but now deserted. Perfect for slipping around patrols. Mikhailis checked behind them every so often, scanning for followers, but aside from the occasional flicker of shapes in the distance, no direct threat appeared.

Finally, they reached the safehouse—a recessed door leading into a steep stairwell, half-hidden behind rotting crates. Mikhailis knocked once, then twice, in the pattern Lira had taught him. After a pause, the door opened from inside, revealing Rhea's cunning smile and bright eyes.

"Took your sweet time," she teased, stepping aside to let them in.

Mikhailis snorted. "We wanted to enjoy the scenic route. You know, admire the architecture, dodge a few enforcers—standard city tour."

She laughed softly, though tension lingered beneath her amusement. The safehouse itself was a single cramped room, lit by a few guttering candles. It smelled of dust, damp stone, and the faint musk of too many people in too little space.

Inside, Lira sat near a rickety table strewn with handwritten notes, her dark ponytail cascading over one shoulder as she looked up with a calm, almost relieved expression. Cerys leaned against a wall, arms crossed, her red ponytail gleaming in the candlelight. She appeared as stoic as ever, but her posture was a tad more rigid than usual, betraying an undercurrent of worry.

They'd rearranged some crates into seats around the table, leaving just enough room for everyone to stand or sit without knocking elbows. Mikhailis slipped off his coat, draping it over a crate. Vyrelda leaned against the doorframe, making sure it was bolted shut behind them.

Lira broke the silence first, a slight arch of her brow. "So, how was your morning stroll?"

He gave her a lazy grin. "Fruitful. Ran into a few old friends, maybe made some new enemies—hard to say."

She rolled her eyes in mild exasperation but didn't push. Instead, she tapped the table. "We've got news. The Technomancers have declared a partial lockdown. They're sending more enforcers into lower districts, searching for any sign of the disturbance from the ruins."

Cerys's voice was low. "They think the Crownless House is behind it. But some of the Crownless have vanished—picked off by someone else, or maybe abducted by the Technomancers. Rumors conflict."

Rhea chimed in. "And there's talk of a third group. Spies hearing about 'an unknown shadow watching from the rooftops.' People disappearing on both sides. Nothing concrete, but you know how rumors spread."
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Mikhailis met their gazes, the note from earlier nagging at him: The Crownless House isn't the only faction watching. So at least the rumor lines up with the cryptic message.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "In the ruins, we found a hidden system controlling the mist, older than the Technomancers' tech. The city used to manage its own air. Now everything's twisted by the new network. Also, we nearly got killed by some ancient guardian."

Vyrelda's tone was flat. "We took care of it. Or shut it down for now."