The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Rhea slipped into the narrow alleyway first, a half-smile dancing on her lips as she navigated between rows of ramshackle stalls and piles of old crates. The merchant quarter, even under the weight of Luthadel's creeping mist, still throbbed with a subdued kind of life. Dim lanterns swung from overhead lines, casting pools of flickering orange light upon cobblestones that looked slick and shiny, as if someone had spilled lamp oil hours ago. Voices drifted in and out of hearing—sharp bargaining, hushed dealings, hurried footsteps.

Behind her, Lira followed with the practiced grace of someone who knew exactly how to avoid drawing attention. Her long black ponytail swayed against her elegant coat, and even though her posture spoke of composure, her dark eyes kept a keen vigil, noting every flicker of movement at the alley's edges. There was an effortless elegance to her steps, but one that also bristled with caution. The vendor stalls they passed were filled with questionable trinkets: tarnished amulets, half-rotten vegetables, and pungent pouches that might hold anything from exotic spices to contraband potions.

A faint breeze caught the edges of Lira's coat, and she wrinkled her nose at a stench wafting from a pile of fish heads discarded behind a stall. "This district always smells like day-old regrets," she muttered softly, her voice carrying a wry undercurrent.

Rhea let out a soft laugh, brushing aside a stray lock of her short hair. "You're just not used to the more… earthy side of commerce. Estella thrives in places like this, you know. She sees opportunity in every stench."

A brief scoff escaped Lira's lips. "If Estella was actually here, she'd be haggling for fish heads, claiming she could turn them into the next culinary craze."

Rhea smirked. "And then you'd argue with her about proper hygiene standards. Like always."

They slipped past a group of rowdy men gambling with dice made of old bone, Lira's gaze drifting skeptically over them. One of the gamblers, noticing her refined posture, gave a sloppy grin. She stared back with an expression so chilly that the man's grin faltered, and he turned back to his dice with a nervous cough. Rhea's eyes danced with amusement at the scene, but she kept moving, her strides purposeful.

"Estella would've loved to watch that," Rhea teased under her breath. "She's always wanting to see you turn men to stone with a look."

"Estella is a merchant who enjoys chaos," Lira retorted quietly. "I prefer… order."

They continued on until the cramped alley opened into a wider intersection where crude torches fought to keep the mist at bay. This was the heart of the merchant quarter's underbelly, a place where stolen goods changed hands and rumors sold for a higher price than coin. The fog glowed faintly in the torchlight, swirling like restless spirits around the clusters of traders bent over crates and barrels.

"Stay close," Rhea murmured, her usual carefree grin deepening into something more serious. "These folks are jumpy. Spook them, and we'll get nothing."

"I'll pretend to be your disapproving noble cousin," Lira replied dryly. She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle in her sleeve, adopting a cool expression that made her look more intimidating than a stealthy interloper. "But remember, we need rumors, not a fight."

Rhea nodded. "Understood."

Ahead, a group of traders was haggling over sacks of what appeared to be dried saffron. Their voices rose in tense, hushed tones. Rhea paused, leaning casually against a crooked wooden beam, close enough to overhear them without seeming too obvious. Lira, putting on a mask of boredom, stood a few steps away, scanning for potential eavesdroppers.

It only took a minute for Rhea to assess who might talk. The grizzled man with a missing ear looked like a fixture here—someone who saw everything but spoke little, usually in exchange for coin. She recognized him from prior runs with Estella, where deals had been forged in half-lit corners.

"All right," Rhea murmured to Lira. "I'll handle this one. You look too expensive to blend in."

Lira arched a brow. "I'll pretend that's a compliment."

"It is. You're far too elegant for this crowd."

With a mischievous smirk, Rhea sauntered toward the man. "Been a while," she greeted quietly, letting a soft hint of familiarity lace her tone. "Got anything juicy for me?"

The man studied her face for a second—recognition flickered in his eyes. He grunted, the stubble on his chin shifting. "Depends. You paying?"

Rhea shrugged one shoulder. "I pay in rumors. And mine are always good."

He snorted, scratching at the scar where his ear should've been. "Feh. Rumors are cheap talk unless you know how to spin 'em."

She let her lips curve into a half-smile, leaning in so their conversation remained private. "I spin them well, trust me. Now, I'm hearing whispers about vanishings in the lower districts… maybe outside the city too. People taken from their homes or just disappearing off the streets."

His single ear twitched, and he lowered his voice. "Vanishing, huh? More than that. People ain't just vanishin'. Some are bein' taken."

Rhea cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Lira, who pretended to browse a nearby stand selling odd trinkets. Lira's posture was relaxed, but Rhea knew she listened intently for key words.

"Taken by who?" Rhea pressed, feigning casual interest.

The merchant rubbed his grizzled jaw. "High security transports. I heard it from a friend who saw wagons leavin' under cover of dark. Couldn't see the crest on their armor, but they had some fancy gear—like Technomancers but not."

Rhea's stomach flipped. Another group wearing armor that looked like the Technomancers but wasn't. Another player in this game of illusions. "Prisoners? Or experiments?" she asked, voice tight.

"No idea." The man's eyes darted around as if searching for listeners. "But the Crownless ain't behind it. They're losin' people too."

Lira stepped in a fraction closer, her face a picture of practiced boredom, but her eyes shone with intensity. She heard the words, capturing them the same way a hawk watches a field mouse. A subtle tightness drew her lips together.

"Conflicting rumors say Crownless blame the Technomancers. Others say it's some shadow group with no name," the merchant continued, and his voice dropped even lower. "But me, I think there's a new gang in the city. Or maybe some old one that's been silent."

Rhea couldn't help the chill that spread across her shoulders. "Thanks," she said simply. No sense pushing him further right now.

She turned to go, but he grabbed her arm. "You watch yourself," he muttered, his tone uncharacteristically earnest. "Things… things are gettin' worse."

Rhea nodded once, slipping away from the stall. She met Lira's gaze, and the unspoken tension there confirmed they'd gleaned something significant. People were being taken, not just silently killed or vanishing into the night. If the Crownless House wasn't responsible, then there really was another force at play.

She forced a wry smile, hoping to mask the knot of worry coiling in her gut. "Thanks for letting me handle it," she murmured, guiding Lira back into the shifting crowd. "I guess I still have some pull with these folks."

Lira's lips twitched. "It's your roguish charm, no doubt."

Behind them, the merchant resumed his gruff bartering, voice blending into the general din of the quarter. Lira leaned toward Rhea. "So, Technomancers or not, people are being smuggled out of the city. That's huge."

"I know," Rhea said. "And if the Crownless House is losing people too, we're dealing with something more widespread. Maybe they're picking off anyone who stumbles on a secret."

Lira's expression tightened. "We need to warn Mikhailis. He'll want to tie this into the bigger puzzle."

Rhea flicked her gaze around, catching flickers of suspicious movement in the corners of her eye. "Let's go. This place is giving me the creeps more than usual."

A figure bumped into Lira, muttered an apology, and vanished into the crowd. Lira's eyes narrowed, but the figure was gone before she could react. She checked her pockets instinctively but found nothing missing. The action was enough to set her heart thudding.

They wove through the market's narrow passages, the claustrophobic air thick with odors of stale spices and rotting produce, until they found a small, hidden exit behind stacked crates. The light dimmed as they passed beneath an overhead sign that read Midnight Delicacies—the letters chipped and faded.

Once they slipped through, the murmur of the crowd receded behind them, replaced by the quieter gloom of a side street. The swirling mist here was thinner, but the hush was more unsettling. Lira exhaled, shoulders loosening a fraction.

"Remind me never to volunteer for rummaging these backstreets again," she said under her breath, a hint of sarcasm warming her tone. "Though Estella would probably bounce around here with that silly grin, haggling for weird potions we don't need."

Rhea chuckled softly, though a shadow of concern lingered in her eyes. "Yeah. And you'd stand behind her complaining about how unsanitary everything is."

Lira arched an eyebrow. "Someone has to keep her from ending up with a lethal fungus in her hair, or a cursed amulet around her neck."

They paused at a corner, hearing the distant wail of a sentinel's siren. From the echo, it seemed a few blocks away, but close enough to remind them they weren't safe.

"Let's move," Rhea muttered, adjusting the fit of her coat. "We've got a lot to report."

Lira nodded, glancing over her shoulder one last time, as if expecting someone to be lurking in the shadows. But no one followed. At least, not openly. She rested a hand on the small dagger concealed at her waist, then exchanged a decisive look with Rhea.

When they headed off, it was with quicker steps, hearts pounding with the knowledge that something bigger was unfolding behind Luthadel's thick mist.

The merchant's words repeated in Rhea's mind, like a dire refrain: People aren't just vanishing—some are being taken, with high security wagons, beyond the city. If even the Crownless House was losing its own, then this was no ordinary power grab.

They needed to tell Mikhailis. They needed to tell everyone. Because if a new force was collecting people…

The question burned, leaving a chill in the already cold air: Experience exclusive tales on My Virtual Library Empire

What for?

He would want to know. He'd piece it into the puzzle with his eccentric brilliance, connecting it to the old ruins, the Crownless House, and the masked faction meddling in the city's ancient network.

The gloom of the alley swallowed Rhea and Lira as they disappeared into the labyrinth of Luthadel's streets, the hush of the merchant quarter left behind—replaced by an urgent sense that time was running short.

All that lingered was the merchant's last, muttered line, echoing in the back of their thoughts:

"No idea. But the Crownless ain't behind it. They're losing people tooa."