The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 424: The Royal Romance (2)

"These," Mikhailis said quietly, his voice threaded with pride and a soft vulnerability, "are the premium ones. And they're only for my wife."

His words lingered for a moment in the candlelit silence. Elowen felt them like a soft chord in her chest, echoing beyond the dryness of formal discourse. She and Mikhailis often navigated a world where their bond—while recognized—was overshadowed by the constant demands of governance. Here, however, with no one to witness but the dancing candle flames, the intimacy of that word—wife—poured a gentle warmth through her veins.

Her hand hovered over the holographic display, which continued to scroll through the final items. She couldn't quite bring herself to tap any of them yet. Her brows rose slowly as she turned to look at him, reading the sincerity in his eyes. "Your wife?" she repeated softly, as if tasting the texture of the phrase.

Mikhailis met her gaze directly, no hint of uncertainty or flippancy in his expression. "You know," he said, a playful edge creeping into his tone, "that dazzling woman who takes my breath away, scolds me when I skip meals, and commands the loyalty of an entire kingdom—while somehow still managing to look like moonlight incarnate."

Elowen was unprepared for the surge of emotion that welled up in her chest at those words. She felt the corners of her mouth tilt upward, a subtle quiver that threatened to break her carefully maintained composure. That old, familiar confidence that she wore like armor began to thin, unraveling a fraction at a time under his straightforward affection. As queen, she was used to flattery, but rarely this earnest, and almost never in so intimate a setting.

"You're ridiculous," she managed to say, not quite able to muster the usual regal reproof. Her voice, hushed and tinged with the slightest tremor, gave her away. Her hand drifted toward one of the shimmering items displayed in midair, specifically the Starcatcher Eye Dust. The faint aura around it flickered in time with her breathing, as though responding to her hesitation.

"Only for you," Mikhailis reiterated, a smile tugging at his lips. He placed his palm flat on the table, resisting the urge to reach over and guide her hand. He wanted her to choose for herself, to sift through these precious items at her own pace.

Elowen inhaled slowly, gathering her composure. She let her gaze slide from the flickering text of the holographic display down to the real, tangible objects lying in the black leather case. It was one thing to see them named in a neat digital inventory, but another to witness them in the soft glow of candlelight—like a trove of hidden gems. Each item breathed with a soft glow, some tinted lavender, others faint gold. It was as if each cosmetic carried a quiet heartbeat, ready to harmonize with whoever dared try it.

She set her fingertips on the Starcatcher Eye Dust case. The reflective surface, etched with filigree patterns of delicate vines, captured a stray beam of light and cast tiny flecks of starlike glimmers on her wrist. In that moment, the memory of countless royal gatherings—where she had to look composed and untouchable—flashed through her mind. This, she realized, wasn't just about appearance. It was about reclaiming a piece of herself that got lost in the swirl of duties and crowns.

Her throat tightened slightly, a feeling she quickly concealed with a brief swallow. Even a queen can feel uncertain at times, uncertain of how much vulnerability to show—even to the man she trusts the most. Still, the sincerity in Mikhailis's eyes kindled a resolve within her. She took a measured breath and allowed the tension to recede just a bit.

Visit ƒree𝑤ebnσvel.com for the 𝑏est n𝘰vel reading experience.

Carefully, she lifted the Moonveil Concealer from its velvet resting place. The metal casing was cool to the touch, inscribed with silver lines that caught the glow of the overhead lamps. Turning it over in her hands, she traced the delicate patterns with her thumb. It reminded her of sketches Mikhailis had once shown her—a concept map of designs that would integrate seamlessly with magical enchantments. Even then, she'd been impressed by his attention to detail, but seeing the finished piece now felt like stepping into a dream.

He watched, silent but enthralled, as she unscrewed the cap. The subtle aroma of fresh morning dew and crushed herbs wafted out, soothing and delicate. She dabbed the tiniest drop of the formula on her fingertip. The consistency was silken, carrying a whisper of coolness that hinted at arcane infusion. With an almost reverent air, Elowen raised her hand, pressing a touch of it under her eyes. A gentle tingle spread across her skin, not unpleasant but startling enough to make her blink. When she blinked again, she glanced at her reflection in the compact's small mirror, half-expecting some outlandish transformation. Instead, she saw… herself, albeit with a softer brightness to her complexion, as if her recent fatigue had been quietly erased.

It was such a minor shift, yet so profound. She barely recognized the faint lines of stress that had begun etching themselves into her features over the past weeks of rigorous court sessions. Gone—or at least muted—by the gentle enchantment of the concealer. She exhaled, shoulders loosening a fraction more. The hush in the room thickened, loaded with the intimacy of this moment, the knowledge that these products were made just for her—crafted with Mikhailis's unyielding devotion and skillful mind.

"Well," she whispered at last, her gaze flicking from her reflection back to Mikhailis. Her tone was light, but the undertone carried a quiet wonder that betrayed her gratitude. "That's magic I'll allow."

Mikhailis didn't answer. He simply stood there, gaze fixed on Elowen as though the rest of the world had evaporated into the soft lamplight. It wasn't the cosmetic's effect that held him so rapt—it was the way the queen's normally resolute features melted into something tender and uncertain. He noticed the slight parting of her lips, the faint tremor in her exhale as her composure waned. In that moment, she wasn't the ruler who brokered treaties or commanded armies. She was a woman, vulnerable and questioning, allowing the weight of her responsibilities to slip just enough for him to glimpse the fragile steel beneath.

She turned to him, hair brushing against her cheek in a gentle whisper of movement. "Sometimes… sometimes I wonder if I'm too much queen and not enough… woman," she confessed quietly, her voice almost lost in the hush that draped the Ivory Suite. That single admission carried the echo of countless late nights, burdensome decrees, and the relentless demands of court life. In the dimness, her eyes gleamed with an unspoken plea for reassurance.

Mikhailis inhaled, heart thudding in his chest as he closed the short distance between them. He reached out to cradle her cheek, the warmth of her skin meeting his palm with a quiet, electric intimacy. "You're everything," he replied. His tone was gentle but laced with conviction, the kind one uses to dispel shadows in a darkened room. "You're allowed to be more than one thing."

She leaned into his touch, relief softening her expression. For a few seconds, neither of them moved nor spoke. They existed in a bubble suspended outside time, bound by the knowledge that within these walls, they could shed their official roles—even if only briefly—and reveal the raw core of their connection. Outside, the kingdom continued to spin its tapestry of alliances and intrigues, but here, they discovered a moment to breathe and to remember who they were underneath the layers of expectation.

They moved together almost instinctively. Mikhailis inclined his head, and Elowen rose to meet him halfway. Their first kiss was tentative, a brush of lips that tasted of shared uncertainty. Yet it carried the promise of something deeper, a silent acknowledgment that they'd stepped beyond the realm of official gestures. The second kiss followed, slower and more assured. In it, Elowen felt the day's weariness subside, replaced by a warm tide of longing she had been too disciplined to express until now. Her fingers curled against Mikhailis's chest, bunching the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor herself, while his arms encircled her waist, drawing her closer.

No words were necessary. Their lips and hands spoke the unspoken confessions of two souls who'd carried the weight of an entire kingdom on their shoulders for far too long. In the glow of flickering candles, as soft shadows danced on the walls of the Ivory Suite, they finally allowed themselves a moment to exist purely for each other.

Elowen's official robe, already loosened when she'd tested those enchanted cosmetics, slid further with a languid whisper of silk, easing down her arms until it settled around her waist. The brocade stitching and regal accents that usually marked her as queen no longer bore any significance here. They were reduced to simple fabric—tangible proof that in this private sanctuary, Elowen could step out of the strict identity demanded by her role. Mikhailis, for his part, had lost any hint of formality the moment his shirt collar slipped askew. The carefully pressed fabric wrinkled against his shoulder as her roaming hands coaxed it downward. Their garments seemed to be shedding in tandem, an unspoken accord between them that they had permission—no, a need—to seek solace in bare skin.

Against the hush, their breaths sounded heightened, each exhalation imbued with a reverence that came from too many days spent under the scrutinizing eyes of the court. She pressed closer, and the subtle friction of his chest against her silken dress stirred an unfamiliar ache in the pit of her stomach. An ache of longing, yes, but also one of sweet relief: Here he was, no titles, no formalities—simply Mikhailis.

Her heart throbbed in her chest, throbbing so hard she feared he might feel its tumult through his own ribs. She could sense him trembling with the same nervous energy, their shared anticipation creating a warm current in the space between them. When they finally touched, lips grazing one another in a feather-light caress, the rest of the suite seemed to dissolve into a haze of muted color and drifting candlelight.

The kiss began timidly. Their mouths parted and closed, as if testing whether this was permissible. Mikhailis's palm found her lower back with gentle insistence, drawing her flush against him. She felt his heartbeat under her fingertips, rapid yet steadying at her touch. The closeness awakened every nerve in her body, awakening an electric surge that traced up her spine.

Gradually, their hesitations melted. No longer was the kiss a cautious exploration; it deepened with each heartbeat. She tilted her head, allowing him to press more insistently against her parted lips. The soft taste of mint lingered on his tongue—he must have had a breath freshener earlier in the evening, likely to steel himself for courtly pleasantries. The intimacy of that faint taste made her shiver in delight. He tasted subtly of something else, too—perhaps the spiced tea they'd sipped an hour ago. It mingled with the essence that was unmistakably Mikhailis: warm, vital, and wholly human.

Elowen's hands slid up his arms, mapping out the firmness of his biceps, the sinew beneath his skin. She reveled in the contrast between her own delicate, slightly cool fingers and the warmth of his muscles. All the while, their tongues pressed and receded in a slow, sensuous dance, each glide a question answered by a gentle sigh or an urgent shift in posture.