The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 430: The Formal Serewyn Reception (5)

Mikhailis could feel the change in the hall the moment the final toast was made. The once-vibrant air, charged with revelry and laughter, seemed to take on a reflective hush. He noticed how even the servants moved more softly now, as though each step risked startling the gentle mood. Somewhere near the far side of the hall, a lute struck only the lightest chords, and the resulting melody floated on the edges of hearing. He liked this quieter ambience. It felt honest, in a way that the earlier grandeur, for all its splendor, never quite managed.

He turned to Elowen, meeting her gaze across the rim of his goblet. Her eyes still held a lingering sparkle from the evening's accolades. Yet there was something deeper there too: a recognition that they stood on the threshold of something new, a time in which alliances had to be carefully stewarded. Sensing his unspoken thought, she leaned in and touched her goblet to his. The musical clink was quiet but meaningful.

"Prosperity," she whispered, "and courage."

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He nodded. "I still don't know who snuck that last word into the toast, but I'm glad they did. It fits."

She pressed her lips together, almost smiling, yet not quite. "We all need a measure of it now, I think."

Near the center of the banquet space, Estella was deep in conversation with a small group of noblewomen. Their eyes were wide, enthralled by her every word as she explained the properties of various enchanted powders. Mikhailis watched her from a distance, marveling at how easily she commanded attention with her soft voice and precise knowledge. At her side, Lira deftly poured samples into tiny crystal vials, occasionally stepping in to guide a wandering question or politely dismiss a tipsy onlooker. There was a graceful confidence to their teamwork—one that made him proud to have them as allies.

Elowen followed his gaze. "See how they flock to her?" she murmured. "A year ago, without you and your eccentricities that would lead us to that strong girl, the one or anyone that we chose would've blushed and hidden at the mere thought of addressing so many nobles."

"You're exaggerating. But..."

He tilted his head in agreement. "They want everything she can offer. And apparently, so do the men now," he added in a lower tone, glancing at a Serewyn general who fidgeted in front of Estella with a hopeful expression.

Elowen stifled a small laugh. "He asked for something that would help his wife's complexion. But he also hinted that he might need a bit of help himself during midday drills. Something about the sun being unkind to his face."

Mikhailis grinned. "One must look radiant while swinging a sword, after all."

They watched as an older duchess, cheeks flushed with wine and fervor, declared in a loud, theatrical voice, "A woman who wears the Consort Alchemist's dust is a woman who does not need to speak to command attention." The hush that followed wasn't mocking; it bristled with a kind of reverent excitement. Mikhailis swallowed a flicker of awkwardness. He wasn't used to hearing himself lauded in such flowery terms. Judging by the quirk of Elowen's eyebrow, she found it simultaneously amusing and a touch absurd. Yet she said nothing, and neither did he. Sometimes gracious silence was the best response.

Then, as if orchestrated by the subtle flow of music, Queen Melisara and King Haradon stepped forward. Their presence instantly reshaped the crowd, drawing every eye. Mikhailis noticed that people parted for them without hesitation—respect and caution going hand in hand when it came to Serewyn's monarchs. Melisara's voice was low but carried a gentle authority. "Let it be known," she announced, "that Serewyn hereby endorses an official merchant guild collaboration."

A ripple of gasps and murmurs spread through the hall. Mikhailis recognized the eagerness in those whispers. Everybody had been waiting to see how far the success of these new cosmetics—and the alliance behind them—might go. The queen continued, "A new guild branch shall be formed—The Silver Veil Atelier."

Haradon nodded, stern countenance softening by a fraction. Perhaps it was his way of showing approval. The crowd exchanged glances, some eyes wide with admiration, others with curiosity. Mikhailis saw more than one noble tilt their head in silent contemplation, probably already scheming how to invest or gain influence through this new development.

Elowen stepped forward. Her voice possessed a crisp clarity that cut through the fading candlelight. "Estella of Silvarion Thalor will serve as Director," she said. "Mikhailis, my Prince Consort, shall be its Honorary Artisan and Patron of Arcane Craft."

Under the hum of conversation, Mikhailis leaned sideways toward Elowen, using his wine cup to hide his lips. "That's a fancy way to say I'm the face, yes?"

Elowen's smile was subtle but reached her eyes. "And the brain, of course. Don't shortchange yourself."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "I'll do my best to live up to both."

Across the table, Estella froze in astonishment. Time seemed to pause around her. Mikhailis saw her chest rise in a slight gasp, the tension in her shoulders telling him she was processing what had just been declared. For a heartbeat, it looked as though she might flee the spotlight. Instead, she bowed, the motion shaky from pent-up emotion. Tears shimmered at the corners of her eyes, refusing to spill but glinting all the same.

"Your Majesties," she began, voice trembling, "I… I will serve well."

The honesty in her tone was disarming. Mikhailis moved forward and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You already do," he said, his words gentle but firm. He didn't need to elaborate; the entire room could see the hard work she'd put in, culminating in this moment of recognition.

At first, only a few polite claps broke the silence. Then more followed. Soon a wave of applause enveloped Estella, mixing polite nods from skeptics with genuine admiration from those who had already benefited from her creations. Mikhailis caught Elowen's expression, relieved yet poised. She gave him a small nod, as if to say, "This is right."

As the applause subsided, a new hush fell—this one tinged with gratitude rather than tension. Mikhailis sensed a quiet reverence settling into the corners of the banquet hall, a sign that people were truly absorbing the significance of the evening. The candlelight seemed to flicker in agreement, dancing across plates of half-eaten dream-honey pheasant and the remains of mist-sugar pastries. The music, too, had morphed into a softer lull, drifting in slow, elongated notes.

He breathed in, noticing how the air smelled faintly of sweet wine and warm spices. When he set down his goblet, he felt the weight of everything that had happened: the alliances formed, the burdens lifted, the challenges yet to come. He found Elowen's hand and gave it a light squeeze, feeling the subtle tension in her fingers—part relief, part anticipation of the future's uncertainties.

Close by, he saw Lira stepping away from the demonstration table, her role momentarily complete. She offered Estella a small smile that said more than words could. Estella nodded back, still too overwhelmed to speak. Behind them, King Haradon and Queen Melisara withdrew gracefully into the background. Their duty for the announcement done, they now allowed the gathered nobles to exchange hushed discussions or approach the newly crowned Director of The Silver Veil Atelier with requests and cautious praise.

Mikhailis exchanged a quick glance with Elowen. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was: that a pivot in history had just taken place, not through the might of armies or the signature of old treaties, but through a quiet, heartfelt acknowledgment of collaborative creation. There was a philosophical dimension to it that tugged at him—a sense that sometimes the greatest shifts in kingdoms happened through personal passions turned communal benefits.

Yet in that introspection, the candlelight continued its slow dimming. The hall's energy wound down with it, leaving an almost dreamy hush. Mikhailis caught a glimpse of a single pastry lying abandoned on a plate—its sugar edges dissolving in the faint residue of spiced wine. He found beauty in the small, everyday detail, thinking how fleeting these triumphs could be. Life, after all, was an accumulation of ephemeral moments, each overshadowed eventually by new concerns.

But for now, the applause and the soft notes of music still lingered, giving shape to what felt like a new dawn. He exhaled, feeling the swirl of relief and curiosity about what awaited them next. Perhaps there would be more festivals, more expansions of the Silver Veil Atelier, or even more breakthroughs in magical cosmetics. He resolved to face it all, side by side with Elowen.

In the gentle near-silence, his gaze flicked to Estella once more. She stood straighter now, blinking back any lingering tears, as a few nobles approached with careful bows. Her voice, though still tinged with emotion, held confidence as she thanked them for their interest. Meanwhile, Lira offered each guest a swift nod, meticulously recording every detail. Mikhailis made a mental note to offer her some form of personal commendation. She was unflappable, a rock that Estella could depend on, especially as the Atelier took its first steps under the bright yet demanding scrutiny of Serewyn's court.

Amid these reflections, Mikhailis felt Elowen move closer, her arm brushing his. She looked at him, her eyes warm with a silent sense of victory. "You did well," she murmured, voice just above a whisper. "We did well."

He leaned in so only she could hear, "It's Estella who truly shone tonight, but yes—everyone here played a part. Even the boisterous duchess." He paused, letting a small smile curl his lips. "But I think we both know this is just the beginning."

Her responding smile was soft. "It is. And it's enough, for now."