The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort
Chapter 615 615: Helping The Wolf (3)

"Fantastic," Mikhailis said, raising his hands in a mock toast. "Couldn't they be slow and corrupt like normal guards?"

Serelith, crouched by a supply crate, giggled—sharp and breathless. "You never appreciate proper villains, sweet prince." She shoved pink curls behind one ear, eyes sparkling with manic delight. "But I may have toys."

Her slender fingers snapped two iron latches. Inside the crate, glass spheres nested in straw, each one glowing faintly violet. Tiny glyphs crawled over their surfaces like silver vines.

"Lab-grade flash-pods." Serelith's grin widened. "Borrowed, accidentally."

Cerys pushed loose hair from her eyes. "We'll sort blame later—toss them on my mark."

The air crackled with tension. Lantern beams from the lead cutter swept the fog, searching. Their oars dipped in perfect rhythm—slap, pull, slap—like a giant heartbeat gaining on prey.

Mikhailis crouched beside Serelith, studying the flash-pods. "Angle high so they pop above deck. Oxide mix in the cores likes oxygen."

Serelith's cheeks flushed at his nearness—half delight, half something darker. "Order me, Prince. Nicely."

"Please, my mischievous star." Mikhailis winked. "Light up their lives."

Serelith shivered, then heaved herself to the gunwale, two pods cradled like fragile eggs. Cerys counted the strokes of the approaching oars: three… two…

"Now!"

Serelith hurled. The first orb arced, trailing a faint violet streak. For a breath it seemed to hang above the cutter's rail—then burst. A sun bloomed in the fog, bleaching everything white. Thunderous silence followed, the air sucked clean of sound.

Then came the screams—raw, shocked, echoing.

The second pod detonated a heartbeat after, lower, bathing the deck in shards of blazing purple. Shadows staggered, clutching faces. One guard toppled overboard with a splash that made Cerys's stomach twist. But pity had no place here.

Lucien's eyes were huge. "They'll be blind!"

"Not forever," Cerys warned. "Row!"

She dug her oar, muscles aflame. Mikhailis swung to the bow, pulling a thin carved whistle from inside his coat. The whistle looked like plain wood, but runic filigree shimmered when it met moonlight.

He blew—a single sharp note pitched just beyond human hearing. Cerys felt the sound more than heard it, a buzz in her bones.

The fog above stirred.

Darting shapes materialized—sleek chimera ants fitted with paper-thin glider wings. Their carapaces flashed bronze, and their elongated abdomens trailed pouches no bigger than fingernails. They zipped over the second cutter, tiny shadows against the lantern glow, and sprinkled clouds of silver dust onto the deck.

<Effect: Mana-sense disruption engaged. Enemy communication downgraded to line-of-sight shouting. Efficiency: 78 percent.>

The ants banked away, wings humming. One swooped low past Mikhailis in salute before vanishing into the mist. Cerys allowed herself a tight nod of thanks. She would never fully get used to insects being allies, but they were precise, loyal—and right now, vital.

The skiff strained forward. Each stroke of Cerys's oar carved a V-shaped wake that shimmered gold under lantern light. Lucien adjusted the tiller, sweat streaking dirt on his brow.

"Go left!" Cerys barked, seeing through the thinning fog a darker stripe of water—an inlet between tall reeds.

Lucien obeyed. The hull slewed, rubbing against submerged sedge. Tall, green spears brushed their shoulders. Water noise changed, the broad river current easing into slurps and quiet gulps.

"I used to hunt birds here," Lucien whispered, voice shaking but resolute. "Snipe and grebe nest in these marshes. The reeds hide you. The current slows; boats can't maneuver fast."

Behind them, confusion reigned. The first cutter's lantern flickered as crew scrambled to clear their blinded sight. The second drifted sideways, helmsman swearing while clutching controls that no longer answered cleanly; silver dust still whirled around them like dull snow.

But the respite was fragile. One good gust and the fog would thin. Cerys knew they needed more distance.

She spoke low. "Pace steady. We follow Lucien's channel."

Mikhailis slid onto the rear bench beside Lucien, taking half the tiller weight. Sweat darkened his collar, but his grin returned. Maybe we'll live long enough for that breakfast.

Serelith rummaged below deck. She emerged with a burlap sack bulging with lemon-scented powder. "For later," she hummed, hugging it to her chest like a favorite pillow.

The little boat glided deeper. Reeds towered on all sides, dripping with dawn moisture. Cobwebs laced between stalks, each strand strung with trembling beads of water that caught faint sunrise pink. Frogs chirruped, unaware of the drama.

After what felt like a lifetime of heartbeats, Cerys allowed her shoulders to drop an inch. She braced her oar across her knees, breathing the damp, earthy scent of the marsh.

Lucien's voice cracked the quiet. "Thank you… all of you."

Cerys rested a hand on his arm. "You steered us. You earned thanks too."

His cheeks flushed. "I—Father says I'm bookish."

Mikhailis laughed softly. "Books steer minds. Minds steer boats. Perfect chain of command."

Lucien smiled, tension melting a fraction.

Serelith patted the sack in her lap. "Also… explosions steer fear. Fear steers enemies away."

Cerys shook her head, but fondness warmed her stern expression. "Only you enjoy that too much."

The boat drifted, frogsong their new soundtrack. But victory tasted of river brine and fatigue, not triumph. Cerys played the last hour back in her mind—each clash, each risk. She noted gaps: What if the flash-pods had fizzled? What if the ants were delayed? She filed lessons away; survival demanded constant review.

The mist thinned at last. Pale stripes of sky stretched overhead, faint as unspooled silk. Somewhere behind, a muffled horn blared—search orders traveling upriver. Too distant now to matter.

Cerys sank onto a crate, legs trembling. Bruises pulsed under her armor. "That… went better than expected."

Mikhailis folded beside her, hair plastered to his forehead. "We'll call it a tactical success. With a dash of alchemical chaos." His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but his eyes sparkled—danger fed him like wine.

Serelith wrapped her cloak tighter, kneeling by a net-covered barrel. "We're alive. That's the important part." She pressed finger pads to her lips, eyes half-lidded, savoring leftover adrenaline like chocolate.

Lucien kept one hand on the tiller though the current now guided them. His gaze swept the reeds, wary yet calmer. "We won't be safe forever," he said, softer, "but… maybe I still can help fix things."

Cerys looked at him across bubbling water. Dawn's first blush painted his bruised cheek a gentler rose. "We will," she promised. The certainty in her voice surprised even her.

Silence settled, filled only by water's hush.

Their skiff finally brushed mud. The river widened again, bending toward distant wetlands. A lonely lighthouse stood far off, its red beacon blinking a simple pattern—safe shore.

Rodion's voice returned, softer than usual, almost respectful. <Destination reached: Outer marsh boundary. No hostile signatures within six hundred meters.>

Cerys pushed to her feet, groaning softly, and planted her boots in ankle-deep mud. Each step squelched, sucking at her soles as if the land wanted to keep them from fighting again. She welcomed the resistance; pain grounded her.

Lucien slid down next, wading awkwardly. Marsh water soaked the cloak edges, but he straightened with new resolve.

Serelith hopped off last, water splashing her stockings. She wrinkled her nose. "No proper docks. How quaint."

Mikhailis lingered on the boat a moment, gazing upriver. Good luck, little ants. Cover our tracks. Then he disembarked, landing with only a slight wince.

They hauled the skiff deeper into reeds until its hull nestled out of sight. Birds burst skyward at the intrusion—white wings flapping like scattered parchment.

Cerys scanned the horizon: endless green marsh blending into misty sky, a pale line where dawn grew stronger. She felt the world tilt—so much left behind in fog: duels, councils, father's disapproval, Calderon's schemes. Ahead lay uncertainty but also possibility.

She turned to her companions. Mud flecked their clothes, steam rising from damp fabric. But their eyes—each pair held stubborn light.

Lucien shivered but stood taller. "We'll need to reclaim my titles," he said. "Or everything our family built becomes Calderon's war chest."

Cerys placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "First we survive. Then we fight." She glanced at Mikhailis and Serelith. "Together."

Serelith twirled a pink lock, water dripping from her fingers. "I never shared toys well, but I suppose I can play nice." She flashed a grin—at once charming and dangerous.

Mikhailis stretched until his back cracked, arms high. "After breakfast, yes?"

He earned a chorus of small laughs—ragged, but real.

Cerys allowed one too, something rare and gentle. She hadn't laughed freely in months; the sound felt rusty. But it carried, mingling with birdcalls carrying across marsh air.

Lucien's eyes misted, though whether from pain or hope, Cerys could not know. He swiped damp hair back. "Breakfast… I haven't had a good pastry since yesterday." The joke came weak but earnest.

"Pastry quest," Mikhailis declared, raising an invisible sword. "We march in search of flaky hope."

Cerys rolled her eyes yet could not wipe away her smile. She faced the sunrise, shoulders squared. Her battered armor glinted, each dent a story. "This isn't the end."

"Nope," Mikhailis agreed, voice soft as reeds rustling, "but it is a nice start."

Lucien inhaled, chest lifting without pain for the first time in hours. The morning light caught the edge of his grin.

Serelith spun once in the mud, cloak flaring, then steadied. "So… where next, your highness?"

Mikhailis smirked, breath steaming. "I vote for breakfast."

Their laughter rose—a fragile bubble in the wide marsh—but it felt solid, like the first stone of a new foundation.

And above the misty marshlands, dawn finally rose for real.