The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Chapter 187 The Foreign Prince (4) The Delay

Prince Laethor made his way to the grand hall where he was to meet with Queen Elowen. The echoes of his confident footsteps carried through the corridor, announcing his approach even before the doors were swung open by his attending guards. He entered with his head held high, wearing his characteristic smile that seemed to straddle the line between charm and calculated cunning. Following closely behind were members of his retinue, each holding an assortment of opulent gifts—fine silks, gleaming jewelry, rare perfumes—everything designed to demonstrate his apparent 'commitment' to Elowen and to sway any lingering uncertainty among the courtiers.

Laethor knew this would be the moment of truth. He could not allow any further delays or distractions. His council back in Serewyn had begun to grow restless, and he could not afford to lose this opportunity to secure Silvarion Thalor's wealth and resources. His kingdom's future depended on this proposal.

Elowen was already seated at the far end of the room, her presence commanding but calm, her expression giving nothing away. As he approached, she looked at him with polite indifference—the look of a queen dealing with yet another official duty. He bowed gracefully before her, a smile that bordered on arrogant lingering on his lips.

"Your Majesty," Laethor greeted, his voice carrying through the hall with a refined air.

"Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice. I must say, I have been eager to hear your response to my earlier proposal." He gestured towards his retinue, who immediately stepped forward to present the gifts.

Elowen's gaze flickered towards the opulent display, her expression remaining impassive as she inclined her head slightly.

"Prince Laethor," she began, her voice smooth and steady, "I appreciate your... eagerness. Though I must admit, I find the urgency of your request somewhat unexpected."

Laethor chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

"Ah, Your Majesty, you see, my council in Serewyn has been growing increasingly impatient. They do not yet understand the nuances of diplomacy and have been pushing for a response. I fear they interpret any delay as a lack of trust—an unfortunate miscommunication that I wish to clear up."

Elowen's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her gaze assessing Laethor's words. There was a subtle pressure in his tone—a push to make her position untenable without giving a direct answer. The suggestion that hesitation equated to mistrust was a deliberate jab, and she knew it.

"Prince Laethor," she said, her voice calm but with a faint edge to it, "such matters require careful thought. It is not merely a matter of sentiment, after all, but one that concerns the welfare of our kingdoms." She gestured to the gifts, a graceful motion of her hand.

"These are certainly beautiful gestures, but as queen, my duty is to my people above all else."

Laethor's smile stiffened, though he quickly masked it with an expression of understanding.

"Of course, Your Majesty, I would never dream of suggesting otherwise. But I believe that a union between Serewyn and Silvarion Thalor could bring great prosperity to both our kingdoms. Surely, the longer we delay, the more we risk losing such an opportunity."

Elowen leaned back slightly, her golden eyes steady on him.

"It seems that you misunderstand me, Prince Laethor," she said, her voice cool but not unkind.

"There is, in fact, a matter that has arisen recently—one that complicates any potential union." She paused for a moment, watching as Laethor's expression faltered slightly, curiosity and caution flickering in his eyes.

She continued, her tone now taking on a more serious note.

"The council back home is getting desperate," one of Laethor's advisors said, his voice barely a whisper.

"The coffers are nearly empty, and if we can't secure Silvarion's wealth, it won't be long before we face economic collapse."

Mikhailis's eyes narrowed at the admission. So that was it—Serewyn was teetering on the edge, and Laethor needed the marriage to secure the resources necessary to stabilize his kingdom.

A desperate prince seeking to secure his future at our expense, Mikhailis mused, a smile slowly forming on his lips.

Another voice spoke up, this one more anxious.

"If the queen continues to delay, we won't be able to keep this hidden for much longer. The people will begin to notice, and the council will turn against him. We need that marriage, or we're finished."

Mikhailis chuckled softly to himself, the sound almost lost in the empty room.

Oh, Prince Laethor, you're in more trouble than you let on.

He leaned forward, the glint in his eyes betraying his excitement. He could already see the pieces falling into place—this information could be used to his advantage.

"You're absolutely right, Rodion," Mikhailis said, a grin spreading across his face.

"And I think it's time we started letting a few of the courtiers know just how desperate our dear prince really is."

Mikhailis nodded, his gaze turning cold and calculating.

"Do it. Identify the key players, and make sure they hear exactly what they need to. Let's see how well Laethor holds up when the court starts questioning his intentions."

Mikhailis leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

"Now this, Prince Laethor," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper, "I hope you're well-prepared for my gift."