The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 463: The Queen’s Smile (End)

The courtyard basked under the lazy afternoon sun, framed by ivy-draped walls and soft moss that cushioned every footstep. A lone hummingbird hovered near a violet bloom, then zipped off as if it, too, sensed something big was about to happen.

Rodion stood in the center, utterly motionless, the gentle breeze ruffling the last bits of plush fabric that still showed around his joints. He looked almost shy waiting there. Almost.

Elowen pressed her hands together, knuckles whitening with anticipation. Her slippers tapped a fast little rhythm on the stones, and every few seconds she stole a glance at Mikhailis to make sure he was watching, too.

Mikhailis, arms crossed, let his weight settle into one hip. The pillar at his back felt cool, grounding him. Stars help me, she's going to squeal, he thought, amused. And if she squeals, the entire castle will come running.

Rodion's optics brightened, twin pools of pale sapphire.

<Initiating full Battle-Mode transformation. Recommend observers step back seven meters.>

Elowen didn't move an inch. She only leaned forward, eyes wide—challenging the order without a word.

Mikhailis groaned and gently hooked her elbow, guiding her two steps back. "If he fires a jet thruster, I don't want you crisped. Royal paperwork is killer."

"That's twice as many steps as necessary," she murmured, but she let him. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

The air shifted—almost throbbed—as hidden locks inside Rodion released. A crisp, satisfying clack-clack-clack echoed like dominoes. Plush exterior panels unfurled and slid backward in overlapping petals, revealing hard, iridescent plating beneath. The movement was smooth, strangely graceful—like watching a steel lotus bloom in real time.

Elowen's breath hitched. "Look at those pivot hinges! They're engraved—who engraves joints?"

"I do," Mikhailis replied, deadpan. "If you're going to swing a sword the size of a door, do it in style."

Rodion's torso expanded, hydraulic lines breathing once, then settling. Indigo runes lit in tidy concentric rings around his shoulders and hips, spinning slowly like miniature astrolabes searching for alignment.

Each limb thickened as latent armor segments slid and locked, actuator rods test-flexing beneath. Tiny bursts of mana escaped through vent-slits—wisps of pale fire that flickered out before they touched the ground.

Elowen clapped, honest applause ringing in the courtyard. "By the Ancients, he's gorgeous! I didn't know armor could look… elegant." She circled half a step, tracking how the light glinted off mirrored ridges.

Mikhailis raised an eyebrow. "Your Majesty, you're embarrassing the sentient death machine."

Rodion responded without turning his helm.

<Statement: Embarrassment not present in core emotion stack. However, prolonged verbal admiration may skew my observer-priority matrix.>

Elowen laughed, bright and musical. "He means praise him too much and his head will get big."

"Bigger," Mikhailis corrected, thumb jerked at Rodion's now-broad shoulders.

Rodion flexed an arm; plates along the forearm slid into a forward guard, forming a seamless kite shield. Glyphs around the elbow pulsed, discharging a soft tremor into the stones. Threads of mana curled upward, then faded like soap bubbles.

The courtyard warmed. It felt as though an invisible forge door had opened just enough to tease them with heat.

Elowen took a daring step closer, eyes scanning details. "These runes—complex lattices, triple-layered. They look almost… breathing."

"Active reactive armor," she guessed.

<Affirmative. Capable of absorbing directed mana blasts up to mid-high caliber. Currently operating at sixty-three percent while in safe-demonstration profile.>

Mikhailis knocked a knuckle against his own temple. "Told him: look good while smashing skulls. Presentation is half the intimidation."

Rodion's helm tilted a degree, optics narrowing.

<Correction: Aesthetic subroutines were forcibly prioritized due to Consort Mikhailis's constant insistence on 'cool factor.'>

Mikhailis flashed a grin. "And you're welcome."

Elowen giggled, covering her mouth. The sound was soft, but it made the courtyard feel like a private garden.

Rodion planted a heavy foot forward. A muted thud rippled outward; the moss trembled but did not tear. The stabilizers in his ankles glowed, absorbing and redistributing the impact. Even the birds in the ivy froze, sensing the weight of that demonstration.

Elowen's hands flew to her chest. "Again! Please?"

Mikhailis rubbed his forehead. We're doomed. She'll commission an entire Rodion battalion if I'm not careful.

Rodion obliged, stepping once more. A synchronized pulse of light raced up his leg, along his spine, blooming at the crest of his helm in a corona of pale violet before vanishing.

"Beautiful," Elowen whispered, so sincere that Mikhailis felt warmth spread through his own chest.

Rodion's optics pulsed gently.

<Statement: Battle-Mode demonstration complete. Awaiting further evaluation or commands.>

Elowen opened her mouth—clearly ready for a second encore—but a quiet whirl at the courtyard's edge stole the moment.

A sleek robot no bigger than a terrier padded forward on four jointed legs. Its metal surface carried a bronze sheen, polished enough to reflect snippets of sky. Two flexible arms ended in dexterous three-fingered hands, and in them it carried a metallic pod shaped like a tulip bud.

Mikhailis lit up. "Ah, perfect timing. Here's Monkey."

The little bot paused, then executed a crisp bow, one leg extending behind in a flourish. It tilted its head just so, like it practiced in front of a mirror.

<Designation confirmed: 'Monkey.' Semi-autonomous support unit. Functional array: tactical projection, resource delivery, limited emotional-state mediation.>

Elowen's eyebrows climbed. "Limited emotional what?"

Mikhailis smirked. "He's basically a polite waiter crossed with a mood ring. Watch."

Monkey chirped, a sound halfway between a bird note and a tiny gong. Then, arms whirring softly, it lifted the tulip pod overhead. Petals separated with a gentle shink, revealing a crystalline lens set inside a ring of glowing circuits.

Elowen leaned closer, squinting at the delicate machinery. "It's lovely—like a fairy lantern."

Mikhailis folded his arms, pride obvious. "And smarter than half the castle staff."

Rodion interjected with dry precision.

<Statistical comparison indicates intelligence quotient exceeds seventy-two percent of currently employed human attendants.>

Elowen gasped an exaggerated scandalized breath. "Rodion! That's rude."

Rodion paused an exact beat.

<Addendum: This unit apologizes. The accurate figure is sixty-seven percent once accounting for margin of error.>

Mikhailis snorted. "See? Total gentleman."

Monkey gave a little spin—tail-like support strut flicking for balance as if to say ta-da. Then the crystal lens pulsed once, twice. Light spilled into the open air, scattering motes that re-coalesced into a shimmering dome ten paces wide.

Within the dome, an image clarified: twisting earthen tunnels glowing with bioluminescent fungi, Worker Ants streaming in disciplined lines. A live window to their secret empire, right here in the courtyard.

Elowen's lips parted. She reached out, fingers brushing the illusion; it rippled like water. "Incredible… so clear."

Mikhailis stepped beside her, voice lower, almost tender. "Monkey's been practicing. Autonomy update lets him track our facial cues, angle the feed where we want without me barking orders."

He gave Monkey an approving thumbs-up. The bot responded with a chirp, the lens angling to frame Rodion and the queen together for a heartbeat—like a photographer snagging a candid.

Elowen laughed, cheeks pink. She tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear, still marveling at the feed. Soldier Ants shifted formation on-screen, shields interlocking into a moving wall. "Look at their discipline," she whispered, awe layering every word. "Not a single misstep."

Mikhailis rocked back on his heels. "Pheromone data streams. Each one knows exactly where its neighbors are—no hesitation, no mixed signals."

Elowen's eyes gleamed. "Imagine drilling our palace guards half as well—"

"Minus the antennae," he reminded, playful but firm.

She hummed, acknowledging the challenge but clearly saving ideas for later.

Rodion turned, luminous runes fading back to standby brightness. He regarded Monkey for a second, then Mikhailis.

<Observation: Support unit competence satisfactory. Suggest designation upgrade to 'Assistant Chimp.'>

Mikhailis barked a laugh. "We are not renaming him every inspection."

Monkey's arms shot up in mock outrage, tiny actuators squeaking. He pointed at his own chest in protest, then tapped the pod—like reminding them he did, in fact, have brand recognition.

Elowen leaned down, hands on her knees. "You agree with your name, little one?" Monkey nodded vigorously. She turned to Rodion. "Objection noted. Overruled."

Rodion's shoulders lifted in a subtle approximation of a sigh.

<Compliance. Retaining codename 'Monkey.'>

The queen straightened, smoothing invisible dust from her skirt. "Thank you."