The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort,Chapter 715: New Potential Alles (2),Arkalphaze,JiwaiWave

Chapter 715: New Potential Alles (2)

Thalatha stood and tightened each strap like she was closing a ledger—one by one, neat and final. Steam from the cups curled in the thin air, and the slot kept its small sounds: the quiet hum of the Brake Choir through stone, the soft ffft of Rodion’s smoke snorkel. She smoothed the torn edge of her sleeve, testing the stitch Mikhailis had hidden there with a muttered apology to fabric. It held.

She turned as if to speak, changed her mind, and leaned back in first—fast, a small kiss stolen like a coin from an open dish. Mikhailis caught it without surprise. He deepened it for two slow breaths, warm and steady, then pulled back before it started to burn, a half-smile stuck on his mouth.

"Later," he said, voice soft but sure.

Later, yes. Don’t turn today into a song and then forget the verses.

She nodded once. The kiss was not drama; it was fuel. The kind you store in a clean bottle and label for work.

Thalatha gestured toward the veil-door with two fingers. Mikhailis rose, already reaching for his cuff to dim the Anchor and time their step to the exhale. He had that look that made junior officers behave: relaxed shoulders, eyes awake.

Rodion rolled across the floor like a polite cloud and opened a console from his belly. The thin light washed the stone.

<Recommendation: Hold position. Photoperiod dipped again by 4.3%. Echo-Deacon is idling near a bad hinge. We learn more by not becoming data.>

Mikhailis glanced to Thalatha. He had that teasing half-smile on, like he already knew her answer but would still ask anyway.

"We can sit on our handsome and brilliant strategy for one window," he said. "No reason to go feed a judge."

Thalatha’s jaw eased. The tension left her shoulders, slow like a knot releasing. She gave a short nod that looked like discipline, but it was relief wearing a uniform.

"We wait."

Rodion rolled closer and extruded a tray from his fluffy body—two cups, new steam, and a third small bowl that smelled like glowcap and mint-paper. He set the tray on a flat stone with the kind of precision that could make a noble’s butler clap.

<Okay, classroom time.>

Mikhailis made a small show of settling back down, crossing one ankle over the other. "I always wanted to be a professor," he said lightly. "Just without homework to grade."

"Then don’t assign any," Thalatha said. Her tone was dry, but her eyes softened. "Drink your tea."

He lifted his cup. "Yes, General."

The slot dimmed a little more. The crystal above was stingy today; the light turned thin and clean. Their small world drew closer to the glow of Rodion’s console. The hum of the Brake Choir stayed steady—low, like a cat deciding to keep purring if everyone behaved.

A wireframe map blossomed across the stone. Clean white lines. Calm, careful geometry. Hex galleries nested into brood tunnels, then angled into resin-rib vaults that rose like bone arches. The picture had its own quiet logic, like someone had combed chaos until it agreed to be straight.

A statistics bar ticked in the corner.

Mikhailis leaned forward, interest bright. The map added symbols: two processions moving like clock hands; bone-lattice craft arranged around a central ramp; a shimmer of glowcap stores that looked like small moons stacked in nets. In the margins, thin spirals marked ritual sites—gift places, remembered and kept.

"Not hostile," he said, almost to himself. "Just the kind of neighbor who listens before they bite."

Thalatha stepped nearer, cupping her tea in both hands. Steam touched her cheek and fogged the edge of her lashes. She scanned the arteries of the hive with a soldier’s eye. Patrol turn here. Exit there. A blind corner that wanted a veil. Two pinch points, both defensible if you had discipline. Routes were neat. Margins were clean. No flashy waste.

"They’re tidy," she said. "I like tidy."

Rodion pinched the view tighter. A dot blinked near a brood mouth. The feed zoomed. Grave-workers pulled cleaned bones into a spiral so exact it made the eye relax. Every piece faced the same way. Nothing loud. Nothing lazy.

Mikhailis watched Thalatha watching. The corner of his mouth lifted. This is the face she makes when a plan stops being a plan and becomes a room she can enter. Good. More of this face, less of the one that has to argue with everyone back home.

He sipped his tea and felt the mint cut through the metal of the air. The warmth landed under his ribs. Tea is civilization. Even underground.

"Problem frame," Thalatha said, setting her cup on the stone ledge. "If they join, who leads them? Our Chimera Queen is not here."

"Right," Mikhailis said. "We can’t leave a vacuum. Vacuums suck." He winced at his own joke. "I heard it. I’m ashamed."

"You should be," she said, but there was a small sound that might have been a laugh hiding behind her words.

Rodion flipped the screen to a "unit select" wheel. Panels slid by with neat icons and tight labels. It looked like a game menu, but the stakes were the size of a city.

Pros: Cohesion pheromones +12%. Logistics brain. Adored by workers.

Cons: Not necro-tuned; possible clash with ossuary etiquette.

Mikhailis made a small circle in the air with one finger, like he was presenting a prize on a game show. "Beloved aunt energy," he said. "She’ll make them brush their mandibles and eat breakfast."

Thalatha tilted her head. "And the bone choir?"

"They might boo her," he admitted. "She’s clean. Maybe too clean for an ossuary court."

<Frog-Variant Chimera Ant (Amphib-sapper)>

Pros: Terrain genius; humidity control; stealth.

Cons: Amphib instincts don’t map to bone-lit galleries; weak regal aura.

Thalatha shook her head. "Great for swamps. This is a cathedral made of ribs. Wrong water."

"Agreed," Mikhailis said. "She’d want to flood the place and call it a day. The bones would be offended."

Pros: Seals, rations, silent routes.

Cons: Support queen-track; limited courtroom presence.

"Excellent quartermaster," Mikhailis said. "She could feed an army with three roots and a rock."

"Court is a battlefield," Thalatha said. "Different armor."

Pros: Shock power; deterrence.

Cons: Heat and smoke will attract Echo-Deacon; also a terrible vibe in a necro-ambient city.

"Pass," Thalatha said immediately. No hesitation.

Mikhailis lifted his cup in a tiny salute. "Even I know not to light a match in a library."

Rodion slid the next panel forward.

Pros: Crowd calm, ritual theater, deception hygiene.

Cons: Cannot anchor the Choir alone; needs a necromantic spine to hold rites.

Mikhailis tapped his cup against his knee. "I love a good show," he said, "but I’d like the foundation to be stone, not curtain."

Thalatha’s eyes kept moving. Curtain is useful, but spine is needed. Don’t build a court out of smoke and ask people to live inside it.

Then the highlighted panel arrived in a sober gold.

Pros: Necro command, ossuary fluency, crown-light etiquette, oath discipline.

Cons: Needs political guardrails; can read too cold without a humane brace.

Thalatha watched this one longer. She didn’t blink. Her throat moved once when she swallowed. "This one can hold the room," she said. "But we brace it with a Hypnoveil."

Mikhailis nodded, pleased. "Regent and curtain," he said. "Bones and velvet." He glanced at her. "Countess under our absent Queen. Chain of trust goes: Chimera Ant Queen—wherever she is—then the Necrolord regent, then nurses and matriarchs, then workers and soldiers."

Her mouth flicked. "No conquest language," she said.

"Stabilization," he answered at once. "Parley first. If parley fails, we change rulers by their rules." He looked at Rodion without turning his head. "You’re logging all this in the nice words file, yes?"

"Good," Mikhailis said. "I don’t want our first impression to be... me."

Thalatha’s brow lifted. "Sometimes your first impression is useful."

He pretended to preen. "Flattery will get you a well-timed map."

"Then flatter me a lot," she said, deadpan.

Rodion topped their cups again. He did it like a ritual—small, exact, no splash. The clean steam rose and made the slot smell like mint and damp wood.

"This will take a while," Mikhailis said. He flexed his fingers above the console. The holo shifted to a phase board. Labels slid into place with small ticks of time. Fallback arrows branched off in quiet gray, like safety nets waiting to be used without complaint.

"Phase zero," he said. "Mask and measure."