The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 391: The Battle of Princes (3)

Auron's smirk twisted. "Oh, it's beyond that, my dear Prince Consort. You stole something that was never yours to begin with. A foreigner—a nameless insect—dared to claim what I had cultivated." His voice turned eerily soft. "Do you know what that feels like? To watch something you love slip into the hands of someone unworthy?"

Mikhailis's chest tightened at the vehemence pouring off Auron's every word. The malice in his voice was palpable, like a blade pressed to the skin. It reminded Mikhailis of every twisted villain from the dramas he used to watch, except this threat was real, standing right here, mist curling around his hands. Mikhailis blinked, trying to process the sheer level of unhinged obsession radiating from Auron. He forced himself to adopt that casual, half-teasing tone he liked to wield when cornered by mania.

"I mean, sure," Mikhailis said, "but usually, I just get over it like a normal person. You might consider giving it a whirl."

Laethor, bound and slumped against his shackles, glared at his twin with undisguised anger. "You're going in the wrong direction, Auron! You actually sold our kingdom to the Technomancers—all because of a woman? You're insane!"

Auron let out a soft, humorless chuckle. His eyes, identical to Laethor's in shape but far more cruel in expression, drifted toward his brother. "And you let her go, brother. That was your mistake. You let our kingdom rot, let our people suffer, all because you were too weak to claim what should have been ours. I'm fixing that. I'm fixing you."

Mikhailis glanced between the two siblings. The man in chains, battered and bruised, must be the real Laethor—the one he'd been trying so hard to rescue. The other, who looked identical except for a sharper edge to his features and a smug twist to his lips, had to be the twin whose name was whispered in rumor. Mikhailis felt his blood simmer with anger. If this was the one who orchestrated Luthadel's downfall, who had turned the city into a battleground for the sake of jealousy or ambition, it was so much worse than he'd thought.

"Fixing me?" Laethor spat back, voice cracking from exhaustion and rage. "You betrayed your own country. How is that fixing anything?"

Auron's expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists. The mist around him pulsed in response, swirling in subtle arcs as though it was alive, feeding on his twisted emotions. "You were never meant to rule, Laethor. You're sentimental, soft. You gave up everything—including her. But I won't make the same mistake." He flicked his eyes to Mikhailis and offered a contemptuous sneer.

Mikhailis sighed, lifting one hand in a tired gesture. "Quick question—does this whole evil twin monologue come with a refund policy? Because I feel like I've heard it before."

Auron's attention snapped fully to Mikhailis, contempt, curiosity, and a dangerous glint swirling in his gaze. "And you," he said, voice dropping with disdain, "you're the reason she chose wrong. You stand in my way."

"Seems to be my specialty," Mikhailis retorted. "Another lunatic who blames me for his bad luck with women. This is becoming a trend. Seriously, can you guys not handle a bit of competition?"

Auron's fingers twitched, flickers of mist dancing at his fingertips. "I'll correct that mistake."

A sudden burst of motion—faster than Mikhailis anticipated—crashed into his awareness. He tried to pivot, but Auron was already upon him, a blur of steel and swirling mist. The next thing Mikhailis knew, cold metal pressed against his throat, a blade held with precise menace. Auron's smirk returned, triumphant, as if he'd been waiting to savor this moment.

"Don't worry, Prince Consort," Auron whispered, his breath fanning across Mikhailis's cheek. "You won't be a problem much longer."

A shiver crawled up Mikhailis's spine at the malice in that voice. But he forced a grin, focusing on the brand's hum in his arm, remembering the trap he'd silently prepared. "You know," he said lightly, mind racing, "you really should have checked for traps."

Auron's eyes widened, realization dawning too late. Mikhailis activated the Riftborne Necrolord's web in a single swift thought, and thick, dark tendrils shot from his cloak. They latched onto Auron's arms, wrenching him backward. The twin let out a snarl of shock, cursing under his breath as the necrotic fibers yanked him away from Mikhailis. The blade at Mikhailis's throat fell short, only grazing his skin with a shallow sting.

"You—!" Auron's voice dripped with fury.

But Mikhailis was already moving, pivoting on one foot. He aimed a sharp kick at Auron's torso, hooking it with a flick of his knee. The blow connected with surprising force, sending the twin prince skidding back across the chamber's broken floor. A swirl of dust rose where Auron collided with the ground.

Mikhailis exhaled, heart pounding a frantic tempo. "Seriously, man. Did no one teach you about personal space?" He flexed his arms, the shock from earlier now more a dull ache than a crippling pain. The brand, ironically, felt almost stable—like it approved of his aggression. Yeah, well, let's not start a friendship here, he thought bitterly at it.

Auron let out a low growl, eyes glowing with that same insane passion. The mist around him flared, a swirl of restless power. It crackled as if the air itself disliked him. "You should've stayed out of this," he spat, voice trembling with anger. "Now you'll see what it means to cross me."

Laethor's gaze hardened, all traces of fear replaced by resolute fury. "Mikhailis—don't hold back," he said hoarsely, straining against the manacles. The battered prince forced a savage glare at his twin. "If you hesitate, he'll kill us both."

Mikhailis tilted his head, eyes locking onto Auron's. The man was rising with dangerously fluid grace. Whatever else he was, Auron had skill—he moved like a trained fighter, unpredictable, lethal. "Right," Mikhailis said under his breath. "No more second-guessing."

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

But inside, he remembered how easily Auron nearly took him out just moments ago. Focus, you idiot, he chided himself. Use what you've got. He recalled his entomancer gear, the cloak, the brand's storm surging within his veins. There was cunning too, and a sense of comedic unpredictability that had saved him more than once. He smirked faintly. That might work.

He slanted a look at Laethor. "Do me a favor," he said, voice low but not so low Auron couldn't hear. "Don't die, all right? I put a lot of effort into rescuing you."

Laethor mustered a wry half-smile, even as he winced in pain. "I'll do my best."

Auron rose, stance coiled like a viper about to strike. The swirling grey mist responded to his movements, thickening, forming shapes that reminded Mikhailis of serpents or tentacles. Each shift of his posture exuded terrifying confidence, the posture of a man who believed in his inevitable triumph. He cast a brief sidelong look at Laethor, who glared back with righteous anger, then returned his gaze to Mikhailis.

"Brother dear," Auron said, voice dripping with condescension, "you told me not to sell out the kingdom. But what have you done for it? Let it stagnate? Let the people starve? Let others claim what's ours? You have no right to lecture me on treachery."

His gaze flicked back to Mikhailis. "And you… I wonder if you truly understand the woman you took from me. You think Elowen belongs at your side because she made some choice while besotted with your foreign charm?" He barked a short, cruel laugh. "She was always meant for greater things. And so was I."

Mikhailis rolled his eyes. "You do realize, right, that if she turned you down, maybe she just didn't like you? Hard to believe, I know, but maybe she had actual taste." He ended with a mocking shrug. "Just a thought."

Auron's face twisted with offense, raw and savage, and for a moment Mikhailis thought he'd gone too far. Good, a corner of his mind said. Let him lose composure. Emotional enemies make mistakes. The brand pulsed along his arm, as though urging him to push further.

Crouched on the floor, Laethor spoke again, voice strained from the pain of his injuries. "You gave up everything, Auron… You let the Crownless House twist you into something not even Father would recognize. You might have power, but at what cost?"