The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort
Chapter 537 - 537: The Merchant and The New Firm

The silver bell above the door chimed softly, a delicate, crystalline note that danced through the air as Mikhailis stepped inside Lumine Étoile. The sound lingered for a heartbeat, then melted into the shop's music—a lilting harp arpeggio that seemed to float on scented air. The warmth inside contrasted with the brisk spring morning outside, and for an instant Mikhailis let the change settle over him like a cloak.

The perfumed atmosphere wrapped him in layers: first rose, then vanilla, then a final, elusive breath of sandalwood that made him think of distant caravans winding through desert passes. He drew it in slowly, savoring the welcome. If heaven sells perfume, it probably smells like this, he mused, lips twitching beneath his hood.

Soft, ethereal harp notes curled around the steady hum of merchant chatter. Two noblewomen in dove-grey cloaks murmured over a glass case near the entry, their eyes bright with anticipation. An elderly gentleman in scholar's robes bent close to an enchanted mirror, studying how a dusting of gold shimmer powder softened the lines around his eyes. No one paid Mikhailis more than a passing glance; travelers were common in the capital's root-streets, and his cloak—charcoal wool trimmed in unremarkable thread—made him blend into the sea of customers.

He kept the hood low, shadows veiling his silver-blue gaze. Not that he feared recognition—few expected the prince consort to slip through crowded markets alone—but caution was habit. Besides, part of him delighted in observing unnoticed, like a child pressing a shell to his ear to hear secrets of the sea.

Silken drapes the color of blushing dawn and deep twilight cascaded from the rafters far above, shifting whenever a hidden breeze spell stirred them. Each fold caught slivers of lamp-light, creating ribbons of pink and sapphire that rippled like water. Beneath those drapes, the shop floor unfolded in gentle curves. Rather than strict aisles, rounded islands of display cases formed intimate alcoves, inviting shoppers to meander.

Every case was a work of art. Some were carved from crystal, facets scattering rainbow shards across polished teak floors. Others were wrought of brass filigree, delicate vines spiraling around panes of flawless glass. Inside, powders lay in neat rows—rose-dust pinks, moon-glow silvers, sun-touched ambers. When he leaned closer, the powders seemed to breathe, as though each grain was eager to meet skin.

In one corner, a trio of enchanted mirrors hung at different heights. Their surfaces weren't static silver; instead they rippled like calm ponds disturbed by a single pebble. When a customer stepped near, the mirror brightened, overlaying tiny, glowing glyphs that suggested complementary shades.

Apprentices in soft pastel robes glided between stations. A girl with frizzy chestnut hair levitated a tray of perfume vials, carefully nudging each bottle into line with a whispered spell. A boy—freckles dusting his nose—marked tallies in a ledger, his quill scratching like a cricket amid the music. Despite their focus, smiles appeared whenever their eyes met a patron's; the friendliness felt genuine, not forced.

Mikhailis's shoulders relaxed. Culture of kindness, he noted. Estella would insist on that. It pleased him more than the profit margins.

<Current profit margin steady at fifty-five percent. Marketing outreach covers three northern kingdoms. Expansion into enchanted skincare in progress.>

Rodion's calm voice vibrated against the tiny charm hidden in Mikhailis's collar. The construct's tones remained low, only for him.

A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "Always one step ahead, aren't they?" he whispered, barely moving his lips.

<Estella's calculated risk-taking has been consistent. Notable: diversification into enchanted skincare aligns with target demographic shift—nobility and adventurous elite.>

He chuckled under his breath. "Smart. But let's see how they're holding up."

He meandered deeper, letting the music guide him like a current. A display of "Starlight Veil" powders caught his attention. Each pot sat on a tiny velvet plinth, the lids engraved with constellations. When he picked one up, the powder within swirled to form a miniature spiral galaxy. Pretty gimmick, he thought, but does it blend? He tipped the pot, and the galaxy dissolved into a cloud of fine silver that settled like moon-dust on the glass. Stylish and functional.

To his right, a new line labelled "WhisperTouch Lip Oils" gleamed under golden spot-lights. The oils shimmered with subtle iridescence—some peach, some plum, some an almost translucent teal. A placard read: Infused with charm glyphs for confidence and clarity. He lifted a tester vial, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. The liquid caught the light, throwing prism sparks onto the nearby wall.

Farther along, delicate vials of perfume rested on a mirrored crescent table. Each bottle was a tiny sculpture: hummingbird wings, seashell whorls, petals frozen in glass. A clerk with neat braids demonstrated one for a young noblewoman. The clerk pressed a miniature bulb; a single droplet drifted through the air, hovering like a crystal bead before bursting into a plume of soft pink. The noblewoman gasped as the mist shaped itself into a faint, glowing rose over her wrist. It faded, leaving an irresistible scent.

Mikhailis hid a grin. Showmanship. They've mastered it.

A pair of young mages worked nearby, weaving thin threads of light that spiraled around shelves. Their faces were pinched with concentration, and now and then one flicked a wrist, adjusting the brightness so powders gleamed without glaring. The tiny golden threads obeyed each motion like well-trained fireflies. Customers drifting past paused to watch, entranced.

One mage—nose smudged with glitter—caught him staring and offered a sheepish smile. Mikhailis nodded back, resisting the urge to offer a quick tip about smoothing mana flow around corners. Not today, he reminded himself. Observe first.

He noted subtle improvements since his last visit. Wooden signs bearing helpful icons guided patrons: a feather for sensitive-skin products, a shield for enchanted balms, a tiny star for premium lines. Near the shield display, a stout dwarf woman tested a salve, rubbing it over a faded scar on her forearm. The salve glimmered, then blurred the scar's harsh edges until only a faint line remained. Her wide grin spoke louder than any testimonial.

That one's new, he thought, making a mental note. Scar-softening salve? With a dash of glamour illusion, perhaps. Clever.

A young clerk bustled past with armfuls of pale-blue boxes labeled "Cloud Silk Masks." She accidentally brushed his cloak, stammered an apology. He murmured reassurance, steadying one precarious box. Up close he saw the packaging bore Estella's seal—an elegant letter-E entwined with a laurel branch. Classy touch.

Beyond, a small lounge area offered refreshments: crystal cups of cucumber water, wafer-thin biscuits dusted with shimmering sugar. Two elderly patrons sat there, sipping politely while flipping through a catalogue that projected images into the air. Each page turned with a whisper of magic, displaying models whose faces shifted to match the viewer's own features—letting customers imagine the products on themselves.

He couldn't help an appreciative nod. Interactive catalogue. Memory-glyph recognition? Must have cost a fortune.

A set of ornamental stairs curved upward to a mezzanine lined with more private consultation rooms. Their frosted doors were etched with motifs of ivy and stardust. A sign announced: Personal Glamour Coaching—By Appointment. Mikhailis wondered what noble secrets were whispered behind those doors: insecurities soothed, ambitions refined, alliances formed over rouge and silk.

He walked on, boots silent on the cushioned floor. Everywhere, employees exuded calm efficiency. They moved with a dance-like rhythm—one stocking shelves as another wiped glass, a third stepping in to greet a guest just as the bell above chimed again. No wasted motion.

Rodion's quiet comment followed. <Employee efficiency index: ninety-two percent. Notable harmony suggests effective training and culture of respect.> The AI paused, tone almost smug. <My behavioural modules for staff relations reportedly inspired Estella's handbook.>

Mikhailis arched a brow. He's proud, he thought, amused. "Take the compliment," he whispered.

He approached a central island where stacks of color palettes shimmered like dragonfly wings. A teenage boy with wide shoulders compared two shades of highlighter on the back of his hand, his younger sister watching with awe. "This one catches green reflections," he explained. Mikhailis smiled. Beauty knew no gender within these walls.

New signage showcased a line of enchanted skincare balms: Morning Dew Guard—with tiny glyphs for sun protection and minor healing. A side display held Night Bloom Renewal, promising to repair tired skin after travel or late study sessions. He lifted a jar, unscrewed the lid. The cream glowed faintly, scent of jasmine and fresh rain. Could double as low-grade restorative—handy for adventurers, he noted.

All this—and Estella was likely refining more in the back room already.

He set the jar down and continued toward the far end, where he suspected he'd find her. With every step, he noticed details only an eccentric mind would catch: subtle illusions that made aisles seem wider, runes tucked under display tables to mute creaks, discrete funnels in each corner piping out stale air and bringing fresh aromas. Even the harp music, he realized, originated from a single enchanted instrument suspended near the ceiling. Invisible threads adjusted the tempo, matching the heartbeat of the room.

A child darted past, chasing a floating bubble shaped like a butterfly. It popped, releasing a faint sparkle of cosmetic glitter. The child squealed with joy, and a nearby clerk smiled, handing her a small sachet of cleansing wipes—practical and generous.

Mikhailis's grin broadened. Yes, they've built an experience, not just a shop.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.