"And for common travelers?"
"We emphasize durability, restorative properties." His grin spread. "Sa jar, two stories. Elite packaging for courts, rugged tin for caravans."
Estella's shoulders shook with a soft laugh. "You're selling alchemy and narrative." She lifted her glass in toast. "I adore it."
"Then we're halfway there." Mikhailis's eyes glead. "Next hurdle—ingredients. Rare herbs, spectral petals, powdered moon-pearl—supplies we can't always source locally." He turned to Rhea, expression earnest. "Your ties to Serewyn's council—customs chiefs, guild heads—are stronger than any contract I could draft."
Rhea's gaze sharpened like frost forming on glass. "You want to leverage my connections for trade privileges?"
"Not just privileges," he replied, swirling amber liquid. "Direct routes, waive import tariffs, perhaps exclusive rights on certain magical botanicals grown only in Serewyn's mist valleys. They'd be honored to assist Lumine Étoile—a flagship of refinent." He paused, letting the weight settle. "And the crown—quietly—would appreciate the strengthened bridge."
Estella leaned back, hands steepled. "Secure the supply chain, control quality. Competitors would scramble." Her voice vibrated with excitent.
Rhea's smile was asured—like a chess player eyeing several moves ahead. "A powerful move. But in politics, a favor is never a gift." She tilted her head. "What do you expect in return?"
Mikhailis's grin turned wry. "Only your continued brilliance—and the promise to dream bigger. I want Lumine Étoile to outshine every constellation on the map."
Estella's laughter rang, bright as silver bells. "Ambition suits you, Mikhailis."
"And loyalty suits you," Rhea added quietly, that fleeting softness sneaking into her gaze. "You could invest anywhere, yet you stand with us."
"It was always going to be you two." Mikhailis's voice dropped to sothing warr, sincere. "Beauty, elegance, and a hint of danger—the perfect blend."
Estella lifted her flute, eyes never leaving his. "Then to bigger dreams," she said, and took a sip. A rosy flush blossod on her cheeks—not from the drink, but from possibility.
Mikhailis raised his own glass in salute.
"Exactly." Mikhailis's voice quickened, sparks of eagerness flickering in his eyes like struck flint. "We can capture both noble clients and adventurers—beauty for the refined, protection for the daring."
The numbers earned only a slight lift of Mikhailis's brow, but Estella leaned forward, clearly intrigued. She drumd her manicured nails—painted today a soft copper—against the stem of her flute. "With the right story, it could work. An allure of beauty coupled with the promise of hidden strength." She paused, sunlight from a high window catching the green in her curls. "Everyone wants to feel safe without seeming afraid."
Rhea tilted her head, a small motion that made her short, light-green hair slide neatly beneath the silver band of her cap. "Not just work," she murmured, voice soft but decisive, "it could dominate an untapped niche. A single bottle that whispers security might outsell a dozen jars that rely promise radiance."
A slow grin curved across Mikhailis's face. "But we need more than clever products. We need supply—steady, trustworthy, exclusive." He turned slightly, letting the candle-glow dance in the amber of his drink. "Rhea, your connections inside Serewyn's council…"
Rhea's gaze sharpened like a needle brought to silk. She set her glass down with deliberation, the crystal making the faintest ring on the cedar. "You want to leverage my contacts—for tariff exemptions and priority shipnts."
"More than that." Mikhailis tapped one gloved finger on the table. "Access to the mist-valley orchards for moon-orchid petals, sole rights to import sky-saffron resin, first pick of their crystal-filtered aquifers for tonic bases. If we control the rare ingredients, no competitor can copy our recipes."
Estella's eyes glead, the cunning rchant glitter behind them. "Secure the ingredients, lock down the quality, own the conversation." She leaned back, crossing her legs again; the sapphire gown swished like starlight over water. "I almost pity the other perfurs."
Rhea's lips curved in that slow, thoughtful way of hers. "Tariffs can be persuaded to bend, provided certain councilors feel… appreciated." A ghost of humor danced in her eyes. "I assu Lumine Étoile will prepare appropriate 'gifts'?"
Mikhailis spread his hands in mock innocence. "Luxurious care packages of our finest balms, of course. Perhaps a limited-edition 'Council's Grace' fragrance."
Estella laughed, low and lodious. "We'll have them begging for a second vial before the ink dries." Her gaze narrowed, sharp and playful. "But you expect sothing in return, don't you, Prince?"
He raised his flute, amber liquid swirling. "Only that you both think bigger—beyond storefronts and quarterly ledgers. Create an institution. A place where fashion ets quiet power."
Rhea traced the rim of her glass. "And you? What do you gain besides profit?"
"Stability," Mikhailis answered simply. "A prosperous ally at our borders. A web of rchants loyal to us, not to opportunists." He tipped his head, blond strands catching candlefire. "I choose allies who innovate and care for their people. That's you two."
Estella's expression softened, a flicker of gratitude breaking through her confident façade. "Ambition suits you, Mikhailis," she said, voice gentler than before.
"And loyalty suits you," Rhea added. The words were quiet, yet they hung in the room like a vow. "You could have poured gold into any venture, yet you choose us again and again."
Mikhailis's grin widened, earnest now. "It's always been you two. Beauty, elegance…and that hint of danger that makes life worth living. Perfect blend."
He rose, the velvet seat giving a soft sigh. Candle-light traced the line of his cloak as he extended a hand across the table. "When I return, I expect Lumine Étoile to shine so bright travelers see it from the sky-bridges."
Estella clasped his hand. Her grip was warm, surprisingly strong. "You won't be disappointed," she promised, a fierce light in her erald eyes. She rose as well, standing nearly nose-to-nose with him. "But do keep your promises too, my prince."
He bowed his head, a playful glint returning. "Scout's honor."
Rhea stood last. She reached across, her cool fingers brushing his wrist—a rare show of contact. "Travel safely. Supplies are useless if their champion ends up pick-pocketed on the root-streets."
"Danger and I are old sparring partners," he quipped. Yet he squeezed her hand, appreciating the concern that seldom surfaced on her calm features.
He turned toward the velvet curtains, lifting his hood—
"Wait." Estella's voice, rich with sudden mischief, halted him mid-stride.
Mikhailis glanced back, eyebrow arched. Estella's rchant's smile spread slow and languid. "Don't you wish to see how the firm truly blooms?" She gestured toward the doorway beyond the lounge. "The production suite is alive with petals and potion smoke right now."
Before he could answer, Rhea stepped beside Estella, her serene face unreadable but her grip sliding once more to his sleeve. "You'll see flowers filling this place soon enough," she murmured, eyes holding his with calm conviction. "Stay a while longer. Witness the garden you helped plant."
A warmth blood in his chest—equal parts pride and camaraderie. He looked from Rhea's quiet certainty to Estella's sparkling challenge. The world outside could wait another song.
Mikhailis paused, a slow, pleased smile spreading. "I think I'd like that."
Rhea's fingers were cool but firm around Mikhailis's wrist, guiding him toward a side door hidden behind a curtain of silk vines. As the lush drapes parted, she led him into a cozy changing chamber—an intimate space lined with soft, amber light. Warm, cream-colored walls softened the room's edges, while a tall mirror reflected their figures. Shelves lined one wall, filled with neatly folded uniforms of Lumine Étoile—crisp, silver-trimd coats, elegant lavender waist sashes, and delicately embroidered gloves.
Mikhailis's smile turned curious. "A changing room?" he teased. "Rhea, are we playing dress-up?"
Rhea's calm expression didn't waver, though her lips quirked the slightest bit. "Discretion is key. If you are to see our inner workings, you'll need to blend in. A simple disguise." She reached for a silver-trimd coat, but as she did, her silver-blue eyes traced him, as though asuring his height and build without a word.
"I can change myself," Mikhailis said, half-joking, half-serious. "I haven't lost the use of my hands."
Rhea's faint smile deepened. "What kind of royal changes himself?" she replied, voice a smooth whisper edged with dry amusent.
He almost quipped, "Elowen does," but the mory of last night's slow, shared undressing flashed across his mind. Not alone. They didn't change alone—they changed together. Skin against skin, laughter caught between stolen kisses, the warmth of each other's touch. His cheeks ward slightly.
"Sothing amusing?" Rhea's voice brought him back, her gaze direct but subtly curious.
"Just rembering an exception to your rule," he muttered, a grin twitching at his lips. "But let's see if you've lost your touch as a squire."
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