Primordial Villain With A Slave Harem - Chapter 1484 Queen Myrasyn

Chapter 1484  Queen Myrasyn

The queen’s private balcony overlooked the Deepwood Canopy, where ancient trees stretched so high their crowns vanished into a permanent mist. Queen Myrasyn sat cross-legged on a silk cushion embroidered with silver rootwork, her robe parted just enough to reveal the full, pale length of her legs folded beneath her. The fabric was sheer where it clung to her thighs and opaque where it mattered, though the line between the two shifted with every small movement she made. Elven royal loungewear was designed with a philosophy that could be summarized as: suggest everything, confirm nothing.

A porcelain cup rested between her fingers. Moonpetal tea. The leaves had been harvested under starlight from blossoms that only opened once every three years, steeped at precisely the perfect temperature, and served in a cup so thin it was nearly translucent.

It tasted like warm flowers and cost more than a house.

Myrasyn sipped.

Her lips curved against the rim.

“He waved back,” she murmured.

“My queen?”

The voice came from behind her, dry yet patient all at once, carrying the particular tone of a woman who had heard too many of her queen’s musings and survived all of them.

Verenthia stood at the balcony’s edge with a tray balanced on one arm and a posture that suggested she had been standing in that exact spot for several centuries. Her silver hair was pulled into a severe bun. Her face held the kind of beauty that had long since hardened into authority. She was old even by elven standards.

“The Primordial Villain,” Myrasyn said, turning the cup slowly in her fingers. “When I waved at him, he waved back.”

Verenthia set the tray down. “How unprecedented.”

“It was charming.”

“Mm.”

“He also called me beautiful.”

“He calls many women beautiful. Our intelligence reports suggest he has a harem numbering in the dozens.”

“And yet he still took the time to compliment me individually.” Myrasyn’s smile deepened. “Manners like that are rare these days.”

Verenthia’s expression did not change. It never did.

“My queen. You gave the Covenant one hundred thousand slaves, one hundred thousand sets of mithril armaments, ten thousand orichalcum, and one thousand adamantite. King Ragnar nearly shattered his own throne. I could hear his screaming from two cities away.”

“Could you?” Myrasyn laughed quietly behind her cup. “I thought the walls were soundproofed.”

“They are. He was that loud.”

Myrasyn lifted the cup and breathed in the steam. Her lashes lowered. The warmth colored her cheeks by a fraction, or perhaps that was the memory.

Then the warmth was gone. “Verenthia.”

“My queen.”

“I am aware.”

“Yes?”

Myrasyn nodded. “No matter the angle, I made a terrible choice.”

The maid’s brow rose, though only a fraction of a degree. On Verenthia, that was the equivalent of falling out of a chair.

“Then why stand up for that man…?”

Myrasyn sipped her tea before answering, taking her time. She let the flavor settle on her tongue before swallowing with a small, satisfied sound.

“I made a bet.”

She set the cup down and folded her hands in her lap, fingers laced with the composure of a woman who had been making these difficult decisions for thousands of years.

“That young man is far too unique. Look at where the human kingdom stands right now, having made an enemy of him.”

Verenthia’s gaze sharpened. “Are you claiming the peril of Vraven is his doing?”

“It’s quite a coincidence.”

“My queen. No evidence supports that. By all accounts, Quinlan Elysiar is an upstart in the Vesper Consortium, a strong, new face. But he can’t contend with the most notable beings. He was chased away from a fight by Queen Morgana and survived by a thread. He is not a large enough player to influence the fate of a kingdom.”

Myrasyn smiled.

She lifted the cup again, her slender fingers curling around the porcelain with a delicacy that made the simple act of drinking tea look like a painting. The steam curled past her lips. She sipped. Her eyes stayed on the canopy.

“This is precisely why it’s a bet. I have a feeling that you, the undead, the human king, the dwarf king, the beastkin lords, even the Consortium heads…” She paused, savoring. “Everyone is underestimating that young man’s potential.”

“My queen, I understand that he possesses immense future potential, but right now-”

“There are no buts, Verenthia.”

The maid raised an eyebrow.

Myrasyn turned to face her attendant fully, folding one leg over the other. The robe shifted. She didn’t adjust it.

“You think I made a bet for the future, yet I did not.” Her smile sharpened. “…” Verenthia waited.

“I made a bet for the present. Quinlan Elysiar’s power has risen from level one to nearly level seventy in a single year.”

“My queen, you cannot seriously believe those-”

“But I do.”

Silence.

“And do you know what frightens me most about him? Myrasyn’s eyes glittered. “It is not just his potential. There are two more things. If you can guess both, I will double your salary.”

Verenthia stared at her.

“My queen. You do not pay me a salary.”

Myrasyn’s smile widened. “Well, I don’t have much money left after my sponsorship of the lionkin, finishing preparations for our all-out invasion, and now even my generous donation to the undead, so it was only a gesture.”

Verenthia’s eyes narrowed to slits.

Myrasyn returned the look with perfect serenity.

The maid exhaled through her nose, long and controlled. It was the exhale of a woman who had served this queen for over five thousand years and dealt with migraines for approximately four thousand and nine hundred of them.

“His resilience,” Verenthia said finally. “He has survived encounters that should have killed him many times over. The reports are consistent on that point. The man does not die.”

Myrasyn tilted her head. “Close. But not quite.”

She held up one finger.

“There have been other upstarts with immense momentum. But the flame that burns brightest is often the quickest to extinguish itself. History has proven this countless times.” She let the finger hang in the air. “Our reports suggest Quinlan Elysiar has taken tremendous risks, but only when cornered. When he is in control, when he operates from the shadows, he manipulates. He calculates. He waits.”

She lowered her hand.

“Men with his power, men with his potential, feel the need to stand in the spotlight. To always be the hero of their own story. But he is content to sit back. To read the room. To evaluate.” A pause came. When the queen spoke again, she was smiling. “His personality is that of a rogue, but he wields the power of a legendary hero. What a complex man.”

Verenthia studied her queen’s face. The admiration was not romantic. It was the look of a chess player who had spotted a piece that moved in a pattern she’d never seen before.

“And the second?” the maid asked.

Myrasyn’s smile turned playful. “Perhaps I should find him a noble elven lover. Someone to tie him closer to our interests. Someone I can trust.” Her look, aimed at her noble elven servant, spoke volumes.

Verenthia’s expression went flat. “I am not interested, my queen.”

Myrasyn placed a hand against her collarbone. “I wasn’t suggesting you! But since you brought it up, you haven’t even tried. How can you be certain you’d hate it?”

“My queen. You have also never tried, and yet you preach to me constantly.”

“It was merely a suggestion.”

“It was not.”

Myrasyn conceded nothing. She simply moved on.

She sipped again. The playfulness faded, and her focus sharpened.

“The second reason. The people he surrounds himself with.”

Verenthia straightened.

“Those women are not decorations, Verenthia. They complement him in the best possible ways. They have accepted their roles as his supporters and are executing them with terrifying competence. But that is not all.” She turned the cup in her fingers. “Nearly every one of his closest allies possesses a unique class. Classes we have never recorded in any archive. Classes that should not exist.”

The maid’s eyes narrowed.

“He does not simply grow stronger. He makes those around him grow stronger. He elevates them. Whatever mechanism allows this, it changes the calculation entirely.” She set the cup down with a soft click. “This is why I did what I did. Ragnar will understand.”

Verenthia did not look fully convinced just yet. “And what if he does not return?”

Myrasyn blinked.