Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 146: The Sleep That Was Not Natural

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Office — Early Morning]

Morning did not arrive with warmth.

It crept.

Slow and pale, slipping through the carved lattice of the chamber windows, tracing faint gold across parchment-strewn tables and cold stone floors. The palace had awakened—but this chamber had not rested long enough to welcome it.

Levin sat alone; he had not slept long.

The night still clung to him—faint shadows beneath his eyes, a quiet heaviness in the way he leaned back against the chair. His fingers rose slowly, pressing against his forehead, rubbing as though he could ease the weight gathering behind his temples.

A breath left him, not tired, or weak. Just... unsettled. Something inside him felt wrong, something more subtle.

The door opened softly.

Iru entered, silent as ever, carrying a tray adorned with delicate precision. Silver dishes. Crystal cups. Bowls of fresh fruits, soaked in honey and spice. Warm flatbread glazed lightly with date syrup. Soft curds whipped with saffron and crushed pistachio.

And at the center—a small dish of rose-infused milk sweetened with figs and fragrant.

Carefully chosen.

He placed it beside Levin with quiet care.

"Malika..." Iru spoke gently, his voice low and steady. "I have brought the morning refreshment. It may ease the heaviness you feel."

Levin did not look at the tray immediately; his gaze remained distant for a moment longer—then slowly, he shifted.

He glanced at it and stilled. A faint crease formed between his brows.

"...No." His voice came softer than expected but firm. "I do not feel like eating or drinking anything, Iru...take it away."

Iru did not move immediately. Instead, he observed carefully, because this was not refusal born of indifference.

It was discomfort.

"Malika..." he said gently, stepping slightly closer, "you have not eaten since last night."

Levin exhaled faintly, his hand lowering from his forehead.

"...I know." His gaze drifted back to the tray. "...And yet...Nothing here calls to me."

Silence followed, not rejection, something else. Levin leaned forward slightly, his fingers resting against the edge of the table.

"...It is strange," he murmured, quieter now, more to himself than to Iru. "I feel...hungry...but not for this."

His gaze moved across the dishes again.

The honey, the milk, the fruits, and something in his expression shifted—subtly, but clearly, displeasure.

"...The sweetness feels heavy," he said slowly, his tone thoughtful. "The scent... too thick."

He turned his face slightly away.

"...Even the milk...It turns my stomach before I even touch it."

Iru’s expression softened with understanding as he said quietly, "...Your condition has begun to affect your senses; it is not uncommon."

Levin leaned back again, closing his eyes briefly.

"...Then it is inconvenient." A faint, dry note touched his voice. "I desire something ...But I do not know what."

Silence.

Then—

"...Perhaps not sweet," he added, almost reluctantly. "Something lighter... sharper."

His fingers tapped faintly against the armrest.

"...Something that does not linger."

Iru inclined his head slightly, already understanding. "Something with salt... or sourness," he suggested gently.

Levin’s eyes opened slowly.

A faint flicker passed through them.

"...Yes...that does not suffocate the breath."

Iru inclined his head, the smallest trace of understanding softening his otherwise composed expression.

"Then I shall have something prepared... not as the tongue remembers, Malika..." he said gently, gathering the silver dishes one by one, "...but as the body now demands."

Levin gave a quiet nod.

"Do so."

And just like that, the sweetness was taken away.

The heavy scent of honey, rose, and milk vanished with the closing of the door, leaving the chamber clearer... sharper... almost easier to breathe within.

Silence returned.

Levin leaned back into the chair, exhaling slowly, his fingers brushing once more across his temple.

"...What is wrong with me?" he murmured under his breath. neither frustration nor fear. Just... unfamiliarity.

KNOCK.

KNOCK.

The sound cut cleanly through the stillness.

Levin did not move immediately. "...Come in."

The door opened, and with it a presence.

"I greet the Malika..." The voice was smooth. Measured. Familiar.

Nabuarsh.

Levin stilled, not visibly, not enough for anyone untrained to notice, but his gaze lifted—slowly, precisely—and there he stood.

Head bowed and posture perfect. A serpent who knew exactly how to appear... harmless.

"Nabuarsh," Levin said quietly, with a pause. "What brings you here?"

Nabuarsh raised his head just enough—not meeting his eyes fully, but not entirely lowered either.

"By the Malik’s command," he replied, voice even and controlled, "I have come regarding the matter of Lady Nayra."

Levin’s fingers stilled upon the armrest.

"...Continue."

"The Malik has ordered that the child be tested," Nabuarsh said, stepping forward with measured grace. "Her knowledge... her worth... her potential."

A faint pause.

"And," he added, just slightly lowering his tone, "...that it be done under your supervision, Malika."

Silence settled, thin and sharp.

Levin watched him, not openly but with something far more dangerous: attention.

"...So," Levin said at last, his voice calm, almost indifferent, "you come prepared."

Nabuarsh inclined his head.

"I do not arrive before the Malika without purpose."

From within his robe, he withdrew a scroll—sealed, bound, untouched—and stepped forward, carefully and respectfully.

He placed it upon the table before Levin as he said, "This is the examination I have prepared."

Levin’s gaze dropped to it. The parchment did not move, yet somehow it carried weight.

"...Questions?" Levin asked softly.

"Yes, Malika."

A pause.

"Curated from the teachings of imperial scholars... and refined to measure not only knowledge... but instinct."

Levin’s fingers moved, resting against the edge.

"...I see."

Silence stretched. Just long enough and then—

"I will review it." His voice was even and final. "You may leave."

Nabuarsh bowed at once. "As you command."

He turned and walked away, and with the quiet closing of the door, he was gone.

The chamber stilled once more but not as it had before. Levin did not move immediately. He remained seated, his gaze fixed upon the scroll.

Unopened.

Untouched.

A faint breath left him, then slowly he leaned back.

"...You come too willingly," he murmured under his breath.

His gaze lowered again to the parchment. The seal, the script, and the intent behind it.

"...A test," he whispered. "...Or something else?"

His fingers finally moved. Tracing lightly over the scroll, not breaking it open—not yet, because Levin Veyrhold had already learned some things were not dangerous when revealed.

They were dangerous...when accepted too easily, and the truth—this had come far too readily.

Levin’s fingers rested upon the sealed scroll, unmoving for a moment longer—as though even touching it too soon would reveal more than it should.

Then slowly he broke the seal. The parchment unfurled beneath his hand with a soft, dry whisper—ancient, deliberate... final.

His gaze lowered and began to read.

At first nothing. Just script. Elegant. Precise. Measured in the hand of a scholar, but then his eyes narrowed slightly.

"...This is not for a child."

The words did not rise; they settled cold. The first question stretched across the page—not simple knowledge, not foundational learning, but layered.

Philosophy bound with law. Law is bound with war. War bound with history that even seasoned advisors debated in whispers.

Levin’s fingers stilled, he turned the page the second worse.

"Interpret the succession conflict of the Third Zahryssar Dynasty and determine the rightful heir under fractured bloodline doctrine..." A pause. "...and justify the execution of the losing branch."

Levin’s gaze hardened.

"...Justify execution?"

Not knowledge, but judgment. The third—Alchemy. The fourth—ancient serpent dialects no longer spoken within the court. The fifth—Strategic formations used only in war councils.

Levin exhaled slowly.

"...No scholar would solve this puzzle with ease."

Not even the court, not without time, not without preparation, and this—this was meant for a child?

His fingers moved again. Turning another section. More questions, deeper and sharper, not testing intellect but breaking it, measuring limits, or forcing failure.

"...So this is your design..." he murmured faintly, not a test, a dismissal. This was a silent demonstration of his potential.

A faint exhale left him. "...Just how much she knows... to be given something like this..."

But then his breath faltered. Just slightly.

His brows drew together.

"...What...is this?" The room shifted—not outwardly, but within him.

A dull heaviness crept behind his eyes, his fingers loosened from the parchment.

"...Why do I suddenly feel..." He inhaled, the air felt thick. "...heavy?"

The word came slower than before.

Levin pushed himself upright. The movement was steady—but not as controlled as it had been moments ago. His hand brushed briefly against the table for balance.

"...Perhaps...I have not rested enough." A lie, a convenient one.

He stepped away from the table, each step measured but something beneath it slower. The lower diwan awaited. He reached it, lowering himself with quiet care.

"...I will rest... only for a moment..."

His voice had softened faded. The moment his body touched the cushions his eyes closed Instantly.

Silence fell, not peaceful, not gentle but something else. The scroll remained open behind him, and within the quiet chamber of the Malika—Something unseen had already begun to move.

***

[House Karzath — Outer Courtyard — Same Time]

The sun had not yet reached its peak but heat already lingered across the stone. Lady Arinaya moved toward her carriage, her steps composed, her posture unyielding—every inch the authority she carried.

Then—

"My Lady—!"

The voice cut through the stillness, sharp, breathless and urgent. An attendant rushed forward, nearly stumbling in her haste.

"My Lady—my Lady—!"

Arinaya stopped. Her gaze shifted—not alarmed, not yet—but sharpened.

"...Compose yourself," she said, her voice low, controlled. "And speak."

The attendant bent forward, struggling to catch her breath—her face pale, her eyes unsettled.

"My Lady..." she managed, her voice trembling despite effort, "...something has been found...At the training grounds."

Arinaya’s expression did not change but something behind her eyes did.

"...Found?" she repeated.

The attendant swallowed."...Something... that should not be there."

Silence.

Arinaya studied her, the fear was not exaggerated It was real.

"...Show me." The words were calm but final.

She turned at once, and just like that—The direction shifted.

***

[House Karzath — Training Grounds — Later]

The air had changed. What was once a place of discipline and strength now stood... disturbed. Knights had gathered. Not in formation, not in order but in a loose, uneasy circle.

Whispers did not rise, they stayed buried.

"...Step aside." Arinaya’s voice cut through them.

The knights parted at once and as she stepped forward and reached at the center, and she saw it. The earth beneath the tree had been disturbed, not freshly, not cleanly. Dug.

Then half-forgotten and within it—A body.

No...what remained of one. Rot had taken most of it. Flesh clung in fragments. Bone revealed beneath decay. Cloth—what little remained—had fused with dirt and time.

Arinaya froze, not in fear but in recognition of something... deeply wrong.

"...What..." The word barely left her lips. "...is this?"

Her voice did not rise, It lowered. She stepped closer slowly and carefully. Her gaze sharpened.

"This..." she murmured, quieter now, "...has not been buried recently."

A knight spoke, hesitant. "My Lady... we believe it has been here for... some time...Hidden."

Arinaya’s eyes narrowed.

"...Hidden in our own grounds." The words carried something sharper now. Something colder. Her gaze swept the gathered knights.

"...And none of you noticed?"

She turned back to the body. Knee bending slightly as she lowered herself just enough to observe more closely.

The bones, the remnants, the positioning. "...This was not a proper burial...This was concealment."

Her fingers hovered—but did not touch.

"...Clothing..." she noted faintly, "...not of a common soldier."

Another pause, this time longer.

"...Bring me the records." Her voice steadied again—controlled, commanding. "Missing personnel. Training ground access. Every name that set foot here within the past year, and seal this area."

A beat.

"No one enters. No one speaks of this beyond my command."

Silence answered her. Obedience followed.

Arinaya’s gaze lingered one last time on the remains.

"...A body buried in silence..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "...how come it’s here, in my place? exactly who died?"

And somewhere—Far beyond House Karzath—the Malika slept unnaturally.