Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 156: The Fury, The Kiss and The Upcoming Danger

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Chamber — Immediately After]

SLAM!! THUD!!!

The doors closed not softly, not gently, but decisively, sealing the world outside. Inside, silence did not settle; it tightened because the air still carried it—Zeramet’s presence—dark, heavy, and unyielding.

And at its center Levin stood, still held, still within reach. Zeramet did not release him immediately; his grip remained firm, not hurting but not allowing distance.

"Zer—what—" Levin’s voice barely formed before it was cut off.

"...Consort." Zeramet’s voice was low, controlled, and dangerously so. "...Do you understand... What you have done?"

Levin met his gaze, steady and unbowed. "...I just went out... I did not think you would be this worried."

Zeramet’s fingers tightened, not enough to harm but enough to remind.

"...Worry?"

A faint, sharp breath left him, not quite a laugh, not quite anger.

"...Do you know...?" He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "...what I thought?"

Levin’s body stilled, though he did not step back, and Zeramet’s gaze darkened as he continued. "The palace—...no...this entire empire...is not safe for you."

The words fell heavy.

"...I do not know...which shadow hides fangs... Which serpent watches too closely... Which hand waits to strike."

His grip tightened again, and this time emotion slipped through. "...I do not know...if I can trust even those who serve within these walls...and then you vanished without word."

Levin’s lashes lowered slightly.

"...Do you understand..." Zeramet’s gaze burned into him—"...that I believed you were taken?"

Silence, and Zeramet’s jaw tightened. "...That someone... had dared to touch what is mine?"

The words were not loud, but they carried enough weight to break bone.

"...Because of you... I almost spilled blood in my own halls, and I would do that in the future too."

Levin studied him, not frightened, not shaken, but understanding.

"...Do you think..." Levin spoke quietly—"...I cannot protect myself?"

That shifted something. Zeramet pulled him closer until there was no space left and his voice softened but did not weaken

"...Consort... I know your strength... I have seen it." His gaze dropped to Levin’s abdomen; his hand followed, resting there. "...But you are not alone now... You carry my heirs... My blood."

His thumb moved slightly and carefully.

"...And that makes you vulnerable...whether you accept it or not and no matter how strong you are."

Silence.

"I am already burdened," his voice lowered, quieter now. "...by what your body endures...because of me."

Levin stared at his husband, and then his hand lifted, resting against Zeramet’s chest.

"...I am fine... Zer." That name of his came soft and unarmored. Zeramet stilled, and Levin continued. "...I know the danger around me.... That is why I did not go alone. Raevahn was with me and Lady Arinaya as well."

His gaze remained steady.

"...I did not walk blindly."

Silence followed long and heavy. Zeramet’s golden gaze locked onto Levin’s blue, searching, measuring, and holding.

Then something shifted not fully but enough. His grip loosened. Just slightly, and then without warning, he pulled Levin closer, firm and close. Until Levin’s forehead rested against his chest. His arms wrapped around him tight, possessive and protective, but not angry, not anymore.

A breath left him slowly.

"...Do not do that again." The words were quieter now, not a command, not a threat.

A plea hidden beneath pride. Levin did not resist, did not pull away; he just remained there within the hold.

"...Then do not cage me." A soft reply.

Zeramet’s hold tightened just slightly. "...Then do not vanish...without me knowing where to find you."

Silence, but no longer sharp, no longer breaking, because something had shifted between them—not resolved, not settled, but understood.

And within that quiet the storm eased for now.

Zeramet’s hand lifted slowly. His thumb brushed against Levin’s cheek, tracing the faint warmth there as if confirming he was real, that he was here. That he had not been taken or lost. His gaze lingered longer than before, not sharp, not demanding. but something deeper.

"...You test the limits of my patience..." He murmured softly—"But never my need for you."

Levin’s breath stilled just slightly, but he did not move away, did not break the closeness.

"Then perhaps..." Levin replied quietly—"...you should learn where those limits end."

A faint breath left Zeramet, not quite a laugh and not quite restraint, and then he leaned in, not rushed and not careless but certain.

Their lips met firm and intentional, not a fleeting touch, not gentle but claiming. Levin stilled for only a fraction before responding, meeting him, not yielding, not retreating.

The kiss deepened slowly and deliberately.

Zeramet’s hand moved from his cheek to the back of his neck, holding him closer, closing the space that did not exist anymore.

It was not hunger alone but relief, not desire alone but possession. A silent declaration—

’You are here and you are mine.’

Levin’s fingers tightened slightly against Zeramet’s robe, not pushing, not pulling but grounding. The moment stretched, lingering and heavy with everything unspoken, with fear, anger, and relief.

And something far more dangerous: attachment. When they parted It was not abrupt, not distant. Their breaths remained close—intertwined.

Zeramet rested his forehead lightly against Levin’s eyes half-lowered. "...Do not disappear again."

It was not a command, not this time. Levin exhaled softly—"...Then do not make me feel like I have to."

Silence, but it did not break them because now they both understood that this was no longer just power. It was something neither of them could easily control.

***

[Silthara Palace—Somewhere in the Palace—The Same Night]

The palace slept, or at least it pretended to, because beneath its marble floors, behind carved walls and silken corridors, something moved silently and patiently.

Nabuarsh stood within the dim-lit bath chamber alone. The golden lamps flickered low, casting long shadows that bent and twisted against the stone before him—a small vial rested in his hand.

Dark, thick, and alive with something unnatural. He turned it slightly, watching how the liquid inside clung to the glass, slow and viscous, like it resisted being contained.

A faint smile touched his lips, not warm, not sane.

"...So long..." His murmured voice was barely above a whisper—"...I have waited for this moment."

The chamber remained still. Even the air around felt suffocating because this was not merely poison. This was intense. intent. His fingers tightened around the vial, and then with slow precision he opened it.

The seal broke with a soft click, and instantly the air changed. A faint, bitter scent spread, not strong enough to alert but wrong enough to unsettle.

Nabuarsh inhaled it deeply as if savoring it.

"...No blade..." He stepped forward. "...No war..."

The words stretched soft.

"...No scream." He tilted the vial, letting a single drop fall. It landed on the folded bath cloth and spread like ink, like rot darkening the fibers without stain, without trace.

Another drop this time into the finely powdered bath herbs. White grains absorbed it disappearing completely. Invisible, silent, and deadly.

"...This time..." He murmured, a slow, cruel breath leaving him. "...you will not even see it coming."

His gaze lowered not to the cloth but beyond it. As if he could already see the outcome.

"...The Malika...and the golden blood he dares to carry."

His lips curved, something twisted beneath it.

"...Such a fragile miracle." He stepped back, admiring his work, nothing out of place, nothing disturbed.

Just waiting.

"...Today..." His voice dropped further, colder. "...it ends. You...and those unborn heirs...will return to dust."

Silence and then a final whisper.

"...And no one...not even the Malik..." His eyes darkened. "...will be able to stop it."

The vial was sealed again, hidden and gone.

And Nabuarsh turned, leaving the chamber as quietly as he entered; behind him, the bath powder remained untouched, unchanged and waiting.

For the moment, it would become a grave.

***

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Chamber — Night Deepens]

The storm had passed not vanished but softened into something quieter and something...closer. Within the dim glow of the chamber lamps—Zeramet shifted—his form loosening and changing.

Silver scales emerged beneath moonlit shadows his body lengthening coiling until once more he was neither fully man nor fully serpent.

And within that presence—Levin remained unmoving and watching. Zeramet did not speak he simply moved closer slow and deliberate.

And then gently—his tail circled Levin, not tight, not binding but protective and warm. The smooth scales brushed against Levin’s form—Cool at first—Then warming beneath contact like something alive responding.

Levin exhaled softly not in resistance but in quiet acceptance.

"...You do this..." He murmured faintly— "...only when you are troubled."

Zeramet’s gaze lowered resting on him. "...Or when I need to remind myself...that you are here."

His tail tightened Just slightly drawing Levin closer until he rested against him secure and held, not as possession alone but as certainty.

Levin’s fingers brushed lightly against the silver scales tracing them slowly. "...You nearly turned your palace into a grave."

A faint breath left Zeramet—"...I nearly turned the world into one."

Silence but it did not carry threat only truth. Levin leaned back slightly his head resting against Zeramet’s shoulder—the warmth of his body now fully surrounding him.

"...You exaggerate."

Zeramet’s lips curved faintly. "...Do I?"

Levin closed his eyes briefly and Zeramet’s hand moved brushing through Levin’s hair slow and careful.

He shifted slightly within the hold settling. Comfort finding its place where tension once lived. The chamber grew quieter and the world beyond the doors distant and Irrelevant. Because here within the coil within the warmth—there was no court.

No danger, no watching eyes only breath, only presence only this.

Levin did not open his eyes and silence settled fully this time gentle and unbroken. And as Zeramet’s tail remained wrapped around him—Holding, guarding.

Something deeper rooted itself quietly between them not power, not control but something far more dangerous and trust.