Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 161: The Breaking Point

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Chamber — Continuation]

The chamber did not feel the same. It had not changed. The silks were still drawn, and the lamps still burned low; the air still carried the same quiet fragrance, and yet something within it had shifted because Levin now stood at its center—not uncertain, not asking, but deciding.

"...Send Physcian Naram." His voice was calm, too calm.

Iru hesitated only for a breath and then bowed. "...As you command, Malika."

He left, and the silence returned, but this time it waited.

***

[Moments Later---The Chamber]

The doors opened again, and Naram entered, measured and composed, but his eyes already knew as he bowed deeper. "... Malika."

Levin did not ask him to rise, did not offer courtesy. He simply looked at him long and steadily.

"...Tell me what happened." There was no softness, no hesitation in his voice; only truth was demanded.

Naram remained bowed. "...Malika...you should rest first."

And that was the wrong answer.

"...Look at me," Levin said.

Naram lifted his gaze, and for the first time he saw it: not confusion, not fear, but certainty as Levin spoke again. "...I will not ask again, Naram, so you better tell me."

And the silence stretched long enough to break. Naram inhaled slowly, then bowed deeper, saying, "I apologize, Malika...but I...I...I failed you."

The words fell first, heavy and irreversible.

Levin did not react, and Naram continued as his hands tightened slightly at his sides. "...The poison...did not enter fully, but it disturbed the balance within your body, Malika."

Levin’s gaze did not move, but his whole world definitely did. "...And?"

Naram’s voice lowered. "...The strain...was too great for one of the heirs."

The world narrowed. Just slightly, as Levin said, "...Say it properly."

Levin’s voice did not break, and that made it worse. Naram closed his eyes for a fraction and then opened them.

"...One of the eggs...did not survive and shattered."

And then...nothing moved, nothing shifted.

"...It shattered." The word landed not loudly but completely. "...within your womb."

Silence followed, not the kind that waited but the kind that ended things. Levin blinked once slowly, and his words came soft and unbelieving as his hands moved towards his abdomen.

"...No...I did not bleed; I felt it...they were there." His fingers pressed as if searching. "...both of them."

Naram did not interrupt or soften because truth had no softness left, and yet he said quietly, "...The bond protected you. It preserved what it could, but it could not preserve both."

Levin’s hand stilled, his breath slowed—too slow. "So...you’re saying the bond chose one of them?"

It wasn’t a question, not quite, and Naram lowered his gaze, saying, "...Yes."

And...silence.

Levin stood there still and unmoving. And then something inside him cracked, not outwardly, not visibly, but deep.

"...Which one." The question came suddenly and sharp.

Naram looked up—"... Malika—"

"Which one?" Levin repeated, and this time it was not calm. It was command.

Silence answered him because no one could answer. Levin’s breath hitched just once, and then he laughed, a small broken sound.

"...So even that...is taken from me." His gaze lowered to his own hands, and his voice trembled, now barely held together. "... I carried them...and I do not even know which one I lost."

Naram bowed his head. "...Malika...please..."

But there were no words left. Levin stepped back slowly, as if the ground itself had changed beneath him. His hand remained on his abdomen, but now it trembled.

"...It feels empty...I knew it; I felt odd...but he...he said everything is fine. Zer...said everything is fine." His eyes closed, not slipping away but just unable to hold what they had seen.

"So...this is what it means to be a Malika?"

Silence, and it was heavy and unforgiving. And within it a mother grieved without tears, without screams, and yet was completely broken.

Levin stood where he was as if the world had ended and no one had told him how to move after. Across from him, Naram remained bowed, still waiting and still hoping for something.

"Leave," the word came softly.

Naram did not lift his head. "...Malika..."

"I said leave." And this time there was no room left in the world.

Naram hesitated just once because he had seen death; he had seen loss, but this—this was quieter and more dangerous.

"...You should not be alone—"

"I...said...leave." It was not louder, but it ended everything.

Silence and then—Naram bowed deeper. "...As you command."

And just like that he walked away—as if each step carried weight. The doors opened, then closed, and just like that, Levin was completely alone. He did not move at first; he simply stood breathing. If that could still be called breathing.

Then he walked, not rushed, not unstable. Just... empty. His hand reached towards the door and turned the lock.

CLICK!!

A small sound but final, and the world remained outside; he remained inside. Levin turned back and walked toward the center of the chamber and just sat on the cold floor, not the bed or the silken cushions prepared for him but the floor.

As if comfort did not belong to him anymore. His back rested against nothing, his hands rested on his lap, and then they moved.

One hand to his abdomen, and it lingered there, not pressing, not searching, just resting.

"...There were two." A whisper so faint It barely existed. "... I felt both of you move...both of you..."

His fingers trembled just slightly, then stilled again.

"Which one of you has left me?" The words broke not into sound but into absence.

He did not cry; no tears came, no sound followed because something deeper had already taken them. Time passed, or perhaps it did not.

Outside the chamber attendants stood waiting, listening and hoping for something.

Maybe a sound, a cry, anything, but nothing came. Iru stood among them, head lowered, hands clenched.

"...Should we—" one attendant whispered.

"No," Iru answered, quiet and firm. "Leave him; he needs this."

Silence followed heavily because they all understood some grief cannot be witnessed.

***

[Later Inside — Stillness]

Levin had not moved from where he sat; his back remained straight, his gaze unfocused, not looking at anything, not seeing anything. His hand still rested there—on the place where something once was and no longer existed.

"...I did not even hear you leave," he whispers to no one. "... Was it painful or quiet...like this?"

Still no tears because the grief had not reached his eyes yet. It had settled deeper, where it would remain longer, and in that chamber time did not move because even it did not know how to pass such a moment.

***

[Silthara Palace — Corridor Outside Malika’s Chamber — Night]

The corridor stood unnaturally still, only rows of attendants standing and waiting. As though the air itself had been commanded not to move.

Then Zeramet approached, his footsteps measured and heavy, and his presence alone was enough to bend the silence; his gaze swept once, taking in the gathered attendants—their lowered heads and their unmoving forms.

"...What’s going on here?" Not loud, but enough to make every spine stiffen further.

At once they bowed deeper, and none answered, none dared, until Iru stepped forward, hands trembling just slightly beneath control.

"...Malik...Malika...has locked himself inside."

Silence sharpened. Zeramet’s gaze darkened. "...Since when."

Iru swallowed. "Since Malika came to know about the shattered egg."

Zeramet stilled completely as his words came low and cracked. "...He knows? But how?"

Behind Naram, stepping forward quickly, bowing deeply. "...Malik... Malika commanded it, and I did not have the choice to withhold the truth."

But Zeramet did not hear the rest, because something else had already taken over and he moved fast, reaching the door—his hand striking against it—THUD—

"Consort...consort..." There was no response, and another knock—harder. "...Consort, please open the door."

Silence; there was no movement, no answer, and for the first time, fear surfaced. Zeramet’s breath sharpened, then without another word, his form shifted, bone, muscle, and flesh all giving way to his silver serpent form.

His body slid fluidly and seamlessly through the narrow gap beneath the door and vanished inside.

***

[Inside — The Chamber of Silence]

The room had not changed, and yet it had, because at its center Levin sat on the floor, exactly where he had been left unmoving and broken but not visibly, not loudly but quietly.

Zeramet reformed his human shape, returning fast and unsteady.

"...Consort—" He moved to him immediately, dropping to his knees, hands reaching—"...Consort..."

But Levin did not look at him, not at first. His gaze remained ahead, empty and unfocused, as if Zeramet had not entered at all.

"...I came as soon as—" Zeramet’s voice faltered. "...you should not be alone, my moonflower."

Zeramet’s hand lifted, hesitated, then gently touched his shoulder. "...Look at me."

Levin’s lashes moved slowly, and then he turned and looked, not angry, not crying. Just... hollow, and that was worse.

"...Zer." His voice came softly, too softly.

Zeramet exhaled relief breaking through—"I am here; you are not alone—"

"—I should not have married you." Everything stopped; the words did not rise; they fell flat and final.

Zeramet stilled. "...What!!!"