Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 162: The Beginning of Someone’s End

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

Silence did not leave after those words; it stayed, thicker and heavier now. As though even the air itself refused to move between them, and within that stillness Levin’s voice lingered.

"...I should not have married you."

It did not fade; it remained etched. Zeramet stood unmoving, his expression unchanged, too controlled and too still; only his fingers betrayed him, a faint tremor and a breath held too long.

"...Do you regret it?" His voice came low and carefully shaped. "...marrying me, consort?"

Silence answered first. Heavy and unforgiving.

Levin did not look at him; his gaze remained distant, lost somewhere between memory and absence.

"...I...was an alpha. " The words came slowly as if each one had to be pulled from somewhere deep. "...an Alpha who was never meant to bear life."

His hand moved, resting against his abdomen, his voice lowered and fragile. "...and yet I did, and now...I have lost one of them. I do not even know which one."

His fingers curled slightly, not clutching but... searching with a faint, broken exhale. "...they were there...both of them, and then one simply...shattered."

The word did not rise; it fell quiet and devastating.

"...If I had not married you...I would never have carried them." His voice weakened but still did not break. "...and I would not have lost one."

A tremor passed through him, subtle and controlled.

"...I...lost one of..." The word did not finish because it could not.

Zeramet watched him, not interrupting, not correcting because there was nothing—nothing that could undo those words. Then without another breath wasted, he moved, closing the distance, lifting Levin into his arms carefully.

As though even grief required gentleness.

Levin did not resist, did not flinch, and did not protest. He simply yielded his body, relaxing, his head resting against Zeramet’s chest, and for a moment they remained like that. Held together by something fragile.

"...You still carry one, my moonflower." Zeramet murmured softly, his voice lower and warmer now. "And we will protect that life."

Levin said nothing; he only leaned closer, seeking warmth without asking. Zeramet laid him gently upon the bed, then followed, slipping beside him, drawing him close again.

This time not as a ruler. As someone afraid to lose what remained, his arm wrapped around Levin, holding him against his chest.

"...I apologize," the words came quietly, not declared but confessed. "...I could not protect one of them, but can you trust me again? I promise I will find who did this."

His fingers brushed faintly through Levin’s hair. "... and I will make sure—"

"—I will execute them." Levin’s voice came out calm, and Zeramet stilled, looking down at him and saying nothing.

"...Consort...are you angry with me?" He asked later, after a second of calmness.

Levin did not answer; he only shifted, resting his face more firmly against Zeramet’s chest.

"...I wish to sleep." The words were simple, but beneath them everything remained unsaid.

Zeramet watched him for a moment longer than needed, and then he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss against his hair.

"I hope you have a good sleep, my moonflower." His voice lowered almost to a whisper. "...and when you wake... I will have the truth waiting for you, and the one who took from you..."

His hold tightened slightly.

"...will kneel before you."

Levin did not respond, but his breathing slowly began to soften, and within that fragile quiet they remained, not healed, not whole but together.

***

[Capital of Zahryssar — Sarytharn — A Hidden Chamber Beneath the City]

The city above laughed, markets roared, and wine flowed, but beneath it darkness gathered. A single flame flickered against stone, casting long, broken shadows, and within them, violence spoke first.

SLAP—!

The sound cracked through the chamber. Nabuarsh staggered, his head snapping to the side, blood blooming faintly at the edge of his lip; before him, Azhrakaal stood still and controlled.

His black eyes burned not with rage alone but with calculation as his voice came low and dangerously calm.

"You...useless omega serpent. " A step forward. "... I instructed you to end three lives, not return with just one."

Nabuarsh trembled, not weak but aware, as his words barely formed before. "... I did what I could—"

But Azhrakaal’s fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back as his voice sharpened, mocking now

"—What you could? Have the years away from your dearest husband softened you? or is it longing?" His grip tightened. "...Does the thought of your husband still weaken your resolve?"

Nabuarsh’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as the plea came instinctively and uncontrolled and his voice broke slightly.

"...Please do not touch him. I will correct it—I will kill Malika and the remaining child he carries."

Silence.

Azhrakaal released him not gently. Nabuarsh fell hard against the stone. The impact echoed, but Azhrakaal did not look at him. He turned instead, walking slowly across the chamber, hands clasped behind him.

"...No, not like this." His voice lowered, thoughtful and cold now. "...Death alone is mercy, and I do not grant mercy."

Nabuarsh remained on the ground listening because this—this was where the danger truly began.

"...You saw him, did you not?" Azhrakaal continued. "...that silver serpent, how he holds that consort, and how his breath follows him."

His lips curved slightly and his gaze darkened. "...That is not power, that is attachment, and attachment...is where we carve."

Nabuarsh slowly lifted his head, watching and understanding but not yet fully. Azhrakaal turned facing him again.

"...We will not kill them together; we will separate them." The words fell deliberately. "...You will not strike at the Malika again."

Nabuarsh frowned slightly. "... Then—"

"You will fracture his world first," Azhrakaal cut in sharply, and his voice lowered further. "...whisper into the palace, spread doubt and turn servant against master. Let Malika believe that even within those walls he is not safe and he will never be."

Nabuarsh’s breath slowed, listening and learning, and he asked quietly, "...And the Malik?"

Azhrakaal smiled, not wide, not loud, but wicked, and his gaze gleamed. "...We take from him again, but not his life, not yet. We take his certainty, his control, and his trust."

Each word struck like a blade.

"...and when he begins to doubt...when he begins to turn on those around him...then we strike." Silence deepened.

"How?" Nabuarsh asked, lower and careful now.

Azhrakaal leaned slightly, his voice almost a whisper. "...You will guide him toward the wrong enemy."

Nabuarsh’s eyes narrowed. "...A false traitor."

Azhrakaal nodded faintly, and his lips curved again. "...someone expendable, someone believable, and while that silver serpent hunts shadows...we prepare the real blade."

Nabuarsh slowly rose, pain still lingering but something else replacing it. Clarity. "...And the Malika?"

Azhrakaal’s gaze darkened, and the words fell softer but far more cruel. "...We do not kill him; we break him, and the child will be taken...not shattered this time but taken."

Nabuarsh stilled. "...Alive?"

Azhrakaal smiled. "...Alive, so that every breath that silver serpent takes...reminds him...what he failed to protect."

The chamber fell into stillness, dark, thick, and unforgiving. Azhrakaal stepped back, his expression settling once more.

"...Now go and do not fail me again."

Nabuarsh bowed deep. "...I will not."

But as he turned, one thought lingered: not fear or unease, because even he knew this plan did not end in survival. It ended in ruin.

***

[Sarytharn City — Later — The Dark Alley]

The capital still breathed, unaware and untroubled, but in the narrow veins beneath its splendor something had already begun to move. Nabuarsh stepped out from the concealed entrance, his form cloaked, face shadowed beneath a lowered hood.

His pace was steady and measured. As though nothing had transpired within those walls, as though no darkness clung to him.

He did not look back; he did not hesitate, but he was not alone. From the deeper shadow of the alley, something stirred, silent and white.

A serpent.

Its pale scales caught the faint light, not reflecting it but absorbing it. It watched, unblinking. As Nabuarsh moved further away, unaware or perhaps simply careless.

The serpent lingered and then followed, gliding across stone soundless and effortless until the alley deepened.

And as the distance between watcher and watched narrowed, the serpent stopped and shifted bone-bending form unraveling until a man stood where the creature had been.

Sarash.

His gaze remained fixed on the path Nabuarsh had taken, long and unwavering. Then slowly he turned his head, looking toward the hidden entrance from where Nabuarsh had emerged.

His eyes darkened, understanding settling in.

"...So...it was you."

No surprise, no shock, only confirmation. The final piece fell into place, and Sarash’s expression did not change, but something sharpened within it because this was no longer suspicion.

It was truth, and truth demanded movement. Without another word, his form shifted again, collapsing back into the pale serpent, fluid and effortless.

He turned and slid into the deeper dark, not toward the city but beyond it, toward the palace and toward the storm waiting there.

"...The Malik must know." The whisper barely existed, lost beneath the silence of his movement, and just like that, the shadow that had watched disappeared.

Carrying with it the beginning of the end.