Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 163: After the Grief Ended

[Silthara Palace—The Next Day—Early Morning]

Morning did not arrive gently. It slipped into the chamber, quiet and careful. As if it feared what it might touch. Upon the bed Levin lay not at rest, not at peace but suspended in a sleep that carried pain beneath it.

His brows faintly drawn, his breath uneven, and his hands still resting over his abdomen, too protective and too aware even in sleep.

Zeramet stood beside him silent and watching, not as a ruler, not as a king, but as something far more dangerous. A man who had already chosen what would follow, his gaze lowered to Levin’s hands and to the place they guarded.

Slowly he reached forward, not to harm, not to intrude, just to feel the moment—the very moment his finger neared—and Levin flinched even in sleep. His body reacted before thought, before awareness, before waking.

His hands tightened, clutching protectively and shielding, as if something within him refused to allow anything closer.

Zeramet stilled, his hand hovered, then withdrew, not forced, not resisted, but simply denied. For a moment he only watched, and then he saw a faint movement at the window.

A pale serpent—Sarash—peered in silently and waited. Zeramet glanced once, and then understanding was already passing between them.

He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against Levin’s forehead, soft and lingering.

"...I will make sure..." His voice dropped, quiet and deadly. "...you never regret marrying me, consort."

And just like that he turned and left.

***

[Outside the Chamber — The Corridor]

The moment the doors opened, Iru stood waiting, silent and still. As though he had not moved since the night before. Zeramet’s gaze fell upon him.

"...What are you doing here?"

Iru bowed immediately. "...Awaiting your command, Malik."

Zeramet studied him with a brief piercing glance, and then he turned away, saying, "...Take care of him...I will return soon."

Iru bowed deeper—"... Yes, Malik."

He did not wait and moved at once, entering the chamber quietly and carefully. Sitting beside Levin and adjusting the covers, ensuring warmth and ensuring breath.

As though guarding something fragile that could not be replaced. Zeramet watched only for a moment and then turned away.

***

[Zeramet’s Dressing Chamber — Moments Later]

The corridor parted before him; no attendant dared step forward, and no voice dared rise, because something around him was wrong.

Not loud but suffocating. He entered his chamber, and the doors—SHUT! The sound echoed finally. He did not turn, did not sit; he simply stood facing forward.

"...Did you confirm it?" Not a question, a demand already answered.

From within the chamber, a pale form stirred from the vase, and from shadow, Sarash emerged, sliding down and shifting, becoming human, and he bowed.

"...Yes, Malik...as we suspected, it was him."

Zeramet’s fingers curled slightly. "...Name."

Sarash did not hesitate. "...Nabuarsh."

Silence and then a smile, not warm, not amused, but wicked.

"...So..." Zeramet exhaled softly. "...that is why my consort dug through the past and why he lingered upon that serpent’s name."

Sarash nodded. "...Yes, Malik, Malika had already begun to suspect; he even sought the underground to uncover more."

Zeramet let out a low, dark, and dangerous chuckle, and his gaze sharpened. "... That omega...played well; the one I believed could never scratch my skin...has been carving into me since the beginning."

Sarash remained still and then asked a careful question. "...What are your orders, Malik? Malika is not in condition to—"

"—No," Zeramet cut him sharply and absolutely. "...My consort will take his revenge."

Silence shifted, and Sarash looked up just slightly. "But Malik, Malika is grieving; I do not think he can take his revenge. Will it not be too much to him?"

Zeramet turned and in his gaze there was no restraint left. "...You do not know his anger, you have only seen his calm but I have seen what lies beneath it."

His voice lowered and was cold. "...And I will not take that from him."

Sarash did not speak because now he understood.

"...If he wishes to turn this palace red—" Zeramet continued, his lips curved slightly and dangerously. "... I will not stop him. I will stand beside him and wipe the blood from his hands...and tell him to continue."

Silence thickened.

"...Nabuarsh..." The name left him like a sentence. "...has already begun to beg for his end; he simply does not know it yet."

The chamber fell still because the storm was no longer forming. It had already begun.

***

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

The chamber remained dim, curtains drawn. Light kept low as though brightness itself had no place here. Levin sat where he had been left, not on the bed, not upon the cushions prepared for him in the lower diwan, back straight, hands resting once more over his abdomen.

But this time they did not tremble; they held firm and still as the time passed, minutes or perhaps longer. No tears came and no sound escaped, because something within him had already moved beyond breaking.

It had settled into something colder. The doors opened softly as Iru entered, careful and silent. A tray balanced in his hands, steam rising faintly from the prepared food.

He paused watching.

"...Malika..."

No response.

Iru stepped closer, lowering himself slightly. "...you must eat."

Silence answered.

"...your body—" He stopped and corrected himself. "...the heir you still carry...requires strength."

Levin’s gaze did not lift immediately as he repeated faintly, "Strength...for what?"

Iru swallowed. "...to survive, to live."

Silence stretched and then—Levin moved slowly. His gaze lifted, not empty but sharp, and his words came calmly, "...One did not...and yet one remains. so I will not let both be taken."

Iru’s breath stilled because something in that voice had changed. Levin’s gaze dropped to the tray; he stared at it not with hunger but calculation.

Then he reached out and took a bite and slowly, mechanically, not tasting, not caring. Just... deciding.

Iru exhaled quietly, relief brief and fragile, because this was not recovery. This was something else.

Levin finished not everything but enough. He set the tray aside himself without waiting and without instruction.

Then he spoke. "...Summon her."

Iru blinked. "...Malika?"

Levin’s gaze lifted again, cold and clear now. "Summon...Lady Arinaya immediately."

Iru bowed at once. "...As you command."

He turned but paused just for a breath because something urged him to say something more.

"...Malika..." Levin did not look at him. "...if you require—"

"—I do not require comfort." The words cut clean, not harsh but final.

Iru lowered his head and left saying. "...Yes."

***

[Moments Later — The Shift]

The chamber grew still again, but it was no longer the stillness of grief. It was preparation. Levin rose slowly and steadily.

No hesitation, no weakness in his step. He moved toward the mirror once more, stopping before it, looking. Not at what he had lost, at what remained. His hand rested again over his abdomen, but this time not in search, in claim.

"...You will live." A whisper left from him, not soft but certain. His gaze hardened just slightly. "...and I...will make sure no one takes anything from me again."

The air shifted subtly but undeniably because something had awakened: not rage, not yet, but control.

***

[Moments Later—Silthara Palace—Chamber]

Footsteps approached measuredly and then stopped. The doors opened. Lady Arinaya stepped inside and bowed.

"...Malika." Levin did not turn immediately; he let the silence stretch long enough to be felt.

Then—

"...Lift your head." His voice came out calm, but something beneath it made it heavier. Arinaya obeyed, and when her gaze met his, she stilled because this was not the same Malika.

"...We begin,"

Levin said. "Tell them to gather every name connected to Nabuarsh within two nights, not only within court...but beneath it. I will pay them handsomely, but...I need the evidence and report within two nights." Arinaya’s brows furrowed slightly. "...Malika..."

"...all of them who were involved with him," Levin continued uninterrupted. "...servants, messengers, merchants, and every whisper tied to him."

His gaze did not waver.

"...I want his world...stripped, layer by layer."

Arinaya studied him carefully because this was no longer an investigation. This was dismantling.

"...As you command," she said, but there was something in her voice, a recognition.

That something had changed. Levin turned slightly, finally facing her fully.

"...And Lady Arinaya, do not fail." The words were not raised, but they carried consequence. "I do not want a single failure, not this time."

Arinaya bowed deeper. "...I will not."

Levin nodded once, dismissively, and just like that the game changed because the one who had been grieving was now watching. And the one who watched would not miss again.

***

[Silthara Palace — Corridor Outside Malika’s Chamber]

The doors closed behind her softly but the sound carried weight—as if something irreversible had just been sealed within. Lady Arinaya stepped into the corridor, her steps measured, her expression composed but her eyes—they did not soften, they sharpened.

And just as she turned she collided with someone. A firm and steady presence.

Raevahn.

He caught her instinctively hands steady at her waist before releasing her immediately. "...My lady, forgive me."

But his concern was elsewhere, his gaze flicked past her—to the closed chamber doors. "...How is the Malika?"

The question came low not formal, not guarded but personal. Arinaya did not answer at once, she turned her head—Just slightly looking back at the door long and silent.

As if measuring something unseen behind it.

"...He is awake." She said finally her voice even. "...and that...is far more dangerous than before."

Raevahn’s brows drew together. "...Dangerous?"

Arinaya’s gaze remained on the door. "...Grief that screams can be contained, grief that is silent...cannot."

Silence settled between them heavy. Then she turned back to him. "...Prepare yourself, Raevahn, this palace...will soon run red."

The words did not rise, they settled cold and certain. Raevahn stilled because he understood not fully but enough.

"...Should I contact them?" He asked quietly. "...the ones we hired, the shadows beneath the city."

Arinaya shook her head slow and deliberate and her gaze sharpened further. "No...I will handle that. You have another task."

Raevahn straightened. "...Command me."

Arinaya stepped closer lowering her voice. "...The bath chamber...what happened there...was not accident. Find it, every trace,...every scent and...every mark left behind....or—"

She stopped, not needing to finish but she did anyway.

"...Lyresaph and Asha...will not survive the cages they have been thrown into."

The words tightened the air. Raevahn’s jaw clenched. "...I understand. I will uncover it."

Arinaya nodded once. "...This time...failure is not forgiven by Malika himself."

Silence lingered and then—they moved, not together but toward the same end, because within the palace—grief had ended, and something far more dangerous had taken its place.