Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 172: Where Grief Found Shelter

[Silthara Palace — The Emperor’s Chamber — Continuation]

The silence after the broken kiss did not settle; it tightened.

Zeramet did not step back; he did not loosen his hold. If anything, his arms tightened further around Levin, as though even the idea of distance had become unbearable.

"Leave... me..." Levin’s voice came, strained and uneven, his hands pressing weakly against Zeramet’s chest. "I do not—"

"No."

The word was not loud, but it was immovable. Zeramet pulled him closer, closer than breath, until there was no space left for resistance to exist, and then his form shifted.

Silver scales flickered beneath skin—glimmering like moonlight fractured upon water—as he took his half-serpent form, his tail coiled around Levin slowly and firmly. Not to harm but to hold, to keep, and to refuse release.

"Never, my moonflower..." His voice dropped lower and deeper—something ancient stirring beneath it.

"Never." The coils tightened—not painfully, but with a certainty that left no question. His forehead brushed against Levin’s temple. "I will never let you slip away from me. If you try to leave..."

His voice softened—dangerously. "I will cage you within my arms and call it mercy."

Levin stilled, not because he was overpowered but because something inside him had already collapsed.

"...you are not allowed to leave me." The words lingered not as threat alone but as something far more fragile beneath it.

And then the fight left him, slowly and quietly. Levin’s hands, once pushing, fell, then rose again, not in resistance but in surrender to something he could no longer carry alone.

He leaned forward into Zeramet, and for the first time since the incident he did not hold himself together. His forehead pressed against Zeramet’s shoulder, and his breath broke.

"I... lost one of them..." The words came shattered, unformed, and barely held together. His voice trembled, his grip tightening weakly against Zeramet’s robe. "I didn’t even know...I didn’t even know if it looked like you or me...if it would have your eyes... or mine..."

His breath hitched, again, and again. "I... I didn’t even get to see it..."

Tears fell freely and uncontrolled now. Zeramet’s hold changed, not weaker...never weaker, but gentler. His hand rose, fingers threading through Levin’s hair slowly and carefully.

"I know..." His voice was quieter now, no command, no dominance, only... presence as his breath lowered and his words did not hesitate. "I know, my moonflower...and I failed you. I failed to protect you."

His hand tightened slightly in Levin’s hair.

"I made promises...and I did not keep them." For the first time, Zeramet did not speak as a Malik; he spoke as a man who had not been enough. "Forgive this husband of yours, my moonflower."

Levin shook his head weakly, pressing closer. As though trying to disappear within him, and his voice broke again.

"No...it was not your fault... I should have been careful..." His fingers curled into Zeramet’s robes tighter. "I blamed you... I apologise for being harsh with you..."

Zeramet smiled faintly, not with pride, not with relief but with something softer. He pressed a kiss against Levin’s head.

Lingering.

"You may blame me. You may curse me. You may rage against me until your voice breaks." His hand cupped the back of Levin’s head, holding him close. "You have every right to tear me apart...but leaving me...that is not a choice I will ever allow you."

Levin did not answer; he simply stayed there buried in Zeramet’s chest, breathing unevenly and sniffling quietly.

Not as a Malika, not as a consort, not as an heir but as someone who had lost something before he could even hold it.

And for the first time since the loss, Levin allowed himself to break, not alone. Zeramet did not speak again; he did not move, and he did not loosen his hold. Because some grief did not need words.

Only someone who refused to let you carry it alone, and in that chamber—wrapped in silver coils and silent promises—two rulers did not stand.

Only two people remained, trying in their own broken ways not to lose each other too.

***

[Silthara Palace — The Emperor’s Chamber — Later]

The moon did not simply shine; it poured. Silver light slipped through the curtains, spilling across the floor like quiet water—soft, pale, almost sacred.

Within that stillness, Levin rested in the arms of Zeramet, held, not restrained, not claimed, but... kept. Zeramet’s half-serpent form remained coiled around him, silver scales catching the moonlight like fragments of a shattered sky.

Levin’s fingers were curled into his chest, not tightly—just enough to feel him there.

"Are you cold, my moonflower?" Zeramet’s voice was quieter and lower now, stripped of command.

Levin looked up; slowly blue met gold, and for a moment, nothing else existed. Then he moved, just slightly and just enough.

Levin leaned forward, hesitant, and pressed a soft kiss against Zeramet’s lips, brief and almost fleeting.

"I... apologise again..." His voice was soft and still fragile.

Zeramet still blinked once as though something in that simple gesture had caught him off guard. Then his arm tightened, pulling Levin closer, closing whatever distance remained.

"My moonflower..." His voice deepened, not teasing, not entirely, but something warmer and something alive beneath it as his gaze lowered to Levin’s lips. "If you are going to kiss me...then do not treat it like an apology."

Levin’s breath caught; a faint flush rose to his cheeks—soft pink against the silver light—and yet he did not pull away. Instead, he moved again, slower this time and more certain.

His hand rose, lightly resting against Zeramet’s shoulder as he leaned in, and this time he did not hesitate. Their lips met again but not like before. This was not a question, not a mistake, not something slipping through grief.

It was chosen.

The kiss deepened, not rushed but deliberate, lingering and warm.

"Hngh....."

Levin’s breath softened against him, uneven at first then slowly finding rhythm within closeness.

Zeramet responded, just as slowly, just as carefully—as though afraid that pushing too far might break the moment entirely. Their foreheads brushed briefly, their breaths mingling, before Levin leaned in again.

And this time there was no apology in it, only need.

"Haa....hmph..."

A quiet sound escaped Levin, soft, unsteady, and more breath than voice—as his fingers tightened slightly against Zeramet, not pulling, not pushing, just holding.

The kiss grew warmer—deeper—but never lost that fragile edge of something newly repaired. Zeramet’s hand moved, not possessive and not demanding but steady at Levin’s back, keeping him close and grounding him.

And for a moment—just a moment—the world outside ceased to exist.

No palace, no enemies, no fear, no loss, only this and only them.

Levin finally pulled back, just slightly—his breath still uneven, his gaze softer now, though still carrying the weight of everything he had endured.

He rested his forehead against Zeramet’s, eyes half-lowered, not healed but no longer alone.

And Zeramet, for once, did not try to hold tighter, did not demand more, and did not claim. He simply stayed, because sometimes that was the only thing that mattered, but...Levin had other plans.

The moment lingered, fragile, breathing, and unfinished. Levin did not move far; his forehead still rested against Zeramet’s, his breath uneven, softer now—but not steady.

Not yet, but something had shifted. Then his hand moved, slowly and deliberately. He took Zeramet’s hand and placed it against his abdomen.

The silence changed.

"We need to protect this one..." His voice was low, not fragile now, but firm in a way that came from something deeper than strength. "I cannot lose this one."

Zeramet stilled, his gaze softened—not in weakness, but in something rare. Something that did not belong to a ruler.

"You will not." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Levin’s forehead, slow and lingering. "We will not lose this one, my moonflower."

Silence settled again, but this time it was not heavy. It was... intimate. Levin’s fingers curled slightly against him. Then after a breath he spoke again.

"...since that day..." His voice lowered almost hesitantly. "I have felt something...a pull...deep within."

Zeramet’s gaze sharpened, attentive.

"I think..." Levin’s eyes flickered not uncertain but aware. "...I need you, Zer, and...it...it will be my apology for being cold and rude."

Zeramet blinked and then inhaled slowly as his voice dropped, warmer and closer. "Then allow me... Let me give you what you need and...what I need."

His hand remained where Levin had placed it, steady, grounding, and protective as he leaned closer, his breath brushing against Levin’s ears. "Tonight...I will make sure nothing touches what belongs to us."

Levin did not answer, not with words, but he did not move away, and that was answer enough.

Zeramet’s hand rose slowly, tracing along Levin’s spine—not rushed, not forceful, but certain. Levin’s breath caught, soft and unsteady.

The distance between them dissolved again, but this time it was not driven by anger or by desperation but by something quieter and something deeper.

Need.

Zeramet leaned in, his lips brushing lightly near Levin’s ear, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"They say...that after distance..." His hand steadied at Levin’s waist, holding him—not tightly—but enough. "...closeness becomes something else entirely. The night becomes more beautiful and...delicious."

Levin’s fingers tightened slightly, not resisting, not pulling away—Feeling.

The air shifted, warmer and closer, not rushed, not consuming, but building slowly like something being rediscovered—not for the first time—but for the first time in a long while.

Levin’s gaze met Zeramet’s again, and in the silence that followed, Zeramet’s hand lifted slowly, thumb brushing over his cheek, tracing warmth there like he was afraid he might disappear if he didn’t touch me.

"...You’re so beautiful, consort," he murmured.

Heat rushed straight to Levin’s face.

"Zer..." he whispered.

Zeramet smiled—soft, fond, utterly disarming as he said gently, "You make me obsess for you my moonflower, and I am afraid...the love for you will turn dangerous one day."

Levin’s heart thundered as Zeramet leaned in again, but this time his kisses weren’t urgent. One brushed his right cheek, then his left cheek, then the tip of his nose—light, teasing—before his lips pressed briefly at his chin.

Each touch made Levin’s breath stutter.

"Hn..."

Levin pushed him away through his chest saying, "Let me...help you today."

Zeramet blinked in confusion and then he smirked as he realised what Levin meant and asked, "You want to suck my cock....my moonflower?"

Levin blushed deep, avoiding his face and hiding his expression as Zeramet chuckled and said, "Then don’t hold back tonight..."