Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 115: The Crown Grows Colder

[Zahryssar Empire—Silthara Palace—Council Chamber —The Next Day]

The council chamber of Silthara Palace felt colder than stone.

Outside, the desert burned beneath the morning sun, heat rising from the golden courtyards in trembling waves, yet inside the chamber the air was sharp and heavy, as if the warmth of Zahryssar itself refused to enter while the throne was in judgment.

Tall pillars carved with ancient serpent sigils surrounded the long obsidian table. Blue flames burned in the braziers along the walls, their light steady and unnatural, casting pale shadows across the gathered nobles.

Every great house of Zahryssar stood present.

House Nahrash. House Varoth. House Ashkarin. House Karzath, and at the head of the table sat the Serpent Emperor.

Zeramet Karash, silent and still.

His golden eyes rested on the man seated across from him, and the weight of that gaze alone made the entire chamber feel as if it might crack.

The man did not belong there. He wore the robes of the Western Empire, dark silk lined with silver thread, the crest of his house fastened at his shoulder, yet beneath the heavy cloth his hands trembled faintly against the armrest of the chair.

A lord.

Only a lord, and yet he sat before the throne of Zahryssar.

No one spoke.

Even the nobles of the serpent court glanced at one another with unease, for the silence of their Malik was never a good sign.

It meant he was deciding whether to speak...or to destroy. Lady Samhira Nahrash was the first to move. She stepped forward slowly, her head lowered in respect, her voice calm but careful.

"Malik... the council waits for your word."

Zeramet did not look at her; his eyes did not leave the western lord. For a moment longer, nothing happened.

Then—

"...So."

His voice was low, too low. The western lord flinched without meaning to.

Zeramet leaned back slightly in the throne chair, one arm resting against the carved serpent head at its side.

"...The vault discovered at the border, you claim it belongs to your empire."

The western lord swallowed, his throat moving visibly before he forced himself to bow his head.

"Yes... Malik."

His voice was respectful, but the fear beneath it could not be hidden.

"The records of our archives state that the land once belonged to the western crown... before the last northern war divided the border."

Zeramet’s eyes narrowed faintly.

"...Records."

The word sounded almost like mockery. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening like a blade.

"And you expect Zahryssar to take the word of paper... over the word of steel?"

The lord’s hands tightened on his knees, "N–No, Malik. I would never dare—"

Zeramet cut him off without raising his voice.

"Then speak truth."

Silence fell like a weight; even the flames in the braziers seemed to quiet. Zeramet’s eyes burned faintly gold.

"...Was the vault yours... before it was found?"

The lord froze; every noble in the chamber watched him. He could lie; he could speak. Either way, he stood before the serpent throne.

His voice came out slower this time.

"...It was within the lands once ruled by the Western Crown." A pause. "But the vault itself... is older than our empire."

A faint murmur moved through the nobles.

Samhira’s eyes flickered slightly. Sharukh Varoth folded his arms.

Zeramet did not move.

"...So," he said quietly, "you do not know who buried it."

The lord lowered his head.

"No, Malik."

Another long and uncomfortable silence. Then Zeramet stood; the sound of the throne steps echoed through the chamber like thunder, and every noble straightened at once.

When the Serpent Emperor descended the first step, the western lord’s breath stopped completely.

Zeramet walked down slowly, the long black and gold robes sliding across the stone floor like a shadow of a serpent.

He stopped only a few steps away from the lord, close enough as his voice lowered, "...And yet you move your army to guard it."

The lord forced himself to answer.

"Yes... Malik."

Zeramet tilted his head slightly, "...before the council of Zahryssar had spoken."

The lord’s lips parted, but no words came. The emperor’s gaze grew colder, "You hurry like a man who fears the treasure may slip from his hands."

The lord dropped to one knee at once.

"I meant no insult to Zahryssar!" His voice echoed loudly in the cold chamber. "The western crown only wished to secure the site until the great empires could decide its fate!"

Zeramet looked down at him in silence. Then his eyes shifted briefly toward the table where the nobles stood.

"...You hear him."

No one spoke.

Samhira stepped forward again, bowing.

"The western empire has already placed soldiers at the vault, Malik. Whether by fear or by greed... the result is the same."

Sharukh added quietly, "If Zahryssar does not stand beside them... they will believe we stand against them."

Arkhazunn, standing near the pillar, spoke in a low voice, "And if we stand against them... the border will burn before the winter ends."

Silence.

Zeramet looked once more at the kneeling lord.

"...Look at me."

The man raised his head slowly. His eyes met the golden gaze of the Serpent Emperor; he almost lowered them again, but fear kept them frozen.

Zeramet spoke slowly, every word measured.

"If Zahryssar stands with the Western Empire..." A pause. "...you will not move without our command."

The lord nodded quickly.

"Yes, Malik."

"You will not claim the vault as yours."

"Yes, Malik."

"You will not begin war without the word of this throne."

"Yes—yes, Malik."

Zeramet’s eyes darkened slightly.

"And if you do..." The chamber felt colder. "...the desert will swallow your empire before the snow of Thalryn melts."

The lord bowed so low his forehead touched the floor.

"I swear it, Malik."

Long silence.

Then Zeramet turned away from him; his cloak moving like a shadow across the stone, he walked back toward the head of the chamber.

When he sat again, his voice returned to cold authority.

"...Zahryssar will stand with the western empire."

A murmur passed through the nobles, not surprise, not relief, only tension.

Zeramet continued as his eyes lifted slowly, "But the vault will not be opened...until I say it will."

No one dared argue, because when the Serpent Emperor spoke like that—even allies felt like prey.

***

[Silthara Palace — Hallway — After the Council]

The doors of the council chamber closed behind him with a heavy echo.

The sound rolled through the stone corridors of Silthara Palace, fading slowly beneath the high arches carved with the sigils of the ancient serpent kings. Outside the open lattice windows, the desert wind moved hot and restless, yet inside the hallway the air felt cold enough to still the breath.

Zeramet walked alone.

His steps were slow, measured, the long black and gold robes trailing behind him like the shadow of something far older than the palace itself. The guards stationed along the corridor lowered their heads the moment he passed, none daring to raise their eyes.

The decision of the council still lingered in the air. The vault, The western empire, The concubines and the crown.

His jaw tightened faintly, at the far end of the hallway, a figure stood waiting near the pillar of blue stone.

Lady Arinaya.

She stepped forward the moment she saw him, lowering herself into a deep bow, her hands folded properly before her.

"I greet the Malik of the Serpent Empire."

Zeramet stopped, his eyes fell on her, sharp and unreadable.

"...Lady Arinaya." His voice was calm, but the weight in it made the air grow heavier. "What are you doing here?"

She kept her head lowered, not daring to meet his eyes.

"I have just returned to my duties, Malik," she said quietly, "but before entering the archives... I wished to speak with you."

A long pause followed.

Zeramet’s expression did not change, then he moved again, walking past her without stopping.

"I am not in the mood to speak with anyone today, Lady Arinaya." His voice was colder now. "You may return to your work."

He had already taken two steps beyond her when—"The Malika is worried about you."

The words fell softly, yet they stopped him as if a chain had been pulled tight.

Zeramet froze, for a moment, only the sound of the wind moving through the stone lattice could be heard.

Slowly...he turned.

Arinaya bowed again, deeper this time.

"I cannot lie to the Malika, Malik," she said, her voice respectful, but firm enough that even the guards at the far end felt the tension.

"He asks about you since you stopped sending letters to Malika." A pause. "And I do not know what I should write to him now."

Zeramet’s fingers curled slowly at his side.

"...Write what you always write."

Arinaya lifted her head slightly.

"And what shall I say when he asks why the court prepares chambers for new concubines?"

Silence, the air in the hallway turned sharp as glass.

Zeramet’s eyes darkened. "It was necessary."

The words came low and controlled, but the tension behind them was impossible to hide. Arinaya looked at him fully now, her gaze steady despite the danger of it.

"Was it, Malik?"

His eyes flashed faintly gold, "Choose your words carefully, Lady Arinaya."

She bowed again, but did not retreat.

"I do not speak against the throne." Her voice softened. "I speak for the one who carries its heir."

The words struck harder than accusation. For a moment, Zeramet did not move.

Arinaya continued quietly,

"The Malika bears your child... though the heavens themselves made him an Alpha." A pause. "He crossed what even nature would not allow... only to give Zahryssar its future."

Her eyes lowered.

"And now the court prepares to place other omega in your chambers before that child is even born."

Zeramet’s hand clenched.

The veins in his wrist rose like cords beneath the skin, "...Do you think I do not know what I am doing?"

His voice dropped, dangerous, low as a storm before lightning.

Arinaya did not flinch.

"I think," she said softly, "that the crown is heavier than even you expected."

Silence.

The torches flickered. Zeramet’s gaze burned into her, "Do not step beyond your boundary, Lady Arinaya."

She bowed deeply at once.

"I have no wish to cross it, Malik." A pause. "But I do not wish the Malika to bleed for the sake of a law written by men who never carried your child."

The hallway fell completely still. Even the guards seemed afraid to breathe. Arinaya’s voice lowered further.

"If this news reaches him from another mouth... it will wound him more than any blade." Her hands tightened in her sleeves. "So I beg you... before the court speaks it aloud..."

A faint breath.

"...reconsider."

Zeramet stared at her for a long time, long enough that even the wind outside seemed to stop. For a moment, something moved in his eyes.

Not anger.

Not pride.

Something far more tired.

Then it vanished and he turned. His cloak swept behind him as he began to walk again.

He did not answer, did not stop, did not look back, only his voice came once, without turning.

"...Return to your duties, Lady Arinaya."

His steps echoed down the corridor until the sound disappeared into the deeper halls of the palace.

Silence returned.

Arinaya remained bowed for several breaths more, then slowly straightened, her eyes closing for a moment as if in prayer.

"All I can do now..." she murmured quietly, "...is ask Lord Urzan to give strength to the Malika."

She turned and walked the opposite way, her steps slow, her face heavy with worry. For a moment, the hallway stood empty.

Then—

From behind one of the carved pillars, a figure stepped out.

Naburash.

He had not been seen, he had not been heard, but his eyes had missed nothing. He looked in the direction where Arinaya had gone, his expression thoughtful, cold.

"...So." His voice was barely a whisper. "The Malika does not know yet...that the Malik prepares to take concubines."

He turned slowly, already walking toward the inner corridor.

"I wonder..." His eyes narrowed slightly. "...what will happen when he hears it from someone who is not trying to protect him."

He disappeared into the shadowed hall.

"...Yes." A quiet murmur followed. "I should write to the Malika."