Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 116: The Letter That Broke the Bond

[Silthara Palace — Midnight — Emperor’s Chamber]

Midnight lay heavy over Silthara Palace.

The desert had fallen silent, and the moon hung high above the golden towers, their pale light spilling through the carved lattice of the emperor’s chamber in long silver patterns across the black stone floor.

Inside, the air was thick—not with heat or cold, but with something darker and poisonous.

Zeramet Karash sat near the open window, the long cushions beneath him half-shadowed in moonlight. His form was no longer fully human.

From the waist upward, he remained the emperor of Zahryssar—bare shoulders, long silver hair falling over his back and golden eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

But below...

His body shifted into the long silver coils of the ancient serpent blood, scales catching the moonlight like polished steel as they rested across the floor and curled around the base of the low table beside him.

A thin pipe rested between his fingers as he inhaled slowly. The smoke filled his lungs, dark and heavy, carrying the bitter scent of black lotus. When he exhaled, the vapor spread through the chamber like poison mist, his pheromones mixing with it—deep, suffocating, and dangerous.

The scent of a ruler who had not slept and the scent of a serpent who had been forced to swallow too much.

His golden eyes moved slowly to the parchment lying beside him.

The list.

The names were written in careful ink.

Concubines.

He picked it up without hurry, letting the paper hang loosely between his fingers as he read the first line.

A daughter of a minor noble house, second name. A son of the southern court.

Third.

Fourth.

Fifth.

Different houses, different empires, and different alliances. All chosen for the same reason.

The law.

His jaw tightened faintly, and the pipe returned to his lips as he inhaled again.

Longer this time, when the smoke left his mouth, his voice followed with it, low and cold.

"...Should I kill them now ..." A pause. "...Or should I wait until the court finishes preparing the wedding beds?"

His eyes darkened as he read the first name again; his fingers tightened slightly on the parchment.

"...They write these names as if they are offering tribute to the throne." Another breath of smoke. "...As if my chamber were a market."

The black lotus scent thickened in the room, sharp enough to sting the throat.

Then—

"...Come out."

The word was barely louder than a whisper, but the shadows moved. For a moment, nothing could be seen. Then from the corner near the pillar, something pale slid across the floor.

A snake, long and pure white. Its scales almost glowed under the moonlight as it moved silently across the stone, its body gliding without a sound until it reached the center of the chamber.

The serpent lifted its head.

Its body twisted and shifted. Bones cracked softly, scales fading into skin, the long shape folding into the form of a man kneeling on one knee before the emperor.

White hair fell over his shoulders. His skin was dark and sun-browned, his body marked by old scars, the largest cutting across his jaw like a blade that had once tried to take his head.

Brown eyes lowered at once.

His features carried the mark of the serpent blood, strikingly close to Zeramet’s, yet the difference between them was clear to any who knew the old line.

From the shade of his eyes to the pale length of his hair, from the tone of his skin to the aura that surrounded him—everything spoke of a different origin of the ancient serpent race, and yet... not entirely separate from Zeramet, as though both belonged to the same primordial blood, divided long ago but never truly made strangers.

"Malik." His voice was low and steady, without fear.

Zeramet did not look at him; he threw the parchment. It slid across the floor and stopped near the man’s knee.

"...Kill them."

The words fell without emotion. The white-haired man picked up the parchment slowly and glanced at the names. His brows drew together faintly.

"What crime did they commit, Malik?"

Zeramet inhaled again, the smoke filling his lungs before he answered.

"They dared..." A slow exhale. "...to stand beside my consort; they dared to snatch the full position of my consort, and that crime is enough."

The chamber felt colder.

The man lowered his gaze again, no shock, no hesitation, only obedience.

"As you command." He rose slightly, still kneeling, the parchment held between his fingers. "You shall hear the news before evening, Malik."

Zeramet’s eyes flickered faintly gold as his voice sharpened. "No. I do not want news. I do not want reports."

His coils shifted slowly across the floor, scales scraping softly against stone.

"Just erase them."

His gaze lifted at last, burning in the dim light.

"No matter which house they belong to. No matter which empire they come from."

The white-haired man bowed deeper.

"As the serpent commands."

His body shifted again, bones folding, skin paling, the human form collapsing back into the long, white serpent.

It slid across the floor, silent as breath, and climbed the stone frame of the open window. For a moment, the snake paused, its pale head turning slightly back toward the emperor.

Then it disappeared into the night.

The chamber fell silent again.

Only the wind.

Only the smoke.

Only the scent of black lotus and poison remains.

Zeramet remained where he was, the empty pipe resting loosely in his hand. His eyes moved once more to the place where the parchment had been.

Gone.

His jaw tightened.

"...They think I will let my consort share his husband..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "...with strangers."

A long silence followed.

Then his hand moved slowly to his chest, fingers pressing against the skin as if something beneath the bone refused to stay quiet... as if the serpent blood itself was restless.

"...Consort..."

The word barely left his lips, his eyes closed for a moment, his breath deep, heavy with the scent of black lotus and poison.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower, darker than before.

"...I will make sure...no one dares to stand beside you."

His fingers curled slowly against his chest, nails pressing into the skin as if he wished to tear the weight out of it.

"No omega... no noble... no law written by dead emperors..." His golden eyes opened again, burning in the dim light.

"...will take the place that belongs to you."

The coils of his silver tail shifted across the stone floor with a slow, scraping sound.

The chamber felt colder, his gaze darkened, dangerous, merciless.

"And if the world demands that I do..." A faint, cruel smile touched his lips. "...then the world will learn how easily a serpent emperor can choose blood over peace."

The smoke from the pipe curled through the air like a dark omen, and the emperor of Zahryssar sat alone in the moonlight, already deciding how many lives the crown would cost him this time.

***

[Two Days Later — Thalryn Empire — Veyrhold House — Training Hall — Morning]

CLANG!!

Steel struck steel with a sharp echo that rang through the wide stone hall.

SLASH!!

A second strike came faster, harder, the sound of blades colliding filling the air along with the heavy breaths of young knights struggling to keep up.

The training hall of Veyrhold was alive with movement, boots against stone.

Armor clashing.

Shouts echoing beneath the high wooden beams.

At the center of the hall stood Levin.

His sleeves rolled back, hair tied loosely behind, sweat running down the side of his face — yet his movements were sharp, precise, and far too fast for the knights sparring against him.

A young knight lunged forward.

Levin stepped aside without effort.

"...Slow."His voice was calm, too calm.

The knight swung again, harder this time.

Levin blocked the strike with one hand, twisted the blade aside, and kicked the knight behind the knee.

THUD!!

The young man fell to the floor with a groan. Levin lowered the wooden practice sword, looking down at him without anger, only cold discipline.

"You rely too much on your arms."

The knight struggled to sit up, breathing hard.

"My lord... I—"

Levin cut him off, "If your legs cannot carry your body fast enough... your strength means nothing."

He tapped the floor once with the sword.

"Your stance breaks before your strike lands."

The knight lowered his head quickly, "Yes... my lord."

Levin turned away already, "Work on your lower stance. Every morning. Twice the usual count."

The knight nodded hurriedly.

"Yes, my lord!"

Levin glanced across the hall at the other knights, who had already slowed their movements just by watching him.

His voice rose slightly.

"Why did you stop?"

They straightened at once, "No reason, my lord!"

Levin’s eyes narrowed faintly.

"...From this moment, training will continue for two extra hours." A wave of nervous silence spread through the hall. "No one leaves until I say so."

Several knights exchanged quick looks, then all of them bowed at once.

"Yes, my lord."

Levin stared at them coldly, "I did not hear you."

Their backs straightened instantly.

"YES, MY LORD!"

His expression did not change.

"Louder."

The entire hall echoed this time.

"YESSS MY LORD!!!"

The sound shook the wooden beams above them.

Levin finally gave a faint nod, "Good."

He turned toward the side of the hall where Captain Varesh and Captain Raevahn stood watching. His gaze sharpened slightly.

"You two."

Both stepped forward at once and bowed, "Yes, Malika."

Levin gestured toward the training floor.

"Join them." A faint pause. "Pick the slowest ones first."

Raevahn allowed the smallest smile, "As you command."

Varesh bowed once.

"Yes, Malika."

They stepped onto the floor, and the tension among the young knights rose immediately. Levin watched for a moment longer, then finally turned away.

The moment he stopped moving, Iru hurried forward with a cloth in his hands.

"My lord... please."

Levin took the cloth and wiped the sweat from his neck slowly, his breathing still steady despite the long training.

"You push yourself harder every day," Iru said softly.

Levin handed the cloth back and he walked toward the bench near the wall and sat down, resting one hand lightly over his stomach without thinking.

Iru noticed.

He said nothing. Instead, he moved his robe slightly, fanning Levin gently, "You should rest longer today, Malika."

Levin shook his head faintly.

"Later."

Iru hesitated. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Shall I bring something to drink?"

Levin leaned back slightly against the wall, watching the knights spar across the hall.

"...Water is enough."

Iru bowed.

"At once."

He turned to leave, the hem of his robe brushing softly against the stone floor, while the sound of training filled the hall once more.

CLANG!SLASH!THUD!

Steel struck steel again and again, the rhythm loud, sharp, relentless beneath the high beams of the training hall.

Levin sat on the wooden bench near the wall, watching the knights spar with cold focus, yet without knowing why... his hand rested a little more firmly over his stomach.

A faint tension passed through his fingers, As if his body had sensed something before his mind did. At that moment, the doors of the training hall opened.

The noise inside did not stop, but several knights glanced toward the entrance when Butler Macrane stepped in, walking quickly yet with proper dignity, a sealed parchment held in both hands.

He stopped a few steps before Levin and bowed deeply, "My lord... a letter has arrived from Zahryssar."

Levin’s gaze shifted at once, For a brief moment, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

"...From Zahryssar?"

"Yes, my lord."

Macrane extended the letter.

"The seal bears the mark of the imperial archives."

Levin reached out and took the parchment, "Thank you, Macrane."

The butler bowed again, then stepped aside, though his eyes lingered for a moment on the knights training, as if unsure whether he should remain or leave.

Levin broke the seal slowly, as he unfolded the parchment, his eyes moved across the first line.

Then the second.Then—

His expression changed, not anger, not shock. Something colder. His eyes lost their warmth completely, turning still... empty... as if the words had drained the life from them.

The hand holding the letter trembled.

Very slightly at first.

Then more.

His other hand moved unconsciously to his stomach, fingers tightening against the fabric as if trying to hold something together that was beginning to fall apart.

He read the line again.

And again.

His jaw clenched, the noise of the training hall seemed to grow distant.

CLANG—

SLASH—

Voices—

None of it reached him anymore, slowly, Levin stood up. He did not look at anyone, did not speak. He simply turned and began walking toward the exit.

Macrane frowned slightly and stepped forward, "My lord... is something—"

Levin did not answer, he did not even look at him, he walked past him as if he had not heard a word. Macrane froze where he stood.

Across the hall, Iru turned just in time to see Levin heading toward the door. He hurried forward, holding the cup he had just filled.

"Malika... the water—"

No answer.

Levin did not stop, did not slow, did not even seem to hear him. He left the training hall without another word, the letter still clutched in his hand.

Iru stood there, confused, then his expression changed.

"...Malika?"

He turned quickly toward the door, but Levin was already gone.

***

[Veyrhold House — Levin’s Chamber — Moments Later]

The door opened, then slammed shut behind him.

THUD—!!

Levin stood in the middle of the chamber, breathing unevenly. The letter slipped slightly in his hand.

His head throbbed, hard, like something inside his skull was beating against the bone. His pheromones, usually steady and strong, flickered weakly in the air, the scent breaking apart like smoke scattered by wind.

"...No..."

The word barely left his lips, his fingers tightened over his stomach, his legs trembled.

He tried to take a step, but the room spun.

His vision blurred, outside, in the garden below the balcony, a silver shape suddenly froze.

Lyresaph.

The silver dragon lifted his head sharply, blue eyes flashing with sudden alarm.

He felt it, the bond, the weakness and the pain. His body stiffened.

Then—

He moved, without hesitation and without sound.

The air around him bent as power gathered, blue and silver light flickering around his body as he leapt upward in a single motion, claws gripping the stone of the balcony as if gravity itself meant nothing to him.

"Mewr...?"

Asha tilted her head, watching the dragon vanish, her tail flicking uncertainly.

Inside the chamber—Levin tried to steady himself against the table, his hand slipped.

The letter fell and his vision darkened.

"...Zer..."

The whisper broke in his throat, his knees gave out.

THUD!!

He hit the floor hard, his body collapsing against the cold stone. At that exact moment—the balcony doors burst open.

RAAAWRRRRR!!

Lyresaph landed inside the chamber, silver scales shining, blue eyes burning with fear as he rushed forward, his power swirling wildly around him, blue and white light circling Levin’s fallen body like a storm trying to hold him together.

He lowered his head beside Levin, letting out a deep, furious growl, the air trembling with the force of it.

The letter lay beside Levin’s hand, half open, but the ink was still clear. The words visible in the pale light.

"The Serpent Emperor has begun preparations to take concubines..."

Lyresaph’s eyes flared brighter, his power surged.

The air shook, and on the cold floor of Veyrhold House—The Malika of Zahryssar lay unconscious,his hand still curled over the child he carried.