Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 134: A Brother’s Lie

[The Past — Levin’s Childhood — The Riverbank — The Truth]

The sun had been warm that day, too warm and gentle for what it would witness. Ten-year-old Levin ran barefoot along the garden path, laughter still clinging faintly to his breath as he reached toward the tallest sunflower.

It resisted him.

For a moment.

Then—Snap.

He plucked it free, and then he plucked another. Holding both carefully, as though they were something fragile... something precious.

"One for Mother..." he murmured softly; a small smile touched his lips. "...and one for Aelira."

He looked down at them, pleased.

"They’ll be happy."

With a wooden sword tucked beneath his arm, he turned toward the riverbank, steps light, unburdened, and unaware.

The closer he drew, the quieter it became. No laughter, no soft voice, and no warmth. Levin slowed, and then his smile faded.

There at the edge of the river, his mother stood rigid.

And before her—Aelira.

Small and three years old. Her tiny hand clenched tightly in their mother’s grasp, too tight.

"...Who told you such a thing?" The Duchess’s voice trembled—not with anger alone, but with something deeper and something breaking.

"How could you say that about your brother?"

Aelira winced, her small body twisting as she tried to pull away.

"Mumma... it hurts..." Her voice was thin and fragile, but the Duchess did not release her. Her grip tightened instead.

As if she could shake the words out of her, as if she could undo what had already been spoken.

"I never taught you this...never..." she whispered, her voice cracking. Her knees bent slightly, as though her strength could no longer hold her upright.

"How could you hate him?"

Levin stood frozen, hidden just beyond sight. His fingers tightening around the stems of the flowers.

’Hate...?’ His brow furrowed. ’What is Mother saying...?’

Aelira did not answer; she did not understand. Not fully, only the pain and only the restraint.

"Mumma... let go..." Her voice rose, trembling now. "It hurts...!"

But the Duchess shook her head; her voice broke completely. "No... no, not until you tell me—Why... why would you say such things—"

And then—Aelira’s anger flashed, and she pulled hard and desperately. Her small hand slipped free

PUSH.

"Let go..."

The world stilled, and...the Duchess staggered. Her foot slipped against the damp edge of the river. Her body tilted and she fell. But she was not the only one. Aelira’s small form lost balance with the force—her foot caught—and she went with her.

. . . 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Splash!!

. . .

Cold water swallowed them both, for a moment—there was nothing and then—

"—Mumma—!"

Aelira’s scream tore through the air, raw and terrified.

"Save me...! Mumma—!"

The Duchess surfaced first. Shock flashed across her face—not from the water but from what had happened, from what her daughter had done.

But that did not matter, not anymore when she saw her child drowning.

Her arms moved instantly, grabbing, pulling, and holding Aelira above the water.

"Aelira—breathe—" Her voice broke as she forced her daughter upward. "Breathe—!"

"Mother—!" Levin’s voice shattered the silence as he dropped the flowers—they fell into the dirt and were forgotten.

He ran and rushed.

"Mother—!"

But there were no guards, no servants. No one, only him. Levin stumbled to the edge, dropping to his knees, reaching—

"Give her to me—!" His small hands grasped at Aelira’s arm, pulling with everything he had, straining and desperate.

The Duchess did not resist. She pushed Aelira upward toward him. "Take her—"

Levin pulled hard, dragging his sister onto the bank. Aelira collapsed beside him, coughing, crying, shaking—alive.

"Brother...Wahh...mother...."

Levin tried to calm her, saying, "Aelira, calm down....I will save Mother...."

He turned back, reaching again.

"Mother—!"

But she... she did not rise; her body drifted weak and heavy. Her hand reached out once towards her son, towards a little hand that was trying to reach to her.

"Levin..." Her voice was faint, barely there. His fingers brushed hers, but not enough, and soon the duchess realized that was the end of her.

She looked at her desperate son, who was trembling to reach her but was failing again and again.

Then....

"Levin...." Her eyes found him—soft, even now.

He looked at her, saying, "Mother...please...try to reach---"

But she just smiled, saying, "Tell your father...not to blame her...She is...just a child..."

The water pulled at her; her hand slipped from his, and then—nothing.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Mother—!!!"

The scream tore through the riverbank and echoed, but no one answered.

Later...the footsteps came, but it was too late.

"Levin—Aelira—!" The Duke arrived and stopped, because there In the water was his world. Still and gone.

He did not move at first, he could not. Then slowly—He stepped forward, expressionless and eyes already dead and walked closer Into the water, towards his whole world and he lifted her, cradled her. Held her as if warmth could return if he simply refused to let go.

And....

Silence.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"...No..." Duke just stared at his dead, pale wife; the word broke from him. Unrecognizable.

"...No—" He sank to his knees at the shore, her body in his arms, and for the first and last time, the Duke of Veyrhold cried.

Not quietly, not with dignity, but like a man who had lost everything.

Behind him, Levin sat frozen. Aelira clutched against him, her small body trembling violently. Her fingers dug into his clothes, as if she were afraid the world would swallow her next.

Levin did not speak; he only held her tighter. Because even then—even after everything he remembered.

Do not blame her.

And so he didn’t; he lied to his father about the incident and turned it into an accident, even as something inside him began to break; he protected his sister.

***

[Present Day—House Veyrhold—Training HalL—Inner Corridor—Afternoon]

Steel rang, once and then silence followed.

Levin exhaled sharply, lowering his sword as the last of the Veyrhold knights collapsed onto the ground behind him—groaning, breathless, their strength spent.

They lay scattered like fallen pieces of a broken formation and defeated.

Levin stood alone at the center. Sweat clung to his skin, his chest rising and falling steadily—not exhausted...but restrained. He dragged the back of his hand across his brow, pushing damp strands of hair away as his grip loosened on the sword.

Behind him not a single knight rose.

Iru stepped forward, composed as ever, though his gaze flicked briefly across the fallen men before settling on Levin.

"Malika."

Levin did not turn.

"Yes?"

"The attire prepared for the ball has arrived," Iru said smoothly. "Would you wish to inspect it now?"

A pause, then Levin exhaled, slower this time, heavier.

"...Later." He rolled his shoulder slightly, tension settling deep into muscle. "I would rather bathe first."

Iru bowed without hesitation. "As you command, Malika."

Levin handed off the sword without looking, then turned—walking toward the inner halls. The air shifted the moment he stepped inside, cooler and quieter, but not lighter.

He had taken only a few steps when he stopped. At the far end of the corridor—Aelira.

She was walking toward him, her movements light, almost floating—her expression bright, radiant in a way that would have seemed natural to anyone else.

For a moment—Levin simply watched, then—It happened. Her eyes met his, and for the briefest flicker—Too quick for most—Her smile broke.

Not softened, not faltered, but twisted into hate. Something that did not belong to a sister.

Then—It was gone.

"Brother..." Her voice came warm, gentle—wrapped in familiarity, as if nothing had ever existed beneath it.

Iru’s gaze shifted just slightly. His thoughts sharpened.

’...I was not mistaken, was I the only one who saw her hate towards Malika for seconds?’

Levin did not react, his expression remained still and unreadable. Aelira approached him fully now, her steps slowing just enough to seem graceful rather than eager.

"Have you just returned from training?" she asked softly.

Levin nodded once.

"I have, and you?" he asked, his tone even. "Where are you going?"

Aelira’s smile deepened.

"I was on my way to see the tailors," she said lightly. "The ball is... too important to leave anything imperfect."

A faint tilt of her head.

"...Wouldn’t you agree?"

Levin’s gaze held hers, for a moment longer than necessary, "...I would."

She clasped her hands lightly before her, eyes bright as she asked, her voice softening further, "And your attire? It must already be prepared."

"Yes."

A beat, then and her eyes gleamed.

"May I see it? I would like to know..." her voice lowered, almost teasing, "...how the Malika of Zahryssar presents himself."

Iru’s eyes narrowed faintly. Levin looked at her.

Then slowly his hand lifted. Resting briefly atop her head. A familiar gesture, an old one.

"If you wish, you can," he said quietly.

Aelira’s face lit instantly, bright and radiant.

"I knew it," she said, her voice soft with delight as she stepped forward and embraced him. "I knew you would never refuse me."

Her arms wrapped around him with practiced ease. Warm, affectionate and convincing.

"I love you, Brother."

Levin’s hand rested lightly against her back, he did not return the embrace fully. He did not pull away either.

"...I know," he said, soft and neutral, but his eyes had gone distant. Aelira pulled back, smiling as though nothing in the world had shifted.

As though nothing ever would.

Levin stepped past her without looking back.

"...I will bathe," he said simply.

She turned slightly, watching him go, still smiling. Down the corridor Levin walked on, his steps steady and his posture unchanged, but his expression had darkened, and the weight he carried was no longer hidden from himself.

"Iru." The single word halted the air behind him.

Iru stepped forward at once, closing the distance with quiet precision, "Yes, Malika."

Levin did not turn, his gaze remained ahead, but something in his voice had shifted, lower, colder and certain.

"From this moment onward..." A pause. "...nothing belonging to Zahryssar is to be touched."

Iru stilled.

"...by anyone," Levin continued, each word deliberate, "other than myself... or the Malik."

A brief silence followed. Iru bowed his head, "As you command, Malika."

There was no hesitation in him, no illusion.

Behind him—Iru remained still for a moment longer, watching the retreating figure of the Malika. Something had changed.