Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 49: Devour or Restrain

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

Moonlight spilled across the chamber floor like liquid silver, soft and cold—yet the room itself simmered with heat.

Not the heat of fire, but from the heat of him.

Zeramet.

The Malik of Zahryssar, seated against the carved headboard, shoulders broad, breath deep...and wrapped entirely around Levin.

One powerful arm caged Levin’s waist, his silver tail coiled possessively between his thighs—slow, deliberate, and dangerously gentle.

Levin sat curled against the emperor’s chest, still clothed, but the tension... the closeness... the unmistakable hunger simmering under Zeramet’s skin made it feel as if every layer between them was made of smoke.

Levin’s cheeks glowed pink, his fists clenched weakly at Zeramet’s chest, and his heart thudded like a trapped bird.

’Is he... going into rut?’ Levin wondered.

He lifted his gaze slowly—hesitantly—toward the emperor’s face.

Zeramet’s eyes were half-lidded, pupils sharp and molten gold, glowing faintly in the darkness. His breathing was steady... but too deep. Too slow and too controlled.

Dangerously controlled.

Levin opened his mouth—"Zer, are you going into ru—"

But he didn’t finish, because Zeramet’s voice—deep, husky, intimate, and sinful—cut through the quiet like a heated blade.

"Do not ask me anything... consort." His fingers tightened at Levin’s waist—just a fraction. "Or I will lose the restraint I still possess... and tear every layer of cloth from your body and shove my cock inside you."

Levin froze; a tremor ran through his spine, "I—I wasn’t—"

Zeramet lowered his head until his breath and his tongue brushed Levin’s ear—warm, commanding, trembling with the first crack of rut.

"And do not look at me with those eyes...those wide, soft, innocent blue eyes..." he whispered low, "unless you wish to remain pinned to this bed for nights. I do not know how many."

Levin’s breath hitched; he immediately looked down, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.

’He’s dangerous... So dangerous...’ But some quiet, frightened thought inside him added: ’...but is he truly going into rut?’

Zeramet didn’t touch him indecently, and he didn’t pull him harder.

He didn’t push him down; he only held him—closer, warmer, tighter—his tail curling instinctively, protectively between Levin’s thighs, not to claim, but to anchor.

His fingers lifted slowly, tracing Levin’s back—light, deliberate circles.

Then—his hand slipped beneath Levin’s shirt.

Slow.Warm.Steady.

Levin gasped—soft and involuntary.

TWITCH!!!

Levin’s spine arched the moment Zeramet’s fingers brushed bare skin, not a violent reaction—no.A soft, startled, helpless one.

A shiver shot through him, sharp and electric, as though his body recognized something before his mind did. He instinctively curled closer into Zeramet’s chest—seeking warmth, seeking safety, seeking the heat that radiated from the emperor like a living furnace.

Zeramet’s arm tightened at once, not crushing.

Just claiming.

Possessive in the most reverent way.

His breath deepened—slow, controlled... and unbearably heated.

"My moonflower..." Zeramet’s voice rumbled against Levin’s neck, low and thick, like molten gold poured over stone. "Do not fear me... even in my rut. I will never harm you and will never force you."

Levin’s breath stilled.

That... that tone—deep, trembling with restraint, thick with desire—wrapped around him like incense smoke.

The air was heavy.

Too heavy.

He could almost taste Zeramet’s pheromones—warm, intoxicating, curling around him in invisible waves that stroked his skin, his throat, his chest, and his spine.

His pheromones are pulling him in, calling him.

’He’s going into rut...,’ Levin swallowed hard. ’But why... why is he holding himself back?’

He looked up, meeting the emperor’s burning golden eyes, and wanted to ask, but before he could ask, Zeramet spoke, voice roughened by desire but threaded with painful restraint:

"I have already burdened you with learning the mantle of Malika in ten nights... I will not place another burden of pain upon your shoulders; I have no intention of harming you, my consort."

Levin’s heart lurched, ’Is this... what is stopping him?’

For Zeramet—who could crush warriors with a flick of his wrist—to hold back because he feared hurting Levin...That realization struck deeper than the heat in the air.

Zeramet lifted Levin’s chin with two fingers, slow and worshipful, bringing their faces close—so close their breaths tangled.

"So..." the emperor whispered, each syllable trembling with restrained hunger, "do this husband of yours a favor..."

Levin’s lips parted as Zeramet leaned closer; his tongue almost reached inside the parted lips of Levin, and the next words came like a command wrapped in silk and fire:

"Shove me away, my dear consort."

Levin blinked, "...W-what...?"

"Push this husband of yours away," Zeramet repeated, voice dark, rumbling, and trembling. "Escape this chamber, and make sure no one enters."

His breath grew harsher—hotter—as he leaned closer.

"Because..." His hand slid behind Levin’s neck, pulling him barely closer, and—Zeramet leaned down and licked Levin’s lips, slow, deliberate—and then bit.

Not hard enough to break skin—but sharp enough to make Levin gasp, eyes widening, toes curling against the sheets.

"...you are tempting me far... far too much."

Levin froze—heat exploding through him like lightning, his breath trembled and his knees went weak, ’I... I should really escape... but—’

But when he looked at Zeramet...his body refused to move. Zeramet’s eyes darkened further, pupils thin and wild, glowing like a serpent in hunger.

Levin’s voice came out small and breathy, "...What about you?"

Zeramet exhaled—shaky, dangerous—his thumb brushing against Levin’s lower lip, and then his two fingers went inside his mouth, circling around his tongue, trying to go deeper, deeper, and deeper, which made Levin escape a moan, "Hngh...!"

"This..." his voice thickened, warm and trembling, "...is only the beginning of my rut, my lovely consort."

His forehead pressed to Levin’s, almost desperately.

"This is just a whisper, a spark. If you stay... that spark will become fire. And that fire I cannot... and will not... restrain."

His wet hand slid from Levin’s lip to his cheek, his thumb caressing slowly, making his cheeks wet and slippery with his own saliva.

"So I beg you, consort...shove me away," he breathed, voice roughened with desire and pain. "For a few days... let me burn alone. Let me wrestle this hunger myself."

Levin felt his heart pound, felt the room pulse with heat, and felt the emperor trembling—not with weakness, but with the beast inside him trying to break free.

Zeramet cupped Levin’s jaw—soft, tender, aching, "I will be fine... once the heat passes."

"SO...GO AWAY BEFORE I DEVOUR YOU!!"

The words were thunder, hot, cracking, shaking the chamber. Moonlight spilled over them like liquid silver, turning the air molten. The tension between their bodies coiled—thick as smoke, warm as breath, dangerous as the desert at night.

Levin slid off the bed, but...his eyes kept drifting back.

To Zeramet.

To the emperor who was already trembling from suppressed heat—jaw clenched, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling with the heavy pull of desire he could barely contain.

Zeramet’s knuckles whitened against the silk sheets.

"GET. OUT."

It wasn’t anger, it was warning.

A plea carved from raw instinct.

Levin stepped back—slowly, painfully—and walked out of the chamber. The heavy doors closed behind him with a deep thoom, sealing the heat inside like a beast locked in a cage.

He exhaled shakily in the hallway, his feet... refused to move forward. As if stuck between fear and longing, temptation and duty.

Finally—he dragged a hand through his hair, breath uneven, and turned toward the Ancestral Hall.

Every step echoing like a question he didn’t dare say aloud.

***

[Ancestral Hall — Silthara Palace — Moments Later]

Naburash stood over the ancient stone table, scrolls spread before him in neat, disciplined rows. The lamps around him flickered with steady flame—his own calm presence filling the room like incense.

Then—

"...Naburash."

Levin’s voice, Soft, shaken and unsteady.

Naburash turned sharply—and immediately bowed low, forehead almost touching the scrolls, "Malika... why are you still awake at this hour—"

But then he froze, his nostrils flared as he inhaled and the sharpness of his posture snapped like a pulled bowstring.

Because he smelled it.

Zeramet’s pheromones.

Strong, sharp and absolute. Clinging to Levin like invisible heat. Naburash’s eyes widened for half a breath.

"Malika..." he whispered, voice cracking despite his discipline. "Did the Malik—"

Levin shook his head immediately, "No. He... he told me to leave."

Zeramet’s rut, the emperor’s heat and he dangerous instinct he fought back every season.

Naburash swallowed deeply.

Then he looked at his Malika’s hesitant expression—the uncertainty, the conflict, the fear of abandoning Zeramet, the fear of staying, the fear of his own heart.

Slowly... gently... Naburash straightened as he understood his Malika’s intension behind his eyes.

"Malika," he said softly, "I will prepare a summary for you."

Levin blinked, startled, "A... summary?"

"Yes."

Naburash stepped closer and unrolled another parchment.

"A condensed guide. Everything you must know for court. Everything you must memorize. Everything to help you pass your ten nights—without the Malik’s presence."

Levin’s breath trembled, his eyes softened as he asked, "...I can do that?"

Naburash nodded, bowing his head again, voice firm even as something heavy flickered beneath it, "Yes, Malika. And I will deliver it after you....."

He swallowed once more, then added in a low voice, "And I will personally ensure no one approaches your chamber. Not guards. Not attendants. Not servants. No one."

Levin clenched his fist—heart racing, not from fear.

From emotion, grom gratitude of understanding.

He turned slowly toward the exit of the hall.

"Then..." Levin whispered, voice trembling like a soft prayer, "I leave this task to you, Naburash. And... make sure no one approaches our chamber for few nights."

Naburash bowed deeply, his voice steady yet aching, "As you command... Malika."

Levin stepped away, soft footsteps fading into the corridor, his heart caught between duty and desire, worried for a man burning alone behind closed doors.

***

[Back to the Emperor’s Chamber — Later]

The emperor’s chamber pulsed with heat.

A thick, molten tension clung to the walls—sharp, heavy, suffocating. The moonlight filtering through the lattice carved silver onto the floor, but the room itself burned red.

Zeramet lay half-upright on the bed, breath harsh, chest rising and falling like a beast caged too long. His silver-scaled tail lashed once—twice—carving dents into the silk sheets.

His posture broken open by instinct, by rut, by hunger he could no longer hide. His tanned skin glowed crimson where the heat clawed through him, and every breath he exhaled trembled the air.

His pheromones choked the chamber like smoke.

Then—

THUD.

The door locked, and Zeramet’s head snapped toward the sound. His pupils blew wide. His breath hitched. Levin stood by the door...his silhouette caught in moonlight.

Dangerous.

Beautiful.

Tempting.

"Consort..." Zeramet’s voice cracked in his throat, low, strained, trembling with a hunger wrapped in violence. "This is not the time to be stubborn... Get. Out. Before I shove you to the bed and thrust my both cock inside."

Levin didn’t step back, but he wondered, ’Both?’

And yet he moved forward.

Slowly.

Quietly.

The knot at his collar loosened beneath his fingers. The soft linen slid from his shoulders, falling soundlessly to the floor like moonlight turned to silk and whispered soft as temple incense, "How, could I, as your wife... leave my husband alone when he is in need?"

Zeramet’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle in it trembled as he growled dangerously, "Consort...listen to what I say. This is not the time to play with fate."

But Levin stepped closer.

Closer.

Until the heat radiating from Zeramet struck him like a storm breaking against skin.

And then—he removed the last of his garments, his trousers and stood Naked in the moonlight. Completely unhidden before the man he had chosen.

"You may devour me as you wish, Zer," Levin said softly—voice trembling, yet firm with devotion. "I am not afraid."

...And that was it, something inside Zeramet snapped.

Completely.

The emperor slid off the bed in one fluid, predatory motion—like a serpent descending upon prey not to kill, but to claim.

He reached Levin in a single step, his arms wrapped around Levin’s waist fiercely, possessively—pulling him flush against his burning body. His other hand gripped Levin’s butt with a force that made Levin gasp.

His voice dropped, gravel-dark, "You do not understand...the pain you will endure for few nights...my moonflower. So let me ask you again, Can you handle both of my cock inside you?"

Levin furrowed and trembled under his touch—but did not pull away, "I... am ready."

Zeramet’s head dipped, his breath scorched Levin’s skin.

His teeth grazed his shoulder.

"Then I apologise before itself," he whispered, voice shaking with desire he could no longer chain, "because I will not stop until this heat tears itself out of my bones."

His tail coiled around Levin’s thigh, tighter and Pulling him closer.

And as the moonlight trembled over their bodies—the night swallowed everything and for Levin the nightmare as just begun.