Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 92: The Broken Spell

[Silthara Palace—The Consort’s Pavilion —Days After]

Morning returned to Silthara Palace with quiet dignity.

The first light of dawn spilled across the white stone terraces, painting the long corridors in pale gold. The desert wind carried the scent of warm sand and distant date blossoms, drifting gently through the open arches of the Consort’s Pavilion.

Levin sat beside the reflecting pool.

The surface of the water trembled softly beneath the breeze, scattering fragments of sunlight across the marble floor. His veil rested lightly over his shoulders, the thin silver threads catching the light like frost.

Before him lay several sealed parchments.

Reports.

Requests.

Petitions from noble houses across Zahryssar. Yet Levin had not touched them. Instead, he watched the water. Asha rested beside his feet, her small body curled lazily against the cushion. Lyresaph sat nearby, blinking slowly at the drifting petals floating across the pool.

Behind Levin stood Raevahn.

Silent.

Unmoving.

Since the previous evening, he had not abandoned his post even once.

The armor of the Malika’s knight caught the pale morning light, the silver serpent engraved upon his chest gleaming faintly like a quiet oath sworn before the throne of Zahryssar.

Levin sat beside the reflecting pool, one hand resting lazily against the marble edge while the other moved slowly through Asha’s soft fur.

The creature blinked contentedly beneath his touch. After a long moment of silence, Levin finally spoke.

"I was informed," he said calmly, "that you did not sleep last night, Captain."

Raevahn did not move, nor did he allow his gaze to drift directly toward the Malika. Levin wore no veil this morning. Since the moment Raevahn had taken his post, the thin ceremonial cloth had been set aside.

There was no need for it.

Raevahn answered without lifting his eyes, "A knight of the consort should not sleep carelessly within the palace walls, Malika."

Levin tilted his head slightly, studying him, and said slowly, "You speak as though danger already walks these halls."

Raevahn hesitated for the briefest breath, then he answered carefully, "I believe it does."

The wind moved gently through the pavilion, disturbing the surface of the reflecting pool. Levin’s fingers continued to stroke the soft fur of Asha as he murmured thoughtfully,

"I suspected you might say something like that."

He paused deliberately, then his voice lowered.

"And yet..." His eyes drifted toward the quiet palace corridors beyond the courtyard. "...it feels less like a suspicion."

The air seemed to grow still.

"...and more like the intruder has already crossed the palace gates."

Raevahn’s fingers twitched slightly at his side. A reaction so small that most men would never have noticed, but Levin noticed.

He continued softly, "A serpent that walks these halls wearing the face of another."

The words settled into the morning air like falling ash. Raevahn remained composed, but the silence between them deepened.

At last he spoke, "Then that gives me greater reason to remain vigilant, Malika."

Levin’s lips curved faintly, "Is that so?"

Raevahn did not answer, because the report he had received before dawn had not left his thoughts since.

The imperial barrier seal had been broken.

For several hours, within the palace itself. Asha shifted lazily against Levin’s side, unaware of the tension quietly gathering around her master.

Nearby, Iru stood with his usual calm composure, but his sharp eyes flicked briefly toward Raevahn.

Then toward Levin.

The silence in the pavilion was peaceful, too peaceful, the kind of stillness that comes just before a storm breaks across the desert sky.

***

[Silthara Palace — Malik’s Office — Later]

The afternoon sun had begun its slow descent beyond the western towers of Silthara Palace. Inside Malik’s office, the air felt heavier than usual.

Scrolls and sealed parchments lay scattered across the cedarwood desk, yet Zeramet’s attention remained fixed upon a single report resting before him.

His golden eyes moved slowly across the lines of ink.

Then again.

And again.

The same sentence continued to trouble him.

’Imperial barrier seal breached... duration estimated at several hours.’

Zeramet leaned back slightly in his chair; his fingers tapped slowly against the edge of the parchment.

"How..." The word slipped from him quietly. "How could the seal be broken?"

His voice was not loud, but the tension beneath it filled the chamber. Across the desk stood Naburash, silent and composed as ever. He folded his hands neatly within the sleeves of his robe.

"Malik," he said gently, "you appear troubled."

Zeramet did not even glance at him, "The palace seal was broken."

His gaze remained fixed on the report.

"Someone forced open the imperial barrier... and kept it open for several hours." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. "That seal was woven personally by High Mage Arkhazunn."

His brow furrowed.

"He swore it could not be breached."

The room fell quiet; for a moment, Naburash said nothing, and then he spoke calmly.

"Breaking the imperial seal should be impossible." His voice carried quiet reassurance. "Perhaps the report is mistaken."

Zeramet exhaled slowly, "Perhaps."

But the doubt remained in his eyes, because the man who had written the report was not known to make mistakes.

Before he could speak again—KNOCK. KNOCK.

The sound echoed through the chamber doors. A palace guard spoke from outside, "Malik... High Mage Arkhazunn requests an audience."

Zeramet straightened slightly, "Send him in."

Then his gaze flicked briefly toward Naburash, "You may go, Naburash."

For the briefest moment, Naburash’s fingers twitched, a small movement. Almost invisible, then he lowered his head. "Yes, Malik." 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

His hands folded neatly again as he stepped back and moved toward the door. The moment the heavy doors opened, he came face-to-face with Arkhazunn.

The High Mage stood tall in his dark ceremonial robes, ancient runes woven faintly into the fabric. Arkhazunn’s sharp eyes softened slightly when he recognized him.

"Naburash." His voice carried its usual calm warmth. "It has been some time."

He studied the man briefly.

"How have you been?"

For a moment, Naburash did not meet his gaze. Instead, he lowered his head in a respectful bow, "I am well, High Mage."

His voice was perfectly steady, almost too steady. "Your concern honors me."

Arkhazunn nodded lightly, though his eyes lingered for a moment longer than necessary. Naburash stepped aside.

Allowing the mage to pass.

Then—THUD.

The chamber doors closed behind Arkhazunn, and Naburash continued walking down the long palace corridor. His footsteps echoed softly against the marble.

Measured.

Controlled.

Only when he had turned the far corner did his expression change.

The calm mask faded, and his eyes darkened.

"So..." His voice slipped out in a whisper. "They have already discovered the broken seal."

He touched the faint scar near his neck unconsciously, and his jaw tightened, "Things are moving faster than expected."

For a moment he stood perfectly still in the empty corridor. Then his lips curved into a thin smile.

"Still..." He murmured quietly. "The serpent has already entered the palace."

And now, it was only a matter of time before the poison began to spread.

***

[Silthara Palace — Emperor’s Office — Moments Later]

The heavy doors of the imperial office closed behind Arkhazunn, their echo settling slowly into the chamber. For a moment the High Mage remained where he stood, his dark robes brushing lightly against the polished marble floor.

Then his sharp eyes drifted toward Zeramet.

"Why," he asked calmly, though there was faint irritation beneath the words, "did you dismiss Naburash so quickly?"

Zeramet leaned back in his chair, the golden serpent carved into the backrest catching the afternoon light.

A slow, amused smirk curved across his lips.

"Why?" he repeated lazily, his eyes lifted toward Arkhazunn. "So you could stand there staring at him for as long as your heart desired?"

Arkhazunn blinked once.

Then the corner of his mouth lifted.

"Ah." A quiet laugh escaped him. "So you noticed."

He folded his arms loosely, "And yet you still sent him away... even knowing you were depriving my poor heart of its comfort."

Zeramet snorted softly.

"That little heart of yours," he said dryly, "is destined to break sooner or later."

His gaze returned to the parchment on the desk.

"Do not forget." His tone sharpened slightly. "He is already married, and marked."

The amusement vanished from Arkhazunn’s face. His expression cooled immediately.

"Yes..." He exhaled slowly. "I am painfully aware."

The brief moment of humor dissolved. Arkhazunn stepped forward toward the desk.

"Now tell me," he said, his voice turning serious again, "why you summoned me."

His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of the desk.

"I am already occupied with matters far more troublesome." His eyes darkened slightly. "The Sirrash Heart is not something that can be ignored."

Zeramet slid a parchment across the desk toward him, "You should read this first."

The paper stopped directly before the High Mage. Arkhazunn frowned faintly, "What is this?"

He lifted the report and began scanning the inked lines. As he read, his brows slowly drew together.

The room grew quiet, then Arkhazunn’s head lifted sharply.

"...This is impossible." His eyes moved across the page again. "The imperial barrier seal was breached?"

His voice dropped lower.

"For hours?"

The parchment crinkled slightly in his grip, "I personally wove that barrier with six layers of ancient warding."

His gaze snapped toward Zeramet.

"Even the High Circle of Mages could not break it without alerting me."

Zeramet’s expression remained calm, "That is precisely why I wanted you to see it yourself."

The silence between them thickened. Arkhazunn stared at the report again.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Then his voice came quieter than before.

"...Someone forced the seal open." His fingers tightened around the parchment. "But whoever did it...knew exactly how the barrier was constructed."

Zeramet’s golden gaze darkened slightly, "Yes, and that is the part I dislike the most."

The wind brushed lightly against the tall windows of the chamber.

***

[Silthara Palace — The Malika’s Office — The Same Time]

Within the inner wing of Silthara Palace, the chamber of the Malika was quieter than the rest of the imperial court.

Sunlight filtered through tall lattice windows, scattering patterned shadows across the polished stone floor. The air carried the faint scent of parchment ink and desert herbs drying in small bronze bowls along the walls.

Levin sat behind the low cedar table, several rolled parchments spread neatly before him.

His fingers moved carefully across the documents, reading each line with the calm discipline that had slowly become expected of the Mother of Zahryssar.

Across from him sat Lady Arinaya, her posture straight, her attention fixed upon the same reports.

Behind Levin stood Captain Raevahn, silent and vigilant, the armor of the Malika’s Knight catching faint fragments of light whenever he shifted slightly.

The chamber had been quiet for some time.

Only the soft scratching of Levin’s quill disturbed the stillness.

Until—

Iru entered.

He moved with his usual careful grace, carrying a small silver tray upon which rested a delicate bowl carved from white stone.

A faint fragrance followed him.

Sweet.

Soft.

Floral.

He placed the tray gently upon the table.

"Malika," Iru said politely, bowing his head. "Today the palace chefs prepared something special for you."

Levin paused, lifting his eyes from the parchment.

Iru carefully uncovered the dish. Inside lay a pale dessert shaped like a blooming flower, its surface dusted lightly with crushed petals.

"Jasmine," Iru explained with quiet pride. "The sweetness inside is made from pressed dates."

The scent of the flower drifted softly into the air.

Levin glanced toward the dish, and suddenly—Something twisted sharply within his chest. The sweetness struck him strangely.

Too strong.

Too heavy.

His stomach tightened, for a moment he said nothing.

Then Levin quietly pushed the tray slightly away, "Take it away."

The words were calm.

But firm.

Iru blinked, confused, "Malika?"

Levin’s hand moved instinctively to his chest, "I do not feel like eating it."

Iru hesitated, "But Malika... jasmine dessert is prepared only for you."

He gently gestured toward the bowl, "The sweetness inside is khazur—your favorite."

Levin’s expression tightened faintly. The scent of the dessert suddenly felt overwhelming.

His throat tightened. A wave of nausea rose abruptly through his body. He turned his face away immediately.

"Take it away, Iru." His voice came quieter this time. "I may... throw up at any moment."

The words fell heavily into the chamber. Lady Arinaya’s brows slowly drew together, behind Levin, Raevahn’s eyes sharpened instantly.

Even Iru looked startled, because the Malika of Zahryssar was not a man easily shaken by something as simple as food. Yet Levin remained still, one hand resting against the edge of the table, his breathing carefully controlled.

The scent of jasmine lingered faintly in the room.

Too sweet.

Too strong.

And for reasons none of them yet understood—The Malika suddenly could not bear it. The chamber fell silent, and though no one spoke the thought aloud—Something had just changed.