Serpent Emperor's Bride

Chapter 236: The Knife Behind the Throne

[Sah’Rumeh Village—Healer’s hut—Continuation]

The mountains remained unchanged, the wind still moved through the peaks, and the barrier still shimmered above the village. People still walked through the streets and yet... Levin felt as though the world had tilted beneath his feet.

Grand Duke Lior’s footsteps had long faded into the distance. Kael had followed shortly afterward.

Only Iru and Asha remained. The great tiger sat beside him silently. Lyresaph had finally sensed something was wrong; the tiny silver dragon no longer slept lazily.

Instead, he sat upright upon Asha’s back, blue eyes fixed upon Levin, watching and concerned. The evening wind brushed against Levin’s hair as his thoughts remained far away towards Thalryn.

His home, the kingdom of endless snowfall, the kingdom that had raised him and the kingdom where his father still stood alone and facing a storm.

Slowly...Levin’s fingers clenched toward that obsession wearing the face of an emperor, and a slight fear entered Levin’s heart for his father and the empire.

The evening winds howled through Sah’Rumeh/

"Malika..." Iru’s voice broke the silence. "What do we do?"

Levin remained silent for several moments. Then slowly...he turned and walked toward the healer’s hut. The wooden door opened, and the warmth immediately greeted him.

The Zeramet’s pheromones and the crackling fire. The soft glow of ancient runes and at the center of the room... Zeramet remained coiled around the eggs in his enormous silver serpent form.

Ancient runes glowed beneath his scales. Silver coils surrounded the golden and silver eggs protectively like a living fortress. The moment Levin entered, golden eyes opened immediately.

Zeramet studied him with one glance, and that was all it took. Something was wrong. The serpent’s massive head slowly lifted as his deep voice echoed through the hut, gentle and concerned.

"Consort...what happened?"

Silence. Levin looked away for a brief moment; he didn’t know how to say it. Didn’t know how to speak the fear aloud because once spoken... It would become real.

Then finally—

"Thalryn."

The single word made Zeramet immediately still; the serpent’s eyes narrowed. "What about it?"

Levin swallowed and then quietly said, "Grand Duke Lior informed me that Zahryssar has issued an ultimatum."

The temperature inside the hut dropped instantly and dangerously. Levin continued as his voice became lower. "If my father refuses to surrender...Slyvarakh intends to attack."

Absolute silence.

The fire crackled; the eggs remained warm beneath silver coils. Yet somehow the room suddenly felt cold.

Then Zeramet’s eyes had become terrifyingly calm, the kind of calm that usually preceded violence.

"Slyvarakh." The name left his mouth like poison, like an ancient curse.

Levin nodded slowly, and after a long silence, "I have to go."

The words escaped before he could stop them. Immediately Zeramet’s head snapped toward him; golden eyes widened.

"What?"

Levin clenched his fists; his voice trembled slightly. "My father is there; my people are there. If I remain here while Thalryn burns—"

"No."

The interruption came instantly, sharp and absolute. The entire hut fell silent; even Asha lifted her head, and Lyresaph opened his eyes as Levin froze.

Zeramet’s gaze hardened as his voice echoed heavily. "Consort, do you truly believe this is a battle you can solve simply by appearing there?"

Levin opened his mouth, but Zeramet continued relentlessly. "You know who Slyvarakh is; you know what he has become; he is no longer merely an emperor."

The runes beneath his scales glowed brighter.

"Dangerous men seek power. Madmen seek immortality, and Slyvarakh sought both."

Silence.

Then the Prime Alpha’s voice lowered, ancient and terrifying. "Do you know why his return worried me and made Sarash fear?"

Levin remained silent, and Zeramet answered himself, and the fire flickered violently. "Because death rejected him, he rose through forbidden rituals, through black magic."

The words felt wrong, heavy, ancient, and illegal. Even speaking them seemed dangerous. Zeramet’s expression darkened.

"The same black magic that destroys kingdoms, the same black magic that has power to consume dynasties."

His eyes narrowed further. "The same black magic our ancestors buried beneath deserts and mountains because even they feared it."

The hut became silent, and then Zeramet spoke quietly. "Do you think ending such a creature is easy?"

Levin froze because the answer was obvious.

No...It wasn’t.

Then Zeramet lowered his head, getting closer to Levin, and his voice softened.

"If you go now...you will walk directly into his reach, and that is exactly what he wants."

The words landed heavily and painfully because Levin knew it was true. Slyvarakh wanted him, not Thalryn, not politics, not negotiations, but him.

Then Levin whispered, "But my empire is in danger."

Immediately Zeramet answered. "And nothing will change if you arrive there tomorrow."

Silence.

Zeramet’s voice became calm once more, calculating and strategic. The voice of a ruler.

"For now...our objective is not to fight Slyvarakh."

Levin frowned. "What then?"

The serpent’s golden eyes gleamed. "To stop him or better yet...to distract him."

Levin blinked. "What do you mean?"

Then unexpectedly Zeramet chuckled, a low and ancient knowing sound. The sound of a serpent who understood other serpents.

"As obsessed as Slyvarakh is...he is still an emperor, and emperors rarely notice the knife approaching from behind."

Levin stared. Then suddenly a realization appeared.

Sarash, the white serpent. The one trapped inside Zahryssar, the one enduring Slyvarakh’s madness and the one who had finally decided to act.

Zeramet nodded slowly as though reading Levin’s thoughts. "Yes. Sarash."

The room became silent, and then the prime alpha continued. "If I know him...he is already moving, and when Sarash finally strikes...Slyvarakh will have far greater problems than Thalryn."

Silence.

The fire crackled outside, the mountain winds howled, and for the first time since hearing the news...the crushing panic inside Levin eased slightly, not gone, never gone, but eased.

Because perhaps... Just perhaps...the game had already begun.

And Slyvarakh did not yet realize that he was no longer the only one moving pieces across the board.

***

[Zahryssar — Imperial Palace — Deep Night]

The palace slept, or at least... It pretended to. Moonlight spilled across obsidian corridors. Silver flames burned within ancient braziers. The winds whispered through towering arches and beneath the magnificent Imperial Palace...something older than kingdoms remained hidden.

Something forbidden, something buried, and something that should never have existed. Meanwhile...a lone figure moved through the darkness.

Silent, careful, bleeding, and healing automatically.

Sarash.

The white serpent’s wounds had long healed. The bruises remained, the humiliation remained, and the hatred remained.

His eyes stared ahead, cold, focused, and determined. The corridor narrowed until eventually he reached a forgotten section of the palace. A place servants never entered, a place guards never approached, and a place even nobles feared.

The air itself felt wrong, rotten, and heavy. As though the walls were breathing.

Sarash stopped, then slowly lifted his hand. His fingers brushed ancient stone, and immediately black veins appeared beneath the walls.

Ancient symbols awakened, forbidden runes; they crawled across the stone like living insects, twisting, moving, and watching.

Sarash felt nausea immediately. His stomach twisted. His instincts screamed to run. Yet he remained because he already knew the truth.

He had known for years, long before anyone else, during the time when Slyvarakh was there before his death.

Slyvarakh’s power was a lie, not entirely but mostly. Slyvarakh had once been strong, a gifted Alpha, a skilled serpent but not invincible.

Never invincible, not until the forbidden ritual and not until black magic. Sarash stared at the runes, his expression darkened because these symbols...were the reason Slyvarakh still breathed.

The reason he rose from death. The reason fear followed his footsteps was because of this cursed magic.

Then slowly...his voice echoed quietly.

"Slyvarakh...do you know what makes this amusing?" The darkness remained silent. "You spent your entire life using me; you used my loyalty, you used my silence, and you used my devotion."

His fingers slowly tightened around a yellowed piece of paper hidden within his sleeve, ancient, fragile, and covered in black symbols and forbidden symbols.

The kind that could earn execution if discovered. The kind only a desperate man would ever touch.

Then his gaze returned to the altar. "And now...you cannot even survive without borrowing power from the dead."

The altar pulsed violently, as though it understood the insult. Sarash slowly stepped forward. One step, then another. Until he stood directly before the wall of black runes feeding the altar.

Ancient symbols crawled across the stone like living serpents, feeding, breathing, and growing. The source of Slyvarakh’s unnatural strength, the source of his resurrection, and the source of his obsession.

Then slowly...Sarash removed the spell paper, the chamber immediately reacted, and the darkness recoiled.

An artifact from an age when kings feared sorcerers more than armies. Sarash stared at it. "You should not have kept me close."

Silence.

Then he pressed the paper against the wall.

SLAP.

The moment it touched the runes—

BOOOOOOM!

The entire chamber shook; the black symbols erupted violently. Ancient chains hanging from the ceiling rattled; dark crystals cracked.

Black smoke filled the chamber, and at the center of it all, the spell activated. Golden symbols emerged across the paper. Ancient characters spiraled across the wall like divine chains.

Binding, restricting, and weakening. The runes feeding Slyvarakh immediately began flickering, then dimming and then breaking.

CRACK.

CRACK.

CRACK.

Tiny fractures spread through the black symbols like poison entering a king’s veins. As Sarash staggered backward, blood immediately burst from his mouth.

His knees nearly buckled, yet he remained strong because it was working.

The spell was not destroying the altar, but it was severing something. Weakening something. Interrupting something.

The flow, the endless flow of stolen power. The endless river feeding Slyvarakh’s black magic, then Sarash raised his trembling hand.

Blood dripped from his fingers, and quietly...almost like a prayer, he whispered, "To protect the Malika...I have no choice but to do this."

The paper burst into golden flames. The black runes screamed once more, suddenly far above the chamber. Inside the Imperial Palace. A silver-haired emperor dropped his wine goblet.

CRASH!

The metal shattered across the floor. Slyvarakh immediately grabbed the edge of a table; his body swayed, and his vision blurred. For the briefest moment the black veins beneath his skin vanished.

His stolen power weakened only for a second, yet it was enough. Enough to terrify him, his silver eyes widened.

For the first time in years, for the first time since his resurrection and for the first time since conquering death itself. Slyvarakh felt something he had forgotten existed.

Meanwhile beneath the palace...Sarash collapsed to one knee; blood poured from his mouth, and his body trembled violently.

Then he lifted his gaze toward the ceiling, toward the emperor sitting above him and toward the serpent who thought himself untouchable.

And quietly he whispered—

"Run, Slyvarakh."

Blood dripped onto the stone; the golden spell continued burning. The black runes continued cracking.

"Because while you chase Levin across the continent..." His eyes gleamed within the darkness. "...I am coming for the throne beneath your feet."

The chamber trembled, the altar screamed, and somewhere above...an Emperor suddenly realized he was no longer the only one making moves in the dark.