Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 105: The Heir Returns to the North

[Thalryn Empire — Veyrhold House — Few Days Later]

The northern wind carried the scent of snow.

After days of travel across desert roads, stone passes, and the cold ridges that marked the border of Thalryn, the imperial carriage finally descended along the long silver road that led toward Veyrhold House.

The wheels of the imperial carriage slowed as it passed through the outer gates.

The guards of Thalryn had already been informed.

Rows of armored soldiers stood on both sides of the path, their cloaks marked with the sigil of Veyrhold—the silver hawk over the northern star. The moment the carriage entered the courtyard, every soldier lowered his head in respect.

Not only for the heir of the house but also for the Malika of Zahryssar.

The door of the carriage opened.

Captain Varesh stepped down first, his heavy boots striking the frozen ground with a firm sound. His sharp eyes scanned the courtyard instantly, measuring every shadow, every guard, every movement as if the northern fortress itself could become an enemy.

Behind him, Captain Raevahn dismounted his horse, his cloak moving in the cold wind as his hand rested instinctively near the hilt of his sword.

"This is Veyrhold," Varesh muttered quietly.

Raevahn nodded once.

"We need to stay alert anyway."

The curtain of the carriage shifted.

Inside, warm fur blankets still covered the seat, the protective charms placed by Arkhazunn faintly glowing along the frame. Iru stepped down first, carefully arranging the cloak in his arms before turning back toward the carriage.

"Malika... we have arrived."

A moment passed, then Levin stepped out.

The cold northern wind caught the edge of his veil immediately, lifting the silver cloth behind him like a pale banner. His robes were heavier now, layered for the winter, yet the posture of his body carried the same calm dignity that had silenced the courts of Zahryssar.

But today—he stood not only as the Malika of the Serpent Empire; he stood as the heir of Veyrhold. His boots touched the stone of his childhood home, and for the smallest moment, his eyes moved across the courtyard slowly.

Nothing had changed, and yet everything had.

The great doors of the manor opened. Servants rushed forward first, bowing deeply, followed by the northern knights who lowered their weapons in salute.

Then a familiar figure stepped forward from the entrance hall.

Duke Aren Veyrhold.

His cloak rested over his shoulders, his posture as straight as the day Levin had left this house. For a moment, the father and son simply looked at each other.

The courtyard fell completely silent.

Then Levin walked forward slowly, each step measured and each movement controlled. When he stopped a few steps away, he lowered his head slightly.

Not as a child, not as a servant, but as a son who had returned with the weight of an empire behind him.

"Father."

Duke Aren’s eyes softened faintly, though his voice remained steady, "...You have returned."

His gaze moved over Levin’s robes, the veil, the guards behind him, and the imperial sigils on the carriage.

Then to his stomach, only for a moment, then back to his face as he stepped forward.

"You return not only as my son..." his voice carried across the courtyard, deep and firm like the northern mountains themselves, "...but as the consort of the Serpent Emperor... and the future lord of this house."

Levin inclined his head once more, the silver veil still resting over his hair, moving softly in the cold wind.

"I came as both."

A faint breath escaped the duke’s chest—almost a laugh, almost relief, though he tried to hide it beneath his usual composure.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Levin lifted his hands and slowly removed the veil from his head.The silver cloth slipped down into his fingers, and the cold northern air touched his face for the first time since he had entered the courtyard. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

His expression softened.

"But while I am here..." he said quietly, "I wish to stand mostly as the heir of Veyrhold, Father."

A faint murmur of warmth passed through the servants standing along the steps; some smiled and some lowered their heads with quiet relief. Even the old butler standing near the doorway allowed the corner of his lips to lift.

Duke Aren looked at him for a long moment, then his stern expression finally broke.

"...Good."

He opened his arms without another word.

Levin stepped forward at once, and the two embraced, no formal greeting, no royal words. Just father and son. The northern wind still blew across the courtyard, cold enough to sting the skin, yet within that moment the air felt warmer than any desert sun.

They did not speak.

They did not need to.

Because this was Veyrhold, and this house had never needed many words. After a moment, the duke pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on Levin’s shoulders as if making sure he was truly standing there.

Levin smiled faintly, then his eyes moved around the courtyard, searching. "...Where is Aelira?"

Duke Aren’s expression remained calm. "She left three days ago."

Levin blinked faintly. "Left?"

The duke nodded.

"Faraskar Province." He turned slightly as if recalling the message. "Lord Helion sent an invitation for a winter masquerade. She insisted on going herself."

A faint smile touched his face, "You know your sister. She never refuses a celebration."

Levin exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. "...I see."

Behind them, the old butler stepped forward carefully, his posture still as perfect as ever despite the years.

"My lord," he said with a respectful bow, "please come inside. The house has been waiting for your return since the moment the message arrived."

Levin’s eyes moved to him, and the faint smile returned. "How are you, Macrane?"

The old butler straightened slightly, clearly pleased to be remembered.

"I am well, my lord," he replied, bowing again. "And the house is well... though it has been far too quiet without you."

A few servants behind him nodded in agreement.

"We have prepared the northern chambers," Macrane continued. "The fires are lit, and warm water has been drawn. The journey from Zahryssar must have been harsh."

Levin glanced back briefly toward the carriage, where Raevahn and Varesh still stood watchful even in the peaceful courtyard.

"...It was long," he admitted. Then he turned back toward the great doors of Veyrhold. "But I am home now."

Duke Aren placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then come inside, my son."

The doors of the manor opened fully.

Warm light spilled out into the cold courtyard, carrying the scent of burning pinewood and old stone halls that had stood long before Levin was born.

Levin stepped forward as the heir of the house that had raised him.

***

[Veyrhold House — Duke Aren’s Office — Later]

The doors of the northern manor closed behind them, shutting out the cold wind of the courtyard. Inside, the air felt warm, filled with the scent of burning pinewood and old parchment.

Levin walked beside his father through the long stone corridor he had known since childhood. The walls were lined with banners of Veyrhold.

Servants bowed as they passed.

Knights stepped aside.

Yet the atmosphere was different now, before, they bowed to the duke’s son, now they bowed to the Malika of Zahryssar.

Duke Aren pushed open the heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor. The same wide desk of dark oak, the same maps covering the walls, the same window looking out toward the snow-covered ridges of Thalryn.

For a moment Levin simply stood there, his eyes moving slowly across the room.

"...You did not change anything."

Aren gave a faint smile as he walked toward the desk. "This room has survived three generations of Veyrhold."

He sat down slowly. "It will survive one more."

Levin allowed himself the smallest breath of amusement and took the chair across from him. For a moment neither spoke, then Levin leaned back slightly, his hand resting unconsciously over his stomach.

"Has Thalryn developed well... after I left?"

The duke watched him carefully for a moment before answering. Then a slow smile appeared on his face. "You ask as if you were gone for ten years."

Levin’s lips curved faintly. "It feels longer."

Aren folded his hands on the desk. "Your sacrifice saved the north."

His voice carried no exaggeration, only truth. "When Zahryssar demanded the bride, every lord in Thalryn believed war would follow, but you went in their place, and because of that... the northern provinces were given time to rebuild."

He gestured toward the window.

"Trade routes reopened. The border fortresses were repaired. Even Faraskar, which had nearly fallen into debt, now stands stronger than before."

Levin listened quietly. Aren leaned back slightly.

"The north has grown well, Levin." His voice softened. "And the emperor himself has asked about you more than once."

Levin blinked faintly. "The emperor?"

Aren nodded. "He wishes to meet you."

Levin gave a small, calm smile, "I will visit the imperial palace soon."

He looked down at his hands for a moment, then added quietly, "It would be disrespectful not to greet the ruler of my homeland after so long."

Aren studied him in silence, then his expression changed slightly, something more serious, something he had been waiting to say.

"...You will meet him, but you are not the only one who wishes to see you. She is waiting too."

The room became quieter. Levin did not need to ask, he already knew. Still, he spoke.

"...Princess?"

Aren nodded slowly. "Princess Seraphine of Thalryn."

The name hung between them like a memory that had never fully faded. Levin’s eyes lowered for a moment. Then he exhaled softly. "She still wishes to meet me?"

Aren gave a faint, almost helpless smile. "She asked about you every winter since you left."

Levin’s fingers tightened slightly over his robe.

"...Father." His voice was calm, but firm. "I belong to someone else now."

Aren did not interrupt. Levin continued quietly. "I am the consort of Zeramet Karash, and I am carrying his child."

The words settled heavily in the room.

Aren nodded once, his voice held no judgment, only understanding. "I know, but that does not change the fact that she wishes to see you."

Levin closed his eyes briefly, as if weighing something he had hoped would never return. "...There is nothing left between us."

Aren leaned forward slightly. "Perhaps, but not every bond ends simply because fate changed its path."

Levin looked up at him again.

Aren’s voice softened. "She does not wish to take you back, Levin, she only wishes to see you once... before she lets go of the past."

Silence filled the office.

The wind outside brushed against the window. Levin looked toward the snowy mountains beyond the glass.

Then he spoke quietly. "...I will meet her."

Aren watched him carefully. Levin’s eyes remained on the horizon. "But only as the heir of Veyrhold, and as the one who already belongs to another."