Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 12: The Price of Touching the Consort

[Silthara Palace—Garden Court—Continuation]

"A...Poison?" Levin thought deeply with his eyes widened. ’Is this...how all the other consorts...’

Levin looked at the smashed table. ’the timing was precise, a night after the marriage...just like all those other consorts.’

Silence did not last after this.

It never did after a command like that.

Footsteps thundered through the colonnades as attendants poured into the garden from every archway—men and women in palace colors, heads bowed deep, hands trembling as they dropped to both knees upon the stone. The air still carried the scent of crushed dates and lilies, sweetness soured by fear.

But that wasn’t what was dangerous—not dates, not lilies; it was Zeramet’s Pheromone, as he stood at the center of it all.

Tall. Still. Terrible and a scent bloomed—slow, inevitable.

Dark lotus.

Not the gentle trace that clung to silks at night, but the full weight of it: thick, resinous, ancient. It poured from the Emperor like smoke from a sealed tomb, spreading through the garden in heavy waves.

The air has turned to tar, because the black-lotus pheromone did not seduce; it dominated with fear.

"None of you will rise," he said coldly, "until I decide who is permitted to breathe freely again."

Levin remained where he was, at the Emperor’s side.

Where others choked, the scent softened around Levin—warm, grounding, familiar. The suffocating pressure curved away from him, instinctively yielding, as if the pheromone itself recognized what belonged at the Emperor’s side.

Zeramet’s hand stayed firm on his shoulder—like a shield against the world. The shattered bowl lay against the far wall, its contents scattered like evidence waiting to be judged.

Zeramet’s gaze swept over the kneeling attendants. "Who prepared the tray?"

No one answered, as the silence stretched—thin as glass, the pheromone thickened.

"I asked," Zeramet said, his voice quiet now, far more dangerous than his shout had been, "who prepared the tray meant for my Consort."

A woman near the front pressed her forehead harder to the stone. "I—I carried it, Your Radiance. But I did not prepare it."

"Names," Zeramet said. "Not excuses."

She swallowed. "The fruits passed through three hands, Your Radiance. From the kitchens... to the store... then to the garden."

Zeramet turned his head slightly. "Summon them, every single one of them who prepared the tray."

At once, guards moved.

Levin’s heart hammered painfully as more figures were dragged into the garden—pale-faced servants, shaking hands, and eyes wide with terror.

Zeramet did not look at them. Instead, he lowered his head just enough to speak to Levin alone.

"Did you touch any one of them from the tray?" he asked quietly.

Levin glanced at him, saying, "No. Iru offered the dates, but... I hadn’t eaten yet."

Zeramet exhaled once—slow, controlled, "Good."

He turned back to the kneeling crowd, "Bring the tester." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

A palace alchemist was approached immediately, robes marked with sigils of knowledge and restraint. He knelt beside the scattered dates, produced a thin blade, and scraped a fragment into a shallow dish. Powder touched liquid.

The reaction was immediate. The liquid darkened—then curdled into a thick, black swirl. A murmur rippled through the garden.

The alchemist did not look up. "Black venom, Your Radiance."

Footsteps hurried across stone.

Naburash broke through the ring of guards and dropped to his knees before the Emperor, the black-lotus pressure crashing down upon him like chains. His breath stuttered. Sweat broke across his brow as he pressed his forehead to the ground.

"Y-Your Radiance," he gasped. "All attendants who touched the dessert have been seized. The kitchens are sealed. The storehouses are locked."

Zeramet did not look at him.

He held levin’s hand—firm, possessive—anchoring him as the lotus scent thickened once more. Around them, bodies trembled; some attendants retched, others sagged where they knelt, lungs burning for air.

"Execute every one of them," Zeramet’s words fell like a stone dropped into deep water.

"Every hand that prepared the dessert meant for my Consort," he continued, voice steady and inexorable. "Let their names be struck from the tablets. Let their houses learn the cost of touching what is mine."

Naburash flinched as if struck, then bowed lower still. "As Your Radiance decrees."

Zeramat’s gaze finally shifted to him—golden, merciless.

"From this hour onward, no food reaches my Consort without passing the Emperor’s table. It will be tasted by the chief cook. It will be tested by the alchemist. And it will be sealed until my mark is set upon it."

He paused.

"Fail me once, and you will envy the dead."

Naburash’s voice shook. "Your will is law, Malik."

"Dismiss and find out how a black venom reached my consort," Zeramet uttered.

The word released the garden.

Guards surged forward at once, dragging the condemned away. The remaining attendants scattered in silence, terror etched into every bowed back. The black-lotus pressure receded only when the last of them vanished beyond the arches.

Only then did Zeramet move.

He did not release Levin’s hand as he turned away, nor did he look back. He simply walked—long strides, unhurried, inevitable—drawing Levin with him through the colonnades and into the heart of Silthara.

***

[Later—Emperor’s Chamber]

The chamber was quiet.

Too quiet.

Lanterns burned low, casting amber light across stone and silk. Levin sat upon the couch near the inner wall, hands folded in his lap, watching Zeramet pace once—twice—before stopping at the far end of the room.

The Emperor’s anger had not yet cooled. It lingered in the air like a held blade.

Levin hesitated, then spoke softly. "Should I... bring you water, Zer?"

Zeramet turned.

He looked at Levin for a long moment. Then Zeramet crossed the room in three strides and knelt before him. Large hands rose to cup Levin’s face. His thumbs brushed gently along Levin’s cheeks, as though checking something unseen.

"Warm," Zeramet murmured, almost to himself. "Very warm."

His gaze held Levin’s, intense but no longer sharp.

"When you are near me, remain warm, Consort. I do not permit my Consort to turn cold and still," he said quietly.

Levin did not move. He did not look away as he thought, ’I wonder how many cold bodies he has seen.’

After a breath, he asked the question that had been pressing against his ribs since the garden, "Did every consort die... from the poison?"

Zeramet stilled. For a moment, the Emperor of Zahryssar looked very old.

"Yes," he said at last.

Levin furrowed in confusion. "But... how can a poison kill one born of serpents in the land of serpents?"

Zeramet sat beside him and leaned back slightly, hands resting against his shoulders as he chose his words and said, "Every people has its shadow. Among humans, there are beasts in human flesh who prey upon their own kind. Among serpents, there are the same."

His eyes darkened.

"For us, they are called the Black Serpents. They carry the venomous poison that even kills their own beings."

Levin whispered, "The Black Serpents ..."

Memory stirred for Levin—as he recalled encountering a black beast on his way to Zahryssar.

"That means... the black serpent I saw on the road to Zahryssar—"

Zeramet’s voice cut through the thought, calm and certain, "The same one you encountered on the way to Zahryssar, consort."

Levin stared at him. "How did you—?"

Then another memory surfaced. Silver scales. Golden eyes. A presence that had watched without fear.

"So the silver serpent ..."

Zeramet smiled faintly, looking at him with warmness. "That was me; I wished to see the bride sent to me with my own eyes. And I knew the Black Serpent would come for you. I have to guard what was already mine; that’s my duty as your husband."

Levin just stared, and Zeramet drew Levin close, pulling him into his arms with quiet authority. Levin yielded without resistance, settling against Zeramat’s chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding and warm.

Zeramet wrapped one arm around him fully, palm resting against Levin’s back.

"As long as I draw breath," he said lowly, reverently, "no venom will touch you. No beast will claim you. No shadow will take you."

His chin rested lightly atop Levin’s head.

"I swear this by Urzan," Zeramet continued, voice deep as carved stone, "by my crown, by my blood, and by the empire itself, you will be safe; I am not letting anything happen to you."

Levin closed his eyes, fingers curling into Zeramet’s robe. For the first time since the poison was revealed, the tension loosened its grip on his chest.

He was not alone.

He was held.

And the tyrant of Zahryssar—feared around the continent and by serpents alike—had chosen to be his shield.