Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 17: Two Wills Upon the Throne

[Silthara Palace—The Imperial Court—Continuation]

The court rose—but it did not ease. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

As the nobles withdrew to their appointed places, the air remained taut, stretched thin as a bowstring drawn too far. No whispers dared to take shape yet, but thoughts sharpened behind lowered lashes and measured breaths.

The throne had changed its shape, and Zahryssar had not yet learned how to breathe before it.

Levin sat still.

The veil softened the world before him; his blue eyes remained clear and observant. He felt the weight of every gaze pressing toward him—not curiosity, not reverence, but calculation.

Beside him, Zeramet leaned back against the throne, one arm resting along the carved head of the great serpent. His posture was loose, almost bored.

It was an illusion.

"You may begin," Zeramet said.

A scribe stepped forward, bowing deeply as he unrolled a strip of brown parchment, its edges worn smooth by time and record.

"Petition from the Lower Canals, Your Radiance," the scribe announced. "Regarding the floodgates of the eastern sluice—"

"Denied," Zeramet said without looking. "They open only when the river recedes."

A murmur rippled through the court—quiet, swiftly checked. The scribe swallowed, adjusted his grip on the parchment, and continued.

"Report from House Karzeth," he said carefully. "They claim... unusual beast activity beyond the southern reaches of Zahryssar."

Zeramet’s gaze lifted at last. Levin’s fingers tightened faintly beneath his cloak as he furrowed.

"A beast?" Zeramet asked, voice calm but edged.

"Yes, Your Radiance," the scribe replied. "Witnesses describe it as a Sirrash of the Scorching Dunes—a heat-born predator believed extinct."

A stir passed through the nobles.

"Sirras?" Levin asked.

Zeramet turned his gaze toward him briefly before answering the court.

"They are beasts that emerge only at the height of deep summer," he said, his tone measured and ancient with certainty. "They surface when the sands burn white-hot beneath the sun—and vanish when the season breaks."

A pause.

"And they hunt only serpents."

A murmur threatened to rise, then died under the weight of his presence.

Levin tilted his head slightly. "If they emerge only in deep summer, then how come they have appeared now? The heat has not yet reached such extremes," he said calmly. "The sands are warm, not burning. A beast like the Sirrash should not have awakened."

Zeramet nodded in agreement. The scribe swallowed before answering. "We do not yet know, Malika. But the pattern... suggests interference. It may be the work of the Black Serpents."

Zeramet shook his head once—slow, deliberate, "No, it cannot be."

Levin turned toward him. "Why not?"

Naburash, who stood near the emperor, answered instead, lowering his voice as he spoke to the Malika of Zahryssar.

"The Sirrash are drawn to serpent pheromone, Malika. They follow scale and scent alike. Their venom burns through silver-blooded flesh." He hesitated, then added, "No other beast behaves so... selectively; for them all the serpents are the same."

Levin absorbed this in silence.

Zeramet tapped his fingers on the armrest, his decision already formed. "House Karzeth will investigate the sightings. They will track the Sirrash, uncover the cause of their emergence, and report every detail directly to the throne."

His gaze hardened.

"They will omit nothing."

The scribe bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Radiance."

The parchment was rolled, the matter sealed—but the unease did not lift. It lingered in the Imperial Court like heat trapped beneath sand, unseen yet oppressive. Because if the Sirrash had risen without summer’s command, then something far older than weather had been disturbed.

***

[Later—Along the Inner Walks toward Silthara Palace]

The corridors of Silthara stretched long and quiet, their walls carved with serpents mid-coil, their stone eyes catching torchlight as Levin and Zeramat walked side by side.

Behind them followed Iru, Naburash, and a silent line of attendants—far enough to grant privacy, close enough to respond at a breath.

"Do you believe," Levin asked thoughtfully, "that a Sirrash can be awakened without the season calling it forth?"

Zeramet’s stride did not slow. His gaze remained forward, golden eyes reflecting the torchlight like buried suns.

"Not without provocation," he answered.

Levin turned slightly. "Provocation?"

Zeramet inclined his head and moved closer, lowering his voice—not from secrecy, but from a habit born of rule.

"The Sirrash are short-lived beasts," he said. "They are born of heat and die by it. Their lives burn fast—rarely longer than a single turning of the sun cycle. They emerge only when the deserts become unbearable even to stone."

Levin listened intently.

"They dwell deep within the great deserts," Zeramet continued, "where no river reaches and no serpent remains long. That is why serpent-kind is forbidden from crossing the inner dunes unless traveling to foreign lands. To do so is to announce oneself as prey."

Levin’s brow furrowed. "Because they hunt serpents alone."

"Yes," Zeramet said. "They ignore man and beast alike. They are drawn only to scale, to pheromone, to the resonance of serpent blood. To them, our kind is sustenance."

Levin absorbed this, his steps slowing just a fraction.

"If their lifespan is so brief," he murmured, "and the heat is not yet sufficient... then their appearance now means—"

Zeramet finished his words, "Someone has interfered, or...they are searching for something."

Zeramet paused, and the attendants halted instantly behind them.

Slowly, Zeramet turned toward Levin. For a moment, the emperor did not look like a ruler addressing a consort but like a predator sensing a shift in the world.

"That thought is the more dangerous one, consort."

Levin met his gaze without flinching. "Because beasts do not break their nature without reason."

Zeramet’s lips curved—not in a smile, but in grim acknowledgment.

"Precisely," he said. "If the Sirrash have risen early, then either someone has lured them with serpent scent... or something carrying such a scent has drawn their hunger."

His eyes flicked briefly—instinctively—to Levin’s veiled form.

Just for a heartbeat.

Levin noticed.

Zeramet’s fingers curled slowly around Levin’s wrist, firm but grounding. "Do not worry, Consort. I will ensure that no Sirrash wanders anywhere near you."

Levin glanced at him beneath the veil. "I am human," he replied quietly. "I do not think such a beast would attack me."

A faint smirk curved Zeramet’s lips as he asked, "Then, are you concerned for me?"

Levin stilled.

His gaze shifted away, lashes lowering as he answered, "I do not wish for your harm, Your Radiance."

Behind them, Iru and a few attendants exchanged soft, knowing smiles. Naburash alone remained rigid, expression carved from discipline and restraint.

Zeramet leaned closer still, his voice lowering into something intimate yet absolute. "No Sirrash will ever cross the borders of Zahryssar, consort. They will be hunted down long before they draw near the empire."

Levin felt warmth rise beneath the veil at the closeness, at the certainty in Zeramet’s tone. Then, after a breath’s hesitation, he asked, "May I... join the hunt if the Sirrash are found?"

The air shattered.

Several attendants gasped outright. Others stiffened as though struck. Levin turned slightly, puzzled by the reaction. "Is something wrong?"

Naburash stepped forward at once, head bowed deeply, eyes fixed upon the stone floor as he said carefully, "I apologize for the intrusion, Malika Levin. But no Malika of Zahryssar has ever crossed the empire’s borders to hunt. The Malika may draw a blade only within the lands of the empire."

Silence followed. Levin’s gaze lowered. Disappointment settled quietly in his chest—not sharp, but heavy.

"I understand," he said after a moment. "I will not break the laws of Zahryssar."

Zeramet looked at Levin’s down expression. His fingers reached out, lifting Levin’s chin—gentle, deliberate—forcing his gaze upward.

"Do you wish to go on the hunt?" Zeramet asked softly.

Levin’s blue eyes met Zeramet’s golden ones, steady despite the weight of the moment. "I do. But I do not wish to break the laws of your empire."

A faint smile touched Zeramet’s lips.

"Our Empire, Consort. And you misunderstand," he said calmly. "You are not breaking them; you’re rearranging them."

Naburash stepped forward urgently. "Malik—"

Zeramet did not even look at him. His attention never left Levin as he continued, voice deep, carrying the quiet authority of stone and crown.

"You are a ruler now too, Consort," he said. "Your word is law. And if a law binds you in discomfort or denies your will, then you possess every right to unbind it."

The corridor seemed to narrow, the air growing thick.

"And I," Zeramet added, his voice leaving no room for doubt, "as your husband and as Emperor of Zahryssar, grant you that right."

Warmth bloomed around Levin—unexpected, overwhelming. Authority is offered not as a test, but as trust. Behind them, Naburash felt the weight of it like a hand closing around his throat.

Levin drew a slow breath, then smiled faintly beneath the veil. "Thank you for granting me such authority, Your Radiance."

Zeramet’s arm slid around Levin’s waist, firm and unmistakably possessive—not to restrain, but to anchor. His thumb pressed lightly, a silent promise of presence.

"Then it is decided," Zeramet said, his tone easy once more, though the court still felt the echo of his command. "Come. I am told the cub you found has no mother."

Together, they turned from the court and walked toward Silthara Palace.

And Zahryssar adjusted—slowly, unwillingly—to the truth. The throne was now ruled with two wills.