Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 38: The High Ensi’s Audacity

[House of High Ensi Rakhane Karzath—Same Night]

The moon had barely climbed to her full height when the lamps of the High Ensi’s residence still burned fiercely—casting long gold shadows across walls carved with ancient scriptures and coiled serpent motifs.

High Ensi Rakhane Karzath sat upon his low stone seat, surrounded by scrolls and sealed parchments. The soft crackle of incense filled the room, but his mind was sharp as a serpent’s fang.

He unfurled another parchment—his eyes narrowing.

"The bridge connecting Silthara Palace and the Arakane Sands..." His brows furrowed, voice deep and resonant, "...is collapsing?"

His assistant, a young serpent in blue ceremonial cloth—Sareth-Min—bowed low, hands pressed together in respect.

"Yes, High Ensi. The stone base has cracked from the desert floods. Serpentians now cross through the shallow river routes to reach the capital. But this cannot continue for long. Many have already slipped... and the currents rise with each moon."

Rakhane’s expression darkened. "Then why have we not sent an official repair request to the Imperial Palace?"

Sareth-Min hesitated... then spoke carefully:

"Because... this bridge falls under the authority of the Malika, sire, and since Malika Levin is newly ascended... the elders fear he may not yet hold the authority—or the wisdom—to manage such matters."

Silence.

Heavy.

Unforgiving.

Rakhane slowly leaned back against his cushioned throne, fingers tapping the carved armrest. His gold rings glittered like coiled snakes.

"...The Malika, hm?"

A low, amused hum vibrated in his chest as he recalled his face.

He rose—tall, cloaked in deep blue robes embroidered with celestial serpents—and walked toward the great arched window overlooking Silthara Palace. The moon reflected off its domes in silver brilliance.

Rakhane’s lips curved—sharp, knowing.

"A human Alpha who is beautiful beyond the rumour ..." His voice thickened with a strange blend of curiosity and appraisal. "He looked like a gentle desert dawn... yet his presence stirred golden omens the empire has not seen for ages."

Sareth-Min looked uneasy. "Sire... do you suspect he is unprepared or... something else?"

Rakhane’s eyes narrowed.

"I suspect nothing, Sareth-Min." He clasped his hands behind his back, gazing toward the imperial palace like a serpent poised to strike. "But I do want to meet the Malika."

He turned slightly, robes sweeping like a quiet wave, "Prepare the parchment."

Sareth-Min blinked. "For a written request?"

Rakhane shook his head.

"No." His voice descended—low, authoritative, laced with ancient power. "This matter is too grave to leave in ink. The bridge cannot wait. The serpentians cannot wait."

He looked once more at Silthara Palace—the light of the full moon reflected in his sharp eyes.

"We go tomorrow to seek an audience with Malika Levin—personally. Let us see," he murmured, "what strength lies behind the golden omen."

***

[Silthara Palace —Next Morning —Emperor’s Chamber]

Levin stirred beneath the silken sheets, lashes trembling as the first trace of dawn brushed the chamber.

His entire body felt heavy... tender... newly reshaped.

He blinked slowly.

A broad, warm chest filled his view—rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Zeramet’s arm was wrapped around him, firm and protective, holding him against his heart.

Levin stared for a heartbeat... then, without thinking, he pressed himself closer, burying his face into that warmth.

’...Let’s sleep a little more.’

Zeramet did not wake. His tail—half-shifted, silver scales fading into flesh—curled loosely over Levin’s leg.

The chamber smelled faintly of black lotus and moon-sand. Levin drifted back into light sleep, wrapped in the embrace of a man who guarded him through the night.

***

[Later —Bathing Chamber]

The sound of flowing water echoed gently through the marble room.

Levin’s eyes fluttered open again—this time to warmth, steam, and the soft ripple of an oasis-like pool.

He blinked—

SPLASH—FLOW—

Warm water flowed around him, and he realized... He was sitting between two powerful thighs—Zeramet’s thighs—submerged in water as if held in a throne of living heat.

Zeramet’s scarred, enormous hands rested around Levin’s abdomen—hands marked red, harsh, and raw from last night’s scratches.

Levin stiffened slightly, breath catching, before he could speak, a low, soothing voice rumbled behind him: "Are you feeling well, my consort?"

Levin craned his neck upward. Zeramet’s golden eyes met his—steady, searching, worried.

"...Yes," Levin whispered, "I... feel well; my body still aches."

Zeramet exhaled softly, relief melting across his face. His arms tightened around Levin’s waist in a gentle embrace.

A warm wave of black-lotus pheromone unfurled around them—soothing, calming, wrapping Levin in a cocoon of serene warmth.

Levin slumped against his chest, tension dissolving instantly. Zeramet dipped two fingers into a jade cup beside them, brought water to Levin’s lips, and murmured:

"Water, my heart."

Levin blinked, flustered. "I... I can drink by myself—"

Zeramet lowered his voice to a tone that held command and affection.

"Consort," he said softly, "open your mouth."

Levin hesitated. Then his eyes dropped—onto Zeramet’s forearms.

Red lines.Deep nail marks.Angry and fresh.

Then he obeyed—lips parting as Zeramet tipped the water gently into his mouth. Levin swallowed, then whispered, eyes lowered, "...I apologize for these."

Zeramet followed his gaze—looked at the scratches—and then pulled Levin closer, against his chest, with a slow, grounding strength.

His voice lowered to a deep, ancient murmur—like a king soothing a trembling spouse:

"Do not speak such words, my heart."

His fingers brushed Levin’s cheek, guiding his gaze upward.

"These marks are not wounds." His thumb traced one of the scratches. "They are the proof of your endurance... your courage... your right to cling to me when the heavens reshaped you."

Levin’s breath caught. Zeramet lowered his forehead to the back of Levin’s neck, inhaling deeply.

"This is not anger carved upon my skin..." He pressed closer, his voice softening into reverence. "...it is your strength etched upon me."

The words shivered through Levin like warm desert wind. Zeramet’s hand slid once more to Levin’s abdomen, resting over the newly formed ache there.

"And if destiny breaks you once more," he murmured into Levin’s ear, "then let it break you in my arms and nowhere else."

Levin’s cheeks warmed, his fingers drifting over the marks again.

"...Yet... I didn’t mean to hurt you," he whispered.

Zeramet chuckled softly—deep, slow, and full of a husband’s affection. "You could tear my skin with your teeth, and I would still hold you the same, consort."

Levin flushed to the tips of his ears.

Zeramet tilted his chin gently, his golden eyes softened, "You leaned on me when you needed me most. That is not harm... that is trust."

And Levin—quiet, shy, newly reshaped by pain and love both—rested fully against him.

Zeramet’s arms tightened around him. Husband and consort, bathing in warm water and soft morning light—a moment intimate, domestic, hidden from all the empire.

A moment that belonged only to them.

***

[Consort’s Dressing Chamber—Later]

Soft desert light filtered through the lattice windows. Silk robes hung neatly from golden stands. Perfumes of lotus, myrrh, and sandalwood drifted in the air.

And in the middle of the chamber... Levin stood with his arms stiffly stretched out to both sides like a very confused scarecrow.

A very handsomely dressed, noble-born, emperor’s-consort-type scarecrow...but a scarecrow nonetheless.

His mind screamed inside.

’Why... why does he need to dress me?! This feels so awkward... I look like a statue placed in the field to chase off crows—’

Zeramet tugged lightly at the string of Levin’s robe, adjusting the layer around his waist with masterly precision.

"Lift your arm, my heart," Zeramet commanded in his deep, royal voice.

Levin, dead inside: "..."

He raised his arm like someone awaiting execution. Zeramet hummed at the fabric choice—not Levin’s suffering—and shifted around him, inspecting him from every angle.

Levin’s eye twitched.

"...Iru could have helped me," he muttered under his breath.

Zeramet paused mid-adjustment.

He looked up.

Slowly.

"Are you suggesting," Zeramet said, tone dangerously soft, "that another man should touch what belongs to me?"

Levin immediately froze, "...N-no. No, that’s not what I—I was only saying—I didn’t—"

Zeramet gently took Levin’s chin between his fingers.

"Good," he murmured, voice dropping to that velvet-warm tone. "Then remain still, my consort."

Levin lowered his arms, exhaling slowly.

’I am not a statue... I just feel he keeps treating me like some sacred relic—’

But Zeramet didn’t move away. He stepped behind Levin, smoothing the fine layered fabric over his back with the slow, deliberate precision of a man polishing a priceless royal artifact.

"You are very tense, my consort," he murmured, voice warm and amused.

Levin pressed his lips together.

"...I wonder why," he muttered under his breath.

Zeramet’s lips curved—dangerously soft, dangerously entertained. Before Levin could sink further into humiliation—

KNOCK.KNOCK.

Zeramet’s expression turned instantly cold, "Enter."

The door slid open.

Iru stepped inside with stiff posture and lowered gaze. Even from afar the tension in his shoulders was visible.

He bowed deeply, "Malika... High Ensi Rakhane has requested a private audience with you."

The room froze, Levin blinked, confused. "A... private audience? With me?"

But Zeramet—Zeramet did not blink, his golden eyes sharpened—deadly, sharp enough to cut through stone.

And then—"WHAT?"

His voice cracked like thunder. Iru jolted so hard he nearly dropped to his knees. Zeramet stepped forward, aura erupting like a sandstorm summoned by wrath.

"How dare he—" Zeramet’s voice dropped, low and venomous. "—How dare Rakhane request a private audience with my consort?"

The lantern flames flickered, the air tightened.

Iru swallowed, voice trembling, "M-Malik... he... he said it is urgent... a matter of high importance... and he insisted... o-only Malika’s presence is suitable..."

Zeramet’s jaw locked, the muscle twitching in a way that spelled death for lesser men.

"A matter of importance?" he repeated, tone icy. "And for such a matter, he bypasses me, the Emperor, the throne, and the Imperial Court... and seeks my consort alone?"

Levin stepped back instinctively. The emperor’s fury grew, thickening like dark storm clouds, "Who granted him the audacity? Who permitted him to think he may stand before my consort without me?"

Iru dropped fully to his knees. "P-Please forgive! I only carry his words—it is not my—"

Zeramet’s aura snapped, a gust of black lotus pheromone pulsed across the room—heavy, suffocating, imperial. Levin staggered slightly but Zeramet caught him instantly, one hand firm at his waist.

Zeramet’s voice dipped into that ancient Mesopotamian cadence—cold, sovereign, and dripping with threat.

"Rakhane Karzath..." he hissed, "...thinks himself bold enough to summon what is mine."

Iru stammered, "M-Malik... he... he said he dared not disturb Your Radiance. He wishes only to report the matter directly to Malika because it falls under his domain."

Zeramet froze.

Slowly, he turned to Levin, "Under your domain?"

Levin blinked, confused, "My... domain?"

Iru, still trembling on the floor, nodded. "Y-Yes... Malik. The issue he wants to discuss... is under Malika’s authority."

A moment of tense silence.

Levin furrowed softly, "...Then perhaps I should hear him?"

Zeramet’s eyes snapped to him, molten and fierce.

"No."

Levin blinked. Zeramet stepped closer, towering, voice dropping to a quiet threat, "No man—no priest, no High Ensi, no noble—shall request a private meeting with you alone."

Levin’s breath hitched.

Zeramet turned back to Iru, voice now a command carved from obsidian: "Prepare the audience hall. High Ensi Rakhane will be received—by both of us. He will have his ’urgent matter’ addressed under my shadow, not in private."

Iru bowed, knocking his forehead to the floor, "Y-Yes, Malik! At once!"

He scrambled out and the doors closed.

Silence.

Zeramet exhaled slowly a measured breath, a king restraining a storm.

He leaned closer to Levin until their foreheads nearly brushed. His voice—soft, velvet-dark—still trembled with the echo of his barely-contained fury.

"My consort..." His fingers caressed Levin’s jawline with dangerous tenderness. A lover’s touch in a tyrant’s grip.

"No man shall attempt such boldness again and if anyone dares...you have my permission to separate his head from his body."

The words were spoken calmly.

Almost gently.

As if offering Levin a cup of tea rather than the right to execute men.

Levin blinked, startled, "...I don’t think such a situation will occur again. Perhaps the High Ensi truly has a matter he needs to discuss."

Zeramet’s golden eyes softened—but only slightly. Only for him. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

"My heart..." His hand moved from Levin’s jaw to the back of his neck, warm and protective. "No matter the matter, no man may request an audience with you without passing through me first."

His voice dipped lower, laced with ancient suspicion, "...and I do not trust Rakhane."

Levin inhaled softly.

Zeramet’s gaze darkened.

"That man... the way he looked at you everytime he visited—with awe he was not permitted to feel—I saw it."

Levin felt a cold understanding settle in his spine, ’He’s not wrong. Every time I’ve seen the High Ensi... he did stare at me... in a forbidden way.’

Zeramet lifted his chin, voice sharpened to a royal blade.

"Come, my moonflower." His hand slid to Levin’s back, guiding him forward. "Let us hear why High Ensi Rakhane dared such insolence—and let us make certain he remembers never to repeat it."

Levin nodded slowly.

The emperor’s aura rose behind him like a living shadow—dark, sovereign, possessive. Together, they walked toward the audience chamber, one step at a time, their silhouettes cast long upon the sandstone floor—

A Malik radiating controlled fury.

A Malika stepping into his own authority.

And a man—High Ensi Rakhane—who was about to regret daring to desire a private momentwith the consort of the Serpent Emperor.