Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 40: The Malika’s Ten-Night Trial Begins

[Silthara Palace—Hall of Scrolls—Moments Later]

The echo of the bronze doors still vibrated through Levin’s bones as he walked with Naburash through the long, shadowed corridor. The air was colder here, quieter—the place where imperial archivists stored centuries of Zahryssar’s laws.

Their footsteps alone dared disturb the silence.

Naburash walked a half-step behind him—respectfully, yet still tense, as if he feared the emperor’s wrath might follow them like a shadow.

"Malika..." Naburash finally spoke, voice steady but cautious, "Before we begin—are you truly prepared for this trial?"

Levin glanced sideways, the veil fluttering in the faint breeze of the courtyard.

"...Yes."

But his voice held a tremor—not of fear... but of determination binding itself into steel.

Naburash bowed his head in acknowledgment.

"Then forgive me for speaking plainly. These ten nights will be harsh. The duties of the Malika are not ornamental—they are political, spiritual, judicial... and ancient. You will be expected to command wisdom that takes decades to learn."

Levin inhaled slowly.

"I know."

"And Malik Zeramet has ordered that you learn these within ten nights," Naburash said with heavy gravity. "It is... unprecedented and dangerous. If you fail—"

Levin paused; the corridor stilled around them.

"If I fail?" His voice was quiet, calm—yet something cold rippled beneath it.

Naburash stopped walking.

He lowered his head.

"If you fail, Malika... the nobles will seize this weakness. High Ensi Rakhane will not be the only one to question you." He swallowed. "Whispers will grow. Doubt will spread. And the faith of the empire in its Malika may collapse."

Levin’s fingers tightened around the hems of his robe.

"And the Malik?" Levin asked.

Naburash hesitated. "...Malik Zeramet would defend you. He would burn the halls of the Council if needed, but even the emperor’s wrath cannot silence an empire’s disappointment."

A faint chill ran across Levin’s spine; he turned forward again, ’Then... I have no choice but to rise, but... why does it hurt?’

His fingers curled around his robe.

’Until now... I thought this place could be my home, but... did I assume wrongly? Did I forget... Am I only a bride of peace? A symbol? Not truly... his equal?’

The night sky stretched above the courtyard—vast, jeweled with stars, glimmering like the eyes of silent gods. Levin paused beneath it, his veil catching the cool breeze.

He exhaled softly, resigned.

"...Then we shall begin," he said quietly. "Right now."

Naburash bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Malika... but I must request you rest for tonight."

Levin blinked, surprised. "...Rest?"

Naburash lifted his gaze only slightly—enough to reveal concern.

"And... to calm the Malik’s anger," he added gently. "He must be waiting for you in your chambers."

Levin’s breath hitched—unseen beneath the veil.

’He’s right... Zeramet must be waiting. I should go to him... He must be angry, worried... perhaps even ashamed of his fury in the hall.’

Levin nodded, "Very well... I shall leave for the night."

Naburash bowed lower, "May Lord Urzan bless and soften your night, Malika."

Levin turned and walked away—toward the Emperor’s chambers. Each step was heavier than it should have been, each breath slightly unsteady.

He opened the doors and stopped.

The chamber was empty.

No tall silhouette waiting in the shadows. No golden eyes watching the doorway. No strong arms folded in impatience.

Only silence.

And on Zeramet’s side of the bed... curled like abandoned guardians...Asha and Lyserph slept together—huddled where the emperor usually rested.

Levin’s heart squeezed.

"His Radiance...?" he whispered to no one.

A soft shuffle sounded behind him.

Iru bowed, and Levin steadied his voice. "...Where is His Radiance?"

Iru hesitated—shoulders stiffening, "T-that... Consort... Malik has retired to the guest chamber for the night."

Something inside Levin shifted.

A thread pulled taut, not visible. Not loud.

But deep enough that his lower abdomen ached faintly—a tug from the newly formed threshold within him. A small shock of sensation only an Alpha-turned-bearer would feel when emotionally wounded.

"...I see," Levin whispered.

No anger, no tears. Just a quiet, hollow note.

"You may go."

Iru bowed and retreated, closing the door behind him.

Click.

The chamber felt enormous now—too wide, too cold, too empty. Levin walked to his side of the bed and sat down slowly, robes whispering against the sheets.

He removed his veil—fingers trembling only slightly—and placed it beside him with careful hands.

His voice slipped out in a whisper so soft it barely touched the air, "...I suppose... I truly forgot my place."

The words tasted bitter.

Not loud.Not dramatic.

Just the quiet confession of a man who suddenly felt very small in a golden palace too large for his fragile heart.

He slid beneath the blankets—alone—and pulled them up to his chin. The scent of black lotus still lingered faintly on the pillows.

A scent that had comforted him last night, a scent that clung to his skin even now.

He closed his eyes, but his chest... ached. Not from the threshold, but from something that is deeply rooted in his heart.

***

[The Next day—Silthara Palace—Guest Chamber]

Incense curled through the dim chamber—thick, heavy, and laced with black lotus. Zeramet sat on the stone-soft couch, back leaning against the carved ridge, his long legs stretched, his pipe resting between two fingers.

He inhaled sharply—

Huff...

Smoke unfurled like a serpent from his lips. His jaw clenched, his golden eyes narrowed with murderous heat.

Because all night... All damn night... He remembered it.

Rakhane’s gaze was bold, hungry, and lustful on his consort.

His pheromone surged with fury—heavy, suffocating, pouring through the room like a black tide. Even the flames in the lanterns bent away from him.

THUMP—THUMP.

A firm knock.

Zeramet did not turn his head; he only exhaled another coil of smoke, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble:

"Enter..." 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

The door cracked open.

Naburash stepped inside—and froze at the threshold, his breath hitched and his spine locked straight.

’Dear Lord...’ he thought tremulously. ’Why... why is the Malik radiating such killing intent?’

Zeramet’s gaze shifted—slowly—toward him; the room felt ten degrees colder.

"Speak," Zeramet said.

Not a request, not permission. A command that trembled with the promise of violence. Naburash bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the floor.

"M-Malik... we have begun the Malika’s authority lessons this morning—"

Zeramet raised a brow.

"Is that why you disturb my peace?" he asked, voice dangerously calm. "To report the order I already gave?"

Naburash’s lungs tightened, and he swallowed hard, "N-no, Malik. I came with... a-request..."

"Then state it," Zeramet cut sharply. "Or leave my sight."

Naburash straightened slightly, trembling, "I wished only to humbly request that we... extend the training days to at least thirty nights, Malik. If the Malika learns too quickly, the strain may—"

Zeramet’s expression shifted.

Slowly.

Lethally.

"You dare," he murmured, leaning forward ever so slightly, "to tell me... what my wife can or cannot endure?"

Naburash stiffened. "M-Malik, I only meant—"

"And you dare say this," Zeramet continued, voice dropping into the ancient cadence, "...after my consort himself agreed to the High Ensi and chose to bear the responsibilities of Malika?"

"I—I only feared for his heal—"

"You feared?" Zeramet’s laugh cut like cold iron. "Do not pretend to know what my consort requires."

His golden eyes burned—bright, molten, terrifying.

"He desires to rise," the emperor continued. "He desires to stand beside me...and obey another man’s words."

He tapped his pipe once, a dark smirk pulling at his lips.

"I merely granted what my consort wished."

Naburash opened his mouth—hesitating—"B-but Malik... the threshold, the strain, the mental pressure—this may deteriorate Malika’s heal—"

Zeramet slammed his palm against the stone armrest.

BOOM.

Naburash stumbled backward.

"GET OUT," Zeramet roared, voice like a sandstorm tearing dunes apart. "BEFORE I CHOP YOUR HEAD FROM YOUR BODY, NABURASH!"

Naburash fell into a bow, shaking violently, "I—I apologize, Malik. Forgive my insolence!"

Zeramet leaned back—pipe between his fingers again—exhaling smoke slowly as if the very act soothed his rage. The emperor’s voice lowered into a calm so cold it was more frightening than his shout.

"This is my final decree." He flicked his gaze to Naburash, sharp as a blade. "After ten nights... the Malika will appear before the empire."

Another curl of smoke drifted upward.

"And he will appear flawlessly."

Naburash bowed—shaken but obedient, "Yes, Malik. I shall ensure it."

Zeramet turned his head away, dismissing him without another word. Naburash hurried out, the door closing behind him with a soft thud.

The chamber fell silent again.

Zeramet lifted his pipe, inhaling the thick lotus smoke; his jaw tightened, and his voice dropped—soft, quiet, unreadable:

"...Why did he agree to another Alpha serpent’s words?"

The question slipped from him like a wound he hadn’t meant to reveal. A soft exhale—more sigh than breath—escaped him.

He leaned back against the couch, head tipping to the side, gaze turning distant.

"...Why did my heart listen to him... and not to me?" The bitterness in his tone was not for Levin.

It was for himself, another long breath—Huff...He closed his eyes briefly, the smoke wrapping him like a veil of shadow.

"...I must calm myself," he murmured. "I cannot meet him with this storm within me."

Yet the storm raged quietly behind his ribs, refusing to settle, because jealousy was the one poison the Serpent Emperor could not swallow gracefully.

He took another drag from the pipe—long, slow—letting the smoke pool in his chest before releasing it in a heavy sigh.

"...My consort... why do you wound me so deeply, without even knowing?"

And as the final trail of black-lotus smoke coiled toward the ceiling, the emperor—tyrant of Zahryssar, conqueror of six kingdoms—sat alone in the dim chamber...haunted not by enemies or gods, but by the gentle voice of a consort who agreed to another man’s request.

The lantern flickered once, and a king steeped in longing, anger, and an ache he refused to name.