[Silthara Palace—The Court Hall—Continuation]
The court did not speak; it absorbed. The evidence had been laid bare, not argued or pleaded, but presented.
And with it, Levin had done sothing far more dangerous than proving guilt; he had defined power.
Not as sothing negotiated, not as sothing questioned, but as sothing that simply was. The nobles stood still because now they understood. Malika did not misuse authority; he did not act without reason.
And yet no one within that chamber... No one within the empire stood above him. No one—except Zerat. At the center Nabuarsh trembled, but this ti not in defiance, not in pain, but as sothing else.
His head lowered as though the weight he carried had finally found its place. A whisper broke, soft, and disbelieving.
Arkhazunn stared at him as his voice barely held, "...Why isn’t he speaking?...Why does he not deny it...?"
His gaze fixed, unblinking on the man he had once trusted beyond reason.
"...why does he lower his eyes...as though he truly is..." After a pause, the realization ca slowly and then all at once. He stopped because the word refused to leave him.
"...a traitor."
It ca anyway, quiet, broken, and final. Arkhazunn’s breath faltered. "...he... really did this..."
Beside him, Zayr Ashkarin stepped closer, his voice low with concern. "Brother... stay calm."
But Arkhazunn did not move, because calm had already left him. From another corner, Captain Varesh watched, and his jaw tightened, his fist clenched.
"...he is breaking," he murmured, not about Nabuarsh. About Arkhazunn.
The silence stretched until it snapped. An elder Qadish stepped forward once more. This ti his voice was less certain and less steady as he bowed deeply and began, "Malik... I request you to re-think the decision made by Malika and make... a proper investigation—"
"Are you questioning...the decision of the Mother of the Empire, Elder Qadish?" Zerat’s voice did not rise. It cut.
The chamber froze. Zerat’s gaze rested upon the elder—heavy and unforgiving. The elder flinched visibly this ti.
"No—no, Malik—this old serpent would never dare—"
"And yet...you did." Zerat leaned forward slightly; the words fell slow, asured, and unavoidable as his voice lowered darker. "You questioned my consort’s authority; you doubted the evidence he presented. Do you understand what that becos?"
Silence was crushing.
"Treason. And you know committing treason against the empire...what punishnt you get, right, Elder Qadish?
The word struck not loudly but absolutely. The elder dropped fully.
His forehead hit the stone as his voice began to break, "I beg forgiveness, Malik—please—I would never—never again—I will not question—I will not speak—please... spare my bloodline—"
Zerat watched him, long and unmoved, then took a slow breath as his words ca without softness and without rcy as the elder trembled in fear.
"I do not forgive you but..." A pause. Just enough to hold hope and break it slowly. "This will be your last warning."
Then Zerat leaned back. "And the punishnt that awaits Nabuarsh...will be decided by my consort. Whether he lives...or dies...it will be his will."
The court bowed. All of them, deeper than before because now it was not fear of the throne. It was fear of him.
Levin remained still for a mont longer, and then he rose. The movent alone tightened the entire chamber as his voice ca quiet, but it allowed no delay. "Take him...his punishnt is not yet complete."
Raevahn bowed imdiately. "At once, Malika."
The Red Knights moved, chains shifted, and Nabuarsh was dragged once more, not resisting, not speaking—only following the weight of what had already ended.
Levin stepped down from the dais; he did not look at the court, he did not acknowledge it, and he did not look at Zerat.
And that was louder than anything spoken. The nobles lowered their heads as he passed, not out of respect.
Out of fear.
Because now they knew Malika did not need the throne to command. He carried it with him.
The doors opened as he left, and no one, not a single serpent, dared to lift their gaze, and silence returned, but it was no longer the sa.
On the throne Zerat remained still. Watching the place where Levin had stood, where he had passed, and where he had not looked back.
Sothing in his gaze shifted, not anger, not pride, but sothing quieter and more dangerous.
"Why do you feel so distant?" he murmured softly, almost to himself. His fingers tightened slightly against the armrest. "...when you stand so close to , consort?"
His gaze lowered, just slightly. "Is it grief...or have I done sothing...to push you away?"
The court did not hear him, but the silence did, and sowhere within it, a distance had ford, not of space but of sothing far more difficult to cross.
***
[Outside the Court — Later]
The court doors closed behind him But the weight did not. Levin stepped into the corridor without pause, the echo of judgnt still clinging to the air like a shadow unwilling to fade.
And outside the huge door stood Lady Arinaya as if she had asured the mont precisely about Malika’s arrival. She bowed imdiately. "Malika."
Levin’s gaze passed over her with no warmth and no delay, only purpose,"What are you doing here?"
She fell into step behind him beside her moved Raevahn, silent, attentive as Arinaya said carefully and sothing in her voice tightened as she begum, "Malika we attempted to send serpents toward the Black Serpent territories...none returned."
Levin slowed, not stopping but enough. "How many serpents did we sent?"
"Four Alphas." Lady Arinaya replied.
Silence followed, heavy and asured. Levin exhaled softly as he ruffled his hand muttering, "I see. So in short we failed."
Arinaya nodded saying, "Yes, Malika."
Then his hand rose resting unconsciously over his abdon as he said with determination. "Then we will find another path, If they guard their shadows so fiercely... then we will hunt the darkness itself. Their king will not remain hidden forever."
Arinaya hesitated, then spoke again. "Malika... forgive , but you are still carrying an egg. You should rest. The strain—"
"I cannot." The words cut clean Imdiate and final.
Levin’s hand pressed slightly against himself, his voice lowering—not weaker, but sharper with sothing that refused to yield. "I have already lost one. I will not lose another."
For the first ti his control thinned just slightly and continued. "What if they strike again? What if we remain cautious... and still fail?"
His gaze darkened and his voice dropped further. "They always find a way, they always reach , and I will not stand still... and wait for them to take another piece of . I am not letting this one go."
Silence answered him, until another voice entered.
"I will not let that happen again, consort." Zerat voice ca from behind.
Levin stilled but he did not turn. Arinaya and Raevahn bowed deeply. "Malik."
Zerat stepped forward closing the distance between them and placing his arm around Levin’s shoulder, not forcefully but with certainty as he said quietly, "Consort this ti...we will protect our child and we will not let anything happen."
Levin did not respond, not imdiately but his silence was heavier than refusal. Then without looking at him he said, "You may leave."
Arinaya and Raevahn exchanged a glance then bowed and withdrew leaving them alone. The corridor stretched, empty and too quiet. Levin turned and walked away but Zerat caught his hand firm.
"Consort—"
Levin stopped but did not face him. Zerat moved in front of him, lifting his hand gently over his thumb brushing across Levin’s cheek, soft and careful as he said, "I know what we lost cannot be returned but I promise—"
"I apologize, Malik." The word struck sharper than interruption. Levin pulled his gaze to him cold and controlled as he said. "Do not promise what you cannot keep."
Zerat froze not at the words at the distance and at the formal title.
’Malik.’
Zerat stared at him with dis-beleif and was about to say sothing. "Consort, I—"
"You have promised enough." Levin’s voice did not rise. It didn’t need to. "And you have never stood within those promises. So this ti..."
His gaze hardened.
"...I will trust only myself."
Zerat searched his face, sothing unsettled and sothing he could not na. "You speak as if I have not stood beside you."
Levin’s eyes t his brief and cutting. "You did but never when it mattered."
The silence that followed was not empty. It was breaking and Levin continued quietly. "Every ti, it was who stood alone."
His breath steadied and controlled. "And you only...stood behind ."
Zerat frowned. "What do you an? Standing behind you and seeing you grow strong is all I want consort."
Levin looked at him fully this ti but said nothing because so truths once spoken but do not return. He looked away and steped away saying, "I apologise but I am tired. I will return back to my chamber."
But Zerat did not release him his grip tightened slightly and his voice lowered as he said, "No, you have to say it clearly consort. As your husband... I did what I believed was right. I stood behind you to strengthen your authority. To let the empire see you as power. Is there is sothing wrong I did?"
Levin’s gaze flickered with sothing sharp and sothing wounded. "I never wanted that."
Zerat stilled.
"I never wanted you behind ," Levin continued, soft but devastating. "I wanted you beside ."
And that landed deep. Zerat’s hand loosened just slightly and Levin stepped back, and the distance was drawn as he continued, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "If I cannot find safety here...then I will return to Thalryn, and co back only after my child is born."
Zerat’s eyes widened. "What are you saying? You are not well enough to travel. The egg. You need my pheromones consort. You’re already weak since you’re carying sothing against the nature—"
"I will find a way." Levin cut in. "I will speak with Physician Naram, I am sure he will find a way where It will help survive without your pheromones."
That broke sothing. Zerat stared at him, not as Malik, not as ruler but as a man watching sothing slip beyond reach.
Levin stepped past him and this ti Zerat did not stop him and Levin walked down the corridor without turning, without pausing, without looking back. And for the first ti—Zerat did not follow, because sothing had changed.
Not in distance but in belonging.
And the space between them was no longer asured in steps. It was asured—in everything left unsaid.
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