Serpent Emperor's Bride Chapter 206: The Throne Waiting for a Corpse

[Silthara Palace — Malika’s Private Residence — Continuation]

Silence answered Levin’s question; not a single serpent dared speak afterward because no one inside the corridor possessed an answer powerful enough to comfort him.

Only thunder echoed beyond the palace walls, and only rain continued mourning across Silthara.

Captain Raevahn remained kneeling deeply before Levin, head lowered and ashad because perhaps for the very first ti he realized the empire they had protected so faithfully had always been cruel toward its consorts.

And yet, even after all that pain, Levin slowly stopped trying. Rain shadows flickering softly across Zerat’s robes. Then quietly without turning around, he spoke, "...I will not leave the palace tonight."

Raevahn imdiately lifted his head slightly, relief flickering faintly across his exhausted face. But then Levin continued.

"...however..." Silence stretched heavily through the residence.

"I have no desire to beco the mother of this empire anymore."

The words echoed softly and coldly like funeral bells beneath the storm. Levin slowly looked down at his trembling hands, still clutching Zerat’s robes tightly as his voice cracked faintly afterward.

"I did not co to Zahryssar for its throne. I ca here..." A painful breath escaped him. "...to beco the bride of my alpha."

Thunder roared violently outside.

BOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!

"My existence within this kingdom..." His fingers tightened against the robes. "...has always been because of him."

Then slowly Levin turned his head slightly, his blue eyes dead and empty, exhausted beyond grief itself.

"And until Zerat returns... I refuse to beco the mother of Zahryssar."

Silence.

Absolute silence, because now Levin was rejecting the empire itself. Not loudly, not rebelliously, but through grief, through love, and through refusal.

And sohow that made it hurt even more. Then without another word, Levin turned away again, still barefoot, still wrapped inside Zerat’s robes, and still carrying the scent of an emperor the world had already declared dead.

And slowly he walked back toward the chamber.

Step.

After step.

After step.

Until finally the doors closed behind him.

CLACK.

And imdiately afterward, thunder exploded across Silthara once more, as though the heavens themselves raged beside him.

***

[The Next Day — Prince Sarash’s Chamber]

SLAMMMMM!!!

The chamber doors burst open violently. Sarash stumbled inside, barely managing to stay upright; his breathing ca out ragged and uneven.

Painfully shallow.

Then suddenly his legs finally gave out.

THUD!!!

Sarash collapsed face-first onto the cold chamber floor, a weak gasp escaping him afterward. Blood soaked heavily through the torn remains of his robes. The back of his shirt was almost entirely destroyed from the lashes.

Long crimson marks still burned across pale skin violently. For several monts he could only lie there gasping and trembling.

Not from weakness but from pain too deep for the body alone. Then slowly sothing horrifying began happening.

SWISSSHHH...

WHOOSSSHHH...

The wounds upon his back began healing, the torn flesh closed slowly, the blood disappeared, and the bruises faded as if the pain had never existed and as if his body itself refused to let him remain broken.

And that...that was the cruelest part of all because although the wounds vanished, the agony remained, not upon the flesh but within the heart.

Sarash remained collapsed against the floor silently afterward, eyes unfocused, breathing hollow, and then a voice echoed through his mories once more.

Soft, gentle, and broken voice of his mother.

"You were born blessed with self-healing abilities, my son..." The mory blurred faintly like old grief soaked in tears as her voice trembled softly. "If I had been an empress...perhaps this power would have beco a blessing but for the child of a concubine..."

The voice cracked completely.

"...it becos a curse."

Sarash’s fingers slowly clenched against the floor.

"They will use you. They will hurt you, and no matter how much pain they inflict..." A broken sob echoed through the mory.

"...they will make you continue surviving."

Then finally the woman whispered the words that haunted him forever.

"So make sure you die first. You must die, my son, no matter what...Die, and only a pri silver alpha serpent can grant you the death." Sarash shut his eyes tightly afterward like he could still hear her crying beside him.

But then another mory surfaced, far colder and far crueler. Golden eyes staring at him without rcy. Zerat’s voice echoed sharply through his mind:

"I shall grant your wish to die." A pause, cold and emotionless. "But not until I beco satisfied with you."

Sarash’s entire body stiffened afterward because sohow even now he could not escape either brother.

One used him through cruelty. The other, through survival and trapped between them, Sarash no longer knew whether he truly wished to live.

Or whether he had simply forgotten how to die.

Then softly, almost soundlessly, he whispered against the cold floor as a trembling breath escaped him.

"...I need...to find a way to die."

And inside the dim, lonely chamber, the prince who could heal every wound remained unable to heal the one inside his heart.

***

[Council Chamber — Evening]

The great council chamber of Silthara had descended into restless whispers.

Nobles stood gathered beneath towering obsidian pillars while silver lantern flas flickered against walls engraved with the ancient history of Zahryssar.

The atmosphere itself felt wrong, heavy, and unstable, like the empire stood upon the edge of sothing catastrophic. And the nobles whispered quietly among themselves fearfully.

"He truly returned from death..."

"But how is that even possible?"

"I recall Malik Zerat buried him personally..."

"Silence."

Another noble imdiately hissed.

"Do not forget he is soon to beco the next Malik."

And imdiately the whispers died. anwhile, near the front of the chamber, Sharukh Varoth remained seated silently.

Beside him, Rakhane leaned lazily against his chair, hair spilling across one shoulder, while the black eyepatch over one eye only made him appear more dangerous.

And nearby Arkhazunn stood expressionless beneath the lantern light, and none of them spoke. Because none of them trusted what was about to happen.

Then suddenly the chamber doors opened violently. Imdiately, the herald’s voice echoed throughout the council hall.

"BOW BEFORE CROWN PRINCE SLYVARAKH AND PRINCE SARASH!"

And just like that, Slyvarakh entered the chamber, silver imperial robes dragging across the black marble floors behind him. The corrupted black-and-silver scales near his throat shifted faintly beneath the skin.

Rotten, cracked, and monstrous. Yet sohow the more corrupted he appeared, the more terrifyingly regal he beca.

Behind him Sarash followed silently, head lowered and expression unreadable. Though anyone watching carefully could notice how exhausted he looked.

How hollow his eyes had beco. Imdiately every noble bowed, not deeply and not loyally, but enough to survive.

Slyvarakh slowly walked toward the elevated throne platform and the mont his silver eyes landed upon Zerat’s imperial throne sothing hungry surfaced inside them.

Not grief, not nostalgia, but a dangerous possession. A slow smirk spread across his face afterward, and then instead of sitting upon the imperial throne directly, he seated himself upon the lower ceremonial chair beside it.

One leg crossed elegantly over the other like a serpent already waiting for the crown. anwhile, Sarash positioned himself silently behind him like a shadow, like a personal guard, and like soone who no longer belonged to himself.

He looked at the serpent bowing in front of him...and he smirked, looking at the scene as if it were healing his soul from deep within.

"What a beautiful sight," he mumbled to himself.

Then softly Slyvarakh spoke. "Raise your heads."

Imdiately the nobles obeyed, and suddenly the entire chamber beca deathly silent because now everyone could feel it clearly, the empire was already shifting toward him.

Then Slyvarakh leaned slightly against the chair. Silver eyes sweeping across every noble slowly and carefully.

Predator-like.

"As all of you are already aware..." His voice echoed calmly throughout the chamber. "...the body of the previous Malik Zerat has yet to be recovered from the western cliffs."

Silence spread heavily afterward. Rakhane’s visible eye narrowed slightly. Arkhazunn remained expressionless but did not interrupt.

Then slowly Slyvarakh continued, "However...an empire cannot remain suspended between uncertainty and grief forever."

Several nobles visibly stiffened afterward because they already understood where this conversation was heading.

And then Slyvarakh finally declared as his silver eyes darkened faintly. "Tomorrow...we shall perform the final rites of Malik Zerat."

The chamber froze.

"Even without the body. He at least deserves peace in heaven; we cannot delay his peace for long."

Whispers imdiately erupted across the chamber.

"Nobody...?"

"But the Malik may still—"

SLAM!!!

Slyvarakh’s pheromones exploded across the chamber violently, rotten silver pressure crashing down upon every noble like suffocating sandstorms.

Imdiately everyone fell silent again, and so nobles were visibly struggling to breathe. Then slowly Slyvarakh leaned forward, his silver eyes now sharp enough to cut flesh.

"We will proceed under the assumption..." A terrifying pause followed. "...that the Malik is dead."

The words echoed like execution bells; behind him, Sarash’s fingers twitched faintly, but he remained silent and obedient.

Then calmly, almost beautifully, Slyvarakh smiled again as his gaze slowly lifted toward Zerat’s throne hungrily.

"And on the day following the imperial rites...I shall ascend the throne of Zahryssar."

The lantern flas flickered violently afterward.

"I will devote my entire existence..." His silver eyes glead dangerously. "...to serving this empire with everything I possess."

Silence, heavy and terrifying because no one inside the chamber could decide what frightened them more, The possibility that Zerat was truly dead or the possibility that Slyvarakh was finally about to beco emperor.

anwhile far beneath the western cliffs golden eyes slowly opened wider within endless darkness and sowhere deep underground sothing monstrous began moving toward the empire that had already started burying its king alive.