Serpent Emperor's Bride Chapter 64: Where Authority Did Not Speak Loudly

[Silthara Palace—Private Courtyard—Evening]

The private courtyard breathed in stillness.

Hibiscus blossoms burned red against pale stone, their petals open to the cooling dusk. Levin sat beneath the carved lattice, his gaze resting not on people, not on guards—but on a single bee settled calmly within a flower’s heart.

Unbothered.

Unafraid.

Asha blinked once, then lifted a paw and swatted at the air, a playful challenge. The bee turned, buzzing sharp and indignant, wings vibrating like a drawn threat—

HISSSS—!

Lyseraph reared slightly, silver scales catching the last light of day, blue eyes narrowed in warning. The hiss cut clean through the quiet.

The bee fled at once.

Asha blinked again, confused. Lyseraph slapped him lightly across the head with one paw and hissed once more, clearly offended by the cub’s lack of restraint. The two rolled across the stone in a tangle of paws and tails—Lyseraph scolding, Asha protesting—until they collapsed, indignant and panting.

Levin did not look up.

He was seated with a stack of parchnt on his lap, his fingers moving steadily as he sighed, then looking down at the pages and turning them page by page. Nas. Dates. Sigils. Small notations written by hands long dead.

He paused, then looked up at Naburash, who put more parchnt beside him.

"Is that all?" Levin asked quietly.

Naburash inclined his head, "Yes, Malika, this is every record we possess. Each pertains to the consorts who died on their wedding nights after marrying Malik."

Levin nodded once, "Alright."

Naburash hesitated and then—carefully as he asked, "I beg forgiveness for the question, but may I ask why the Malika wishes to examine records of the Malik’s forr consorts?"

Levin did not raise his eyes; his fingers traced a margin where ink had bled faintly.

"I am wondering," he said softly, "whether there is sothing they all shared... beyond death."

Naburash frowned, "But Malika, we know the cause. All were poisoned by Black Serpents."

"Yes," Levin agreed. "That much is written plainly."

He turned another page.

"Yet," he continued, "have you ever wondered how the Serpents entered the Malik’s wedding chambers?"

The question fell gently, but it landed like a stone. Naburash opened his mouth to answer—and found nothing there.

Silence stretched.

"...The assassins were all caught by our captain himself," Naburash said slowly. "Every one of them. They were executed imdiately."

Levin nodded, "And still, the poison reached its mark, even with more protection barriers and guards."

Naburash’s brow furrowed deeper as Levin’s words hit the nail; the courtyard seed quieter now. The hibiscus petals stirred faintly.

"...That," Naburash said at last, "was never questioned."

His thoughts began to turn—slowly, uncomfortably.

’Since the Malik ascended the throne so young... Every bride sent to him was dead by dawn. The culprits were punished swiftly. The court mourned briefly. Then moved on.’

Justice had been visible.

Convenient.

But the breach—

’But it never occured to us how did they entered.’

The palace had been sealed.

High Mage Arkhazunn’s wards were layered thick as scripture. Only those of Silthara—nobles, sworn knights, palace servants—held passage. No stranger walked unseen, no outsider crossed unmarked.

Naburash inhaled sharply, and he looked at Levin. The Malika sat calm, parchnt resting against his knee, eyes clear—not troubled, not fearful.

Searching.

And Naburash understood then.

’This is not grief; this is deep investigation into the roots.’

A faint smile touched his lips—sothing like awe.

’It seems the temple prophecy spoke true,’ he thought. ’This Malika will change the empire... Just as Malika Ninsara once did.’

Across the courtyard, Lyseraph nudged Asha back toward the shadows, the cub grumbling softly.

The bee did not return, and sowhere deep within Silthara’s walls, a question long ignored had finally been asked.

And sowhere deep within Silthara’s walls, a question long ignored had finally been asked—and refused to be buried again.

Footsteps approached, asured and careful.

"Malika," a voice said quietly. "I was told you asked for ."

Naburash turned, and Iru stood at the edge of the courtyard, head bowed, posture respectful—but just a fraction too late.

Levin lifted his gaze, cold and brief. Then he looked back down at the parchnt in his hands, as though Iru were no more than a passing shadow.

Seconds stretched.

The silence grew dense—unnatural, pressing.

At last, Levin spoke, "Massage my legs, Iru."

There was no accusation, no anger.

Just command.

Iru swallowed, nodded once, and moved quickly, kneeling near Levin’s feet. His hands settled against Levin’s calves, careful and practiced. The courtyard fell silent again, but this silence—this one cut.

Naburash felt it crawl along his spine.

’The Malik’s silence spills blood in court,’ he thought grimly. ’But the Malika’s silence... It decides who deserves to stand at all. It’s more dangerous than Malik.’

Levin turned a page.

Then another.

Only when Iru’s breathing betrayed him—shallow, uneven—did Levin speak again.

"Tell , Iru," Levin said calmly, "what is an attendant’s duty toward his Malika?"

Iru’s hands stilled for half a breath before resuming as he answered softly, "To serve the Malika, and to be present when the Malika has need."

Levin closed the parchnt and set it aside.

The sound was soft.

Final.

He looked down at Iru—not with fury, not with cruelty—but with expectation.

"Then," Levin said, voice even, "you already know your failure, or do I need to remind you?"

Iru’s breath hitched; he withdrew his hands at once and bowed deeply—lower than protocol demanded. His forehead touched the stone as he said, "I accept my fault, Malika; I failed to follow you. You may punish as you see fit."

Levin leaned back against the carved bench. His hand reached down, fingers brushing through Asha’s fur. The cub purred instinctively, unaware of the judgnt unfolding above him.

Levin did not look at Iru.

Instead, he asked, "Naburash."

Naburash straightened imdiately, "Yes, Malika."

"What is the punishnt for neglecting the Malika’s summons?"

Naburash answered without hesitation, "Ten lashes upon the back."

Levin nodded once, then his gaze returned to Iru, and he said quietly, "Tell , what should be done with you?"

He let the words breathe.

"Shall I have you whipped," he continued, "so your failure is rembered in flesh—"

A pause.

"—or will you give the reason you were absent," Levin finished, his eyes sharpening, "at the mont your Malika required you?"

The courtyard seed to lean inward.

Even the fountains stilled, but Levin did not raise his voice. He did not threaten, but every soul present understood the truth: This was not cruelty; this was authority, and whatever Iru said next would decide not just his punishnt but also his worth.

Levin waited as Iru knelt, head bowed, lips pressed tight.

Silence stretched for too long.

Levin’s gaze did not waver; he just said coldly, "Bring the lash."

The words fell clean and final.

Iru flinched, his breath stuttered, "Malika...I—I was—"

Levin’s eyes cut sharply to the nearest attendant.

"Did you not hear my words?" he asked coldly. "I said—bring the lash."

The attendant startled and rushed away.

Iru swallowed hard. Naburash watched, unease threading through him.

’Why is Malika being this cold to his personal attendant?’ he wondered. ’He could dismiss this...if he wish to.’

But Levin’s silence was deliberate, because within him, a pattern had finally surfaced—’Every consort who died... Every wedding night lost... There was one constant. Iru, so it ans...he can be soone who is involved with black serpents.’

Footsteps returned, an attendant knelt and presented the lash with both hands, "Malika..."

Levin did not take it; he did not even glance at it. His eyes remained fixed on Iru.

"I ask you again," Levin said quietly, each word precise, unyielding. "Where were you... when your Malika needed you?"

Iru lifted his head at last.

There was no trembling now, only the look of soone who realized the pit he had dug—for another—had closed around him instead.

"I..." he began.

Then again.

"I... was with my lover, Malika."

The words echoed softly against stone, but Levin’s expression did not change.

"How," he asked evenly, "does a beta attendant maintain a lover beyond palace walls while serving his Malika every second?"

Iru gulped.

"He is a beta as well," he said quickly. "We knew each other since childhood, Malika. We—"

He stopped, but Levin did not soften; he did not harden.

He judged.

"You will wash the garnts of every Silthara Serpentian," Levin said calmly, "for one full week."

A pause.

"This is rcy," he added. "For neglecting your Malika."

The courtyard exhaled—barely.

Levin leaned back, his hand resting once more on Asha’s head, the cub purring softly, unaware of the fate just asured and spared.

"Now," Levin said, dismissive as falling ash, "Dismiss."

Iru bowed deeply, relief flooding his face.

"Thank you, Malika," he said fervently.

And hurried away.

The lash remained untouched. Naburash looked at Levin anew, not with fear, but with understanding.

Because the Malika had not punished the lie—He had punished the absence andthe doubt it seeded.

Levin broke the silence first, "Did you notice sothing... odd, Naburash?"

Naburash’s brow was already furrowed. He nodded slowly. "Yes, Malika. Iru has served within these walls since childhood—placed here the mont the Malik ascended the throne."

A pause.

"There is no easy path by which a palace attendant could keep a lover beyond Silthara’s reach," he added carefully. "Not without notice."

Levin inclined his head, "I agree."

He did not rise.

He did not pace.

"But we will not condemn him by suspicion alone," Levin continued. "He may have ford an attachnt within these walls. A palace guard. A knight. A fellow beta."

Naburash bowed, understanding the weight behind the words, "I will look into it deeply, Malika. Quietly."

Levin nodded once, "That is all."

Naburash withdrew, his footsteps fading into the stone corridors, leaving the courtyard to its hush.

Levin exhaled slowly, only then did the tension ease from his shoulders. Asha padded closer, pressing his small body against Levin’s leg. Lyseraph settled nearby, silver tail curling protectively around the cub as dusk deepened.

Levin’s gaze lifted and It found the statue at the far edge of the courtyard.

Malika Ninsara.

Carved in pale stone—serene, resolute, eyes lifted up as if forever watching an empire she no longer ruled. Ti had softened her features, but not her authority.

Levin studied her in silence, then murmured, almost to the stone itself—

"I wonder," he said softly, "why Malik Saqira killed you."

The wind stirred, the hibiscus petals trembled, but the statue did not answer.

Still—The question lingered. And sowhere beneath Silthara’s foundations, history shifted—aware, at last, that it was being questioned.