Serpent Emperor's Bride Chapter 65: The Shedding of Old Skins

[Silthara Palace—Emperor’s Chamber—Midnight]

Midnight deepened the chamber into hushed gold and shadow.

Levin sat cross-legged upon the cushions, parchnt spread around him like fallen leaves. His fingers moved tirelessly—nas, sigils, dates—each mark weighed, each line read twice, then once more.

The pattern refused to loosen its grip.

’No matter how far back I trace,’ he thought, eyes narrowing, ’Iru is everywhere.’

Attendant. Shadow. Constant.

"...Why?" Levin murmured to himself. ’Why would Iru wish the consorts dead? He was raised within these walls. He is no Black Serpent—only a palace-born one. Loyal. Ordinary.’

His breath slowed.

’So why?’

The fla in the brazier shifted, then—a presence, not footsteps, not sound. A weight—old, vast, unmistakable.

"What are you doing, consort?"

The voice echoed—not through the air, but through the stone itself. Deep. Resonant. The voice Zerat carried only when he allowed the world to rember what he truly was.

Levin looked up.

The chamber had changed.

Silver filled the room—coiled, luminous, imnse. Zerat’s true form lay curved across the marble floor, scales like moonlit tal, eyes gold and patient. His great head tilted, considering the parchnt with a slow, serpentine curiosity.

"What is this?" Zerat asked, his voice a low vibration. "Why are you studying the deaths of my forr consorts?"

Levin blinked once, then smiled—soft, breathless.

"You startled ," he said honestly.

He reached out without thinking, palm settling against the smooth warmth of Zerat’s head. The scales were cool at first touch, then ward beneath his hand, alive with quiet power.

"...Why are you in your true form?" Levin asked, awe threading his voice.

Zerat answered by moving.

His tail slid forward, nudging the parchnts aside with careless grace, sending them whispering to the floor. Then he coiled—slowly, deliberately—around Levin, not restraining but enclosing, like a living circlet of silver.

A guardian’s embrace.

A lover’s.

"Mmm," Zerat humd, the sound vibrating gently through Levin’s chest as his great head settled near Levin’s shoulder. "After the rut cos the shedding, my moonflower."

Levin’s breath caught.

"It is the way of our kind," Zerat continued softly. "When heat passes, the skin that carried it must be released. Every serpent sheds after rut and heat—old layers giving way to renewal."

Levin’s cheeks ward, color blooming unbidden as Zerat’s coils tightened just enough to be felt—secure, intimate. He leaned instinctively into the warmth, resting his temple against Zerat’s smooth scales.

"So..." Levin asked, voice quieter now, touched with wonder, "will you shed tonight?"

Zerat’s eyes half-lidded.

"Soon," he replied. "Not yet."

His head brushed Levin’s shoulder—a gesture gentle, possessive, and reverent.

"It is a vulnerable ti for serpents," Zerat added. "Which is why I chose to be here. With you."

Levin’s fingers curled lightly against the silver scales.

"I’m glad," he whispered.

Zerat blinked once.

Then, with deliberate gentleness, he shifted his imnse weight just enough to guide Levin backward onto the mattresses. Cushions sighed beneath them as Zerat coiled more fully around him, silver loops settling like a living fortress.

His great head lowered close.

"Do you know," Zerat murmured, voice low and teasing now, "they say that after shedding—if a consort crosses the threshold and we share another heated night—"

His golden eyes glead faintly.

"—a wife may carry life soon after."

Levin blinked, then laughed softly, the sound warm and unguarded.

"You’re lying," he said, amused. "I know nothing like that happens."

Zerat froze, then slumped his head dramatically onto Levin’s chest with a faint huff, "Tch. I thought you might fall for it."

Levin chuckled, fingers sliding instinctively over the broad curve of Zerat’s head, tracing the lines where scale t scale, "You are terrible at lying, Zer."

Zerat sighed, the sound deep and vibrating, felt more than heard, and muttered, "I am a ruler, not a trickster."

He shifted again, pressing closer, coils tightening just enough to be felt—protective, warm.

"Still," Zerat added, quieter now, "shedding does hurt."

Levin’s laughter faded.

"And heat lingers during this ti," Zerat continued. "The body rembers what it has just survived. Old skin loosens. New skin aches to breathe."

Levin’s hand stilled, then resud—slower, gentler—stroking along Zerat’s scales in long, careful motions, as if soothing a living fla.

"Then rest," Levin said softly. "I’m here."

Zerat’s eyes were half-lidd.

"You may not know this," he said, voice drifting, "but Silver Serpents do not sleep easily during shedding."

Levin smiled faintly, "Then I won’t let you sleep alone."

He shifted slightly beneath the coils, fitting himself more comfortably against Zerat’s warmth, one arm resting across the great serpent’s neck.

Zerat humd—low, content, ancient.

"That," he murmured, "is far more effective than heat."

Outside, the palace lay silent.

Inside, beneath silver coils and lamplight, old skins loosened, aches softened, and two hearts rested—bound not by prophecy or throne, but by choice.

***

[The Next Day—Afternoon al]

Levin sat in the dining chamber in a state of quiet disbelief.

Zerat—still in his great silver serpent form—was coiled tightly around him, one heavy loop draped possessively over Levin’s lap, another resting against his shoulder. His head lay near Levin’s wrist, eyes half-lidded, utterly unashad of his closeness.

’I cannot believe this...’ Levin thought, exhaling slowly. ’He has not left since yesterday.’

Not during the bath chamber, not while Levin dressed, not even in the ancestral hall. Everywhere Levin went, the Silver Serpent followed—clingy, warm, territorial.

Asha and Lyseraph watched from the edge of the chamber, both visibly confused. Asha tilted his head; Lyseraph flicked his tail in mild amusent.

The other Serpentians did not even glance twice.

They all knew their Malik was shedding.

"I have brought your favorite dessert, Malika," Iru said carefully, placing the bowl before Levin. "Kheer—dates simred in milk."

Levin’s gaze flicked up—cool, unreadable.

"Thank you," he said. "You may leave."

Iru bowed at once.

Levin then lifted his voice slightly, "All attendants are dismissed."

The chamber emptied quickly, doors closing softly behind them.

Silence settled.

Levin glanced down at the coils wrapped around him, "...Won’t you eat?"

Zerat blinked, then—slowly—the silver coils loosened.

Light shimred, and Zerat shifted into his human form, hair falling loose over his shoulders, still far too close, still leaning heavily into Levin as if distance were a foreign concept and totally naked.

"Why don’t you feed , consort?" Zerat murmured, resting his head against Levin’s shoulder.

Levin sighed—but lifted the spoon anyway.

"You are unbearable," he muttered, feeding him. "If you are shedding, how will you continue the tournant?"

Zerat accepted the spoon lazily, eyes never leaving Levin’s face, and replied, "The next round begins in three days; I will likely shed tonight."

Levin nodded, offering another spoonful. Zerat swallowed—then leaned closer, licked his neck with his serpent tongue, his breath warm, voice low.

"Mmm," he said softly. "You are sweeter than any dessert in this palace; can I have you as my dessert?"

Levin’s cheeks burned instantly.

"Zer—" he hissed, trying to hide his face. "This is not the place."

Zerat laughed quietly and pulled Levin closer, snuggling Levin closer to his bare chest, saying without sha, "I can do whatever and wherever I want with my consort; this is my place, my empire, and my moonflower."

Levin stiffened—then flushed harder when he realized how close Zerat truly was.

"I—" Levin stamred, attempting to shift back just enough to regain composure because his hands were placed on his huge dick. "We should... continue eating."

Zerat humd, clearly pleased.

"As you command, Malika," he said, eyes glinting with affection and mischief. "But do not expect to stop clinging."

Levin sighed—and fed him another spoon. Outside the chamber, the palace went on with its rituals.

Inside, beneath silver warmth and quiet laughter, the empire’s most dangerous ruler remained wrapped around the one person he trusted enough to be vulnerable with.

And Levin—despite himself—did not push him away.

***

[Later — Private Courtyard — Evening]

The courtyard was bathed in amber hush.

An attendant poured the tea with careful hands, steam rising in pale ribbons before drifting away. Hibiscus and marigold blood together along the stone edges—red and gold, life and ritual entwined—perfuming the air with sothing both sweet and grounding.

Levin exhaled softly.

’It was difficult, to convince Zerat to leave for even a few hours. Who would have thought that shedding would reveal such a clingy, almost boyish side of a Silver Serpent?’

’So...cute..’ The thought softened him—briefly.

Then—

"Are you well, Malika?"

The voice was composed, female and asured.

Levin opened his eyes.

Lady Arinaya sat across from him, posture straight, hands resting lightly near her cup. She wore no jewelry ant to distract, no colors ant to provoke—only quiet presence.

Levin’s lips curved into a faint smile, "I am well, thank you for coming."

His gaze shifted.

It caught on the mark at her neck. A shadow of fingers, bruised into mory. Levin’s eyes darkened—not with shock, but with recognition.

"And you," he asked gently, "how are you, Lady Arinaya?"

She did not flinch.

She did not adjust her collar.

Instead, she t his gaze steadily and smiled—thin, resolute.

"I am well too, Malika," she replied. "It is my honor to share tea with the Mother of Zahryssar."

The title settled between them. Levin inclined his head once, acknowledging both the respect and the implication.

"Honor," he said quietly, "is often paid in bruises."

Arinaya’s smile did not fade, "And sotis, in survival."

A pause.

Tea was lifted.

Steam curled.

Levin spoke again, his voice calm, asured.

"You fought well in the tournant," he said. "I am told you are skilled with both spear and sword."

Arinaya’s lips curved faintly, "It is an honor to be acknowledged by you, Malika. I would not call myself exceptional—but my father ensured I was trained in all disciplines expected of the next heir of House Karzath."

"There is no doubt what the forr High Ensi intended for you," Levin replied. "I saw it clearly in the arena."

He paused.

"And you presented your rose with intention."

Arinaya lowered her cup, fingers steady, "Yes, Malika. My intentions were clear when I offered the rose—and they remain so."

Her gaze did not waver.

"Unlike my brother’s."

Levin studied her.

’So she knew,’ he thought. ’She saw his impurity during the tournnt.’

He turned his cup slowly in his hand, the tea rippling once before settling, "Is that, why you wished to beco my personal attendant, Lady Arinaya?"

She did not flinch.

She bowed her head slightly—not in submission, but in respect and said evenly, "I just do not wish, to see foolish ambition drag entire bloodlines into ruin, Malika."

Silence fell—thick, deliberate.

Levin set his cup down and then..."But, I have no intention of appointing you as my personal attendant, Lady Arinaya."

The words landed without force—and yet, they struck. For the first ti since the tea began, Arinaya’s fingers twitched.

Just once.

She stilled them imdiately—but the mont had passed too close to be undone. Because she understood what refusal ant. Not rely personal rejection—But the narrowing of House Karzath’s future.

Levin watched her closely.

Said nothing more.

And in that silence, the courtyard seed to hold its breath—as if waiting to see whether this decision would save a house...Or seal its fate.