Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 107: Whispers Across Two Empires

[Thalryn Empire — Capital of Thalryn — Noble Quarter — Morning]

Morning spread slowly across the capital of Thalryn.

The sky above the northern city remained pale and cold, the sun hidden behind a veil of thin clouds while frost still clung to the rooftops of stone houses. Smoke rose from chimneys in slow grey lines, and the streets had already begun to fill with merchants, guards, and servants carrying news from one end of the city to the other.

And today, there was only one name being whispered.

Levin Veyrhold.

Inside the noble quarter, a large hall of polished stone stood open for the morning gathering of lords and court officials. Braziers burned along the walls, and long tables were set with warm wine and bread as nobles spoke in low voices, their cloaks lined with fur against the cold.

Near the tall windows, two lords stood speaking quietly.

"So it is true?" one of them asked, lowering his voice. "The heir of Veyrhold has returned?"

The other nodded slowly. "Yes."

A third noble leaned closer, clearly eager to hear. "As the Malika of Zahryssar... or as the son of this house?"

The first man gave a faint smirk. "That is precisely what everyone is asking."

A quiet chuckle passed between them.

"I heard the imperial carriage came with guards from Zahryssar itself," another said. "Two captains... and the emperor’s personal attendants."

"That proves nothing," the second replied. "If the Serpent Emperor truly trusted him, why would the consort travel alone while carrying his child?"

The words made the others glance around carefully before speaking again.

One of the older nobles lowered his cup.

"There are rumors... from the southern traders."

"What rumors?"

"That the Serpent Emperor has grown cold toward his consort."

A brief silence followed.

Someone whispered,

"...Cold?"

The old noble nodded slowly.

"They say the court of Zahryssar has not seen the Malika beside the throne for weeks before he left."

Another man scoffed.

"Court rumors. Nothing more."

"Is it?"

The first noble leaned closer. "Then explain this—why would the consort of the Serpent Emperor return to Thalryn in the middle of winter... while pregnant?"

No one answered immediately.

A younger lord spoke carefully, "I heard something else."

All eyes turned to him. "What?"

He lowered his voice even more. "They say... the emperor himself allowed him to leave because the child might not survive."

A sharp breath escaped someone. "Careful."

The young lord raised his hands. "I am only repeating what I heard."

Another noble shook his head. "No, you forget who Levin Veyrhold is."

They looked at him.

He continued, "That man walked into Zahryssar alone to stop a war. You think the Serpent Emperor would abandon someone like that?"

The others fell quiet.

After a moment, one of them muttered, "Then why is he here?"

No one had an answer.

Across the hall, two noblewomen stood near the brazier, speaking in hushed voices behind their fans.

"I heard the emperor sent him away."

"Nonsense."

"I did. A merchant from the south swore the Malika had fallen ill."

"I heard the opposite," the other replied.

"What?"

"That the Serpent Emperor refuses to let anyone near him now that his consort is gone."

The first woman blinked. "...Refuses?"

"Yes. They say he has become worse than before. No court festivals. No music. No guests."

Another lady joined them, whispering, "My cousin serves in the border garrison. He said the Zahryssar knights escorting Levin have not left his side once since he arrived."

The women exchanged looks. "So which rumor is true?"

One of them sighed softly. "In Thalryn... truth never arrives before gossip."

Across the hall, an older lord spoke quietly, almost to himself. "Whatever the truth is... the north will not stay calm for long."

He looked toward the window, where the snowy ridges stretched far beyond the city. "The heir of Veyrhold has returned, and whenever Levin Veyrhold moves...the world follows."

Outside the noble hall, servants were already running through the streets carrying the same whispers from house to house.

Some said the Serpent Emperor abandoned him. Some said the Malika returned to rule the north. Some said the child he carried would decide the fate of two empires.

And inside Veyrhold House, Levin knew none of it yet.

***

[Veyrhold House — The Next Day — Duke Aren’s Office]

Morning light filtered through the tall northern windows of Duke Aren’s office, pale and cold as it fell across the heavy oak desk covered in parchment. Outside, the wind moved through the snow-covered courtyard, but inside the chamber the fire burned steadily, filling the room with the scent of pinewood and warm smoke.

Levin sat behind the desk that had once belonged to him long before he left for Zahryssar.

Now the same desk was covered with letters.

Dozens of them.

Sealed with the crests of noble houses from across Thalryn. Iru stood beside the small side table, pouring fresh tea into a porcelain cup while Butler Macrane entered quietly, carrying yet another stack of sealed parchments in his arms.

He placed them carefully on the desk and bowed.

"My lord."

Levin glanced at the growing pile, one brow lifting slightly. "So many?"

Macrane folded his hands respectfully. "Yes, my lord. Most arrived since dawn."

He gestured toward the stack. "The nobles of the capital... and several from the western provinces as well. All are requesting permission to visit Veyrhold House."

Levin gave a faint, exhausted breath as he leaned back in the chair. "They waste no time."

Macrane allowed the smallest polite smile. "The heir of Veyrhold does not return every winter, my lord."

Levin reached for one letter, then stopped when Macrane carefully lifted a different parchment from the pile. This one bore a dark blue seal marked with the imperial crest of Thalryn.

Macrane held it with both hands before placing it in front of Levin. "...And this arrived with the imperial messenger."

Levin’s gaze settled on the seal immediately.

"The palace?"

"Yes, my lord."

Macrane bowed slightly. "A letter from His Majesty himself."

The room grew quieter. Even Iru paused while pouring the tea. Levin broke the seal without hurry, unfolding the parchment with slow, precise movement. His eyes moved across the lines in silence, his expression calm, unreadable.

Macrane waited patiently before asking, "...Is the matter serious, my lord?"

Levin lowered the letter slightly, then he shook his head faintly.

"No." He folded the parchment once more. "The emperor invites me to the palace."

Iru looked up. "The palace...?"

Levin placed the letter on the desk. "For tea, this evening."

Macrane inclined his head at once, as if he had expected nothing less. "His Majesty moves quickly."

Levin allowed a faint smile. "In Thalryn, tea with the emperor is never only tea."

Macrane nodded in quiet agreement. "Shall I prepare for your arrival at the imperial palace, my lord?"

Levin picked up another letter from the stack, breaking the seal while speaking calmly.

"Yes."

A brief pause.

"Prepare the formal carriage."

Macrane straightened slightly. "As the heir of Veyrhold... or as the consort of Zahryssar?"

Levin’s hand stopped for the smallest moment. Then he continued opening the parchment. "As the heir of Veyrhold."

His voice remained steady. "No imperial banners."

Macrane bowed deeply. "As you command, my lord."

He turned and left the chamber without another word, already preparing the household for the visit. The door closed softly behind him. For a moment, only the sound of fire and the rustle of parchment remained.

Iru placed the cup of tea near Levin’s hand. "You knew this would happen."

Levin gave a quiet hum, eyes still on the letters. "The moment I stepped into Thalryn... the court would want to see me."

***

[Zahryssar Empire — Same Time — Emperor’s Chamber]

The afternoon sun of Zahryssar burned high above the golden towers, its light pouring through the tall carved windows of the Emperor’s chamber. The desert wind moved slowly outside, warm and dry, yet inside the chamber the air felt heavier than usual.

Scrolls lay open across the long stone table.

Ink examined.

Truth uncovered.

Arkhazunn stood near the table, the letter held carefully between his fingers while faint blue sigils shimmered in the air around the parchment. The old sorcerer’s brows were drawn together in deep concentration, his eyes moving across every line as if he were reading not only the ink—but the intent behind it.

Behind him, near the tall window, stood Zeramet.

Hands folded behind his back.

Silent.

His golden eyes looked out across the endless desert beyond the palace walls, yet his attention remained entirely inside the chamber.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Arkhazunn exhaled slowly. "...It is fabricated."

The words broke the silence like a blade through cloth. Zeramet did not turn immediately, only his eyes shifted slightly.

Arkhazunn lowered the letter onto the table, the faint glow around the parchment fading as the spell ended.

"The writing... the seal... even the pressure of the ink has been copied with great skill," he continued, he picked the parchment up again, shaking his head faintly.

"But whoever prepared this did not simply imitate the Malika’s hand. They hired someone who knew exactly how to forge the truth."

Zeramet finally turned.

His steps were slow as he walked toward the table, his cloak sliding across the marble floor like the shadow of a serpent.

Arkhazunn looked up at him.

"This was not done in haste," he said. "This was prepared by someone who wanted you to misunderstand your consort... completely."

A faint smirk appeared on Zeramet’s lips.

"I knew it." His voice was low, calm, and certain. "My consort would never write such filth."

Arkhazunn watched him carefully. "...May I ask who brought this to you, Malik?"

For a moment, Zeramet did not answer.

He walked past the table and returned to the window, his gaze drifting toward the distant dunes.

"...A few days ago," he said at last, "A guest came to Silthara."

Arkhazunn waited. Zeramet’s voice lowered slightly.

"Aelira Veyrhold."

Arkhazunn eyes narrowed. "...Veyrhold? The sister of your consort?"

Zeramet nodded once.

"Yes."

His jaw tightened faintly, though his voice remained controlled. "The one my consort speaks of with warmth, and that same dear sister stood in my hall... and tried to turn me against him."

Arkhazunn frowned deeply. "That is no small matter, Malik."

"No," Zeramet replied. "It is not."

He placed one hand against the window frame, his golden eyes darkening slightly as he looked out over the desert. "...And now my consort is in the north."

The words carried more weight than before.

Arkhazunn studied him. "You are thinking whether it was right to let him go."

Zeramet did not deny it.

"...Yes."

The chamber fell silent again. The wind outside brushed against the window, making the carved lattice tremble faintly.

After a moment, Arkhazunn spoke in a calmer tone. "Do not forget who your consort is, Malik."

Zeramet glanced at him.

"He survived Silthara Palace, he walked into Zahryssar alone, and he carries your blood now." Arkhazunn folded his arms. "He is not someone who breaks easily."

Zeramet’s lips curved faintly. "I know, he is strong."

A pause.

Then his eyes darkened again.

"But strength does not mean perfection." He turned fully from the window, the light of the desert falling across his face, making his golden eyes glow faintly.

"What happens behind our backs... no one can see, not the wisest man, not the sharpest blade...Not even the most ancient serpent."

Arkhazunn said nothing.

Zeramet looked once more at the forged letter in his hand, then crushed the parchment slowly in his fist.

"...Send word to the Captain Varesh."

Arkhazunn raised a brow. "You wish to watch Thalryn?"

Zeramet’s answer came without hesitation. "I wish to watch everyone."