Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 123: A Journey Towards the Border

[Zahryssar Empire — Silthara Palace — Emperor’s Departure Hall — Before Dawn]

The palace had not yet seen the sun.

Darkness still lay over Silthara like a heavy veil, the desert sky deep blue and silent, the stars fading slowly as the first line of dawn waited beyond the horizon.

Torches burned along the long departure hall, their flames bending in the dry wind that slipped through the open arches. The banners of Zahryssar hung high above, black and gold serpents carved into every pillar, watching like ancient guardians as the court gathered below.

Travel armor, war cloaks, and sealed scrolls. The hall was not prepared for the ceremony. It was prepared for movement.

At the far end, the great doors stood open, and outside them the imperial riders waited with their mounts, the beasts restless under the cold air, their breath rising like smoke.

Inside the hall, the nobles stood in two lines, heads lowered; no one spoke loudly because the Serpent Emperor was already there. Zeramet stood at the top of the steps, dressed in dark traveling robes instead of royal silk, the black cloak fastened across one shoulder with the ancient serpent seal.

His expression was calm. One hand rested behind his back, the other holding the sealed order for the border inspection.

He had not slept; no one needed to ask. Arkhazunn stood beside him, arms folded. Sharukh Varoth waited near the stairs. Rakhane stood farther behind, his patched eye fixed on the emperor’s back.

Lady Samhira remained silent near the pillar, her face pale since the day before; no one wanted to speak first.

Then Arkhazunn broke the silence.

"...It is rare for the Malik to travel personally for a border dispute."

Zeramet did not look at him.

"It is rare," he replied quietly, "...for my court to give me two different truths."

Sharukh lowered his head slightly. "We only wished to prevent war, Malik."

Zeramet’s gaze shifted toward the open doors.

"So do I." A pause. "But war comes faster when rulers hide things from their thrones."

Silence again.

Rakhane stepped forward slowly, bowing. "Malik... if the Western Empire sees you appear in person, they may think Zahryssar doubts them."

Zeramet finally turned his head; his eyes were cold enough to stop the air itself.

"...Good."

Rakhane stiffened.

Zeramet walked down one step.

"If they believe I doubt them... they will speak carefully." Another step. "And when people speak carefully... they make fewer lies."

No one answered, because no one could.

Zeramet reached the bottom of the stairs, then stopped. His gaze moved across the hall once. Slow and heavy. Measuring every face.

Then it stopped on Lady Samhira.

She lowered her eyes instantly.

Zeramet spoke without raising his voice, "Remember what I said yesterday."

Her hands trembled slightly, "Yes... Malik."

His eyes darkened.

"If this vault matter is nothing more than greed wearing the mask of loyalty..." A faint pause. "...You will not return to this empire anymore."

The words fell like iron. No one dared ask, because everyone understood. Someone would not survive this journey.

Zeramet turned away.

"Bring the riders."

A guard struck the floor with his spear. The sound echoed through the hall. The doors opened wider; a hot desert wind rushed inside. Zeramet walked forward without looking back, his cloak moving behind him like the shadow of a serpent sliding across stone.

Arkhazunn followed.

Sharukh followed.

Rakhane hesitated for only a moment before stepping after the others.

The sound of the emperor’s boots had already faded down the stone corridor, Arkhazunn and Sharukh walking behind him without daring to speak, their cloaks trailing across the black floor like shadows.

Lady Samhira remained where she stood, her hands folded properly, her head lowered and her posture perfect.

But her knees trembled beneath the heavy silk of her robes. For the first time since the vault matter began, she was not afraid of war.

She was afraid of the emperor.

Her fingers twitched slightly, nails pressing into her palm as she tried to steady her breath.

’He suspects...’

The thought alone made her chest tighten.

She shifted slightly, as if to leave, but her foot stopped halfway, behind her, a voice muttered under its breath.

"...Useless."

She froze. Rakhane stood a few steps away, his face turned slightly aside, as if the word had never left his mouth.

No one else had heard it, the hall was too large, too empty and too silent. His patched eye flickered toward her for a brief moment, then away again.

His jaw tightened.

As if something inside him had not gone the way he wanted. As if a plan carefully laid had begun to crumble.

’The silver serpent...’ His fingers curled slowly inside his sleeve. ’You move faster than I expected...’

Without another word, he turned and walked after the others, his cloak brushing against the floor as the torches flickered behind him.

Lady Samhira remained alone for several breaths more before finally forcing herself to move. The journey to the border had begun.

And no one knew who would return from it.

***

[Thalryn Empire — House Veyrhold — Duke Aren’s Office — Morning]

The office of Veyrhold was warm, the fire burning steadily in the hearth, the heavy curtains half open to let the pale winter light enter the room.

Scrolls lay across the large wooden desk, maps of the northern border spread beside sealed letters bearing the imperial mark.

Duke Aren stood near the window when the door opened.

Levin stepped inside quietly, he looked calm.

Aren studied his face for a moment before speaking, "I heard you have not been sleeping well these days."

Levin walked toward the chair and sat down slowly, letting out a faint breath as he leaned back.

"I am fine, Father." A pause. "...Just tired."

Aren did not sit immediately.

His eyes lingered on Levin longer than usual, as if searching for something behind the calm mask his son wore too well.

"...The assassins."

Levin’s gaze shifted slightly.

Aren continued. "They were not ordinary men."

Levin folded his hands loosely in his lap. "Yes, they were not."

Silence. Aren walked to the desk, resting one hand over the papers.

"I investigated the matter myself."

Levin looked up.

"The warehouse door near the inner yard was opened from inside. They entered during the night and hid there until they found a chance to move."

A faint pause. "They waited for the moment when the guards changed."

Levin nodded slowly.

"I see..."

His voice did not change, but his fingers tightened slightly over his sleeve.

Aren noticed.

"...Were they Zahryssar’s oldest enemy," he added carefully.

Levin’s eyes flickered once, then stilled again, "Yes."

Another silence filled the room. The fire cracked softly in the hearth.

"Did we receive any message from the emperor?" Levin asked.

Then Aren sighed.

"I will not lie to you, Levin."

Levin looked at him again. Aren reached for a sealed letter lying on the table and held it for a moment before speaking.

"We received the message from the emperor at dawn." He walked closer and placed the letter in front of Levin.

"The Serpent Emperor has left Silthara."

Levin’s hand stopped just above the parchment. For a moment, he did not touch it.

Aren continued quietly. "He is traveling to the western border personally."

Levin picked up the letter slowly, his eyes moving across the seal, the ink, and the imperial mark. "...So he chose to come himself."

Aren watched him carefully. "The emperor ordered us to prepare as well. We are to leave for the border immediately."

A pause.

"For peace talks."

Levin’s gaze remained on the letter. Aren’s voice lowered slightly. "It seems... the Malik of Zahryssar is standing strongly with the Western Empire."

Silence, long and heavy. Levin’s fingers tightened slightly around the parchment, the paper bending faintly under his grip.

For a moment, his eyes lowered, only for a moment. Something passed through his expression too quickly to name.

He placed the letter back on the table carefully, as if nothing inside him had moved at all.

"I see."

His voice was steady.

Calm.

Aren stepped closer. "Are you ready for this?"

Levin did not answer immediately. He stood up slowly and walked toward the window, stopping beside his father.

Outside, the yard was covered in frost, the soldiers already moving, preparing the horses, tightening armor, and readying for travel.

Levin looked at them for a long time, then he spoke quietly.

"No matter what happens..." A pause. "I will stand with Thalryn."

Aren did not speak.

Levin continued, his eyes still on the frozen yard, "He is the Malik of Zahryssar."

His hand moved slowly to his stomach, resting there for only a moment before falling again to his side.

"And I..." A faint breath left him. "...am the heir of Veyrhold. I choose to be his bride to save Thalryn; don’t forget that, Father."

He finally turned to look at his father; his expression was calm. Strong and unbreakable.

"So...we shall prepare to leave...do not delay the riders."

Aren held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once, "As you wish... my son."

Levin turned away first, because if he looked any longer, the strength on his face might have cracked.

***

[The Departure — House Veyrhold — Before Dawn]

The sky had not yet turned blue.

A thin grey light rested over the land of Thalryn, the frost on the ground shining faintly beneath the last breath of night. The air was sharp and cold, the kind that stung the lungs when breathed too deeply.

The courtyard of House Veyrhold was already awake, horses were being fastened. Armor tightened and the banners rolled and sealed. Servants moved quietly, their voices low, as if even the morning itself understood that this was not an ordinary departure.

This was not travel, this was the road to war... or peace that might fail. Near the stone steps, the carriages stood ready.

One bore the crest of Veyrhold.

The other bore the black-and-gold serpent of Zahryssar.

The Zahryssar carriage stood apart from the rest, larger, covered in thick dark cloth, its windows layered with warm curtains, the inside lined with soft cushions and fur blankets.

Zeramet had ensured Levin comfortit before Levin left Silthara. No cold, no discomfort and no strain for the consort carrying his child.

Everything prepared with care.

Everything prepared with thought.

And yet— Levin stood in front of it without moving.

"...Everything is ready, Malika." Iru’s voice came softly from behind.

Levin did not answer at once.

His eyes remained on the Zahryssar carriage, his gaze lingering on the curtains, on the carved serpent seal, on the small details only he would notice.

For a moment, something moved in his expression. Not anger, not sadness.

Something quieter and something heavier. Behind him, Physician Naram approached with a small travel case in his hands.

"I will ride with the Malika," he said calmly. "The road will be long, and his condition requires—"

"I will not ride in that carriage." The words cut through the cold air without warning.

Everyone froze.

Raevahn blinked. "...Malika?"

Levin turned slowly, his face was calm. "I will ride in the Veyrhold carriage."

Silence fell over the courtyard. Raevahn stepped forward at once, his brows drawn together. "But, Malika... that carriage was prepared for you. The Malik himself ensured—"

"My decision is final, Captain." Levin’s voice did not rise, but the weight in it stopped him mid-sentence.

Raevahn’s mouth closed.

Levin’s eyes hardened slightly.

"You are here to follow my orders." A faint pause. "Not question them."

Raevahn lowered his head at once, "...Yes, Malika."

Varesh, who had been standing beside the Veyrhold carriage, opened the door without a word. Levin walked past the Zahryssar carriage without looking at it again.

Not once, not even for a moment. He stepped inside the Veyrhold carriage and sat down, pulling the cloak closer around his shoulders as the door closed behind him.

Outside, the silence remained. Raevahn exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. Varesh glanced at him briefly.

Neither spoke.

Behind them, Iru whispered anxiously, "...Why... why is Malika so upset with Malik?"

Physician Naram frowned faintly. "Upset...? The Malika is upset with the Malik?"

Iru shook his head quickly.

"I do not know... but... I can feel it." His eyes moved toward the carriage. "Something happened... after that letter came."

Raevahn crossed his arms, looking toward the Zahryssar carriage still standing unused.

"...Is it because of the vault?"

Iru shook his head again.

"No... Malika understands duty better than anyone." A pause. "He knows an emperor must choose the empire before his consort."

His voice lowered.

"There must be another reason."

None of them spoke after that. Because the truth felt too close to something they did not dare name.

At that moment—

"Mewr!"

Asha ran across the courtyard, her small paws slipping on the frost as she jumped onto the steps of the Veyrhold carriage.

Behind her, a flash of silver.

Lyresaph leapt lightly after her, landing without a sound, his blue eyes already fixed on the door as if making sure his master was still inside.

Iru hurried forward and lifted the tiger cub gently. "Wait, wait— you two will fall before we even leave."

Lyresaph flicked his tail once but did not move away, his gaze still locked on the carriage.

"...We are leaving," Iru murmured softly.

Varesh gave the signal to the riders.

At the far end of the courtyard, Duke Aren stepped out, already in his travel cloak, gloves in hand, his expression serious.

"We are ready."

The guards struck their spears to the ground once, the gates of Veyrhold opened slowly. Cold wind rushed inside the yard. The first carriage began to move.

Then the second.

Then the riders followed.

The wheels rolled over the frozen path, the sound echoing in the silent morning as the convoy left the gates of Veyrhold and turned toward the long northern road.

Inside the Veyrhold carriage, Levin sat in silence, one hand resting lightly over his lap, his eyes lowered, his expression calm...

...but his heart heavier than it had ever been.

Because the road ahead would lead him to the border.

To the vault, to the court of three empires, and to the man who is his husband. The man he did not know how to face anymore.

The carriage disappeared into the pale dawn, and the journey toward the border... began.