Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 126: The Carriage of Silence

[Tent of Peace Talk — Afternoon — Continuation]

The silence after Zeramet’s words did not break at once.

"...You kept me waiting."

His voice was low, neither loud nor angry, yet the weight behind it pressed on everyone inside the tent like heat before a storm.

For a moment, no one moved. Zeramet’s golden eyes remained unblinking and unmoving, locked with Levin’s. It was as if the entire council, the war, the vault, and the empires did not exist.

Only that single gaze, then—

"We apologize for making you wait, Malik of Zahryssar." The Emperor of Thalryn spoke at last, his tone formal but respectful.

Levin looked away first, not because he wished to, but because he had to. Zeramet’s gaze lingered on him one breath longer, then slowly shifted to the Emperor of Thalryn, his expression returning to that cold, unreadable calm.

"...Take your seats."

The order was simple.

Everyone obeyed.

The Emperor of Thalryn took the chair prepared for him. Duke Aren sat beside him, straight-backed, composed. Princess Seraphina remained standing behind her father, hands folded, eyes sharp.

Levin stood behind Duke Aren, posture perfect, veil falling softly over his face, his expression hidden—but his presence alone made the air heavier.

Across the table sat the Western Emperor, smiling faintly, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him. Rakhane sat beside Zeramet.

Arkhazunn sat to his left side. Naburash remained slightly behind the Serpent throne seat, hands folded, gaze lowered, as if nothing in the world concerned him.

Zeramet leaned back slowly, one leg crossing over the other, his fingers resting against the armrest. The movement alone made the tent grow quiet.

"...Let us begin."

The Western Emperor smiled at once, too quickly, too eagerly. "Malik... as you already know, the vault lies within the land that now belongs to the Western Crown."

He gestured toward the map placed in the center.

Our records clearly show the boundary established after the last northern war. The land was taken lawfully, and the treaty sealed it." His smile widened slightly. "So there is little to discuss. The vault belongs to us."

Silence followed.

Duke Aren did not answer immediately; he glanced once toward the Emperor of Thalryn. The Emperor met his gaze, then gave a small nod.

Speak.

Duke Aren placed his hand over the scroll lying on the table and opened it slowly, the sound of parchment sliding against wood echoing louder than it should have.

"That record...was written after the war between Thalryn and the Western Crown." He turned the scroll so that everyone could see the seal. "The same record also states that the land where this very tent stands... once belonged to Thalryn."

The Western Emperor’s smile faded slightly.

Duke Aren continued, voice steady and controlled.

"It was occupied during the war. Then returned after the treaty." His finger tapped the seal. "Both empires signed it, and... just because your knights stand guard near the vault now... does not make it yours."

The Western Emperor’s fingers tightened on the armrest.

"That is because our knights are capable of guarding it," he said sharply, his gaze hardened. "If Thalryn guards the vault, it will be looted before winter."

The words fell like an insult thrown across the table.

"Your army is weak," he continued. "You lost most of your strength in the last war. Even the soldiers standing at the border are children compared to ours."

A heavy silence spread through the tent. Varesh’s jaw tightened. Raevahn’s hand curled into a fist behind Levin.

Princess Seraphina’s eyes flashed with anger. Levin did not move.

Zeramet spoke.

"...I agree with the Western Emperor." Every head turned; even the wind outside seemed to stop. Zeramet’s expression remained calm, almost bored.

"Even if the vault lies closer to Thalryn territory... your knights are not strong enough to guard it." His golden eyes moved toward the Thalryn side, cold and merciless.

"There will be looting. There will be chaos, and then both empires will be in more chaos."

He leaned back slightly.

"So I suggest this." His voice lowered. "Thalryn should yield the vault for now... strengthen its army... and reclaim it when its knights are no longer children playing at war."

The insult was clear. Sharp and deliberate.

Princess Seraphina moved before anyone else could speak.

"I beg your pardon, Malik of Zahryssar." Her voice was calm, too calm.

Zeramet’s eyes shifted to her. She stood straight behind her father, her gaze unwavering.

"It seems... you have underestimated the strength of Thalryn." The tent grew colder. Seraphina continued, each word firm as iron.

"We lost many knights in the last war, yes." Her hand rested lightly on the back of the Emperor’s chair. "But the empire did not fall. We are still standing, and Thalryn does not hand over what belongs to it simply because another empire calls itself strong."

The Western Emperor frowned.

Rakhane’s eye narrowed. Seraphina’s voice hardened further.

"If war is required to protect what is ours... then Thalryn will not fear war." The words struck the tent like thunder. "We did not cross mountains and bury our dead just to surrender to greedy emperor like—"

Her voice stopped because Levin’s hand had touched her wrist. Light, barely a tap. But enough, she glanced at him. Behind the veil, Levin’s expression was hidden, but his fingers pressed once against her hand.

Calm.

As if saying, ’Stay Calm...’

Seraphina exhaled slowly, forcing her anger down. Zeramet saw it.

He saw the touch, saw Levin’s hand over hers, and his fingers tightened slightly against the armrest.

Seraphina stepped back.

The emperor of Thalryn spoke instead, his voice quieter but heavier.

"With respect, Malik of Zahryssar...we came for peace talks." A pause. "Not to surrender our land before the discussion even begins."

Silence filled the tent again, long, heavy, and uncomfortable.

No one moved.

Zeramet did not answer; his eyes were no longer on the map. Not on the Western Emperor, not on the Thalryn throne.

They were still on Levin. Watching as Levin slowly withdrew his hand from Seraphina’s wrist... and returned it to his side. The smallest movement was noticed by Zeramet, and the air in the tent grew colder than before.

Something dark flickered behind his golden eyes, gone in an instant, buried beneath the calm mask of the Serpent Emperor.

When he finally spoke, his voice had changed, lower and sharper.

"...So." The single word cut through the silence like a blade. "If this is how Thalryn speaks in a peace council... then perhaps the Western Emperor is correct."

The Western Emperor straightened at once, relief flashing across his face. "I knew the Malik of Zahryssar would understand—"

"Do not speak yet."

Zeramet did not even look at him.

The command alone was enough to shut him up. Zeramet leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on the armrest, fingers brushing his lips as his gaze moved slowly across the table.

From the Western throne... To the Thalryn emperor...to Duke Aren, and finally—to Levin again.

His voice turned colder.

"Thalryn claims the vault lies within its border. The Western Crown claims the land was taken lawfully after the last war."

Another pause.

"And both of you expect Zahryssar to decide... based on words."

His fingers tapped once against the armrest.

"I do not rule by words." Silence. His gaze hardened. "I rule by what I see."

The tent remained still; no one dared interrupt. Zeramet straightened in his seat, the movement slow, deliberate, and powerful enough to pull every eye toward him.

"Then hear my decision. I will go to the vault myself."

A ripple of tension passed through the tent. The Western Emperor frowned. "Malik... there is no need for you to trouble yourselves. Our guards are already there; the matter can be settled here—"

Zeramet’s eyes snapped toward him.

Cold and dangerous.

"You think I trust your guards?" The Western Emperor froze. Zeramet’s voice dropped lower.

"You speak of strength as if it belongs to you. Strength belongs to Zahryssar, and just as I said, I will inspect the vault with my own eyes."

His gaze shifted toward the Thalryn side.

"And I will see whether Thalryn’s weakness is truth... or insult."

Varesh’s jaw tightened. Raevahn’s expression darkened. Seraphina did not move, but her fingers curled slightly behind her back.

Levin stood still; only his eyes lifted for a moment.

Just a moment.

Zeramet saw it and continued as if nothing had happened.

"Until then... no empire will claim the vault. Not the West." His eyes moved. "Not Thalryn."

And then...a faint pause.

"...Not even if they believe Zahryssar already stands with them."

The Western Emperor’s smile faded completely.

Rakhane’s eye narrowed slightly. Arkhazunn hid the smallest smirk. Zeramet’s fingers tapped once more.

"We leave for the border before sunset."

His gaze moved one last time toward Levin, cold, unreadable, and cruel enough to be misunderstood.

"If Thalryn wishes to prove its strength..." A faint breath. "...then come and show it there."

Silence filled the tent. Heavy and unavoidable and between the two thrones—The war had not started yet, but between the emperor... and his consort—it already had.

Zeramet rose.

The movement was sudden enough that every noble straightened at once.

His robes fell in dark folds as he stepped down from the raised seat, his expression hard as carved stone. Without looking at anyone, he began walking toward the exit.

He passed Levin and for the smallest moment... he stopped. Not fully, just enough that the air shifted.

Levin stood behind Duke Aren, head slightly lowered, hands folded behind his back, his posture perfect, his veil hiding his face.

He did not look up, not once. Zeramet’s eyes rested on him.

Levin did not move, did not react, did not even breathe differently. Something dark crossed Zeramet’s face, gone before anyone could name it.

His jaw tightened faintly, and he walked past him without a word. The tent flap opened sharply as he left.

Cold air rushed inside. Iru, standing behind Levin, swallowed nervously, his eyes moving from the exit... back to Levin’s face.

"...Malika..."

Levin did not answer, his gaze remained lowered for another moment, then he spoke quietly.

"We should leave."

His voice was calm, too calm. Duke Aren glanced at him once, searching his face, but said nothing. The Emperor of Thalryn nodded.

***

[Later — Thalryn Emperor’s Tent]

The inside of the Thalryn tent was quieter, the heavy cloth walls blocking the wind outside, but the tension had followed them in. The Emperor of Thalryn sat at the center table.

Princess Seraphina stood beside him, pacing once before stopping.

"...I do not think Emperor Zeramet will stand with Thalryn." Her voice was tight with frustration. "He already—"

She stopped, her eyes moved to Levin.

Levin stood near the side table, one hand resting lightly against the wood, his gaze lowered, his expression distant, as if the conversation did not belong to him.

He noticed her hesitation. Slowly, he lifted his eyes.

"You may speak freely, Princess." His voice was quiet.

The words sounded calm, but there was no warmth in them. Seraphina frowned slightly, then looked away. Duke Aren watched his son for a long moment before sighing.

"...Let us not decide the outcome before it happens." He folded his arms. "The Serpent Emperor is harsh, yes. A tyrant when he wishes to be, but he is not foolish."

The Emperor of Thalryn nodded slowly.

"You believe he will judge fairly?"

Duke Aren answered without hesitation. "I believe he will..."

A brief silence.

Then the Emperor spoke again, more firmly.

"Then we will trust our strength." His hand pressed against the table. "Thalryn will not bow before anyone."

Seraphina nodded.

"And if the worst comes..."

Duke Aren finished the sentence, "...Then we prepare for war."

The word settled heavily in the tent, no one spoke after that. Only the sound of the wind outside.

Levin’s chest felt tight.

Too tight.

His fingers curled slowly at his side as the words echoed in his mind. War. Zeramet standing with the West.

Concubines.

His breath faltered for a moment—and suddenly he flinched, his hand moved to his stomach.

Small and quick. Almost unnoticeable, but the pull was there. A faint tug deep inside his chest, like a thread tightening.

His fingers pressed lightly against the fabric.

’...His pheromones...’ The warmth that usually surrounded him felt thinner, weaker, and fading.

Levin’s eyes lowered.

’Is his scent wearing off...? Should I tell him...?’

Silence, his fingers pressed harder against his stomach. The memory came back without mercy—Zeramet’s cold voice.

Zeramet standing with the West, the concubines. His eyes darkened.

’...But I do not wish to be touched...by the same hands that touched them.’

His hand fell back to his side and his expression returned to calm.

***

[Later — Outside the Camp — Before Departure]

The camp was already in motion.

Horses were being harnessed, banners lowered, guards taking positions around the royal carriages as the convoy prepared to leave for the vault. Cold wind moved across the open ground, carrying dust and the faint smell of iron from the soldiers’ armor.

One by one, the rulers of the three empires stepped out from their tents. The Emperor of Thalryn walked toward his carriage first, speaking quietly with Duke Aren. Princess Seraphina followed beside them, her expression thoughtful but steady.

Levin walked with them in silence.

His steps were calm, measured, as if nothing inside him had changed... yet the heaviness in his chest had not left since the meeting ended.

They stopped near the Thalryn carriage. Levin stepped forward first and held the door open.

"Princess."

Seraphina glanced at him briefly, then gave a small nod before stepping inside. "...Thank you, Levin."

He inclined his head slightly, closing the door after her. Duke Aren had already taken his seat inside the second carriage prepared for House Veyrhold.

Levin turned to follow—but before he could step forward, a Zahryssar knight approached quickly and bowed deeply.

"I greet the Mother of the Empire."

Levin stopped, his eyes shifted toward the man, calm but sharp.

"...Speak."

The knight did not raise his head, "Malika... the Malik has given an order."

A faint tension passed through the air. Levin’s brows drew together slightly.

"What order?"

The knight swallowed once before answering. "You are to ride in the Zahryssar imperial carriage."

Silence.

Iru, standing behind Levin, blinked in surprise.

"...Ah..."

Levin did not move, his gaze lowered for a moment, then lifted again.

"...I am traveling with Thalryn."

His voice was quiet.

The knight remained bowed. "The Malik’s order cannot be changed. He has commanded that the Malika ride with him."

The words hung in the cold air. Levin stood still for a moment longer, then slowly turned his head toward the Veyrhold carriage.

Duke Aren was watching from inside. Their eyes met, for a breath, neither spoke. Then Aren gave a faint smile and nodded once.

"You should go, son."

Levin stared at him blankly, as if the words had reached him from far away.

His fingers curled slightly at his side.

"...Yes."

The answer came almost soundless. He turned without another word and walked toward the Zahryssar carriage.

***

[Moments Later — Zahryssar Imperial Carriage]

The Zahryssar imperial carriage stood apart from the others. Larger, heavier and guarded by serpent soldiers on both sides. Captain Varesh stepped forward the moment Levin approached and opened the door without a word.

"Malika..."

Levin paused at the step, for a moment... he did not move. Then he looked inside.

Zeramet was already seated. Alone, one arm resting against the side, long silver hair falling over his shoulder, golden eyes half-hidden beneath lowered lashes. A thin pipe rested between his fingers, smoke curling slowly through the air, filling the carriage with the bitter scent.

The moment Levin stepped closer, the smoke reached him. He coughed softly, his hand rising to his lips.

Zeramet’s eyes lifted at once. Cold, dark, and unreadable. He removed the pipe slowly and set it aside.

"...Get in."

Levin stood there for a moment, looking at him. The distance between them felt wider than the desert.

Then, without another word, he stepped inside, the space felt warm from the cushions, but the air between them was colder than winter.

Varesh closed the door.

THUD.

The sound echoed inside the carriage like the closing of a gate. Outside, the convoy began to move.

Inside—Levin sat across from his husband.

Zeramet did not look at him again. The wheels started rolling, and the silence between them was heavier than war.