Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 47: The Wolf in Wine & The Emperor in Moonlight

[House Karzath—High Ensi Wine Chamber]

SLAM!!!!

The wine bottle crashed onto the polished cedar table, a crack of sound echoing through the chamber like thunder striking a tomb.

High Ensi Rakhane lounged back on a velvet pillow—robes loosened, hair disheveled, lips stained with wine. He held the last drop in his cup and swallowed it with a lazy satisfaction, his chest rising and falling with heat.

Golden braziers flickered in the dim room, shadows dancing over the carved serpent murals. The sweet scent of spiced wine clung to the air like a haze.

Across from him sat Captain Raevahn of House Karzath—back straight, posture rigid, expression cold as forged steel. He drank slowly, controlled, never indulging.

The contrast between them was stark. High Ensi Rakhane sighed, ruffling his own hair with drunken fingers, lips curling into a languid smirk.

"Tell me, Captain..." his voice slurred slightly, but desire sharpened it like poison dipped in honey. "...what do you think?"

Raevahn lifted his gaze—sharp, wary, "About what, sire?"

Rakhane did not answer immediately.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes half-lidded as he pictured someone in his mind. His tongue slid across his lower lip unconsciously.

Then he whispered, "If Consort Levin...were to serve my wine every night."

The cup in Raevahn’s hands froze, and his eyes widened—shock, disbelief, and horror all at once.

"Sire—!" He stood immediately. "That is—those are forbidden thoughts! Uttering Malika’s name in such an intimate manner is treason in itself!"

Rakhane only smirked wider.

"Is it?" he murmured, swirling the last dregs of wine inside the empty bottle. "Then tell me, Captain... what of the treason I commit when I claim the throne?"

Raevahn’s blood ran cold; he dropped to his knees so fast it hurt, forehead pressing to the floor.

"Sire, PLEASE—do not utter such words! This is not drunken nonsense—this is execution-worthy thought! It will doom not only you...but every man, woman, and servant under House Karzath!"

Rakhane stared at the kneeling captain with a look of bored amusement. A cruel, lazy, predatory smile stretched across his lips.

He exhaled softly, "Tch... how dull you are, Raevahn."

But his thoughts... His thoughts were anything but dull.

They were rotting, fermenting, and twisting into something dangerous. And as drunken heat clouded his gaze, the desire inside him bloomed like a poisonous flower.

’That Alpha consort... That moon-veiled creature... He is more beautiful than any omega in this empire. That soft flesh... that delicate throat... those eyes... Zeramet does not deserve such beauty. I wonder... How would he look beneath me...? Would he scream? Would he break? Would that fragile body writhe beneath my hands?’

A slow shiver ran down Rakhane’s spine; his smile deepened, amusingly and dangerously.

’I want him. I want him more than power. More than the throne. More than breath itself.’

Raevahn kept his forehead pressed to the ground—but he felt the shift in Rakhane’s aura.

The hunger. The arrogance. The growing madness. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

A poison rooting deep. A seed waiting to bloom into disaster. In his mind, Raevahn whispered with dread:

"Lord Karzath was right...he will never be a good lord of this house."

But this was worse, far worse, because the High Ensi’s lust was not merely desire—it was ambition. Corruption. A storm waiting to engulf Zeramet and Levin.

Rakhane leaned back, eyes glazed with wine and desire, whispering to himself, "Levin... Levin... even your name tastes sweet."

He closed his eyes, indulging in the fantasy—a fantasy so vile, so treasonous, so deadly that even the walls of the wine chamber seemed to recoil.

He smirked, a dangerous serpent’s smile, "How long... until I take what I want?"

Raevahn’s hands clenched, his heart hammered in terror, because he saw it—the first spark of a rebellion that could shatter the empire.

Not born from politics. Not born from power, but from the lust of one man who dared to desire what belonged to the Malik of Zahryssar.

A soft groan of despair escaped Raevahn as he whispered internally, "...This will destroy us all."

***

[Outside the Wine Chamber—Later—House Karzath]

Captain Raevahn stepped out of the wine chamber, the echo of Rakhane’s treasonous words pounding in his skull like war drums. His steps were sharp, quick, and almost uneven—as if the stone floor itself urged him to run, to warn someone, to stop a disaster before it was born.

He reached the long corridor lined with serpent-carved pillars when—

"...No need to follow me. You may return."

A woman’s voice, soft, low, yet edged with authority.

Raevahn froze mid-step and turned.

A young woman stood beneath the moonlit archway—the moonlight catching her hair like molten gold, cascading in thick waves down her back.

Her eyes—deep crimson—reflected the torchlight like polished rubies. Her skin glowed bronze beneath the lantern shadows. Her posture held the elegance of an omega...but her aura carried the sharpness of a blade.

House Karzath blood.

A noble-born serpent, and unmistakably—High Ensi Rakhane’s sister.

Her name carried weight in the courts.

Lady Arinaya Karzath.

A woman whose intelligence rivaled scholars, whose grace rivaled priestesses, whose beauty could unsettle a hall of nobles—and yet, the elders of House Karzath had never given her the throne she should have held by right.

The attendant trailing behind her bowed deeply and slipped away, leaving the corridor silent except for the flicker of torch flames.

Arinaya finally turned her attention fully to Captain Raevahn, and she smiled. Not a seductive smile—a warm, soft, almost disarming one.

"Captain Raevahn... what brings you here?" Her voice held sunlight—light, melodic, and gentle.

And Raevahn...he flushed.

Just slightly.

Barely visible.

But enough to betray a soldier’s heart fluttering beneath armor. He dropped into a respectful bow, trying to hide the heat rising on his ears, "I accompanied the sire to the wine chamber... my lady."

At the mention of "sire"—

Her brother.

High Ensi Rakhane.

The warmth in her eyes extinguished instantly. Her smile froze, then fell. A coldness swept over her face like frost crawling across glass.

"...I see."

Her voice was clipped and measured, a shard of ice beneath calm water. She turned away, steps carrying her toward the carved wooden doors of her chamber—but Raevahn, panicked by the sudden chill in her aura, blurted out without thinking, "My lady... it is time you accept the sire as the rightful head of House Karzath."

Arinaya stopped, her hand hovered over the door ring.

A breath—sharp, quiet—escaped her. She did not turn back, not even half, but her voice slid through the silence like a drawn blade:

"I will never accept a brainless serpent drenched in wickedness as the lord of Karzath.Even if that serpent shares my blood."

Raevahn stiffened; her words thickened the air. She continued—slowly, bitterly, her tone carved from ancient pride:

"A true heir does not snatch power with trickery. A true heir is chosen by merit...Not by deceiving the elders and stealing the position meant for another."

Her fingers curled around the door handle—tightly—as though crushing memories in her grip.

"What Rakhane did...is what weak men do when they cannot earn glory through strength or wisdom."

The hallway held its breath.

Only the torches crackled softly.

Then—THUD!!!!!!

She slammed the door shut. The sound reverberated through the corridor like a judgment. Raevahn stood alone, staring at the door with the ghost of her anger still clinging to his skin.

He exhaled a long, defeated breath, rubbing a hand over his face.

"...She speaks truth today," he muttered to himself.

His voice was small.Weighted.Tired.

Because he knew—This house no longer had one serpent. It had two.

One blinded by lust and ambition, and one sharp enough to cut the empire if provoked.

***

[Ancestral Hall—Silthara Palace—Same Night]

The moon filtered through the carved lattice windows, spilling silver across the stone floor like soft milk poured by the gods. Oil lamps flickered gently, shadows swaying like slow serpents on the walls.

And in the center of the grand hall—Naburash stood frozen and absolutely, utterly dumbfounded.

Before him sat Levin... poised, ready to study...and beside him—Zeramet.

Not reading.Not writing.Not meditating.

Just—Staring.

One massive arm wrapped firmly around Levin’s waist, holding him close as if he feared the young consort might evaporate if he let go.

Even Asha and Lyserph were confused—Asha tilting her little head, Lyserph blinking owlishly at the Malik as if asking:

"Why is he staring? Why is he not moving? Why is he not letting our human go?"

Meanwhile—Levin, caught in the emperor’s warm hold, whispered in mortified embarrassment, "...Zer... it is time you go to sleep."

Zeramet did not blink, did not budge. He simply gazed at his consort with so much quiet devotion it could soften mountains.

"I cannot sleep without you, my dear consort."

Levin choked on air, naburash nearly dropped the scroll with so much of love in the air.

Zeramet continued, voice low, warm, and terribly sincere, "Since I placed a harsh order upon you—one I cannot now take back—it is only right I suffer sleeplessness, not you. Let my punishment fall on myself."

Levin blushed.

Blushed deeper.

Tried to turn away.

Failed.

Naburash coughed violently, snapping the moment like a clay pot cracking.

"Malik," he managed, "forgive my interruption... but if you sit there like this—pressing into the Malika so... fondly—he will never learn anything in these remaining seven nights."

Zeramet slowly turned his head, the look he gave Naburash was the kind that made even seasoned warriors consider retirement.

"Are you calling my wife dumb, Naburash?"

Naburash froze and Levin blinked in shock.

Naburash dropped into a bow so fast the stone floor echoed, "NO—Malik, never! I only mean—"

"You only mean," Zeramet repeated dangerously, "that I am a distraction?"

Naburash swallowed, "...Yes, Malik."

Zeramet turned to Levin, his expression shifted instantly. Gone was the terrifying emperor. Gone was the lethal aura.

Now—a soft, helpless, adoring expression bloomed over his face. The kind of expression that could melt even desert sun.

He leaned close, golden eyes warm as molten honey, "Am I a distraction to you, my moonflower?"

Levin—The poor boy—his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. His cheeks blazed, he blinked once.Then again.

Then three times.

Then he looked down, hands twisting in his lap, "I—I—No. You’re... not."

Naburash went completely blank, jaw slack and soul leaving bod

Zeramet smiled—Warmly, proudly and triumphantly.

"See?" he said, tightening his arm around Levin’s waist. "My consort has no problem with my presence."

Levin attempted invisibility by lowering his head entirely as he internally screamed, "I did not know he possessed... this side of him...so cute"

Naburash finally managed to speak, voice thin, "Th-then... Malik... I shall begin teaching..."

Zeramet nodded grandly, as if granting the empire mercy, "You may begin."

But he did not move his hand from Levin’s waist, he did not remove his gaze from Levin’s face. He did not stop smiling like a lovestruck serpent who believed the moon belonged to him alone.

Naburash sighed internally, "This... this is going to be the hardest nights of my life."

He inhaled sharply through his nose, set down the scrolls with a thump that carried all the frustration of a man who had accepted his fate, and unfurled the parchment across the table.

His voice shifted into his formal tone, "Now... Malika, it is time you learn of the noble houses. Their histories, strengths, duties. And the first on the scroll is—High Ensi Rakhane Karzath."

Zeramet’s expression instantly soured, he muttered under his breath, low and venomous, "Of all the names... why must we begin with that bastard?"

Naburash, ever the professional, bowed slightly and replied with calm, diplomatic patience,

"No matter how distasteful he is, Malik... the Malika must know the roots of every household in the empire. Even the rotten ones."

Zeramet clicked his tongue but did not argue. He only shifted closer to Levin—as if Rakhane’s mere name made him tighten his hold protectively.

Then he turned to Levin with an expression so serious, so grave, so darkly intense that Levin felt the air change.

"My consort..." Zeramet began, voice dropping into a low rumble, "...before we begin, let me tell you—High Ensi Rakhane is a bastard among bastards."

Levin blinked.

"A... bastard of all bastards?" he repeated softly, confused.

Zeramet nodded firmly.

"Yes. The kind that slithers beneath sand and thinks himself a dragon. The kind who dares to breathe despite not deserving breath."

Levin blinked again, veil trembling in bewilderment, "But why? What did he do?"

Zeramet’s jaw tightened until the muscle flexed like carved stone.

He inhaled sharply, "He snatched his sister’s rightful position—like a coward stealing fruit from the hands of the starving."

"His sister’s... position?" Levin echoed. "What do you mean?"

Naburash bowed deeply, stepping forward with solemn gravity, "Malika... for that, you must first understand what power the High Ensi of Zahryssar holds."

The air thickened.

Levin felt Zeramet’s grip on his waist tighten—slowly, protectively, possessively—just from hearing Rakhane’s name.

A shadow of danger curled through the room.

Levin’s heartbeat echoed in the silence:

The High Ensi... The stolen seat...and the brewing corruption...

The lesson was about to begin, and it was not going to be gentle.