Serpent Emperor's Bride-Chapter 81: The Malika Who Would Not Die

[The River Beneath the Bridge—Afternoon—Continuation]

Cold swallowed Levin whole—not water, but weight.

The river struck him like a clenched fist, stealing the air from his lungs as his body plunged beneath the surface. Light fractured above him into broken silver shards, twisting and stretching until even the memory of the sky dissolved. The current seized him, dragging him sideways, down, and away.

Stone scraped his shoulder; pain flared, but Levin was not weak.

He forced his body to move, muscles remembering what panic tried to erase. He kicked, angled his torso, and fought the pull with trained precision. His arms cut through the water, lungs screaming as he pushed upward—then something caught him.

His legs jerked violently.

Levin twisted, looking down, and saw it—thick strands of river plant, dark and sinewed, coiling around his calves like living chains. They tightened as the current pulled, anchoring him cruelly to the river’s bed.

"No—" The word left him as bubbles.

He slashed at the plants with his dagger, but the angle was wrong. The current shoved him sideways; his wrist struck stone, and pain exploded up his arm.

The dagger slipped as his fingers went numb.

Levin clawed at the growth with bare hands, nails scraping, skin tearing as the plant resisted—stubborn, ancient, fed by the same river that now sought to drown him.

His chest burned.

Air—he needed air—

His breath shattered into panicked gasps that only filled his mouth with water. His vision dimmed at the edges, shadows bleeding inward.

’Not like this,’ he thought fiercely. ’I do not want to die, not here. Zeramet needs me...he will be devastated to see me dead.’

But strength waned, and the river did not care for will.

The plant tightened.

Pressure crushed his lungs, and for the first time since falling, something dangerous crept in—not fear, but hopelessness.

His movements slowed, the water darkened, and then—gold.

A warmth cut through the cold like dawn through stone.

Levin’s blurring vision caught a flicker—no, not a flicker, a presence. Something luminous moved through the water without disturbing it, light flowing around its shape as if the river itself bowed aside.

Gold threaded with white.

A vast head—serpentine, yet not wholly serpent. Eyes like molten suns, ancient and knowing. Its body shimmered, scales etched with symbols that bent sight and sense alike.

A god? A memory? A hallucination born of dying breath?

The creature did not speak.

It did not need to.

The golden being coiled around Levin’s trapped legs, and where its body touched the river plant, the growth recoiled—burned, unraveling as if time itself refused its hold.

The coils loosened, and the plant fell away.

Levin’s body drifted free; he tried to look up to see the creature clearly—but his vision failed him. Darkness crowded in as his strength gave out.

The last thing he felt was not fear but recognition, as if something impossibly old had looked at him and said,

’Do not worry, child; nothing will harm you.’

Then arms closed around him, strong and familiar.

Zeramet.

The water surged as Zeramet cut through it like a blade, golden eyes blazing even beneath the river’s gloom. He wrapped one arm around Levin’s chest, the other locking his legs free, and pulled—

Hard, urgent, and desperate.

"Stay with me," Zeramet’s voice thundered through the water—not sound, but command, felt more than heard. His grip tightened as Levin’s body went slack. "Do not you dare leave me."

Zeramet kicked upward, muscles burning, tail slicing through the current as he dragged them both toward the light breaking above.

Levin’s consciousness flickered. In that fading moment, he thought he saw gold retreating into the depths—watchful, patient—

Then air exploded into his lungs.

Zeramet broke the surface with a roar, hauling Levin into his arms as water cascaded around them. Levin coughed violently, his body convulsing as breath returned in ragged pulls.

Zeramet held him like something torn back from the grave, hands shaking as he pressed his forehead to Levin’s, voice breaking for the first time since the world began.

"I have you," he breathed fiercely. "I have you; you are not leaving me, consort. You’re not allowed to."

Levin clung weakly to him, fingers fisting in Zeramet’s clothes as if the world would fall apart if he let go.

"...Zer..." he rasped, chest burning, breath shallow and uneven.

That was all he managed before his strength gave out.

Zeramet caught him instantly, arms locking around him with desperate precision. For one heartbeat he simply held him there—relief and fury crashing together like a storm against stone—then his body shifted, silver scales rippling as he returned fully to his original form.

Without hesitation, he carried Levin away; behind them, unseen beneath the darkening river, something ancient coiled once more into silence.

Not finished, not forgotten, and definitely not done with the Malika of Zahryssar.

And then it vanished into the depths.

***

[Later—Midnight—Silthara Palace—Emperor’s Chamber]

The chamber was quiet, lit only by low-burning lamps and the slow rhythm of breathing.

Zeramet sat beside the bed, unmoving, his gaze fixed on Levin’s face as if looking away might undo his survival. One hand rested near Levin’s—close, but careful.

Asha lay curled near the pillow, tail twitching anxiously. Lyresaph stayed on the other side, massive head lowered, eyes glowing faintly with worry, his body unnaturally still.

Then, Levin’s lashes fluttered.

Once.

Twice.

Asha lifted his head at once. Lyresaph’s tail shifted, coils tightening in alert relief. Zeramet leaned forward instantly, hands rising to cup Levin’s cheeks. "My consort..."

Levin winced softly. "Hngh..." His head throbbed, pain pulsing behind his eyes.

"Consort," Zeramet said gently, voice tight. "Are you awake?"

Levin blinked again, vision slowly sharpening until Zeramet’s worried face came into focus. "...Zer..." he murmured weakly.

Zeramet slid an arm beneath his shoulders and lifted him just enough. "Careful. Drink some water."

He guided the cup to Levin’s lips, steady hands betraying none of the terror still coiled inside him. Levin sipped slowly, swallowing with effort as Zeramet rubbed small circles against his cheek.

"Are you alright?" Zeramet asked quietly. "Does anything hurt?"

Levin nodded faintly. "I’m... fine. Just my head—"

Then memory crashed back into him: the bridge, the blade, the fall, and...a golden presence that made Levin think deeply, ’Who was that? Did I really see someone or...did I just hallucinate?’

Then he realized his mission, and his hand shot out, gripping Zeramet’s arm with sudden urgency. "Zer—I have something to tell you. Iru—"

Zeramet stilled.

"Consort," he interrupted—not sharply, but firmly, thumb brushing gently along Levin’s cheek as if anchoring him to the present. "You nearly died today."

Levin tried to protest, but Zeramet continued, voice low and steady.

"Your body is still mending. Your breath is still finding its rhythm again. Whatever you wish to tell me—it can wait." He lifted the cup again. "Drink and rest."

Levin obeyed reluctantly, swallowing another sip saying, "But...I have to tell about Iru—"

Zeramet set the cup aside and exhaled slowly as he added, almost casually, "And about your attendant, I should reward Iru."

Levin froze.

"...What?" he whispered.

Zeramet nodded. "Yes, that attendant of yours informed me that you were likely in danger." His jaw tightened. "I did not ask how he knew. I did not wait. I mounted immediately and rode to you, and you were indeed in danger."

Levin’s fingers twitched against the blankets.

"Iru... informed you?" He asked again, disbelief cutting through the haze.

"Yes," Zeramet said. "Because of him, I reached you in time."

Silence fell, and Levin’s mind reeled. All this time—every sign, every suspicion, every pattern—had pointed to Iru. And yet—

’Iru warned Zer? Then that means...?’ Levin thought deeply.

Then either Levin was wrong, or Iru was far more dangerous than Levin had ever imagined.

Zeramet brushed his thumb over Levin’s knuckles, mistaking the tension for lingering fear as he said softly, "Rest now; we will speak of this tomorrow with clear minds."

Levin nodded faintly, eyes drifting shut—but his thoughts refused to quiet. As sleep reclaimed him, one question burned sharper than pain:

’If Iru is not the hand that kills... then who has been standing so close to me all this time? Who is the real traitor...residing close to us?’

Zeramet gathered him closer, protective and unyielding, as if daring fate itself to try again. Outside, the palace slept, and somewhere in the dark, the truth waited—patient, coiled, and watching.

***

[The Next Day — Malika’s Office]

Morning light filtered through the tall lattice windows, but it did nothing to soften the air inside the chamber. It was thick, watchful and heavy with things unsaid.

Zeramet stood beside Levin, tall and immovable, blue eyes fixed on the kneeling figure before them. Iru knelt on the stone floor, head bowed low, hands resting flat against the ground in perfect submission.

Lady Arinaya stood a few steps back, silent, her presence calm but alert—like a drawn bow held steady.

"...Consort," Zeramet said at last, his voice measured, echoing faintly off the walls. "We can investigate him before the full council. Every lord, every witness, nothing will be hidden."

Levin did not answer immediately.

His gaze rested on Iru—not sharp, not angry—but unreadable, like deep water that reflected nothing of what lay beneath.

"I would like to investigate him personally, Zer," Levin said quietly. "If you allow it."

Zeramet exhaled through his nose, a slow breath carrying reluctance and trust in equal measure. After a heartbeat, he nodded.

"As you wish."

Levin’s lips curved faintly—not in warmth, but in resolve.

Zeramet turned, already shifting into command. "Then I will leave you to it. I need to investigate the routes—how the Black Serpent assassins breached the perimeter."

Levin inclined his head once. "Yes."

Zeramet paused at the threshold, then glanced back—not at Levin, but at Iru, his look was cold, Judgment without words.

He said nothing, he simply turned and left and the doors closed.

THUD--!!

The sound echoed longer than it should have and silence claimed the room. Levin rose slowly from his seat and stepped down from the dais. His footsteps were unhurried as he crossed the chamber, each one measured, deliberate, final.

Lady Arinaya did not move and Iru remained kneeling.

Levin stopped directly in front of him, so close that Iru could see the hem of his robes, "Lift your head, Iru."

The command was soft.

It was absolute.

Iru obeyed.

Still kneeling, he raised his face and looked up at his Malika. His expression was composed—too composed. Eyes clear, breathing steady, there was no fear and no panic.

Levin studied him for a long moment and said calmly, "You must know, why I canceled the council investigation."

Iru swallowed once, then nodded. "Yes, Malika. I am aware."

Levin’s voice lowered.

"Good," he said. "Then I will not speak to you gently. I will not speak to you kindly, and I will not dress my words in silk."

He leaned forward just enough for his shadow to fall fully over Iru, "Just answer one question, truthfully."

The room seemed to hold its breath. Levin’s eyes hardened—not cruel, but cuttingly precise as he asked slowly, "WHO. ARE. YOU?"

The silence that followed was not empty.

It was waiting.

And whatever Iru chose to say next would decide whether he rose from that floor as a man—

—or never rose at all.