[The Veyrhold Mansion—Later]
The gates of Veyrhold Manor opened without ceremony. The heavy echo of hooves on stone and the whisper of servants retreating from their path as Levin and the Duke dismounted and crossed the courtyard with unspoken urgency.
The air itself felt wrong—too still, too aware.
"Where is the letter?" the Duke demanded the moment they stepped inside.
"In your office, my lord," a steward replied quickly, head bowed.
They did not slow. The corridors blurred past as father and son moved with purpose born of dread rather than haste. The office doors were already open, lamplight spilling into the hall like a warning.
And there—The letter waited.
It lay upon a silver tray as if placed there by reverent hands, motionless yet unmistakably alive. Wax pressed deep into parchment bore the mark of a coiled serpent, its head raised, fangs bared—not in threat, but in quiet authority.
No crest of Thalryn stood beside it.
The Duke stopped just inside the threshold. Levin did not move closer. His gaze was not fixed on the parchment itself—but on the seal.
Duke's fingers hovered over the wax and broke the seal. The wax cracked, the serpent split cleanly down the middle and the parchment slid free.
The Duke unfolded it slowly, as though the act itself carried consequence. His eyes moved across the lines—once, then again—before his shoulders stiffened, the color draining from his face.
Levin watched him closely.
"What does it say, Father?" he asked.
The Duke did not answer; he simply held the parchment out. "You should read it yourself."
Levin took the letter. The paper was heavier than it should have been. The seal—split now—still bore the impression of the serpent's fangs, as if the wax had not entirely released its bite. Levin's eyes lowered to the words.
Precise.
Elegant.
Utterly merciless.
***
To House Veyrhold,
The vow sworn to the Coiled Throne remains unfulfilled.It appears you have mistaken patience for indulgence.
Do not.
If I could save your kingdom from extinction,know that I can end it just as easily.
The bride promised to Zahryssar shall be delivered before the next full moon.Failure will be taken as refusal.
Refusal will be answered in kind.
***
Levin read it once. The room seemed to grow smaller with every word, the lamplight dimming as though even the flame wished to retreat.
Silence swallowed the space between them.
"Father…" Levin said at last, his voice low. "This is not a reminder."
The Duke nodded slowly, "It is a verdict. If we do not send a bride this time, we have to face another war, and… this time, there will be no battlefield."
The words settled between them like a grave being filled.
No clash of steel.
No banners.
No chance to fight back.
Only the fear of cities being erased. Names forgotten and the silence pressed down—heavy and suffocating.
***
[Veyrhold Office—Later]
The Duke sat alone at his desk, elbows braced against polished wood, hands buried in his hair. His shoulders sagged beneath a weight no armor could bear. The fire burned low, casting long, broken shadows across the walls.
His eyes were dull.
Fear had hollowed them.
Levin stood a few steps behind him, unmoving. Watching. Waiting. The silence stretched until it became unbearable.
DING.
Duke rang the bell—sharp, final.
Levin's voice was steady, but there was tension beneath it. "Have you decided on something, Father?"
The Duke did not look up at once.
"Yes," he said at last.
His voice was quiet. Broken. "Just know this, son, I have no other choice."
The door opened softly and the butler entered, bowing low. "You called for me, my lord?"
The Duke lifted his head just enough to meet the man's gaze, "Summon Aelira. Tell her to come to my office and tell her it is urgent."
The words struck like a blade. Levin's breath hitched. His eyes widened as he understood what his father was about to do.
"Father," he said sharply, "do not tell me you—"
"We have no other choice, Levin," the Duke interrupted, finally turning to face him. "We are the ones who swore the vow. So we are the ones who should be responsible for this Vow."
Levin clenched his fists.
"You would send her," he said, disbelief creeping into his voice. "She's our Precious. Do you think she could handle the serpent emperor?"
The Duke's jaw tightened.
"We must bear the burden of our own oath," he said. "That is what it means to rule."
The door creaked open before Levin could answer.
"Father?" a soft voice called.
Both men turned.
Aelira Veyrhold stood in the doorway. Her hair was loosely braided, her expression calm but curious—unaware that the world had just shifted beneath her feet.
Levin felt something inside him begin to break as soon as he saw her. Aelira stepped inside the office, the door closing softly behind her.
She smiled—gentle, trusting—and looked between them. "You asked for me, Father?"
Neither of them answered.
Levin stood frozen, eyes wide, his chest tightening painfully at the sight of his sister—so unaware, so untouched by the decision already made for her. Fear crept over his face like a shadow he could not chase away.
The Duke swallowed.
"Aelira," he began, forcing the words out as though they cut his throat. "I have… chosen a groom for you."
She blinked.
He lifted his gaze fully to her face.
"The Emperor of Zahryssar," he said. "Zeramet Karash. You must prepare yourself. You will be—"
"Father."
Her voice broke the room. Tears spilled suddenly from her eyes, unchecked, trembling as she stared at him.
"…Are you selling me?"
The words struck like a blade.
The Duke's breath hitched. His eyes widened in horror. "Aelira, it's not—"
"Then what is it?" she cried, her voice shaking. "You don't want me anymore? Am I finally a burden to you? Or…you have started blaming me for mother's death after all these years?"
The Duke trembled.
Levin's heart wrenched violently at the sound of her sobbing. He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest.
"Aelira," he said hoarsely, "it's not what you think. Do not misunderstand father."
She clutched his clothes, hiccupping through her tears.
"Then why?" she cried into him. "Why is Father sending me to an unknown land? To a ruler feared even by those who serve him?"
Her gaze shifted past Levin—to their father.
"You know what they say about him," she whispered. "No Omega has ever survived under Emperor Zeramet Karash. Not one. They're all… killed. After the first night, how can I survive a man who is not even fully human?"
Her voice cracked completely.
"If I'm truly that much of a burden to you, then I can end my life myself. Right now. You don't have to send me far. I will kill myself—"
"AELIRA!" The Duke shouted her name in raw panic.
The sound froze the room.
Levin tightened his hold on her instantly, heart pounding. The Duke staggered back a step, as though struck. Slowly—so slowly—he lowered his head.
When he spoke again, his voice was broken, "It is the only way. The only way to protect the kingdom."
Aelira's sobs quieted, replaced by stunned silence.
"If we do not send an Omega bride before the full moon," the Duke continued, each word tearing at him, "the Serpent Emperor will wage war upon Thalryn, my dear. It's the only thing I can do to save this kingdom that has begun to rise again.
The fire crackled softly.
Aelira stared at him, her face pale, something inside her shattering beyond repair. And in that moment, Levin understood—This was not politics.
This was not duty.
This was the price of survival and he will not let his sister or anyone else from Thalryn bear this.
"Then—" Lorcan's voice cut through the silence. "I will go, Father."
Aelira's eyes widened as she looked up at him, disbelief tearing through her grief.
The Duke turned sharply. "What?"
Levin stepped forward. His posture straightened—not in defiance, but in resolve. His gaze met his father's without wavering.
"I will go," he said again, calmly. Final. "As the bride of Zeramet Karash."