[Zahryssar Empire—The Wedding Day]
Gold spilled across the marble courtyards and palm-lined terraces, creeping slowly up pillars carved with ancient coils. The palace was not in chaos—there were no hurried footsteps, no raised voices—but the air itself carried the unmistakable gravity of a wedding.
Not just any wedding.
The wedding of His Radiance, Zeramat Karash.
Levin stood at the center of his chamber as Iru and the other attendants moved around him with quiet precision. Every motion was measured, practiced, and reverent.
He was dressed in ceremonial white.
Layered silk and fine linen fell over him in structured folds, luminous as morning light. Threads of pure gold traced ancient patterns along the hems and sleeves—sun sigils, coiling lines, symbols older than the empire itself. The garment did not cling.
It shaped him into something suspended between mortal and divine.
Across his chest rested layered ceremonial jewelry of red and gold. A golden collar encircled his neck, inset with deep carnelian and blood-red stones. Long, thread-fine earrings brushed his shoulders when he moved, their red stones catching the light. Matching armlets and cuffs embraced his arms and wrists, warm and weighted.
Over his dark hair fell a white bridal head veil, flowing from a gold circlet engraved with the sigil of Malika Ninsara. The veil softened his silhouette, catching the light like breath made visible.
And beneath it—A face veil.
The fabric was sheer, translucent enough to hint at form, yet concealing every feature from nose to chin.
"A… face veil?" Levin asked quietly.
Iru inclined his head, eyes lowered. "From the moment the marriage rite begins, only a husband is permitted to see the face of his consort."
"And after?" Levin asked.
"If His Radiance allows it," Iru replied evenly, "the veil may be removed in public. Until then, it remains before all others."
Levin absorbed the words in silence.
"Do all wives wear it?" he asked at last.
"Yes," Iru answered without hesitation. "It is not a mark of restriction, Consort Levin. It is a mark of sanctity. The Empress stands between the empire and its future. Not every gaze is worthy of your face."
"I see," Levin murmured.
The attendants finished their work and stepped back, bowing in perfect unison. Levin turned slightly and caught his reflection in a polished bronze mirror.
White and gold.
Red stone and veil.
His ocean-blue eyes stared back—calm, distant, untouched by panic. Beautiful, yes. But cold in the way deep water was cold.
"It is time, Consort," Iru said gently.
Levin stepped forward.
The corridors leading to the Ceremonial Hall were wide and open, lined with towering columns carved in spiraling reliefs. With each step, the weight of his jewelry settled more firmly against his chest, grounding him.
'I will do my duty,' he thought. 'I will stand as a royal consort. I will endure what is required to maintain the peace between two kingdom.'
Bearing a child for a Prime Alpha would not be easy—his body would resist, strain, and suffer. He knew this and yet he accepted it.
Only for Thalryn.
His steps slowed briefly as his gaze lifted to the towering statue of Malika Ninsara.
'But…will he accept an Alpha like me,' Levin wondered, 'when he expected an Omega?'
There was no answer.
Only the path ahead.
Levin straightened his shoulders and crossed the threshold.
***
[The Ceremonial Hall—Continuation]
The Ceremonial Hall opened like the heart of the empire.
Nobles of Zahryssar lined the marble aisles in perfect symmetry, draped in ceremonial colors, their heads bowed as Levin entered. No whispers followed. No murmurs rose.
He walked forward alone.
Then—he looked up and his breath caught.
At the end of the aisle stood Emperor Zeramat Karash.
'That's… the Emperor?'
Zeramat Karash stood like a monument to imperial will.
He wore long ceremonial robes of deep obsidian and gold, the fabric heavy with layered embroidery that absorbed light rather than reflected it. Sun sigils and ancient coils were woven directly into the cloth—declarative, not decorative. One shoulder bore a broad golden mantle fastened with a serpent-shaped clasp, the mark of the ruling bloodline.
His long silver hair fell freely down his back, bound only at the nape with a simple gold tie. Broad-shouldered and unmoving, he looked less like a man awaiting a bride and more like the axis around which the hall itself had been built.
His golden serpent eyes lifted and when they found Levin, the air tightened.
Levin approached the Sun Court and lowered himself smoothly to one knee, head bowed, and veil falling like a curtain of white light. "I, Levin Veyrhold, from Thalryn, greet his radiance."
Silence claimed the hall.
Zeramat Karash did not move at once. He studied Levin with a gaze unyielding as stone. Seconds passed, deliberate and heavy.
Then—"Stand up, Consort."
The voice was low. Husky. Unhurried. It did not echo. It settled. Levin's breath caught and he lifted his head.
Zeramat extended his hand.
Broad. Steady. Certain, without a word, Levin placed his own into it. The Emperor's grip was firm as he drew Levin to his feet, positioning him before the throne's living embodiment.
An attendant approached in silence, bearing two heavy golden goblets filled with dark red wine—and a velvet box the color of fresh blood.
The box was opened.
Inside lay a single silver serpent earring, delicately coiled, its eyes formed of molten gold—the symbol of Zahryssar's oldest bond.
The symbol of claim.
Zeramat reached for it and with deliberate calm, he removed the earring Levin already wore, his fingers brushing the shell of Levin's ear—slow, precise. Intimate enough to send a sharp awareness through Levin's chest.
Their eyes met.
Zeramat lifted the serpent earring closer, his voice lowered.
"From this moment," he murmured, breath warm against the veil, "you belong to me, Levin Veyrhold."
Levin glanced up at him slightly as the silver slid into place. His breath stuttered as the metal settled—cool at first, then warming against his skin. Its weight pressed lightly, undeniably.
Claimed.
Zeramat's thumb lingered for a heartbeat beneath Levin's jaw, just below the veil—then withdrew.
The ritual continued.
They each took a goblet and lifted them in perfect symmetry. Together, they turned toward the towering effigy of Zahryssar's great serpent god—Urzan.
They bowed.
They drank.
At once, fabric shifted. Every noble of Zahryssar fell to one knee, heads lowered in absolute submission.
"Honor and blessing to the Malik and Malika of Zahryssar," they intoned in unison.
The words echoed through stone and history alike. Levin stood beside Zeramat Karash—veiled, claimed, and bound not by force, but by vow.
And beneath the gaze of gods and empire, a new Malika of Zahryssar was named.