[Silthara Palace — Malika's Residency — Night — Emperor's Chamber]
Moonlight spilled like silver silk across the emperor's chamber, pouring through the high lattice windows and painting pale patterns over the carpets, the carved cedar pillars, and the low diwan set near the bed.
The room itself was quiet. The kind of quiet that only came when a royal marriage had suffered a catastrophe.
On the great bed, Prince Zaryan and Princess Nyzara sat side by side in matching confusion, both of them blinking with wide eyes as though they had wandered into a court drama they were far too young to understand.
Lyresaph lay coiled beside them, chin resting on the blankets, staring ahead with the flat, long-suffering expression of a serpent who had already accepted that tonight was going to be insufferable.
And before them all stood Zeramet. The Malik of Zahryssar. The terror of battlefields. The serpent before whom nobles trembled, generals bowed, and enemies prayed.
