Chapter 287: The Grave of the Living
[Silthara Palace---Courtyard Corridor----Continuation]
The corridor remained silent long after the kiss ended.
Too silent.
Varesh stood pinned between the cold stone pillar and the far more dangerous warmth of Arkhazunn’s body, his chest rising and falling too quickly, his pulse thundering so violently that he was certain the High Mage could feel it beneath his skin.
His lips still burned.
Every place Arkhazunn had touched him still burned.
Varesh’s fingers were clenched tightly in the front of Arkhazunn’s robes, though he did not remember grabbing him in the first place. His mind felt disoriented...half drowned in heat, half strangled by the reality of what had just happened.
Arkhazunn had kissed him, not once, not by mistake, not while drunk and not while mistaking him for someone else.
No.
This time Arkhazunn had kissed him with terrifying clarity, with that dark, possessive intensity that still lingered in the mage’s golden eyes like a storm refusing to pass.
Varesh swallowed hard, his swollen lips parted, but no words came out.
Arkhazunn was still too close.
Still close enough that every breath he took brushed against Varesh’s face. Still close enough that his arm remained around Varesh’s waist, unyielding and possessive, as if he had no intention of allowing the captain even a single step of distance.
And perhaps the worst part, Varesh had kissed him back; the realization struck him a second time, harder than before, and his breath hitched.
Varesh jerked back suddenly, but the moment he tried to put distance between them, Arkhazunn’s hand tightened around his waist and pulled him right back and asked softly.
"Where do you think you are going?"
Varesh stared at him in disbelief.
"High Mage...we are standing in the middle of the palace corridor. Anyone might pass by, so please, let me go."
Arkhazunn’s expression did not change.
"No."
Varesh blinked in shock. "No? You dragged me into a corridor, threatened to destroy the palace, kissed me until I could barely breathe, and now your answer is no?"
"Yes," Arkhazunn said calmly.
Varesh looked ready to lose his mind. "High Mage—"
"Arkhazunn."
Varesh froze; the mage’s gaze did not waver from his face. "When we are alone, you will call me Arkhazunn."
"Please let me go; it feels as if you lost your senses..."
"Probably."
The answer came so easily that Varesh actually went silent. Arkhazunn stepped closer.
That alone should not have been possible, considering there was barely any space left between them, and yet somehow he still managed it, his body caging Varesh more thoroughly against the pillar, his presence swallowing the little air that remained.
"But if I have," Arkhazunn murmured, "you are the one who ruined me."
Varesh’s heart slammed against his ribs. "Stop saying things like that."
"Why? Because they frighten you?"
"Yes," Varesh snapped.
Arkhazunn’s eyes darkened with something unreadable.
"Good."
Varesh’s breath caught.
"Because I am frightened too," Arkhazunn continued, and for the first time, there was something dangerously honest beneath his calm. "I have spent too long pretending this was something I could control. Too long pretending I could watch you walk into danger, bleed for others, offer your life to a throne that takes and takes and takes from you... and feel nothing."
His hand slid from Varesh’s waist to the center of his chest, right over his racing heart.
"That lie is no longer useful to me."
Varesh’s throat tightened.
Arkhazunn’s fingers spread slowly against his chest as if feeling the frantic beat beneath his palm pleased something dark and possessive inside him.
"You should not have said those words."
"What words?"
"That if you died here, it would simply be your duty."
Varesh’s face hardened a little at that.
"It is my duty."
Arkhazunn’s jaw tightened instantly.
"No," he said, and this time the word came sharp enough to cut. "That is what you were taught to believe."
Varesh stared at him.
"The throne may demand your sword," Arkhazunn continued, "your loyalty, your strength, your sleepless nights, and every drop of blood you are willing to spill in its defense. But it does not get to demand your life as if it were nothing."
"It is not nothing," Varesh said coldly. "It is an oath."
"And I am telling you," Arkhazunn said, leaning down until their foreheads nearly touched, "that if your oath asks for your death, then I will become the very thing that breaks it."
Silence.
Varesh’s breath trembled; he hated how deeply those words reached, hated how dangerously close he was to believing them, and perhaps he hated most of all the way Arkhazunn was looking at him now...as if every word he had spoken had been dragged straight from the deepest, most guarded part of his heart.
Varesh looked away first, a mistake because the moment he did, Arkhazunn’s expression softened into something warm, something unbearably pleased, and his gaze dropped to Varesh’s mouth.
"It’s swollen," Arkhazunn murmured, thumb brushing over Varesh’s lower lip again, far too gently for the havoc he had caused.
Varesh’s face burned hotter.
He lowered his head at once, staring stubbornly at the polished floor rather than at the High Mage standing far too close, smelling of ancient magic and trouble. His lips still tingled from those kisses, and the simple fact that Arkhazunn was calmly inspecting the damage he had done made his heart beat so violently it was almost humiliating.
"Do not say things like that," Varesh muttered under his breath.
Arkhazunn’s smile deepened, and he asked softly. "Why not? I am merely admiring what is mine."
Varesh’s head snapped up, scandalized. "I am not yours."
"No?" Arkhazunn tilted his head slightly, eyes glittering with quiet amusement. "Then why are you blushing like that, Captain?"
Varesh immediately looked away again.
"I am not blushing."
"You are."
"I am not."
"You are very much blushing."
Varesh shot him a glare sharp enough to cut stone, but Arkhazunn only looked more entertained by it. Then, before Varesh could retreat another step or gather enough composure to throw him out of the corridor, Arkhazunn reached for his hand.
Varesh stilled.
Arkhazunn took his hand with surprising care, his long fingers sliding around Varesh’s as though the gesture were something precious rather than impulsive. He turned it over slowly and reverently, and for a moment his expression changed again, losing the teasing edge, softening into something quieter. Something achingly sincere.
Then he lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the back of Varesh’s hand.
Varesh’s breath caught; the kiss was not playful, not stolen, it was slow. Intentional. Almost solemn.
An apology.
A vow.
Arkhazunn lifted his gaze to meet Varesh’s, and when he spoke, there was no mockery left in his voice at all.
"I was a fool. A blind, arrogant fool who failed to see the heart standing before him."
Varesh’s throat tightened.
Arkhazunn’s fingers closed more firmly around his hand, not enough to hurt, only enough to make sure Varesh felt every word he was about to say.
"I hurt you, whether I meant to or not; I did. I made you doubt yourself. I made you question what that night meant, and worse..." His jaw tightened. "I made you believe that you were merely a mistake I had no right to make."
Varesh’s lashes trembled. Arkhazunn stepped closer, not enough to trap him this time. Just enough to make the moment feel frighteningly intimate.
"I cannot undo that; I cannot erase what I did. But if you allow it..." His thumb stroked slowly across Varesh’s knuckles. "Then I will spend every day after this making certain you never doubt where my heart belongs again."
Varesh looked at him, then really looked at him, and he could see it, that warmth in Arkhazunn’s eyes. That frightening sincerity, that tenderness hidden beneath the possessive madness.
It made something in his chest ache.
Varesh looked away first, because if he kept staring, he was afraid he might say something reckless.
"You can do whatever you want," he said at last, though his voice came out quieter than he intended. "But there is something you should remember."
Arkhazunn waited.
Varesh swallowed.
"We are both Alphas," he said, his fingers curling slightly in Arkhazunn’s hold. "Two Alphas do not... they do not fit easily into the kind of bond you’re imagining."
Arkhazunn’s expression did not change, he did not look surprised. If anything, he looked almost offended that Varesh thought such a thing could stop him.
"We can," Arkhazunn said simply.
Varesh blinked and looked up.
Arkhazunn lifted Varesh’s hand again and pressed another kiss to his knuckles, his voice low and steady.
"There is no law in this empire that forbids two of the same secondary gender from choosing each other. No divine punishment waiting to strike us down. No sacred rule that says two Alphas cannot stand side by side and belong to one another."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"The only thing standing in our way is your fear of what might be difficult."
Varesh frowned faintly.
"And what if it is difficult?" he asked. "What if this ends in disaster?"
Arkhazunn’s lips curved, but there was no mockery in it this time. Only certainty. "Then we will turn disaster into something that kneels."
Varesh stared at him; that answer should not have made his heart stutter. It absolutely should not have.
And yet—
"I..." Varesh looked away again, suddenly too aware of how close they were, of the hand still being held like something precious, of the way Arkhazunn’s gaze had turned unbearably soft. "I have to go."
Arkhazunn’s thumb brushed once more over his knuckles.
"I have duties to attend to," Varesh continued quickly, as if saying the words faster would help him recover his senses. "The attack, the palace guards, the investigation...I cannot stay here and stand around listening to your impossible promises."
Arkhazunn gave a quiet hum, clearly unconvinced.
"I need to inspect the southern wing myself," Varesh said. "And question the guards who were stationed there. I do not have time for—"
"For me?" Arkhazunn offered.
"Yes," he snapped. "For you."
Arkhazunn looked entirely too pleased by that answer. Varesh exhaled sharply and tried to pull his hand free.
This time, Arkhazunn let him but only so he could step in and steal one last touch. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Varesh’s cheek.
Varesh froze; before he could recover, Arkhazunn brushed another kiss against the other side of his face...slower this time, lingering just long enough to make Varesh’s entire body go rigid with shock.
"A-Arkhazunn—"
"See?" Arkhazunn murmured near his ear, his voice rich with satisfaction. "You say my name very beautifully when you’re flustered."
Varesh looked as if he wanted to die on the spot.
Arkhazunn smiled...warm, devastating, and far too pleased with himself.
"Go on, then, Captain," he said, finally stepping back. "Fulfill your duties. Protect the palace. Glare at suspicious servants. Terrify every knight in your path."
Then his gaze softened once more, settling on Varesh with enough warmth to steal the breath from his lungs all over again.
"But when your duties are done..." he said, voice dropping lower, more intimate, "come to me tonight."
Varesh’s pulse stumbled.
Arkhazunn took one step backward, then another, his eyes never leaving Varesh’s face.
"After your shift ends, after the palace quiets and no one is watching..." His lips curved. "I will be waiting."
Varesh’s throat went dry.
Arkhazunn turned then, his robes sweeping behind him as he began to walk down the corridor with infuriating calm, as if he had not just shattered what remained of Varesh’s composure, but after a few steps, he paused and glanced over his shoulder.
The look he gave Varesh was darkly fond. Possessive. Certain.
"And Captain?"
Varesh stood frozen where he was.
Arkhazunn’s eyes dipped once to Varesh’s still-swollen lips before lifting again. "Try not to let anyone else see that expression on your face."
Varesh frowned. "What expression?"
"The one that makes me want to drag you into the nearest room and kiss you until you forget your own name."
Varesh’s eyes widened in horror; the High Mage laughed softly under his breath...actually laughed—and then turned away before Varesh could recover enough to throw something at him.
And just like that, he was gone.
Leaving Varesh alone in the corridor with burning cheeks, trembling hands, and a heart that refused...absolutely refused...to calm down.
Varesh stared after him for a long, long moment, then he lifted his fingers and touched his lips, still swollen and still warm, and still carrying the ghost of Arkhazunn’s mouth.
His pulse thundered.
"...This is a disaster," he muttered weakly.
But even as he said it, his face was burning red enough to betray him, and somewhere deep inside his chest beneath the panic, beneath the confusion, beneath all the fear he refused to name, something fragile and dangerous had begun to hope.
***
[Hallway — Later]
The long corridor of Silthara Palace was quiet, washed in the dim gold of evening lanterns.
Arkhazunn walked through it with measured steps, robes sweeping softly against the marble floor, though the faint curve at the corner of his lips had yet to disappear.
He could still see Varesh’s face in his mind, flushed and breathless, trying and failing not to look at him. The memory alone was enough to pull another amused smirk from Arkhazunn’s mouth.
"You seem... suspiciously pleased with yourself." The voice came from the shadows ahead.
Arkhazunn’s steps slowed.
Zeramet was leaning against one of the carved pillars by the open archway, one arm folded across his chest, the other resting lazily at his side. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had already taken in far too much.
Arkhazunn straightened at once and lowered his head.
"My Malik—"
"Drop the formalities today," Zeramet cut him off flatly. Arkhazunn lifted his gaze.
Zeramet pushed himself away from the pillar and stepped fully into the lantern light, the evening wind stirring the dark strands of his hair. There was something wrong with his expression.
Not anger, not irritation, but something far colder.
"Bring me the Malika Ninsara’s Necklace," Zeramet said.
Arkhazunn’s brows drew together immediately. "The necklace? Did you find something?"
Zeramet did not answer at once; he walked past him toward the open window at the far end of the corridor, his gaze settling on the darkness beyond the palace grounds. For a long moment, only silence answered.
That silence was enough to make the faint amusement vanish entirely from Arkhazunn’s face.
Then Zeramet spoke. "Today, I noticed something strange in the royal graveyard."
Arkhazunn’s eyes sharpened. Zeramet’s voice lowered further, each word deliberate.
"I found a grave."
Arkhazunn waited.
Zeramet slowly turned his head.
"A grave belonging to someone..." he said, his eyes meeting Arkhazunn’s at last, "who is still alive."
Silence crashed between them.
Arkhazunn stared; for one suspended moment, he thought he had misheard, but the look on Zeramet’s face erased that possibility at once.
There was no mockery in it. No uncertainty. No trace of exaggeration. Only cold, brutal seriousness.
Arkhazunn took a step forward, his voice dropping.
"...What exactly are you saying?"
Zeramet held his gaze.
The air in the corridor felt heavier now, almost suffocating.
"I am saying that in the royal graveyard of Silthara... there is a marked grave bearing the name of someone who still walks this palace alive."
A chill slid down Arkhazunn’s spine.
His mind raced at once...through spells, ancient curses, burial rites, bloodline seals, spirit contracts...but none of them fit. None of them explained the dread now creeping into his bones.
Unless Arkhazunn’s expression changed, slowly and horribly.
He looked at Zeramet as if afraid of his own next thought.
"...No," he said under his breath.
Zeramet remained silent. Arkhazunn’s voice turned tighter. "No... that would be impossible."
"Would it?" Zeramet asked.
Arkhazunn’s pulse lurched; for the first time in a very long while, the High Mage looked genuinely shaken. He took another step forward, eyes fixed on Zeramet’s face as though searching for any sign that this was a misunderstanding.
"Malik..." he said, almost cautiously. "Are you implying..."
The words nearly refused to leave his mouth.
"...that we are not living our first life?"
The wind outside rose sharply, rattling the lantern flames. Zeramet did not answer immediately, and that silence was worse than any denial.
Arkhazunn’s chest tightened.
"Are you saying that this is a second timeline?"
At that, Zeramet finally turned to face him fully; the look in his eyes was enough to make the corridor feel suddenly colder.
"I do not know which timeline it is yet," Zeramet said. "And I will not speak of certainty before I have proof."
His gaze darkened.
"But if it is true..."
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a quiet brutality that made even Arkhazunn go still.
"Then someone in this palace has tampered with fate itself."
Arkhazunn’s breath caught. Zeramet took one slow step closer, silver eyes glinting like sharpened steel in the dark.
"And if that someone truly dragged us into a second timeline..." he said, each word colder than the last, "then they did not merely alter destiny."
His expression hardened into something almost merciless.
"They rewrote lives."
Arkhazunn stood motionless, the weight of those words settling over the corridor like a curse.
Rewritten lives. A grave for the living. A timeline that should not exist, and if Zeramet’s suspicion was right, then somewhere within Silthara Palace, there was a serpent who had already lived through this future once before.
A serpent who knew what was coming and a serpent who had buried the dead... before they had even fallen. Zeramet’s eyes turned toward the darkness outside the palace windows.
"If someone truly changed the course of time, then they will answer for every consequence that followed."
His voice dropped into something lethal.
"Every death. Every lie and every ruin."
Arkhazunn said nothing, for the first time that evening; even Varesh’s flushed face and trembling lips vanished from his thoughts completely because this...this was no longer a matter of palace security.
This was something far worse, something older and something monstrous.
Zeramet extended his hand. "The necklace, Arkhazunn."
Arkhazunn lowered his head at once, the last trace of warmth gone from his expression. "Yes, Malik."
But as he turned to obey, one terrible thought kept echoing through his mind: If a second timeline truly existed...then who had remembered the first one?
And why had they hidden a living serpent among the dead?
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