[Emperor's Chamber—Later]
SPLASH!!
Water rippled violently inside the carved obsidian bowl as Zeramet plunged the cloth into it. He wrung it once, droplets running down his forearm, then reached for Levin's hands with a gentleness that contrasted painfully with his earlier fury.
The emperor's chambers were silent.
The attendants stood at a respectful distance—heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the marble floor. Even their breaths felt afraid to disturb the air.
Only Levin remained motionless, perched on the edge of the couch—dagger long gone, but something sharper lingering in his gaze.
His mind was not in the room.
'They were definitely not the true assassins… A real assassin doesn't tremble like a storm-touched leaf.'
Zeramet began to wipe the dried blood from Levin's fingers, slow and deliberate. The rough warrior's hands moved with almost ceremonial tenderness.
His low voice rumbled into the quiet, "Show me your face."
Levin finally lifted his eyes.
