Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 108

Elara’s POV

The wooden watchtower rose above the treeline like a promise.

I knew that silhouette. The rough-hewn timber. The imperial banner hanging limp in the windless air. The sharpened stakes of the perimeter fence bristling outward like teeth.

Home.

The word cracked something open inside my chest. A flood of relief so violent it nearly took my legs out from under me. My damaged ankle buckled, and I stumbled forward, arms outstretched, a sound escaping my lips that was half-laugh, half-sob.

I’d made it. Against every conceivable odd, through miles of hostile forest, through poison and pain and a pit full of the dead—I’d made it to the border.

Two soldiers stood at the gate. They’d heard my scream, clearly. Both were already facing my direction, spears leveled, bodies coiled in that particular tension of men trained to kill first and identify later.

"Help me," I rasped. My voice was a ruin. Shredded. Barely audible even to my own ears. "Please—I need help."

The nearest soldier adjusted his grip on his spear. The firelight from the watchtower above caught the blade’s edge. Silver-tipped.

"Stop right there."

I stopped. Swaying. The world tilting gently to the left like a ship in rough water.

"I said stop, filth." He thrust the spear forward. The point pressed against the center of my chest. Cold. Sharp. One push from ending everything. "Another step and I’ll put this through your heart."

"You don’t understand," I whispered. "I’m not—I’m not a Rogue. I’m—"

"You’re what?" The second soldier circled to my left, cutting off any retreat. His lip curled. "What exactly are you supposed to be?"

I drew a breath. It hurt. Everything hurt. But the words had to come out.

"I’m the Empress. Kaelen Nightfire’s mate."

Silence.

Then laughter.

Not the warm kind. Not surprised or disbelieving. This was cruel. Hard-edged. The kind of laughter reserved for something disgusting that had tried to be funny.

"Oh, that’s rich." The first soldier—the one with the spear still at my chest—turned to his companion. "Did you hear that? This one says she’s the Empress."

"The Empress," the second one repeated flatly. He spat. "Right. And I’m the Moon Goddess."

"Please." My knees were trembling. The ankle was giving out. I could feel the joint grinding, swollen cartilage sliding against bone. "If you’ll just send word to the palace—"

"Shut your mouth." The first soldier leaned closer. Close enough that I could see the disgust carved into every line of his face. "You crazy, stinking Rogue. You lowly scum. You think we’re stupid?"

A puddle of standing water sat between us. Shallow. Dark. I glanced down and caught my reflection in it.

The creature staring back was unrecognizable.

My hair—silver-white, once my most distinguishing feature—was matted into thick, dark clumps. Mud. Blood. Something worse. Chunks of decomposing flesh still clung to the strands where I’d been pressed face-first against the corpses in that pit. My clothes had been reduced to strips of bloody fabric hanging off a frame that looked skeletal, filthy, barely human. My face was a mask of dried blood and grime, the gash above my eyebrow still weeping, one eye half-swollen shut.

I looked exactly like what they thought I was. A half-dead Rogue crawling out of the wilderness.

And without Moonlight—

I reached inward again. Desperate. Clawing at that empty void where my wolf should have been.

Moonlight. Please. I need you. Just a flicker. Just enough to—

Nothing. The silence inside was absolute. No golden warmth. No presence. No wolf.

Which meant no scent. No noble aura. No identifying marker that would separate me from any other broken body stumbling out of Rogue territory.

"His Majesty the Emperor," the second soldier said, each word dripping with mock gravity, "would sooner bed a sewer rat than mate with Rogue garbage like you."

The first one barked a laugh. "Look at her. She’s gone mad. Probably took a knock to the skull and thinks she’s royalty now."

"I’m telling you the truth." My voice cracked. Splintered. "My name is Elara. I was taken. Poisoned. Please, I have a son—he’s at the palace—"

"Enough." The spear point pressed harder. I felt the sting. A thin line of warmth trickled down my collarbone. Blood. "You’ve got ten seconds to turn around and crawl back where you came from."

"And if I don’t?"

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

"Then we use the silver bolts. And we leave what’s left of you for the crows."

"Ten," the second one began counting, hefting a crossbow from his shoulder. "Nine."

I stepped back. My ankle gave out completely.

The fall was graceless and absolute. My leg folded beneath me, and I hit the ground hip-first, then shoulder, then face. The impact drove the air from my lungs and sent a spear of white-hot agony through my broken ribs. Something shifted inside my chest. Something that should not have moved.

A scream tore out of me. Involuntary. Raw. It echoed off the watchtower and died in the empty forest.

"Seven. Six."

I tried to push myself up. My arms shook violently. Collapsed. I was facedown in the dirt, mud filling my mouth, unable to rise.

"Will you look at that," the first soldier said. "Crawling in the mud like a worm."

"Should we just shoot her? Put her out of her misery?"

"Nah. Save the bolts. She’ll be dead within the hour anyway. Look at her. She’s already more corpse than woman."

Their laughter floated above me. Distant. Fading. Everything was fading.

Valerius.

His face materialized behind my closed eyelids. Those serious golden eyes—his father’s eyes. The way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating. The infectious, unexpected music of his laughter when something genuinely delighted him.

Mama will find her way back to you.

My hand moved. Fingers clawing into dirt. Pulling. An inch. Another inch. Going nowhere. Going everywhere.

And then there was the other one. The tiny, fragile spark buried beneath the poison in my blood. The baby. My baby, fighting to survive inside a body that was systematically being destroyed. The poisoned holy water burning through my veins, and still that stubborn little heartbeat refusing to surrender.

I will not die in the mud in front of men who call me garbage.

I pulled again. My broken ribs ground together. The sound was wet. Terrible. I pulled anyway.

"Still moving," one of the guards observed, almost impressed.

"Give it a minute."

My vision was narrowing. The edges going dark, curling inward like burning parchment. The mate bond flickered—Kaelen’s heartbeat barely perceptible through layers of haze and poison. But there. Still there.

I’m sorry, I thought, though I didn’t know who the apology was for. Valerius. Kaelen. The baby. Myself.

The darkness was reaching for me now. Gentle hands pulling me under. The pain was receding, which frightened me more than the pain itself. When the body stops hurting, it means the body is giving up.

No—

Footsteps.

Not the shuffling, casual boot-scrape of the two guards. These were different. Measured. Heavy. Deliberate. The footsteps of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

The soldiers heard them too. Their laughter cut off abruptly. I heard the sharp click of heels snapping together. Spears raised to attention.

"Sir! We—"

"What exactly is going on here?"

The voice was low, commanding, and achingly familiar.