Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 13

Elara’s POV

“It’s you!” Isolde’s voice cracked through the banquet hall like a whip. “Ela!”

Red wine dripped from my chin onto the ruined ice-blue silk. The cold liquid clung to my skin, but the chill spreading through my chest had nothing to do with the wine.

Every noble within earshot turned. Whispers erupted like wildfire. I could feel the weight of their stares pressing against me from every direction.

Isolde’s shock lasted only a heartbeat before her expression twisted into something sharp and predatory. Her perfectly manicured nails closed around my wrist. Tight. Bruising.

“How did you get in here?” she hissed. “You—a nobody from the border provinces—how did you slither your way into a state banquet?”

The grip. That grip.

I knew it. I had known it since I was a child. Those fingers digging into my arm, dragging me through corridors, shoving me into walls. The memory hit me like a wave—cold, suffocating, paralyzing.

For a moment, I was a teenager again. Small. Voiceless. Trapped.

Then the moment passed.

I was not that young girl anymore. I had survived alone. I had raised a child. I had clawed my way into the imperial palace on my own merit, and I would not cower before this woman. Not again.

I yanked my wrist free with a force that made Isolde stumble.

“The guest list was curated by me,” I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected. I lifted my chin. “Your name wasn’t on it.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Isolde’s mouth fell open.

“You—” Her face flushed crimson. The veins in her neck strained against her skin. “You insolent little commoner! You think wearing a stolen gown and standing in a hall above your station makes you anything more than what you are? A low-born nobody playing dress-up—”

Her voice pitched higher, drawing more eyes. She was performing now, feeding on the audience. I could see it in the way she angled her body toward the crowd, the way her hand gestured dramatically at my wine-soaked dress.

“Look at her!” Isolde screeched. “This is what passes for company at the imperial court now? A commoner in a borrowed gown pretending she belongs—”

The air changed.

It shifted so suddenly that every wolf in the room felt it. A wave of pressure—dense, ancient, unmistakable—rolled through the banquet hall like a silent thunderclap. Conversations died mid-sentence. Glasses paused halfway to lips.

Alpha presence. Raw and absolute.

The scent hit me a second later. Sandalwood and something primal. Something that made Moonlight stir in my chest with a low, reverent hum.

A warm hand settled on my waist. Firm. Possessive. Unyielding.

I didn’t need to look. The heat of his body radiated through the soaked silk of my gown, and his fingers spread wide across my hip, pulling me back against the solid wall of his chest. Something heavy and warm settled over my shoulders—his court jacket. The midnight-blue fabric swallowed me in his scent, and for one reckless moment, every muscle in my body unclenched.

“Why,” Kaelen said, and his voice was terrifyingly quiet, “is my companion covered in wine?”

The question was not directed at me. It hung in the air like the edge of a drawn blade, pointed squarely at Isolde.

All remaining color drained from her face. Her mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again.

“Your—your Majesty—” She dropped into a curtsy so deep her knees nearly hit the floor. Her voice turned syrupy, dripping with forced deference. “I had no idea she was with you. This is simply a misunderstanding. She and I—we’re practically family. I was merely surprised to see her here—”

“You poured wine on her.” Kaelen’s tone didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. “And you put your hands on her.”

“I didn’t—”

“I watched you grab her wrist.”

Isolde’s curtsy wavered. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for allies. She found none. Every noble in the vicinity had taken a deliberate step back, clearing a wide circle around us.

She changed tactics instantly. Her expression crumpled into something wounded and desperate.

“Your Majesty, please.” She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “You must understand what kind of woman she is. She is no lady. She’s a commoner—a mere archivist—”

“An archivist,” Kaelen repeated, “who is here as my personal guest.”

“But she doesn’t belong—”

“You are telling me,” his voice dropped to a lethal whisper, “who belongs in my palace?”

Isolde flinched as though she’d been struck. The Alpha pressure thickened. I could feel it in my own bones—a primal command that made every wolf in the room want to bare their throat. Isolde’s legs buckled slightly. Her curtsy deepened involuntarily, her body obeying what her mouth refused to.

Kaelen raised one hand. Two broad-shouldered royal guards materialized from the shadows near the pillars.

“Remove her,” Kaelen ordered.

The guards moved forward. Isolde’s composure finally shattered.

“No! No, wait—you don’t understand!” She thrashed as the guards gripped her arms, her elaborate blonde waves coming undone. Her heels scraped against the marble floor. “She’s lying to you! She’s been lying to all of you!”

The guards lifted her bodily. Her feet left the ground.

“Let go of me! I am the wife of Prince Gareth! You can’t—”

“Gareth’s wife,” Kaelen said flatly, “is not above the law. Or above my patience.”

Isolde twisted in the guards’ grip, her face contorted with fury. Her eyes locked onto mine—wild, venomous, unhinged. She looked like a cornered animal preparing to use its last weapon.

And I saw the exact moment she decided to use it.

“You want to know who she really is?” Isolde shrieked, loud enough for the entire hall to hear. “She was your brother’s lover! Your precious little archivist was engaged to Prince Gareth for years before I ever met him!”

The words detonated through the hall.

The whispers didn’t just resume—they roared. I felt the shockwave ripple outward through the crowd like a stone dropped into still water.

The warm hand on my waist went rigid.

“She had his ring on her finger!” Isolde screamed, fighting the guards with renewed frenzy. “She shared his bed! And that little boy of hers—that bastard she’s been hiding—”

No. No, no, no—

“Ask her, Your Majesty! Ask her if that bastard is your brother’s!” Isolde screamed as she was dragged away.

Kaelen withdrew his hand from my waist.

“Is it true?” he asked coldly.