Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 42

Elara’s POV

I woke to sunlight pressing warm against my eyelids and a body that felt like it had been taken apart and reassembled slightly wrong.

Every muscle ached. My thighs. My back. Places I didn’t know could be sore. The sheets smelled like sandalwood and sin, and I stretched lazily, wincing at the delicious pull in my hips.

Well, well, well. Moonlight’s voice purred through my mind like a cat who’d swallowed an entire flock of canaries. Someone had quite the evening.

I pressed my face into the pillow. Stop.

I will not stop. That man is ours, and last night he proved it thoroughly. More than once, if my memory serves.

Your memory serves too well. Be quiet.

The wall, Ela. The wall. I thought the window was going to shatter—

Moonlight!

She retreated with a smug, satisfied hum that vibrated through my chest like a second heartbeat.

I sat up slowly, dragging the tangled sheet around my bare shoulders. The other side of the bed was empty, but the pillow still held the impression of his head. I pressed my fingers into the dent and felt the lingering warmth.

He’d left before dawn. Discreet. Careful. Always the emperor first.

A clatter from the kitchen yanked me out of my thoughts.

I pulled on a loose shirt and hurried down the hallway to the kitchen, my bare feet padding swiftly against the wooden floor. The sight that greeted me stopped me dead.

My four-year-old son, Valerius, stood on a small stepping stool beside the counter. His dark curls were a wild mess. His nightshirt was on backward. And he was holding a ceramic cup of pale gold liquid with both hands, his tongue poking out in fierce concentration as he shuffled toward the table without spilling a drop.

Next to the cup sat a plate. On the plate sat a piece of toast, unevenly smeared with strawberry jam. Some of it had gotten on the counter. A significant amount had gotten on Valerius.

“Mommy!” His face split into a radiant grin. “I made you breakfast!”

My throat tightened. “You did?”

“It’s chamomile tea. Lord Kael— I mean, Kaelen—” he corrected himself with obvious pride, “—he showed me last night how the teapot works. You pour the hot water but not too fast. And then you wait.” He held up sticky fingers. “And the jam goes on the bread side, not the crust side. He said you like strawberry best.”

I crouched down to his level. Jam on his chin. Jam on his sleeve. Bright gold eyes beaming up at me with such fierce pride that my chest ached.

“He said hardworking mommies need extra sleep,” Valerius added seriously. “So I was very quiet.”

I pulled him into my arms and kissed the top of his curly head. “This is the best breakfast anyone has ever made me.”

“Better than the palace kitchen?”

“A thousand times better.”

He wriggled free, satisfied, and climbed onto his chair to supervise me eating every crumb.

An hour later, I walked through the arched entrance of the palace’s administrative wing, my hair pinned back, my uniform freshly pressed, my posture deliberately composed. Every step sent a subtle reminder through my body of exactly what had happened against that window frame.

Walk normally, I told myself. Stop thinking about it.

Impossible, Moonlight whispered. We are marked in every way that matters except the final one.

Claire appeared from behind her desk, ledger in hand, and her sharp eyes swept over me before I’d even opened my mouth.

“Good morning, Elara.” A knowing smile tugged at her lips. “You look... radiant today.”

“I slept well,” I said, too quickly.

“Clearly.” Her smile widened, but she was too professional to press further. She glanced at her schedule. “Seraphine sent word she’ll be late. Something about a fitting.”

Good. A morning without those cold eyes tracking my every move was a mercy I wouldn’t waste.

“His Majesty wants to see you in his office,” Claire added, her tone shifting to brisk efficiency. “Before the morning session begins.”

My stomach flipped. “Did he say what for?”

“He did not. But I’d suggest you go now. He’s been in since before sunrise.”

I smoothed my skirt, straightened my collar, and walked down the corridor toward the heavy redwood doors of the imperial office. My heels clicked against the marble. Each step echoed like a small betrayal—too loud, too obvious, as if announcing to the entire palace that I had something to hide.

I knocked twice.

“Enter.”

His voice. Low. Measured. Imperial.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside, keeping my hands clasped in front of me. The office was vast—dark wood paneling, floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with bound treaties, a map of the empire sprawling across the far wall. Morning light slanted through tall windows, catching dust motes in the air.

Kaelen sat behind his desk. His expensive court uniform was immaculate, every button fastened, every line sharp. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead. Those dark gold eyes lifted from a stack of documents and settled on me with the precision of an arrow finding its target.

“Your Majesty.” I dipped my head. Professional. Composed. Not a trace of the woman who had clawed his back raw last night.

“Close the door.”

I did.

The lock clicked.

The sound hadn’t finished echoing before he moved.

He rose from behind the desk with that predatory grace—fluid, unhurried, deliberate—in the way a wolf circles prey it has already decided to take. He rounded the corner of the desk and was in front of me in a few strides, close enough that his scent hit me like a wall. Sandalwood. Leather. The faintest trace of ink from whatever he’d been writing.

“Your Majesty, I—”

“Don’t.” His finger pressed against my lips. “Don’t call me that. Not when we’re alone.”

He replaced his finger with his mouth.

The kiss was not gentle. It was not polite. It was the kiss of a man who had spent the entire morning remembering exactly what I tasted like and had been counting the minutes until he could confirm it again. His hands gripped my waist, lifted me onto the edge of his desk, and papers scattered to the floor.

“Kaelen—” I gasped between kisses. “We’re in the palace—”

“My palace.” He nipped my lower lip. “My desk.” His mouth dragged down to my jaw. “My ice-blue eyes.”

His hand slid up my thigh, pushing fabric aside, and I made a sound that would have been embarrassing if I’d had the capacity for shame. Which I did not. Not with his teeth grazing the spot on my neck where he’d scraped last night, the skin still tender and electric.

I grabbed the front of his uniform and pulled him closer, arching into him—

A series of sharp knocks.

We froze.

“Your Majesty.” Claire’s voice, muffled but perfectly clear through the redwood. “Duke Morrison’s covenant documents are prepared and require your seal before the council.”

Kaelen’s jaw clenched. His forehead dropped against mine. A low, frustrated exhale.

“Five minutes,” he called back, his voice impressively steady for a man whose hand was still halfway up my skirt.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Footsteps retreated.

I pressed my palm against his chest, pushing gently. “Five minutes is not enough for what you’re starting.”

“It could be.”

“Kaelen.”

He pulled back with visible reluctance, straightening his uniform collar with sharp, irritated tugs. I slid off the desk and smoothed my skirt, bending to retrieve scattered pages.

When we were both presentable—barely—his expression shifted. The heat banked. Something sharper, more analytical, took its place.

“The incident with Isolde,” he said. “In the corridor. Tell me exactly what you felt.”

The shift was so abrupt it took me a moment to follow. I set the papers on his desk and pressed my lips together, searching for words.

“It was... raw. Primal. Like something inside me woke up.” I hesitated. “I’ve always been weak, Kaelen. A fragile commoner. But in that moment, when she threatened Valerius, I felt—” I stopped. Shook my head. “It wasn’t me. Not the me I’ve always known.”

He studied me for a long moment. Something flickered behind those gold eyes—certainty. Anticipation.

“It was you,” he said quietly. “More you than you’ve ever been.”

“What does that mean?”

He leaned against his desk, arms folded across his broad chest. “It means we need to find out what you really are. What blood runs in your veins.”

A chill traced down my spine. “I’m a commoner. An orphan from a failed barony—”

“No commoner produces that kind of force, Elara. No ordinary wolf could have done what you did.”

The room felt smaller. The sunlight felt sharper.

Kaelen pushed off the desk and stepped toward me. He caught my chin gently, tilting my face up.

“Effective immediately,” he said, “your afternoons are reassigned. No more archives after midday.”

“What? Why?”

A slow, devastating smile spread across his face.

“I have a new assignment for you. You’ll be training with my Royal Knights to uncover your true identity.”