Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 57

Seraphine’s POV

The tray came back untouched.

Every dish. Every carefully selected morsel. The roasted quail arranged just so on the silver plate. The wine—his preferred vintage, the one I’d had to bribe two servants to confirm. The small cake dusted with powdered sugar, shaped like a crescent moon because I’d heard him once mention the old festival traditions.

All of it. Returned to my chamber door by a stone-faced attendant who wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“His Majesty sends his regards,” the attendant said flatly. “He has already eaten.”

He hadn’t. I knew he hadn’t. I’d tracked his movements all morning through a network of whispers and favors and veiled threats. He’d been in the war room since dawn. No food had been brought to him. No tea. Nothing.

He simply didn’t want mine.

The door closed. I stood in the center of my chamber, staring at the untouched tray on the side table. The quail had gone cold. The wine caught the afternoon light and gleamed like blood.

I wanted to hurl it all against the wall.

Instead, I breathed. Smoothed the front of my gown. Counted to ten.

Control. I needed control. Rage was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not yet.

I crossed to the mirror and studied my reflection. The gown I’d chosen for today was a deep burgundy silk, cut low enough to draw the eye without crossing the line into vulgarity. The fabric clung to my waist and hips. My hair was swept up, exposing the long line of my neck. Pearl earrings caught the light. Every detail calculated. Every angle considered.

I looked beautiful. I knew I looked beautiful. I’d spent hours making certain of it.

And none of it mattered.

Because he didn’t see me. He looked through me the way sunlight passes through glass—without stopping. Without warming.

Earlier that morning, I’d requested an audience. A legitimate one. I had documents requiring his seal—minor administrative matters I’d deliberately delayed so I’d have an excuse. I’d rehearsed my entrance. The tilt of my chin. The way I’d lean forward slightly when presenting the papers, letting the neckline do its work.

I walked into the study with my best smile. Confident. Poised.

He didn’t look up from his desk.

“State your business,” he said. His voice was flat. Bored. The voice of a man addressing a servant he barely remembered hiring.

“Your Majesty, I have several documents that require—”

“Stop.” One word. Sharp as a blade. His quill continued moving across the parchment. “Three steps back, Seraphine. You’re too close.”

Three steps back. Like I was contagious. Like my proximity was an offense.

I retreated. Presented the documents from that humiliating distance. He signed them without reading them. Without looking at me once. His dark gold eyes never lifted from whatever letter he was composing—and I caught a glimpse of the heading before he angled the page away.

A correspondence addressed to the northern border garrison. About security details. About her.

Even with her gone, she was all he thought about.

“Is there anything else?” he asked, still not looking up.

“I thought perhaps you might like some company this evening, Your Majesty. The court musicians have prepared—”

“No.”

Not “no, thank you.” Not “perhaps another time.” Just no. A single syllable that closed the door between us like a gate dropping.

I left the study with my dignity intact. Barely. My nails had carved half-moon welts into my palms from the effort of keeping my expression neutral.

Now, alone in my chamber, I let the mask drop.

My hands trembled as I poured a glass of the rejected wine. Drank it in three long swallows. Poured another.

How was this possible? She’d been gone for days. Days without her scent in the corridors. Days without her unremarkable face at his side. Days where I had unfettered access to every room, every gathering, every opportunity.

And still. Still he turned from me like I was nothing.

I’d worn the stolen brooch to the morning council session. Pinned it to my bodice where he couldn’t miss it—the silver and sapphire heirloom I’d taken from that peasant’s belongings. It should have triggered something. A memory. A softening. Any crack in that wall of ice he kept between us.

He’d glanced at it. Once. His jaw had tightened. And then he’d looked away, something dark and unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

That was all.

I set the wine glass down and moved to the window. Dusk was settling over the capital. The palace towers cut black shapes against the fading sky. Somewhere beyond those walls, beyond the rolling hills and forests and frozen northern passes, she was out there. Doing what? Talking to whom?

The thought gnawed at me.

I turned from the window and crossed to my wardrobe. Behind the false panel at the back—behind the rows of gowns and furs and perfumed silks—sat a small wooden box. Inside it, wrapped in black velvet, lay a transmission stone. Smooth. Dark. Cool against my palm. Faintly pulsing with the remnant of old magic.

I sat on the edge of my bed and pressed my thumb against the stone’s surface. It warmed. Hummed. A faint vibration traveled through my fingers and up my wrist.

The connection took a moment to establish. Then a voice cut through—thin and sharp, like glass scraping stone.

“You’re late.” Isolde’s tone carried no patience. No warmth. It never did. “I’ve been waiting.”

“I was occupied.”

“Occupied failing, from the sound of it.”

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper. “The Emperor is... resistant.”

A humorless laugh crackled through the stone. “Resistant. What a delicate word for a man who treats you like furniture.”

The accuracy of it stung. I wanted to deny it. Couldn’t.

“He’s distracted,” I said instead, keeping my voice even. “His mind is elsewhere. He sends letters to the northern garrison every day. He reviews reports about her travel route every evening. He barely eats. He barely sleeps. He paces his study like a caged animal.”

“So his mind followed that little peasant to the north,” Isolde said. The contempt in her voice was thick enough to choke on. “How touching.”

“Perhaps she went back home just to find some old feral lover to warm her bed,” I spat, the words tasting like poison on my tongue. “She always did have common tastes.”

“Forget her hypothetical lovers,” Isolde’s voice snapped through the stone, sharp and unforgiving. “If you cannot capture the Emperor’s heart—and soon—our entire plan will be ruined. We will have nothing.”

“I am not sitting idle,” I hissed, my grip on the stone tightening until my knuckles turned white. “I’ve already bought off one of the men in the Royal Guard detail Kaelen sent to ‘protect’ her. He reports to me in real-time. I am monitoring her every single move.”

“Good. Keep him close. And keep me informed,” Isolde said, calculating. “If she discovers anything up there—anything about her bloodline, anything that might make her more valuable to the Emperor—I need to know immediately.”

“You’ll know,” I said. “I’ll make certain of it. And as for the Emperor, I will do whatever it takes. I will make him completely obsessed with me before she ever sets foot in this capital again. Even if I have to use more... extreme measures.”

“There are substances,” I continued slowly. “Old recipes. The kind that blur the edges of a man’s judgment. Make him... pliable.”

Silence from the stone. Then: “You’re talking about enchantment potions.”

“I’m talking about a nudge. Nothing permanent. Just enough to create an opening. A moment of weakness. And if that moment happens to be witnessed by the right people...”

“Compromising position,” Isolde finished. Her voice had shifted. Approval crept in at the edges, thin as a knife. “If the court sees him with you, if they believe he chose you—”

“Then it won’t matter what he says afterward. The damage will be done.”

Another pause. Longer this time. “That’s a dangerous game. If he discovers what you’ve done—”

“He won’t. Not if we time it properly. Not if she stays in the north long enough for me to prepare.”

“Then make sure she stays there,” Isolde warned.

I gripped the stone tightly. She thought she was safe up there. Tucked away in some mountain town, wrapped in peasant wool, ignorant and vulnerable. She thought distance could protect her. She was wrong.

I stared into the dark surface of the transmission stone, a cold, hard smile spreading across my face.

“She’d better have a good time playing in the ice and snow of the North,” I sneered. “Because by the time she returns, the woman lying in the Emperor’s bed will be me.”