Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 83

Elara’s POV

“What happened to me?”

The words came out shredded. Barely more than breath shaped into sound. My throat felt like I’d swallowed broken glass.

Kaelen’s grip on my hand tightened. He straightened in the chair slowly, as though his body had forgotten how to move without pain. He wiped his face with the back of his free hand. The gesture was rough. Unself-conscious. He didn’t seem to care about the tears still drying on his stubbled jaw.

“You collapsed,” he said. His voice was hoarse too. Wrecked in a different way than mine—not from disuse, but from strain. From days of talking to someone who couldn’t answer. “In the field medical tent. After healing the last knight.”

The memories surfaced in fragments. Hands pressed against torn flesh. The smell of blood and smoke. Light pouring from my palms. Screaming. Was the screaming mine? I couldn’t remember.

“The knights,” I rasped. “Are they—”

“Every single one.” He caught my gaze and held it. Steady despite the redness of his eyes. “All of them survived. Full recovery. Because of you.”

Something loosened in my chest. A knot I hadn’t known I was carrying.

“How long?” I asked.

Kaelen’s jaw flexed. He glanced at the physician, who stood near the foot of the bed clutching his scrolls like a lifeline. The old man gave a small, careful nod.

“You’ve been unconscious,” Kaelen said slowly, “for ten days.”

Ten days.

The number landed like a stone dropped into still water. Ripples of understanding spread outward. Ten days of this sterile medical wing. Ten days of Kaelen in that chair, wearing the same wrinkled clothes, not sleeping, not eating properly. Ten days of monitoring crystals humming their blue rhythm above my still body.

“Ten—” I started.

“Don’t.” His hand came up, palm toward me. Not commanding. Pleading. “Don’t apologize. Don’t you dare apologize for saving all those lives.”

I closed my mouth.

The physician stepped forward. He moved with the deliberate care of someone navigating a room full of sharp edges. His silver healing amulet glinted in the crystal light as he bowed his head.

“Miss Elara,” he said. His voice was warm but measured. Professional. “I am Court Physician Whitmore. I have been overseeing your care during your recovery.”

I tried to nod. Even that small motion sent the room tilting.

“Your body experienced an extraordinary expenditure of life energy,” Whitmore continued. He set his scrolls on the bedside table and folded his hands. “Frankly, the volume of healing power you channeled should have been fatal. The fact that you survived is remarkable. The reason your body required such an extended period to rebuild itself is because it was actively protecting—”

The door crashed open.

All three of us flinched. Whitmore dropped a scroll. Kaelen’s hand went instinctively to his side where a weapon would be.

Brenna stood in the doorway.

Her dark hair was a disaster—half escaped from a braid that looked like it had been slept on repeatedly. Her eyes were swollen. Red. She stood frozen for a heartbeat, her chest heaving, one hand still gripping the door handle so hard the wood creaked.

Then she saw my open eyes.

The sound she made was not a word. It was something between a gasp and a wail—raw and high and broken with relief. She crossed the room in a few quick strides. Her arms came around me before I could draw breath to speak. Carefully—she was careful, I could feel the restraint trembling through her muscles—but desperately. She buried her face against my shoulder and sobbed.

“Ela.” Her voice was muffled against my linen shift. “You absolute—reckless—stupid—brave—”

“Brenna,” I whispered. My hand found her hair. Tangled. Unwashed. She smelled like strong tea and sleeplessness. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.” She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her face was a wreck of tears and anger and love. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. I swear on the Moon Goddess, if you ever scare me like that again I will kill you myself.”

I tried to smile. My lips cracked with the effort.

“Mommy!”

The small voice came from behind Brenna. She stepped aside, swiping at her eyes, and there he was.

Valerius.

My boy stood just inside the doorway, frozen in that particular stillness of a child who is overwhelmed and trying very hard to be brave about it. His dark curls were messy. Someone had dressed him in a clean tunic that was slightly too big—it hung past his wrists, the sleeves rolled up in uneven cuffs. His dark gold eyes—Kaelen’s eyes, always Kaelen’s eyes—were enormous in his small face.

“Baby,” I breathed.

That single word broke his composure. He ran.

He was too small to climb onto the bed himself. He scrambled onto the chair Kaelen vacated for him, then carefully—so carefully it made my heart crack—crawled across the gap and settled against my side. His small body was warm. Solid. Real. He pressed his face into my arm and his fingers gripped my shift.

“I was good, Mommy.” His voice was muffled. Fierce. “I was so good while you were sleeping. Ask Daddy. I didn’t cry. Not even once.”

Kaelen, standing beside the bed now, made a sound in his throat. Soft. Pained.

“You were very brave,” I managed. My hand found his curls. Threaded through them. The familiar silk of his hair against my fingers made my eyes sting. “The bravest.”

Valerius lifted his head. His eyes were bright but dry. He had his father’s stubborn jaw and his father’s way of setting it when he was trying to hold something back. But beneath the bravery, I could see the shadows. The fear that had lived in those golden eyes for ten days.

“I helped take care of you,” he announced. “And Daddy. I brought him water because he forgot to drink. And I told the doctor to check on you every morning.”

I looked at Kaelen over our son’s head. His expression was complicated. Pride and guilt and tenderness all tangled together.

“He did,” Kaelen confirmed quietly. “He reminded me to eat. Every day.”

Valerius nodded with satisfaction. Then his expression shifted. Something moved behind his eyes—a thought forming, a secret rising to the surface. He glanced at his father. Then at Brenna, who stood at the foot of the bed with her arms crossed and tears still streaming silently down her cheeks. Then at Physician Whitmore, who watched the scene with gentle, knowing eyes.

Then Valerius looked back at me.

He sat up straighter. Placed his small hand flat against my stomach. The gesture was deliberate. Practiced. As though he had done this before—as though he had been doing this for days.

“Mommy,” he said. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. The kind children use when they are sharing something enormously important. “Are you strong enough now to take care of the baby?”

The room went still.

Not quiet. Still. The monitoring crystals hummed. Brenna’s breath caught audibly. Whitmore’s hand froze on his scrolls. Kaelen closed his eyes.

“The baby,” Valerius continued with absolute certainty, patting my stomach gently. “Daddy told me we’re going to have a little brother or sister. He said you needed lots of rest because you were keeping the baby safe.”

I couldn’t breathe.

My gaze moved from my son’s earnest face to Kaelen. He stood with his eyes still closed, one hand pressed over his mouth. Not hiding a smile. Hiding the fact that he was falling apart again.

Then to Brenna. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Nodded once. A tiny, trembling motion.

Then to Whitmore. The old physician met my eyes with quiet confirmation. He dipped his chin. A single, encouraging nod.

I looked down at my flat abdomen, my mind entirely blank. Then at my son’s small hand, still pressed protectively against the fabric of my shift. Then up at every face in the room—each one holding the same truth they had all been carrying while I slept.

“What little brother or sister?” I asked. My voice was barely a sound."