Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 93

Elara’s POV

The buzzing wouldn’t stop.

Kaelen didn’t move immediately. His arm stayed locked around me, his body rigid against my side. The communication stone rattled against the nightstand again—a second pulse, then a third. Each one sharper than the last.

Valerius stirred against my chest. “Daddy, what’s that noise?”

“Nothing, buddy.” Kaelen’s voice was calm. Measured. Already a lie. He pressed his lips to my temple one last time—quick, firm, a punctuation mark—then extracted himself from the bed with the controlled efficiency of a man who had spent his entire life being summoned.

He crossed the room in a few strides and stepped onto the balcony, pulling the glass door nearly shut behind him. Not all the way. The gap was thin—barely a crack—but enough for the cold morning air to thread through and carry fragments of his voice back to me.

“Report.”

I couldn’t hear Cassian’s reply. Only the low vibration of the stone and the occasional shift in Kaelen’s tone. Clipped questions. Long silences between them. His silhouette against the pale sky was taut as a drawn bowstring—shoulders squared, one hand braced on the stone railing, the other raking through his dark hair.

That gesture. He only did that when things were bad.

Valerius sat up beside me. His dark gold eyes tracked his father’s outline through the glass with an alertness that no child his age should possess.

“Mommy. Daddy looks worried.”

I smoothed his curls back from his forehead. Flour still clung to the strands. “Daddy has important work to do sometimes, sweetheart. That’s all.”

He considered this. Then he slid off the bed, retrieved his stuffed lion from where it had fallen to the floor, and climbed back up. He positioned himself cross-legged beside my hip and placed both hands on my belly with ceremonial solemnity.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. That’s my job.”

The ache in my chest had nothing to do with nausea.

“What about Mommy?” I asked softly. “Will you protect Mommy too?”

He looked up at me with those dark gold eyes—Kaelen’s eyes in a child’s face—and his expression was so fierce, so deadly serious, that for one disorienting moment I saw the man he would become.

“Always, Mommy. I’m the big brother. I protect everyone.”

I pulled him against me and kissed the top of his flour-dusted head. He smelled like sweet pastries and syrup and the particular sweetness of a child who had spent his morning destroying a kitchen with absolute joy.

On the balcony, Kaelen’s voice had gone quiet. The communication stone had stopped glowing. He stood motionless, staring out at the pale horizon. His hand still gripped the railing. His knuckles were white.

Then he turned and came back inside.

The transformation was subtle but absolute. He’d rearranged his features into something composed. Steady. But I knew him now—knew the architecture of his control, the places where it buckled under pressure. And I could see the fracture lines.

In the tightness around his mouth. In the way his dark gold eyes swept the room before landing on Valerius. In the careful, deliberate breath he drew before speaking.

“Val.” His voice was easy. Warm. Not a trace of what I’d seen on the balcony. “Auntie Brenna sent you that lion toy, didn’t she? The one with the mane you wanted to color?”

Valerius brightened. “The golden lion! I haven’t finished his mane yet.”

“Why don’t you go work on that? Your coloring things are in the sitting room. I need to talk to Mommy for a minute.”

“About boring grown-up stuff?”

“The most boring.”

Valerius sighed with the theatrical exhaustion of a child deeply inconvenienced. He kissed my belly—a quick, smacking press of his lips—then scrambled off the bed, stuffed lion in tow.

“I’ll be right outside, baby,” he called over his shoulder to my stomach as he padded out. “Don’t be born without me.”

The door closed behind him.

The room changed.

Kaelen stood at the foot of the bed. The flour still streaked his hair and shirt, but it looked wrong now—absurd against the gravity settling into his frame. He crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Ran his hand through his hair again.

“Tell me,” I said.

He met my eyes. No preamble. No easing into it.

“Since the last confirmed sighting at the border, it’s been eighteen full days. No tracks. No kills. No territorial markings. No scent trails. Nothing.” He let the word hang. “Every patrol, every outpost, every informant—complete silence.”

I sat up straighter against the pillows. The remnants of morning warmth drained away. “That’s not possible. A tribe that size can’t simply vanish.”

“Not without coordination. Not without discipline.” He began to pace. Three steps toward the window. Three steps back. “Rogue packs are chaotic. Disorganized. They fight over territory, they leave traces. Bodies. Scent. Damage. This kind of absolute disappearance requires—”

“Leadership.”

He stopped. Looked at me.

“The queen,” I said. The word still tasted wrong. Foreign. A Rogue tribe didn’t have queens. That was the entire point of their existence—they rejected structure, hierarchy, the ordered world of the empire. “She’s pulling them back. Consolidating.”

Kaelen nodded slowly. “Cassian agrees. He thinks this silence is the calm before the storm. A prelude. That she’s organizing them into something coordinated. Something with a target.”

“The border settlements.”

“There are several civilian villages within a short march of the forest line. Farming communities. Minimal defenses. If the Rogues have been regrouping deeper in the territory, waiting—”

“They could strike anywhere along that stretch.”

Silence settled between us. Heavy. Loaded. I watched his jaw work—that small, unconscious motion that meant he was wrestling with something he didn’t want to say.

“I need to go.”

There it was.

My hands tightened on the covers. Not from surprise. I’d known from the moment I heard the communication stone buzz. Known from the way he’d stood on that balcony, gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping him from shattering.

“When?” I asked.

“Tomorrow morning.” He stopped pacing and faced me fully. His dark gold eyes were steady, but underneath—deep underneath—I saw the war. Duty pulling one direction. Everything else pulling the other. “I need to assess the border. The terrain, the patrol gaps, the fragile civilian populations. I need to see it myself.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

The words left my mouth before the thought fully formed. Something deep in my chest—something new, the sovereign Alpha nature that had been waking slowly recently—surged upward with a force that startled me. An instinct. A command. My people. My responsibility. My fight.

Kaelen’s expression darkened, his dominant Alpha nature flaring instantly. His entire body went rigid.

“No.”

“I have healing abilities that could save—”

“No.”

“Kaelen.” I pushed the covers back and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “If there are wounded civilians, if your soldiers encounter Rogues, I can—”

“You can stay here.” He closed the distance between us. Not threatening. Never threatening with me. But immovable. His hands found my shoulders, and he lowered himself until we were eye to eye. “Ela. Listen to me.”

“I am listening. I’m also telling you that I—”

“You are carrying our child.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. Just enough to silence me. “You are carrying our child, and I cannot—” He stopped. Swallowed. His grip on my shoulders trembled. “I cannot protect you out there. Not properly. Not when every part of me will be torn between the mission and making sure you’re safe. If I’m distracted for one second—one single second in a war zone—and something happens to you, or to this baby—”

His forehead dropped against mine. His breath came ragged. Warm against my lips.

“Don’t ask me to choose between my duty and you. Because I will choose you. Every time. And people will die because of it.”

The words hit me like stones dropped into still water.

I closed my eyes. My hands found his wrists—gripped them. Felt the pulse hammering beneath his skin. Rapid. Almost desperate. The deep conflict and worry in his dark gold eyes were impossible to ignore.

He was afraid.

This man who faced armies without flinching, who had stared down a poisoned Rogue prisoner without blinking, who wielded power like a second skin—he was terrified. Not of the Rogues. Not of the unknown queen.

Of losing me.

The surge inside me—that new, fierce, sovereign thing—didn’t fade. But it softened. Bent. Not in submission, but in recognition. In the understanding that sometimes strength meant knowing the shape of your own limits.

I opened my eyes, reluctantly compromising. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t be reckless. Don’t play the invincible emperor. If it’s a trap, you pull back. You come home.”

His thumbs traced the curve of my shoulders. “I will come home.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear it.”

I searched his eyes. Found nothing but raw, unguarded truth.

“How long?” I whispered.

He straightened. Drew a slow breath. Rebuilt himself piece by piece—the emperor reassembling over the man.

“Two days, three at most. Cassian will stay here to coordinate communications, and I’ll have a full backup squad.” Kaelen lifted my hand to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “I promise, I won’t take any unnecessary risks.”