Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Kaelen’s POV

“You’re an idiot.”

Cassian’s voice hit me like a slap. I stood frozen in the banquet hall doorway, staring at the space where Elara had been standing moments ago. Her scent still lingered. Winter roses. Parchment. Salt from tears she’d refused to shed in front of me.

And fury. Pure, white-hot fury. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

She’d looked at me like I was a stranger. Worse—like I was someone who’d just driven a blade between her ribs and twisted it.

Because that’s exactly what I’d done.

“Did you hear me?” Cassian stepped in front of me, blocking my view of the corridor. His jaw was tight. His eyes held none of their usual deference. “I said you’re an idiot. A complete, staggering fool.”

Behind us, the banquet hall still buzzed with whispered scandal. Guards were dragging Isolde toward the east wing. She shrieked the entire way—venomous, shrill, like a banshee being hauled from a crypt. Her accusations still rang in my ears.

That child belongs to Gareth. Everyone knows it. Your precious little mate spread her legs for your brother long before she crawled into your bed—

My fists clenched so hard my knuckles cracked.

“She organized your entire state banquet in under twenty-four hours,” Cassian continued, his voice low and brutal. “Every course. Every seating arrangement. Every diplomatic slight corrected before it could become an incident. She handled your impossible demands without a single complaint. And the moment that viper opened her mouth, you just stood there.” He jabbed a finger into my chest. Hard. “You stood there and waited for Elara to defend herself. Like she owed you proof.”

The words landed like hammer blows. Each one accurate. Each one deserved.

I had frozen. Not because I believed Isolde. Not fully. But the poison had found the crack it was looking for—that ancient, festering wound buried deep beneath my ribcage. The fear that I wasn’t enough. That my mate, my beautiful, brilliant mate, had belonged to someone else first. To Gareth. My father’s bastard son. That worthless, simpering waste of blood who somehow still haunted every corner of my existence.

For three heartbeats, jealousy had swallowed me whole.

Three heartbeats too many.

“Where did she go?” My voice came out raw. Scraped.

Cassian’s expression shifted. The anger remained, but something else crept in beneath it. Concern.

“She ran. Barefoot. Through the east courtyard and past the outer gates. The guards didn’t stop her—they assumed she’d been dismissed.”

My wolf stirred. Not stirred. Surged.

Find her, Alec snarled. His presence flooded through me like a wall of black water. Find her NOW. Something is wrong.

I was already moving. Down the corridor, through the servants’ passage, out into the frozen courtyard. The cobblestones glistened with a thin layer of ice. Her scent trail cut through the frigid air like a silver thread—winter roses, parchment, the sharp tang of adrenaline, and beneath it all, tears. Not the quiet kind. The desperate kind.

I followed it past the gate. Down the lamplit boulevard. Through a narrow lane where the merchant stalls had been shuttered for hours.

Six blocks.

She’d run six blocks in bare feet on frozen ground.

Then her scent changed direction. Sharply. Unnaturally. It veered toward the curb, where a silver carriage had recently departed. And there—mingled with her winter roses—was another scent.

Jasmine. Sweet. Heavy. Cloying.

And beneath the jasmine, something chemical. Something that made Alec’s hackles rise and his lips peel back from his teeth.

Enchantment scent, he growled. Black-market sedative. Someone drugged our mate.

The world went red.

Not figuratively. The edges of my vision actually bled crimson. My heartbeat slowed to a deep, war-drum rhythm. Every sound sharpened—the distant clatter of a merchant’s cart, the whisper of wind through bare branches, the faint creak of carriage springs moving away from me.

Southeast. Moving fast.

SHIFT, Alec commanded. Not a request. An order from the most primal part of me.

My body obeyed before my mind caught up. Bones cracked and reformed. Muscles tore and rebuilt in the space between one breath and the next. Skin gave way to thick silver-white fur. My hands became paws the size of dinner plates. My spine lengthened. My senses exploded outward like a shockwave.

The transformation took less than ten seconds.

I hit the ground running. Four paws on frozen cobblestone. My shoulder stood nearly four feet from the ground. Pedestrians screamed and scattered. A cart horse reared, snapping its harness. I didn’t care. I was moving through the streets like a bolt of pale lightning.

Her scent pulled me southeast. Past the merchant quarter. Into the residential lanes where the minor nobility kept their townhouses. Quiet streets. Drawn curtains. The kind of neighborhood where people didn’t ask questions.

I found the carriage first. Empty. Abandoned at the curb, its door still hanging open. The jasmine scent was thick inside it, mixed with Elara’s—and with fear. Raw, animal fear that made Alec howl inside my skull.

The trail led to a plain wooden door. Unremarkable. Modest hedgerows on either side.

I didn’t slow down.

I hit the door at full speed. It didn’t just open. It detonated. Hinges ripped from the frame. Wood splintered into a thousand pieces that scattered across the room like shrapnel. Plaster dust rained from the ceiling.

The interior was dim. Stale air. Drawn curtains. And there—

Elara. On a threadbare sofa. Her gown was torn, one strap pulled down past her shoulder, exposing pale skin. Her silver-white hair fanned across the cushions. Her limbs were arranged at wrong angles, limp, boneless, like a marionette with cut strings. Tears tracked down her temples into her hair.

Her eyes found mine. Through the haze of whatever poison was coursing through her, she saw me. I watched recognition flicker—dim but present.

And beside her, crouching with one hand still on her bare shoulder, was Michael—a pathetic werewolf. Scattered beside him were the shredded pieces of Elara’s ice-blue gown.

“Your—Your Majesty—” His voice cracked. He stumbled backward, knocking over a small table. “This isn’t—I can explain—”

I shifted.

The transformation back to human form was faster. Rougher. I stood in the wreckage of his doorway, bare-chested, my lower half still wrapped in the remnants of whatever my formal trousers had become. Steam rose from my skin in the cold air.

I crossed the room in two strides and hit him.

Not a measured strike. Not a calculated blow. A raw, full-bodied punch that connected with his jaw and launched him backward into a bookshelf. The shelf collapsed. Books and trinkets cascaded over his crumpled form.

“Your Majesty, please—” He was crawling. Bleeding from the mouth. His eyes were wide, white-rimmed, the eyes of a prey animal that had just realized what was hunting it. “She was wandering alone—I only meant to help—”

My gaze caught the crystalline device in the corner. A recording crystal mounted on a bronze tripod, its faceted surface still shimmering with active arcane light. Positioned with a clear line of sight to the sofa.

To my mate.

“You’re done.” My voice didn’t sound human. It was something dragged up from a deep, dark place. “Your position is terminated. Your title is revoked. You will clear your personal effects by Monday. If I ever see your face within a mile of the palace, I will finish what I started here tonight.”

Michael made a sound. A whimper. A broken, pathetic noise.

I turned my back on him.

Three steps brought me to the sofa. Elara’s eyes were half-closed. Her breathing was shallow. The torn fabric of her gown barely clung to her frame. Up close, the chemical sweetness of the sedative was overwhelming—it oozed from her pores, saturated her hair.

I gathered her into my arms. Gently. Carefully. As if she were made of glass. Her head lolled against my shoulder. She weighed almost nothing.

“I have you,” I murmured against her hair. “I have you. You’re safe.”

She didn’t respond.

I carried her out through the destroyed doorway and into the waiting carriage. Laid her across the bench seat. Draped my ruined coat over her trembling body and barked at the driver: “Royal infirmary. Now. If the horses aren’t running immediately, you’ll join them.”

I knelt on the floor beside her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other pressed against her cheek. Her skin was cold. Too cold.

“Elara. Stay with me.”

Her eyelids fluttered. A small crease formed between her brows—effort. She was fighting the drug. Fighting to surface.

As soon as I started the carriage, her hand suddenly shot out and seized my cravat, her fingers twisting into the expensive silk with a grip that spoke of pure desperation. The motion yanked me halfway across the seat, pulling my face close to hers. “Save me,” she whispered, her breath warm against my skin. “Please...”