Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Kaelen’s POV

I stared blankly at the quarterly report on my desk, unable to focus for more than five minutes.

The words blurred together—revenue projections, territorial disputes, grain allocations for the northern provinces. My eyes moved across the lines but nothing registered. Nothing had registered properly in months.

Three months. She’d been gone three months.

I pressed my fingers against my temples. The headache was back. It never really left anymore. Just retreated to a dull throb behind my eyes before surging forward again, sharp and relentless.

A knock at the study door. Two sharp raps.

"Enter."

Sir Cassian stepped inside. He was in full ceremonial armor—polished black steel with the Nightfire crest etched in gold across the breastplate. His expression was carefully neutral, which meant he was about to say something I didn’t want to hear.

"Your Majesty." He closed the door behind him. "You forgot the Tuesday 2:00 PM council session that starts in ten minutes. You haven’t moved from that chair since dawn."

"I’m aware of the time."

"Are you?" He crossed his arms. "Because you missed breakfast. You missed lunch. And unless that report has somehow become edible, you’ve missed sustenance entirely today."

"I’ll eat later."

"You said that yesterday. And the day before." He didn’t sit. Didn’t relax his posture. Just stood there, watching me with those sharp, assessing eyes. "When was the last time you slept through the night?"

I didn’t answer.

"Right." He took a step closer. "Because your son told me that you scream in your sleep."

The words landed like a fist to the sternum.

I looked up. "What?"

Something cracked behind my ribs. I pushed it down. Buried it beneath the numb, gray fog I’d been living inside.

"He’s a child. He has nightmares of his own."

"He wasn’t describing his nightmares. He was describing yours." Cassian dropped his arms. "Look at yourself. You barely eat. You work from before dawn until past midnight. You’ve dropped weight—your clothes don’t fit properly anymore. And when was the last time you let Alex out? It’s been weeks."

The name sent a tremor through me. Alex—my wolf. My other half. I could feel him deep inside, pressed against the walls of my consciousness like a caged animal. Pacing. Snarling. Desperate.

I’d been keeping him locked down. Every time I loosened my grip, he surged forward with a single, devastating impulse: Find her. Track her. Bring her home. And the pain of knowing I couldn’t—that she didn’t want to be found—was worse than any wound I’d ever taken in battle.

"Alex is fine."

"Alex is not fine. And neither are you." Cassian’s voice dropped low. Rough. "You’re falling apart, Kaelen. The council sees it. The guards see it. Your children see it."

I stood abruptly. My chair scraped against stone. "Are you finished?"

A muscle worked in his jaw. He stared at me for a long, heavy moment. Then something shifted in his expression—the careful neutrality cracking to reveal something rawer. Frustration. Grief. Exhaustion of his own.

"Yeah." He turned toward the door. "I’m finished. Come find me when you stop acting like an ass, mate."

The door closed behind him.

I stood in the silence for a full minute. Then I straightened my jacket, gathered the useless report, and walked to the council chamber.

The session was a blur. Lords spoke. I responded. Approved something about trade routes. Denied a petition for expanded hunting grounds. My voice came out steady, authoritative—the emperor they expected. The mask held. It always held in public.

But beneath it, the hollowness yawned wider with every passing hour.

By six, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I rose from the throne. The remaining petitioners looked up in confusion. Council sessions ran until eight, sometimes later.

"We’re done for today," I said. No explanation.

I walked through the outer chamber. Sylvia looked up from her ledger, her mouth opening in undisguised surprise. I passed her without a word and kept walking. Through the gilded corridors. Down the private staircase. Out into the courtyard where the evening air hit my face like cold water.

Home. I needed to go home.

The children’s quarters smelled like warm milk and cedar. I had insisted—months ago, when Elara first left—that I would handle dinner and bedtime myself.

Valerius sat at the small table, legs swinging. His dark curls were still damp. Those gold eyes—my eyes—watched me with an intensity no child his age should possess.

"Pasta again?" he asked, poking at the reheated noodles with his fork.

"Just eat your dinner," I said softly.

In the high chair beside him, Lyra babbled and smacked the tray with her palms. Her silver hair—Elara’s hair—caught the lamplight as she bounced. I held the bottle to her mouth and she latched on greedily, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine.

I felt the crack in my chest widen.

She should be here. Elara should be here, holding her daughter. Filling this silence with her voice.

"Father?"

I blinked. Valerius was staring at me. His plate was empty.

"Story time?"

"Yes." I cleared my throat. "Story time."

I carried Lyra into the nursery and settled Valerius into his bed. He picked out a familiar storybook for me to read.

I read it aloud. My voice didn’t crack. Not once. I made it through every page, pushing through the heavy silence of the room until the story was finished.

Valerius fell asleep before the last page. Lyra was already out, her breath soft and rhythmic against my collarbone.

I laid her in her crib. Pressed my lips to Valerius’s forehead. Stood in the doorway and watched them sleep.

Two small, perfect beings who needed a father that was whole. Not this... husk. This wreckage of a man wearing a crown.

I retreated to my bedroom. Closed the door. Leaned against it.

The silence was suffocating.

I pressed the heel of my palm against my chest where the ache never stopped. That hollow, gnawing hunger that no food could fill, no work could drown, no amount of imperial authority could command away.

Mate.

Alex stirred inside me. A low, mournful whine that reverberated through my bones.

She left us. She left and we don’t know where—

I shoved him down. Hard. Felt him snarl and thrash against the suppression, but I held firm. If I let him surface now, I’d lose what was left of my control. I’d shift. I’d run. I’d tear through the wilderness following a scent trail gone cold, and I wouldn’t stop until my heart gave out or my legs broke beneath me.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Pressed both hands over my face.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Then it hit.

A searing, white-hot agony ripped through my chest—sudden, savage, like a blade driven straight through my sternum and twisted. I gasped. My hands flew to my ribs, clawing at the fabric of my shirt.

My wrist burned.

I looked down. The incomplete mate mark—that half-formed sigil where Elara’s bite had never fully sealed—was glowing. Actually glowing. A faint, pulsing silver light throbbed beneath my skin, and the heat radiating from it was unbearable. Like someone had pressed a branding iron against the mark and held it there. A horrifying, paralyzing clarity washed over me—my mate, Elara, was being hurt at this very moment.

Another wave of pain crashed through me. Worse this time. My knees buckled and I grabbed the edge of the bed to keep from hitting the floor.

Ela.

Her name tore from my lips before I could stop it. The bond between us—that fragile, incomplete thing—was screaming at me. Warning me.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.