Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Elara’s POV

My fork slipped from my fingers.

It hit the layered pie dish with a sharp, ringing clang that echoed through the kitchen like a bell. A chunk of pastry crumbled under the impact. Cheese oozed sideways.

Nobody moved.

The name hung in the air between us. A wound I’d stitched shut with silence and sweat and blood in the arena, torn open in one breath by a woman with flour on her apron.

"Margaret—" Finnian started.

"I asked her a question, darling." Margaret’s gaze didn’t waver from mine. Her thumb still rested on my knuckles. Warm. Patient. Unrelenting.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"That’s not—" My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. Tried to rebuild the wall. "That’s not relevant."

"It’s the most relevant question there is."

"Mother." Finnian set the dish towel down with deliberate care. "I told you not to push."

"And I heard you." Margaret didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed locked on mine. Soft. Devastating. "But someone has to, Finnian. Someone has to ask what this girl won’t let herself say out loud."

The fire popped. A log shifted in the hearth, sending a spray of sparks up the chimney.

I stared at my tea. At the trembling surface. At my own warped reflection staring back—silver hair, hollow cheeks, eyes that looked too old for my face.

Margaret’s voice dropped to a murmur. The kind of voice you use with wounded animals. "Sweetheart. It’s just us."

And that was what broke me.

Not the question. Not the name. The gentleness. The absolute, unbearable tenderness of a woman who had no obligation to care about me and did anyway.

The first tear hit the table before I even realized I was crying.

Then more followed. And suddenly I couldn’t stop—couldn’t breathe—couldn’t hold any of it back. The dam I’d built over years of fighting and running and refusing to feel anything crumbled like wet sand.

"I left them." The words came out shattered. Barely recognizable. "I left my children, Margaret. I left—" A sob tore through me. "Valerius woke up every morning and I wasn’t there. Lyra doesn’t even—she was so small. She doesn’t even know my face."

Margaret was out of her chair in an instant. Her arms came around me, pulling my head against her chest, her hand cradling the back of my skull the way she’d done the first time I’d shown up at her door, pregnant and half-dead with grief.

"Shh. Shh, darling."

"He’s eight now." I choked on the number. On the years it represented. "Valerius is eight and I missed it. I missed all of it. And Lyra—Lyra is three and she probably calls someone else—" I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Finnian’s hand landed on my shoulder. Steady. Warm. He didn’t speak. Just held on.

"They must hate me." I pressed my fists against my eyes. "Every morning they wake up and their mother isn’t there and they must hate me."

"You don’t know that," Margaret said firmly.

"I do. I would. I should be hated."

Footsteps behind me. Robert’s voice, quiet and gravel-rough from the doorway. He must have come back in. "That’s not true, dear."

He pulled a chair beside me and sat down. His large, weathered hand settled on my back, rubbing slow circles between my shoulder blades.

"You survived," Robert said. "You survived something that would have destroyed most people. You built a life. You got stronger. That’s not weakness. That’s not something to be ashamed of."

I shook my head violently. "I’m not stronger. I’m just—I’m ordinary. I’m a mortal woman with no wolf, no power, no bloodline worth anything. I’m not—" My voice splintered. "I’m not worthy of him. Of any of them. A sovereign and his empire deserve more than what I am."

The kitchen went silent.

Margaret pulled back enough to look at my face. Her eyes were red-rimmed but fierce.

"You listen to me, Elara Frostfang." Her hands cupped my cheeks. Warm palms against wet skin. "I have watched you drag yourself out of darkness more times than I can count. I have watched you raise a child alone, teach yourself to fight, earn your own way. Don’t you dare sit in my kitchen and tell me you’re nothing."

"But I am." It came out as a whisper. "Without Moonlight. Without my wolf. I’m just... ordinary."

"Ordinary women don’t survive what you’ve survived," Robert said.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Drew a shaking breath. Then another.

Finnian squeezed my shoulder once more and released it. He crossed to the stove and poured a fresh cup of tea, setting it in front of me without a word.

The fire crackled. Outside, a cow lowed. The kitchen smelled like pastry and woodsmoke and salt from my tears.

For a long time, nobody spoke.

Then Margaret sat back down, smoothed her apron, and said in a completely different tone: "Well. Have you at least considered seeing other people?"

Finnian’s head snapped toward her. "Mother."

"What? It’s been years, Finnian. A beautiful young woman shouldn’t be alone for this long. It’s not healthy."

I let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a hiccup. "I’m not exactly surrounded by eligible suitors, Margaret. The men I see daily are arena fighters covered in scars and missing teeth."

"Hmm." Margaret tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Well. What about someone closer to home?"

Something shifted in the air.

Finnian went very still by the stove.

"What do you mean?" I asked, still wiping my eyes.

Margaret’s gaze drifted—casually, too casually—toward her son. "Well. Finnian’s been single for quite a while now. Almost two years, isn’t it, darling?"

The color drained from Finnian’s face. Then returned. All at once. In a shade of red I had never seen on a human being.

"Mother."

"What? You’re a handsome young man. She’s a lovely young woman. You already get along beautifully—"

"This is not happening." Finnian set down his teacup so hard the liquid sloshed over the rim. "This is absolutely not—Mother, I specifically asked you—"

"He cooks," Margaret continued, turning to me with the serene confidence of a woman who had already made up her mind. "He’s reliable. He’s patient. And he has all his teeth."

"That is the lowest possible bar," Finnian said through gritted teeth.

Robert made a quiet sound that might have been a stifled laugh. He hid it behind his hand.

I stared at Margaret. Then at Finnian. Then back at Margaret. The tears on my cheeks hadn’t even dried yet, and now my face was burning for an entirely different reason.

"Margaret," I managed. "Finnian is like my brother."

"Well, he’s not actually your brother, is he?" She shrugged.

"Mother!"

Finnian spun on his heel and grabbed his coat from the hook by the door with the desperate urgency of a man escaping a burning building. "I need to—I have to go into town. I have a special order at the bakery. A cake. Custom cake. Very important."

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "The bakery doesn’t close until six, darling. It’s barely half past four."

"It’s a very popular cake," Finnian said, shoving his arm into his sleeve and fumbling clumsily. "Very popular. High demand. Could sell out at any moment."

I was already on my feet. "I’ll help him carry it."

"It’s a cake, sweetheart, not a wardrobe—"

"It’s a big cake," I said, grabbing my cloak. "Enormous. Definitely needs two people."

Finnian was already at the door, holding it open with the wild-eyed expression of a trapped animal spotting an exit. I ducked past him into the cool afternoon air.

Behind us, Margaret’s voice floated from the kitchen, warm and thoroughly amused. "Bring back some bread rolls while youre there!"

Finnian slammed the door shut. We stood on the porch for a brief moment, staring at each other in shared horror.

Then we bolted.

Down the steps. Across the yard. Past the startled chickens.

"We’ll be back in an hour!" Finnian shouted over his shoulder. "Two hours, tops!"