Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Kaelen’s POV

The chandelier above me dripped crystal and light like something bleeding out slowly.

I stood near the east wall of the ballroom with a glass of champagne I hadn’t touched and a woman on my arm I hadn’t invited. Not really. Sylvia had materialized some time ago, perfectly coiffed, perfectly connected, perfectly willing to stand where someone else should have been standing.

A useful body. Nothing more.

"—and Lord Ashford was saying the northern trade routes might reopen soon, which would be wonderful for—"

"Mm." I wasn’t listening. I was watching the room. Counting exits. Tracking the waitstaff. Old habits. Survival habits.

The gala was insufferable. Crystal glasses clinking, silk rustling, laughter pitched just high enough to signal wealth and boredom in equal measure. Constantly, someone drifted past me with that particular expression—pity varnished with curiosity.

Poor Emperor Nightfire. Wife vanished. Left him with two small children. How tragic.

How embarrassing.

I drained the champagne in one swallow. It tasted like nothing.

"Kaelen, darling, you’re grinding your teeth again."

Sylvia’s hand landed on my sleeve. Manicured nails. Soft pressure. I looked down at her fingers like they were insects.

"Don’t call me that," I said.

She laughed. Musical. Practiced. "You’re so tense tonight. Let me get you another drink."

"I don’t want another drink."

What I wanted was to leave. What I wanted was to stop feeling the eyes on me—many of them, tracking my movements, cataloging my expressions, hungry for any scrap of gossip they could carry home and dissect.

A flash of movement near the grand entrance caught my attention. A carriage outside. Dark windows. Enchanted so dark you couldn’t see inside. It slowed as it passed the venue, then accelerated sharply and disappeared around the corner.

My spine went rigid.

Nothing. Probably nothing.

But my fingers tightened around the empty glass until the stem creaked.

"Your Majesty?" The event coordinator appeared at my elbow, her smile frozen in place. "The children’s entertainment pavilion is closing shortly. Shall I have your little ones brought—"

"I’ll get them myself."

I didn’t wait for a response. I moved through the crowd, and it parted for me the way crowds always did—not because I asked, but because something in my posture told them moving was safer than staying.

The children’s pavilion was a sectioned-off garden behind the main building. Paper lanterns. Jesters performing parlor tricks. A ring toss booth with prizes no adult would keep for more than a day.

"Daddy!"

Lyra hit me at knee height. Full speed. No hesitation. Her pink party dress was smeared with something purple—jam, probably—and she was clutching a cheap painted trophy in both hands like it was forged from gold.

"Look! Look what I won! I throwed the ring and it went on the bottle and the man said I was the best thrower in the WHOLE party!"

I crouched down. Cupped the back of her silver head with one hand. "That’s incredible, sweetheart. Best thrower in the whole party?"

"The WHOLE party." She thrust the trophy toward my face. It was cheap. Hollow. The cheap wooden base was already cracking. She beamed at it like it was a crown.

Something in my chest unlocked. Just for a moment.

"Where’s your brother?"

"He’s eating MORE frosted cakes. I told him he was gonna be sick but he said—"

"I had three!" Valerius materialized from behind the dessert table. His face was smeared with chocolate—across both cheeks, up his forehead, streaked down his chin. It looked like war paint. His dark curls were wild, his gold eyes bright with sugar-fueled madness.

"Three, buddy?" I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket. "Your face says four."

"Three frosted cakes!"

"Three, huh?"

He grinned at me, and for one perfect, suspended moment, the paranoia released its grip. The dark carriage didn’t exist. The whispers didn’t exist. The hollow place inside my ribcage where she used to live—

"Shall I help with the children, Kaelen?"

Sylvia’s voice. Behind me. She’d followed.

Lyra’s smile vanished. She pressed into my leg, turning her face away from the woman.

I stood. "We’re leaving."

"Already? But the auction hasn’t even—"

"Now."

The royal carriage swallowed us into leather and silence. Lyra curled against my right side, the painted trophy still clutched against her chest. Her eyelids were heavy. Valerius sprawled across the opposite seat, chocolate still streaking his face, one arm dangling toward the floor. Soon, both of them surrendered to sleep.

I watched them breathe. Counted the rise and fall of their small chests. This was the only peace I understood anymore.

Sylvia sat across from me, beside Valerius’s sprawled legs. She was watching me in the dim carriage light. That look. I’d seen it growing bolder over the past weeks—calculating, softening, sharpening at the edges.

She waited until the children’s breathing had steadied completely. Then she uncrossed her legs. Leaned forward slightly.

"Kaelen."

I didn’t respond.

"You know," she said, her voice dropping into something intimate, velvet-wrapped, "I see how hard this is for you. Raising them alone. Attending these events with no one who truly understands—"

"Stop."

"I’m not trying to overstep. I just want you to know that I’m here. Not as an accessory. As someone who genuinely cares." She paused. Let the words settle. "She left you, Kaelen. She chose to walk away from this—from them." Her gaze drifted to the sleeping children. "You deserve someone who chooses you. Who stays."

The silence that followed was absolute.

I felt it building. The heat. The pressure behind my sternum. The thing I kept leashed every waking hour because if I let it out—if I let even a fraction of it out—

"Driver." My voice came out flat. Dead. "Pull over."

The carriage slowed immediately. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Wheels grinding against cobblestone. The gentle lurch of stopping.

I looked at Sylvia. She was smiling. Expectant. Like she’d just played a winning hand.

"Get out."

The smile froze.

"I—what?"

"Get out of my carriage." I was already reaching across, gripping the door handle behind her. Pushing it open. Night air flooded in, cold and sharp. "Now."

"Kaelen, I don’t understand—"

"You are a goddamn prop." The words came through my teeth, barely controlled. "A body I put next to mine so people would stop asking questions. That is all you have ever been. That is all you will ever be."

Her face went white. She scrambled for the door frame as I grabbed her arm, dragging her forward with barely controlled fury, and shoved her violently out of the carriage. Her ridiculous heels caught on the carriage step. She stumbled onto the curb, catching herself against an iron lantern post.

"You don’t know what you’re—" she started.

"Shut up!" The words erupted from me. "You don’t get to discuss her. You don’t get to say her name. You know nothing about what happened, about why, about any of it!"