Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Kaelen’s POV

The fire had gone out hours ago. I hadn’t bothered to relight it.

I sat in the same chair, in the same position, staring at the same patch of darkness where Elara had stood before she turned her back on me. A deliberate distance. She’d kept a deliberate distance between us, as though I were something contaminated.

Maybe I was.

The clock on the mantel struck three. Then four. Then five. By six in the morning, I realized I desperately needed answers from Seraphine. Each chime landed like a hammer blow against the inside of my skull, keeping time with the questions I couldn’t answer.

The inn room. The smell of wine I didn’t remember drinking. Seraphine’s throat—those marks. Dark. Unmistakable.

My wife’s empty eyes.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my temples. The memory was a wall. Smooth. Featureless. I remembered arriving at the inn for a scheduled meeting. I remembered Seraphine being there—she’d arranged the meeting, she said. I remembered wine being poured. And then... nothing. A gap. A black, yawning void where hours should have been.

The next thing I could recall was waking in a chair in the inn’s private room, coat draped over me, the taste of something chemical and bitter clinging to the back of my throat. And Seraphine standing by the window, adjusting her collar. Her fingers trembling. The edge of a bruise visible above her neckline before she pulled the fabric higher.

I’d asked her what happened.

She’d smiled. A strange, tight smile. "You fell asleep, Your Majesty. The wine didn’t agree with you. I stayed to ensure you weren’t disturbed."

That was all she said. And I’d been too disoriented, too sick with the pounding in my head, to press further.

But those marks on her neck—

I slammed my fist against the armrest. The wood cracked.

Did I do that?

The thought made bile rise in my throat. I was not that man. I had never touched a woman who was not my mate. Never. Not once in my life. The idea was revolting.

And yet I couldn’t remember.

That was the worst part. Not knowing. Being trapped behind a wall of silence inside my own mind, unable to verify my own innocence.

A knock at the sitting room door jolted me upright. Not Elara’s knock—too firm, too efficient.

"Enter."

A young courier stepped in, holding a sealed envelope. "From Sir Cassian, Your Majesty. Delivered just now."

I took it. Broke the seal. Cassian’s handwriting was clipped and direct, as always.

You missed three scheduled councils yesterday. Claire is furious. Also—the northern defense line reports increased movement from rogue formations near the border passes. I suspect this is connected to Gareth’s recent activity in the region. We need to discuss this immediately.

Gareth. The name twisted in my gut. My half-brother had been stationed near the northern frontier for some time, supposedly overseeing border fortifications. But Cassian had warned me previously that Gareth’s reports didn’t add up. Troop movements that went unrecorded. Supply requisitions that vanished into nothing.

A trap. Cassian believed Gareth was building something in the north. Laying groundwork for something I couldn’t yet see.

I scrawled a reply on the back of the letter. I have matters to attend to. Handle Claire.

The courier took it and left.

I stood. My body ached from sitting all night. Every joint protested. But the pain grounded me. Gave me something concrete to feel instead of this suffocating dread.

I had to find Seraphine. She was the only one who could tell me what happened in that room.

I was heading toward the door when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Light. Measured. Deliberately quiet.

Elara.

She appeared at the bottom of the staircase dressed simply. Her silver-white hair was pulled back. Her face was composed—perfectly, terrifyingly composed. Like a mask carved from pale stone.

She moved toward the kitchen without looking at me.

"Good morning," I said.

"Morning." She didn’t stop.

I followed her. Watched as she took a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water from the pitcher. Her movements were precise. Mechanical. Like a woman performing tasks from memory while her mind existed somewhere else entirely.

"Elara."

She set the pitcher down. Still didn’t look at me.

"Did you sleep?" I asked.

"Some."

A lie. The shadows beneath her ice-blue eyes were darker than last night. But I had no right to press. Not when I was drowning in lies of my own.

"I need to—" I started.

"I’m taking the children to the academy." She drank the water in quick swallows, set the glass on the counter, and turned toward the hallway.

"Wait—"

She paused. Half-turned. Her gaze landed somewhere near my left shoulder. Not my eyes. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.

The silence between us was immense. Heavy. Filled with everything neither of us could say.

"Never mind," I said quietly. "Go ahead."

She left without another word. The front door opened and closed. I stood alone in the kitchen, hands braced against the counter, listening to the fading sound of her footsteps and the children’s voices outside.

Fix this, something inside me snarled. Fix it before it’s too late.

But how could I fix what I couldn’t even name?

---

The council chambers were located in a quiet part of the palace. I arrived before the morning bells, moving through corridors still empty of courtiers. My destination wasn’t the main hall but the smaller side chamber where the administrative staff worked.

Seraphine’s desk was near the window. She was meticulous about her workspace—everything always aligned, every document filed, every quill positioned at the same angle. She arrived before half past seven without fail. In years of service, I could count on one hand the mornings she’d been late.

I sat in a chair across from her empty desk. Waited.

Half past seven came. No Seraphine.

Half past eight. The desk remained untouched. Older papers still sat in their tray. The inkwell was capped. Cold.

Something was wrong.

I stepped into the corridor and flagged a passing attendant. "Send for Lady Seraphine de Valcourt. Immediately."

The attendant bowed and hurried away.

I returned to the chamber. Paced. Checked the window. Paced again.

The attendant returned alone, breathless. "Your Majesty, Lady Seraphine is not in her quarters. Her rooms appear... undisturbed. The household staff haven’t seen her since yesterday afternoon."

My blood chilled.

"Find her."

He bowed again and vanished.

I was still standing by the empty desk when Claire arrived. The palace steward’s sharp eyes swept the room, catalogued the untouched workspace, and settled on me with undisguised scrutiny.

"Your Majesty. You weren’t at yesterday’s councils. Sir Cassian’s messages went unanswered until this morning. And now you’re standing in the administrative wing before dawn, staring at an empty desk." She paused. "Would you care to explain?"

"I had personal matters to attend to."

"Personal matters." Claire’s tone was flat. Skeptical. She’d served this palace long before I took the throne. Deference was not her strong suit.

"Is there something specific you need, Claire?"

She studied me a moment longer, then glanced at Seraphine’s desk. "It’s unlike her to be absent without notice. I’ll check the household records."

She returned shortly after, carrying a single sheet of parchment. Her expression had shifted from suspicion to genuine puzzlement.

"Lady Seraphine submitted an emergency leave request through the household office yesterday. Approximately five o’clock in the afternoon."

I took the document. Read it twice.

Emergency medical leave. Duration: minimum two weeks. Return date: to be advised.

No further explanation. No physician’s note attached. No forwarding address.

"Two weeks," I said. My voice sounded distant.

"At minimum," Claire corrected. "She wrote ’further notice.’ That’s open-ended. In all her years of service, she has never once requested unscheduled leave."

I stared at the parchment. The handwriting was Seraphine’s—neat, controlled, precise. But the request itself was anything but controlled. Five o’clock yesterday afternoon. Hours after—

Hours after I saw the marks on her neck.

"Your Majesty?" Claire’s voice sharpened. "You’ve gone pale."

"The northern situation," I said. The lie came out rough. Unconvincing. "Cassian’s reports. It’s... weighing on me."

Claire’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t believe me. But she was too disciplined to push further. Not here. Not now.

"I’ll manage the administrative schedule in Lady Seraphine’s absence," she said carefully. "But if there’s something else happening—"

"That will be all, Claire."

She held my gaze for one beat. Two. Then she inclined her head and withdrew.

I sat there staring at Seraphine’s medical leave request. At least two weeks. Maybe even longer.

What happened that night?