Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Elara’s POV

The envelope was heavy.

Too heavy for a simple letter. I turned it over in my hands, studying the imperial seal pressed into dark wax—the Nightfire crest, two wolves circling a crescent moon. My fingers trembled as I broke it open.

Two things slid out onto the kitchen table. A folded letter, written on thick parchment in handwriting I recognized instantly. And something wrapped in shimmering enchanted cloth—small, hard, no bigger than my thumb.

I unfolded the letter first.

Elara,

I’m heading to the border. Malakor has issued a one-on-one challenge. I intend to meet it.

Before I do, you need to see what’s inside this crystal. I should have sent it sooner. I should have fought harder to make you believe me. But the truth wouldn’t have mattered if you weren’t ready to hear it.

The inn—it was a setup. All of it. I was drugged. Seraphine forged the mark. The child isn’t mine. It never was. It belongs to my brother.

Watch the crystal. Then decide what you believe.

— Kaelen

My hands were shaking so badly the parchment rattled. I read it again. And again. Each word carved itself deeper into my chest.

I was drugged.

Seraphine forged the mark.

The child belongs to my brother.

I set the letter down and unwrapped the enchanted cloth. A small black crystal sat in my palm—smooth, cold, pulsing faintly with stored magic. A memory crystal. I’d seen them in the royal archives. Rare. Expensive. Impossible to tamper with.

I carried it to the sitting room where the magical projection device sat on the shelf—a brass frame designed to read these crystals. My fingers fumbled as I pressed the stone into its socket.

The air above the device shimmered, displaying three video files with glowing timestamps. Then the first image formed.

---

A gray stone cell. Bare walls. A single lamp casting harsh light from above.

Gareth sat in a metal chair.

His wrists were bound with restraint straps. His shirt was torn at the collar, stained dark. Blood smeared across his jaw and cheekbone—dried, crusted. His eyes were wild. Cornered.

A voice off-screen. Cold. Official.

"State your name and your involvement in the events of—"

"Fine." Gareth’s voice cracked. He licked blood from his lip. "Fine. You want my confession? Here it is."

He leaned forward. The restraints pulled taut.

"I hated him. I’ve always hated him. Everything handed to him—the throne, the empire, her." His eyes burned. "Seraphine came to me with the plan. Drug him. Make it look like he bedded her willingly. Forge a mate mark. It wasn’t complicated. We put the mixture in his strong liquor. He was unconscious shortly after."

My stomach lurched.

"The child?" the off-screen voice pressed.

Gareth’s mouth twisted. Something between a sneer and a grimace.

"Mine. The child is mine."

The image flickered and died.

---

A second file loaded, marked with another timestamp. Different cell—softer lighting. A cushioned chair.

Seraphine sat with her hands folded over her swollen belly. Her hair was pulled back. Dark circles ringed her eyes. She looked nothing like the composed, elegant woman I remembered.

She lasted only a few moments before she broke.

"I loved him." Her voice was barely a whisper. Then louder—raw, ragged. "I loved him and he chose her. That nothing. That nobody. I deserved—"

She stopped. Pressed her lips together. Then the words poured out like a dam collapsing.

"I forged the mark. A temporary enchantment. It faded quickly, but by then it didn’t matter—she’d already seen it. She’d already believed it." A terrible smile crossed her face. "That was always the plan. Make her believe. Make her leave. And she did."

Make her believe. Make her leave.

And she did.

The third file showed both confessions side by side. Synchronized. Irrefutable.

---

The projection went dark.

I sat on the floor. I didn’t remember falling. My knees were pressed against cold stone and my hands were flat against the ground as if the room might spin away if I let go.

A sound came from somewhere. Raw. Animal. It took me a moment to realize it was coming from my own throat.

I had believed it. Every word. Every fabricated detail. I had looked at Kaelen—at his confused, desperate face—and I had chosen to believe the lie. I had thrown separation documents at him. I had taken our daughter and vanished into the night like he was the monster.

He wasn’t the monster.

He was the victim.

And I had punished him for it.

The sobs came violently. They racked my entire body. I pressed my forehead against the floor and wept until my ribs ached and my throat burned raw.

I reached for my communication crystal with shaking hands. Pressed my thumb against it.

Kaelen, I—

I stared at the words. Deleted them.

I’m so sorry. I watched the crystal. I know everything. Please—

Deleted.

Come back to me. Please come back.

Deleted.

What words existed for this? What combination of syllables could possibly undo the damage I’d done? I’d abandoned him. Believed his enemies over him. Kept his daughter from him for years.

No message was enough.

"Imperial Mother?"

A small voice. I looked up through blurred vision.

Lyra stood in the doorway. Silver hair loose around her shoulders. Gold-blue eyes wide with concern. She padded across the floor on bare feet and crouched beside me.

"Why are you crying?"

I pulled her into my arms. Held her so tight she squirmed.

"It’s nothing, my little one. Imperial Mother is just—" My voice broke. "I’m fine."

"You don’t look fine." She pressed her small palm against my cheek. Wiped a tear away with her thumb. "Did someone hurt you?"

I hurt someone. I hurt your father.

"No, sweetheart. Nobody hurt me."

She studied me with those impossible eyes—half her father’s gold, half my blue—and I saw the question forming. The one she always asked.

But before she could speak, my communication crystal pulsed. Not a message. An emergency summon. The imperial frequency—urgent, red-edged, impossible to ignore.

Claire’s signature.

Come to the palace. Now. Immediately.

My blood went cold.

"Lyra." I set her down. Wiped my face with the back of my hand. "Go find your brother. Tell the governess to watch you both until I return."

"But—"

"Now, Lyra. Go."

Something in my voice must have frightened her. She nodded and ran.

I grabbed my keys, my communication crystal, the letter, and the memory crystal—shoved them all into my pocket. More messages were pulsing through. Privy council members. Multiple messages—all marked urgent.

The short carriage ride to the palace was a blur of dread and guilt. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I pressed them flat against my thighs and stared at nothing.

He’s at the border. He challenged Malakor. Alone.

And I never answered his letter.

The palace gates opened without question. Guards waved me through. I was running by the time I reached the central hall.

Claire was waiting.

She stood at the foot of the grand staircase. Her face was white—completely drained of color. Her hands gripped the banister. She was shaking. Visibly, obviously shaking.

"Elara." Her voice was thin. Barely held together.

"What happened?" I grabbed her arm. "Claire—what happened?"

She swallowed. Her eyes were glassy.

"The border patrol." She could barely get the words out. "They’ve gone silent. All of them. Including—"