Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Elara’s POV

The mirror didn’t lie.

I had been standing in front of the mirror for a long while. I turned sideways, pressing both palms against the gentle swell beneath my navel. Still small. Still barely there. But undeniable. Two lives curled inside me like seeds waiting for spring.

"You’re going to wear a hole in the glass if you keep staring at it."

Brenna appeared behind me in the reflection, a steaming cup of chamomile balanced in one hand, her dark eyebrows raised in that particular arch she reserved for moments she found me ridiculous.

"I can’t help it." I smoothed the fabric of my dress over the bump. "Yesterday it was flat. Today it’s—"

"The size of a modest bread roll. Yes. Thrilling." She thrust the tea into my hands. "Drink. You skipped breakfast again."

"I didn’t skip it. I couldn’t keep it down."

"Same result. Drink."

I took the cup and sipped. The warmth spread through my chest, settling something restless that had been pacing inside me since dawn.

"He didn’t want to leave this morning," I said.

Brenna snorted. "Of course he didn’t. The man acts like you’ll evaporate the second he turns his back." She dropped onto the edge of the bed, crossing her ankles. "What was it this time? How many times did he check on you before walking out?"

"He kissed my stomach. Twice. Once for each baby, whispering to our little ’blueberries’ to behave." I couldn’t suppress the smile. "Then he stood at the door for a few more moments."

"Training will be good for him. Burn off some of that feral energy before he starts growling at servants for breathing near you."

She wasn’t wrong. Kaelen’s protectiveness had always run deep—bone-deep, blood-deep—but since learning about the twins, it had become something almost tangible. A gravitational pull he couldn’t resist. He’d left for the training grounds a while ago, and already I felt the faint tug of the bond stretching between us like a thread pulled taut.

I set the tea down. "Let’s go out."

Brenna’s head snapped up. "Out?"

"Shopping. We need things. Cradles. Blankets. Bottles." I ticked items off on my fingers. "Two of everything."

Her face split into a grin. "Now you’re speaking my language."

---

The market district hummed with life. Merchants called out from stalls draped in colored cloth. Children darted between legs. The smell of fresh bread and roasting chestnuts mingled in the cool air.

I felt... normal. Wonderfully, terrifyingly normal.

Brenna moved through the shops with military precision. She held up a tiny blue outfit in one hand, a pink one in the other.

"Both," I said before she could ask.

"Both." She tucked them into the already overflowing basket. "Obviously both."

We’d been at it for hours. Two cradles—carved from pale wood with crescent moons etched into the headboards—were being delivered to the palace tomorrow. The basket now contained blankets of the softest wool I’d ever touched, glass bottles with silver caps, a mountain of cloth diapers, and more tiny garments than any two infants could reasonably wear.

"We have enough for six babies," Brenna said, adjusting the bags on her arms.

"Good. Then we’re prepared."

She laughed. But as we turned down a quieter aisle lined with shelves of baby oils and powders, her laughter faded. She must have caught something in my expression.

"What is it?"

I ran my finger along a row of small glass jars. "Do you think they’ll come back?"

"Who?"

"The Rogues." The word tasted like ash. "Another tribe. Another leader. Someone else who wants what Malak wanted."

Brenna set the bags down. Slowly. Deliberately. Then she faced me fully.

"Elara. Look at me."

I did.

"Malak is dead. You killed him. You and Kaelen, together. His army is scattered. The borders are reinforced. The imperial guard has heavily increased its patrols." She gripped my shoulders. "You are safe. Those babies are safe."

"I know. Rationally, I know." My hand drifted to my stomach. "But when I was carrying Valerius, I was alone. Starving. Terrified every single day that someone would find us." My voice dropped. "And with Lyra—I was in a fighting pit. Bleeding between rounds. Not knowing if she’d survive."

Brenna’s expression tightened. Pain flickered behind her eyes—the shared memory of those years.

"This time is different," she said firmly. "You have an empire behind you. You have Kaelen. You have me." She squeezed my shoulders once, hard. "No one is hunting you anymore. You are the hunter now."

I exhaled. Let the tension bleed out of my spine, vertebra by vertebra.

"You’re right."

"I’m always right. Now pick up those lavender oils before I buy the entire shelf and bankrupt the treasury."

I managed a real smile. Reached for the oils.

We emerged onto the street weighed down with bags. The afternoon light slanted golden across the cobblestones. I shifted my grip on the handles, trying to redistribute the weight so nothing pressed against my belly.

"We should have brought a cart," Brenna muttered.

"We should have brought an army."

She barked a laugh. "Next time—"

I stopped.

The bags slipped from my fingers. Hit the cobblestones with a soft thud. A jar of something rolled free and clinked against the curb.

Across the street. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Golden hair catching the light like wheat in summer. Warm brown eyes scanning a merchant’s display.

My breath left my body.

"Elara?" Brenna’s voice came from far away. "What—"

He turned. As if some invisible thread had pulled his attention toward me. Our eyes met across the crowded street, and the world went very, very still.

His face changed. Shock—pure and total—wiped away whatever casual expression had been there before. His lips parted. The package in his hand slipped forgotten to the ground.

"Elara?"

My name. In his voice. After all these years.

"Finnian." It came out barely louder than a breath.

He took a step. Then another. Then he was crossing the street in long strides, dodging a cart, narrowly avoiding a woman with a flower basket. He stopped an arm’s length away, staring at me like I was a ghost.

"You’re alive." His voice cracked on the second word. "Gods—you’re alive. You’re here. I thought—we all thought—"

I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed completely. This man. This face from before. Before the betrayal. Before the exile. Before the fighting pits. Before everything. He belonged to the earliest Chapter of my life. The one I’d locked away because looking at it hurt too much.

"How—" He ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide and glassy. "How is this possible? Where have you been?"

Brenna materialized at my elbow. Steady. Grounding. I felt her hand on my arm.

"Right." She bent to collect the fallen bags with brisk efficiency. "There’s a tea house around the corner. Whatever this is—" she gestured between us "—it needs a table and some privacy."

Finnian hadn’t taken his eyes off me. "Years," he said. "It’s been years, Elara. I have so much—there’s so much you need to know."

My hand found my stomach without thinking. A reflex. A shield.

"Then let’s sit down," I said. "And you can tell me everything."