Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Kaelen’s POV

The carriage jolted over a cobblestone seam, and I did not look at the man sitting across from me.

I stared out the window instead. The capital’s evening streets blurred past—lamplit storefronts, the occasional patrol guard, a flower cart being wheeled away for the night. Ordinary things. Mundane things. Things that had absolutely no business occupying the attention of an emperor who was currently losing his mind.

Because all I could see, behind every closed blink, was Finnian’s hands in Elara’s kitchen.

The way he’d reached for the bread knife without asking where it was. The way he’d moved around her counter like he’d done it countless times. The way Valerius had looked up at him with that easy, trusting grin—the same grin my son reserved for people he genuinely liked.

My fingers curled against my thigh.

Stop it.

I was the Alpha Emperor of the Nightfire Empire. I commanded armies. I held the fate of nations in my hands. I should not be sitting here spiraling over the fact that some northern blacksmith knew which drawer held the serving spoons.

And yet.

He knows her kitchen better than I do.

The thought was poison. It burned through every rational defense I had, eating away at discipline and composure until what remained was something raw and embarrassingly juvenile. I felt like a jealous teenager. I was a jealous teenager, apparently, trapped in the body of a grown man with a crown and an empire and absolutely zero emotional regulation when it came to Elara Frostfang.

Finnian sat across from me with his travel bag resting against his knee. He gazed out his own window, expression calm, posture relaxed. Not tense. Not aggressive. Just... present. Comfortable in silence the way people were comfortable when they had nothing to prove.

Which made it worse.

I could have handled hostility. Hostility I understood. But this quiet, unshakable composure—this refusal to be rattled by the murderous energy I was radiating—was maddening. He wasn’t challenging me. He wasn’t backing down. He was simply existing, and somehow that felt like the most provocative thing anyone had ever done.

The carriage swayed through a turn. Neither of us spoke.

The communication stone in my coat pocket buzzed.

I pulled it out, grateful for any distraction that wasn’t the mental image of Finnian slicing bread for my son.

"Kaelen." Sir Cassian’s voice crackled through, tight with urgency. "I need you at the Treasury. Now."

I frowned. "I’m indisposed."

"The Greymoor trade covenant—the amendments we negotiated recently. Their courier arrived early. The documents are time-sealed. If we don’t sign and return them by nine tomorrow morning, the entire agreement collapses. That’s twelve million gold coins, Kaelen. Gone."

I closed my eyes. Of course. Of course this was happening right now.

"How long?" I asked.

"Half an hour. Maybe less if you don’t argue with me about the margins again."

I severed the connection and leaned forward, rapping my knuckles against the partition.

"Change of route," I told the coachman. "Treasury building. Quickly."

"At once, Your Majesty."

The carriage banked left. I settled back against the seat and forced myself to look at Finnian.

He was watching me now. Those ice-blue eyes held mild curiosity. Nothing more.

"There’s been an urgent matter at the palace Treasury," I said, keeping my voice clipped and professional. "I need to handle it before we continue. It shouldn’t take long."

"Of course." Finnian inclined his head. "I’m in no rush."

Of course you’re not.

I turned back to the window.

The Treasury building rose from the evening darkness like a stone sentinel, its high windows glowing faintly amber. The coachman pulled up to the service entrance, and I stepped down without waiting for the step to be lowered.

"Wait here," I said over my shoulder. Not to the coachman. To Finnian.

"Happily," he replied, settling deeper into his seat.

I walked through the corridor fast enough that the night clerks had to press themselves flat against the wall to let me pass. The Treasury’s main chamber was cavernous and dimly lit at this hour, most of the brass desk lamps extinguished. Sir Cassian stood at the far end, surrounded by a sprawl of documents, ink pots, and sealing wax.

"This paragraph, the new amendment," he said the moment I reached him. No greeting. No preamble. This was why I trusted Cassian. He never wasted time.

I grabbed the pen and started signing.

The first document. Quick. Clean.

The second. A territorial easement clause that needed my initials on several separate pages.

Halfway through the third—

"Working late, Kaelen?"

The voice slithered into the room like perfume through a cracked door. Sweet. Cloying. Utterly unwelcome.

I didn’t look up. I knew who it was before her heels clicked against the marble floor. The scent hit me a second later—thick, floral, and so aggressively sweet it practically coated the inside of my throat.

Seraphine de Valcourt.

She appeared at the edge of the desk in a gown that was entirely inappropriate for a late-night Treasury visit. Her dark hair was arranged in deliberate, artful waves. Her lips were painted deep crimson. Everything about her presentation screamed calculated.

"What are you doing here?" I asked without raising my eyes from the covenant.

"I saw the lights on from the courtyard," she said smoothly. "I thought you might need assistance."

"I don’t."

She moved closer anyway. I could feel her hovering at my shoulder, the warmth of her body deliberately invading my space.

"You’ve been spending so much time with that little archivist lately," Seraphine murmured, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "It must be exhausting. Lowering yourself to—"

"Seraphine." My pen stopped. I looked at her. Let her see exactly what was in my eyes. "Choose your next words very carefully."

She held my gaze for a beat, then smiled—the kind of smile that pretended to retreat while actually advancing.

"I only meant," she said, softening her voice to something breathy and intimate, "that you deserve better company. Someone who understands the pressures of your position." A pause. "Perhaps a private dinner? Just the two of us. I know a wonderful—"

"My private life is none of your concern." I returned to the document. "And I am not interested. In dinner. In company. In whatever it is you think you’re offering. Go home."

I signed the final page, sealed it, and handed the stack to Cassian, who took it with the expression of a man who had witnessed this exact scene too many times.

"We’re done?" I asked him.

"We’re done."

I walked toward the exit without another glance at Seraphine.

But she followed.

Her heels clicked a rapid staccato on the marble behind me, down the corridor, through the service entrance, and out into the cool night air where the carriage waited.

I saw the exact moment she spotted Finnian through the carriage window.

Something shifted in her expression. The rejected sulkiness vanished, replaced by a bright, predatory interest that turned my stomach.

Seraphine pressed herself against the carriage glass, one hand flattened on the window frame, and peered inside.

"Well," she breathed. "Who is this?"

Finnian looked up from where he’d been resting his head against his hand.

"Hello," he said. Polite. Guarded.

"Seraphine de Valcourt," she purred, tilting her head at an angle she clearly believed was fetching. "And you are?"

"Finnian."

"Finnian." She repeated his name like she was tasting it. "What a strong name. Are you traveling alone? You look like you could use some... company tonight. I know the most wonderful private dining establishment not far from here. Very intimate. Very exclusive."

My patience—already stretched past its breaking point—snapped.

"Seraphine." The command in my voice hit the air like a blade. "Leave. Now."

She flinched. Finally, actually flinched. Her eyes darted to mine, and whatever she saw there made her take a full step back from the carriage.

"Of course," she said, her composure cracking just slightly. "Good evening."

She turned and walked away. Her heels echoed sharply against the cobblestones until the darkness swallowed her.

I climbed into the carriage and dropped onto the seat. Exhaustion pressed down on my shoulders like iron.

"Take us home," I told the coachman.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The carriage lurched forward. The streets were quieter now, the evening traffic thinned to scattered riders and the occasional merchant cart.

I rubbed my temples. "I apologize for that," I said stiffly. The words tasted like ash. Apologizing for another person’s behavior in front of this particular man was a specific kind of humiliation I hadn’t anticipated tonight.

Finnian was quiet for a moment. His gaze had turned thoughtful, fixed on something in the middle distance that wasn’t the street outside.

"Seraphine de Valcourt," Finnian repeated slowly, as if testing the name. "That’s... very interesting. I think I’ve seen her before," he murmured softly, "not recently, but... somewhere."