Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother Chapter 23

Kaelen’s POV

The woman reeked.

Not of danger. Not of blood or treachery. Those scents I could handle. Those I understood.

No. She reeked of sothing cloying and chemical—a perfu so aggressively sweet it coated the inside of my throat like syrup. My wolf recoiled the mont she stepped into the grand reception hall of the royal palace, pressing itself flat against the back of my skull as if trying to physically retreat from the sll.

“Your Imperial Majesty,” she purred, sweeping into a curtsy that was more performance than respect. “Or may I call you sothing less formal? After all, we’re hardly strangers.”

I studied her.

Bleached blonde hair—not naturally golden, but stripped and processed until it held a brittle, artificial shine. Lips swollen beyond proportion, plumped by so surgeon’s needle into a permanent pout that looked more painful than alluring. Her dress was red and tight, straining across curves that sat too high and too rigid to be anything nature had provided.

My wolf snarled. Wrong. Everything about this one is wrong.

“You may address as Your Majesty,” I said flatly. “Nothing less.”

Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, revealing teeth that were unnaturally white. “Of course, Your Majesty. But I do hope in ti you’ll rember what we once were to each other.” She stepped closer. Her fingers grazed my sleeve. “That night at the masquerade... surely you haven’t forgotten?”

I pulled my arm away.

The motion was subtle. Controlled. But unmistakable.

“I rember the night,” I said carefully. “I rember very little about the woman.”

“Well.” She pressed a hand to her chest with theatrical hurt. “I suppose I have changed quite a bit since then. I was so young. Silver hair, slim as a willow...” She gestured down at herself with a coy flourish. “A woman grows into herself, doesn’t she, darling?”

Darling.

My jaw clenched. The word landed like a slap. No one called that. No one had earned the right.

“Do not call that.”

“Forgive .” But her eyes said she wasn’t sorry at all. They were calculating, those eyes. Hungry. They swept over the hall’s gilded interior—the crystal chandeliers, the silk curtains, the marble floors—with the naked appetite of soone ntally tallying the cost of everything in the room.

The communication crystal in my breast pocket vibrated. Needing a mont away from her cloying scent, I stepped out of the reception hall into the adjacent grand corridor, turning my back to Seraphine completely and pressing the crystal to my ear.

“Kaelen.” Cassian’s voice ca through, low and precise, roughened by what sounded like several sleepless nights. “I have the full report on the badge holder.”

“Go ahead.”

“The blonde woman matches the pawnshop descriptions exactly. She attempted to sell the gold badge at least four separate tis over the past month. Different shops each ti, always asking top price. Never ntioned where she got it—just that it was hers by right.” A pause. Papers rustled. “Yesterday, she appeared at three different shops in a single afternoon, asking about the wanted notice. She seed... eager. Almost rehearsed. But Kaelen—the badge itself is genuine. I verified the tal composition, the engraving, the maker’s mark. It’s yours. The one you left that night.”

I closed my eyes.

The badge was real. That was the fact I could not argue with. The gold pin I had pressed into my mystery woman’s palm before dawn broke over the masquerade—the one I’d told her to keep, the one I’d promised would guarantee her a place at my side if she ever chose to return—was now in the possession of this woman.

“And no other leads?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

“None. Every trail ends cold. She’s the only person who’s co forward with the physical badge in hand.”

Silence stretched between us.

“Your instincts are telling you sothing,” Cassian said quietly. “I know that tone.”

“My instincts are irrelevant if the evidence contradicts them.”

“Are they, though?”

I didn’t answer.

“I gave my word,” I said. “Whoever brought the badge would receive a position in the palace. Compensation. Protection.”

“You gave your word to your mate. Not to—”

“I gave my word.”

Cassian went quiet. Then: “Understood. I’ll prepare the employnt docunts.”

The crystal dimd. I slid it back into my pocket, standing in the quiet corridor a mont longer.

Honor does not bend to preference. My father’s words. One of the few things the dead man had gotten right.

My wolf prowled restlessly. Not her. Not our mate. Wrong scent. Wrong everything.

I know, I told it silently. I know.

But the badge was real. And a promise was a promise.

I turned on my heel and began to walk back toward the grand hall where I had left her. As I entered the expansive space, the heavy wrought-iron doors of the chanical lift clattered open nearby.

I stopped.

Elara stepped out.

She looked... destroyed. Not dramatically, not with tears or visible wounds. But exhausted in the way that went bone-deep. Her silver-white hair was slightly disheveled, loose strands escaping whatever pins had held it that morning. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath her ice-blue eyes. Her shoulders curved inward as if her own body had beco too heavy to carry upright.

She was still in her work clothes. Still in those heels that she clearly hated. She’d been here the entire ti—working, while I prowled the city chasing ghosts.

Guilt hit like a fist to the sternum.

I had buried her in work. Deliberately. Obsessively. Piling task after task onto her desk because her competence was the one thing in this palace I could rely on without question. I hadn’t considered the cost.

I opened my mouth—to say what, I wasn’t sure. An acknowledgnt. An apology. Sothing.

“ELARA!”

The shriek split the air like breaking glass.

Seraphine de Valcourt materialized from the center of the hall, her heels clicking rapidly against the marble, and launched herself at Elara with the force of a woman who had never learned the aning of personal boundaries.

“Elara! Elara Frostfang!” Seraphine’s arms wrapped around Elara in a crushing embrace that was more ambush than affection. “Oh my God, it’s really you! I can’t believe it! My dearest, dearest friend!”

Elara’s face went white. Not pale—white. The color drained from her skin so completely that for a mont she looked like a ghost. Her eyes went wide. Her body went rigid in Seraphine’s grip.

Fear. That was fear in her eyes.

Seraphine released her just enough to turn toward the open hall, her voice pitched to echo off the marble pillars, making a theatrical announcent to anyone in earshot. “Can you believe it? I have finally found my mysterious lover! I ca to the palace to be with His Majesty, my darling—” She cast a simpering glance at . “—and here’s my oldest, closest friend! Elara and I go way back. Way, way back. We were inseparable!”

Elara’s mouth opened. Closed. Her gaze darted to , then back to Seraphine.

“Seraphine,” she whispered. Just the na. Barely a sound.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I watched Elara’s face. The shock. The confusion. And beneath both, sothing deeper and darker—a kind of dread that went beyond surprise.

These two had history. That much was obvious. But it wasn’t the warm history Seraphine was selling.

My wolf pressed forward, alert. Watch. Listen. Sothing is very wrong here.

I made my decision in three seconds.

“Seraphine.” My voice cut through her performance like a blade through silk. She stopped mid-sentence, turning to with that bright, brittle smile. “Report to the palace Monday morning. You’ll be working as a senior royal assistant.” I paused, letting the weight of the next words settle. “Alongside Elara.”