Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother Chapter 233

Kaelen’s POV

For the past days—an endless blur of agony since she moved out—I had been drowning in the aftermath of her departure. The bed still slled like her.

Faintly. Barely. A ghost of winter lilac clinging to the sheets I hadn’t let the maids change. Pathetic. I knew it was pathetic. I buried my face in the pillow anyway and breathed in until my lungs ached.

Nothing. Almost nothing now.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Dawn light crept through the curtains. Another morning. Another day of this hollow, grinding existence that had replaced my life.

A knock at the study door. asured. Precise.

"Enter."

Valerius walked in. Uniform pressed. Boots polished. Hair combed. He looked more composed than I did, and he was a child.

"The observatory field trip requires your seal." He held out a parchnt. No greeting. No "good morning, Father." Just the docunt, extended at arm’s length, as though getting too close might be contagious.

I reached for my seal chanically. Pressed it into the warm wax. "Should be a clear night for stargazing. You’ll enjoy the northern telescopes—they can pick up the Wolf’s Eye constellation this ti of year."

"I know."

Silence.

"Valerius, my little warrior." I set down the seal. "How are you? How are things at the academy?"

"Fine."

"And your sword training? Your instructor ntioned you’ve been—"

"May I go now?"

The words were polite. The tone was a closed door. Bolted. Barred. Iron-reinforced.

I looked at my son. Those dark gold eyes—my eyes—watching with a neutrality so careful it had to be practiced.

"Your mother," I started. "Has she said anything about—"

"I’m not a ssenger."

The words hit clean. No anger. No accusation. Just a line drawn in the dirt.

I nodded slowly. "You’re right. That’s not fair of . I’m sorry."

He tucked the sealed parchnt under his arm. Turned toward the door. Paused.

For one breath, I thought he might say sothing. Sothing real. Sothing that cracked the surface of that terrible composure.

Instead he said, "Lyra wants honey pancakes," and left.

---

I was in the breakfast room when Lyra skipped into the room.

"Papa! I want honey pancakes!" She launched herself at my legs.

I caught her. Lifted her up. "Good morning, my little princess."

She wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed with the full devastating strength of a child who loved without conditions.

"With the swirly ones! The ones Mother makes with the—" She stopped. Her face did sothing complicated. "The ones with the face on them. She puts blueberry eyes."

"I can try blueberry eyes."

"You always make them wrong. The nose is too big."

"I’ll make the nose smaller."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She studied with a seriousness that broke sothing in my chest. Then, quietly, expressing a sorrowful wish: "Is Mother—the Queen—coming for breakfast?"

"Not today, sweetheart."

"Tomorrow?"

"I don’t know."

Her lip trembled. She pressed her face into my shoulder. I held her there, standing in the middle of the breakfast room, and felt the edges of my world crumbling a little more.

---

After the children left for their respective days, the silence returned. It was a living thing now. It had weight and teeth.

I sat at my desk. Reports stacked to my left. Correspondence to my right. The agenda for the Privy Council eting I’d postponed multiple tis already. I picked up a quill. Set it down. Picked it up again.

My eyes drifted to the stack of letters on the far corner. All returned. Unopened. The seals unbroken.

I pulled the last unread ssage closer, noting it had been sent days ago. My own handwriting stared back at from the envelope—steady when I’d written it, though my hands had been shaking.

Can we talk?

That was all I’d managed to write. Four words. Sent into a void.

She’d blocked the communication crystals first. Then the courier enchantnts. Her new residence had wards that bounced my ssages back like stones off a fortress wall. The only thread still connecting us was the children—she took them regularly for a few nights, returned them clean and fed and smiling, and never once crossed the threshold of the palace.

I’d tried going to her. Claire had talked out of it.

"She needs space, Your Majesty. Showing up at her door will make things worse."

Space. Everyone kept using that word. As if what existed between Elara and was a matter of distance.

I shoved the letters aside and pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes.

Cassian’s voice from yesterday echoed in my skull. He’d cornered in the armory after I’d canceled several security briefings in a row.

"You look like death, Kaelen. And not the dignified kind. The kind that hasn’t slept or eaten in days."

"I’m fine."

"You’re not fine. You’re a wreck. Your officers are covering for you. Your council is whispering. And I just watched you sign a grain tariff with the wrong na."

"I said I’m—"

"Shut up and listen. I don’t know what happened between you and Elara, and I’m not asking. But whatever it is, you need to fix it or find a way to function without her, because right now you’re doing neither. Let take you for drinks tonight. Get out of this mausoleum."

I’d declined the drinks. Gone back to my chambers instead. Sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall until the candles burned out.

Claire had co by later with a at pie wrapped in cloth. She’d set it on the desk without a word, looked at with those soft, pitying eyes, and left. The pie sat untouched until morning.

---

The afternoon brought no relief. I paced my study. Sat down. Stood up. Paced again.

The answer had to be with Seraphine.

That night—the night everything shattered—was a void in my mory. Fragnts. The taste of wine that burned wrong. A room that spun. Waking up in a bed that wasn’t mine with a pounding skull and Seraphine’s scent on the sheets.

And Elara’s face. White as bone. Standing in the doorway.

I needed Seraphine to fill in the gaps. To explain what had happened so I could explain it to Elara. To prove that whatever it looked like, it wasn’t—

It couldn’t have been what it looked like.

But Seraphine had vanished. Extended recuperation leave, filed the day after the incident. Her city residence sat dark and shuttered. Claire had sent a steward to knock. He’d stood at the door for ages. No answer. No movent behind the curtains. Nothing.

"She’s gone, Your Majesty," Claire had reported. "Packed light. Her neighbors say she left in a covered carriage before dawn."

Gone. The one person who could help piece together that cursed night, and she’d disappeared like smoke.

I slamd my fist on the desk. The inkwell jumped. Black ink splattered across the grain tariff I still hadn’t properly signed.

---

Evening fell like a bruise across the sky.

I stood at the window, watching the lamplighters make their rounds through the palace courtyard. chanical. Predictable. Light after light after light. The world continuing its routines while mine burned.

A knock. Sharp. Urgent.

"Enter."

A palace guard stepped in. "Your Majesty. A woman at the gate. She says she needs to see you. She claims it’s urgent."

"Who?"

"Lady Seraphine de Valcourt."

My pulse spiked. I straightened. "Bring her. Now."

The minutes stretched. Then footsteps in the corridor—the guard’s heavy boots and a lighter, unsteady tread behind them.

Seraphine appeared in the doorway.

She looked terrible. Gaunt. Pale as parchnt, with dark hollows under her eyes. Her dress hung loose on her fra. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and even from across the room I could see them shaking.

"Leave us," I told the guard. The door closed.

Seraphine stood rooted to the spot. She wouldn’t et my eyes.

"Where have you been?" My voice ca out rougher than I intended. "I’ve been looking for you. Claire sent people to your residence—"

"I know." Barely a whisper.

I stepped closer. "That night. In the chamber. I need you to tell exactly what happened. Every detail. I can’t rember—there are gaps, and Elara—" My voice cracked on her na. I swallowed hard. "Elara thinks I betrayed her. I need to know the truth so I can fix this. You’re the only one who can—"

"Your Majesty."

"—help understand what happened in that room, because I swear on the Moon Goddess I don’t rember—"

"Your Majesty."

Sothing in her tone stopped cold. She lifted her head. Her eyes were wet. Red-rimd. Brimming with tears that spilled down her hollow cheeks.

Her trembling hands moved to her midsection, pressing flat against the loose fabric of her dress.

"Your Majesty," Seraphine whispered. "I’m pregnant."