Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 247

Kaelen’s POV

The summons came through a pulse of amber light against my wrist—Cassian’s personal signal, urgent and unbroken.

I pressed two fingers to the enchanted band. His voice filled the study, tight with controlled tension.

"We intercepted her. North road, heading toward Stonebrook. She was in a hired carriage under a false name."

I stopped pacing. "How far out?"

"Twenty minutes. Maybe less if we push the horses."

Silence hung between us. I could hear hoofbeats in the background, the rattle of a carriage over rough stone.

"Kaelen." Cassian’s voice dropped. Careful now. Measured. "She’s my cousin."

"I’m aware."

"What I mean is—she’s pregnant. And frightened. Whatever she’s done, we can’t just throw her into—"

"Bring her to the dungeons."

The silence that followed was different. Heavier.

"The dungeons? Those cells are built for captured rogues. For war criminals. Not for—"

"Cell three. Isolated wing. No visitors. No messages. No contact with anyone until I arrive."

"Kaelen, please. She’s family. My blood. Whatever she’s—"

"She helped destroy mine." My voice didn’t rise. Didn’t need to. "Twenty minutes, Cassian. Don’t make me repeat myself."

The connection severed with a faint hiss.

I stood in the darkened study for a long moment. My hands were perfectly still at my sides. My breathing was even. My heartbeat steady.

Everything else inside me was a wasteland.

Elara’s face surfaced unbidden—the way she’d looked standing in the doorway of our bedchamber. That expression. Not rage. Not even grief. Something worse. Something extinguished. Like watching a candle go out and knowing you could never relight it.

I buried the image. Shoved it down into the same black pit where I’d been storing every memory of her since she vanished. There would be time for that later. Time to bleed, to beg, to crawl on my knees if that’s what it took.

But first—answers.

I changed into a plain dark coat. No insignia. No crown. Just a man walking into a hole in the ground to meet the woman who’d helped burn his world to cinders.

---

Twenty minutes later, I entered the damp, cold underground cells built specifically for dangerous rogues. The dungeons beneath the palace were old. Older than the current dynasty. Carved from raw granite during some forgotten war, they smelled of damp stone and iron and things left too long in the dark. Torchlight flickered against walls slick with moisture. The air was cold enough to see your breath.

The guard stationed at the bottom of the stairs straightened so fast his armor clanked.

"Your Majesty." He bowed deeply, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Leave us."

"Sire, protocol requires—"

"Leave."

He left. His footsteps echoed up the stone passage and faded into nothing.

I walked the corridor alone. Past empty cells. Past rusted chains bolted into walls. Past drains set into the floor that I didn’t want to think about.

Cell three.

The iron door stood closed. A small barred window at eye level let in a sliver of torchlight from the corridor. I could hear breathing on the other side. Quick. Shallow.

Afraid.

Good.

I lifted the bolt and pushed the door open.

She was sitting on the stone bench against the far wall. Her traveling cloak was still on, dusty from the road. Her hands rested on her swollen belly—prominently round now, impossible to hide beneath even the loosest garments. Her face was chalk-white. Her eyes red-rimmed.

When she saw me, something flickered across her features. Relief. Hope. That particular softness she always put on when she wanted something.

"Kaelen—"

"Don’t." The word cracked against the stone walls. "Don’t speak my name like we’re friends. Don’t speak my name like you have the right."

She flinched. Her fingers tightened over her belly.

"Please—the baby. Think of the baby. I shouldn’t be in a place like this. The cold, the damp—it’s not safe for—"

"Not safe?" I stepped into the cell. The door groaned shut behind me. "You want to talk about safe?"

I stopped close enough to see the pulse hammering in her throat.

"Let’s talk about that night at the inn. The night you claim I came to your bed." My voice was quiet. Almost conversational. The most dangerous register I owned. "The night I supposedly couldn’t resist you. Marked you. Chose you."

Her lips parted. "It happened. You were there. You—"

"I was drugged." The word came out serrated.

"And then came the gold." I tilted my head. "Two million gold pieces. That’s what you told the court, isn’t it? That I paid you to remove the mark. To keep you silent. Hush money for the Emperor’s dirty secret."

"Because you did—"

"I never gave you a single coin." Each word was a blade laid flat. "Because there was nothing to pay for. No night. No mark. No betrayal. Just a fabrication—yours and Gareth’s. I know he drugged my wine. I know you staged that inn room, and I know damn well that child is not mine."

Hearing the absolute certainty in my voice, her legs seemed to give out. She crumpled to the floor, her knees hitting the damp stone. She sobbed wildly, her hands desperately cradling her belly.

"It’s not a lie!" she wailed, tears streaming down her pale face. "I swear on my life, Kaelen! The baby is yours! You can’t deny your own—"

"Stop lying!" I snarled, stepping closer with violent intent. "Where is Gareth? Tell me where he is!"

"I don’t know!" she cried out, shrinking back. "He isn’t replying to my letters anymore!"

But right then, amidst her hysterical tears, I caught it. A brief, unmistakable flash of calculation in her eyes. Quick and sharp.

My hand moved before thought could catch it.

The slap connected with the side of her face. Hard enough to shock, hard enough to leave a stark red handprint blooming across her pale cheek.

A choked gasp escaped her mouth as her head snapped to the side. Before she could recover, I lunged forward and grabbed the collar of her cloak, twisting the fabric until it pulled taut against her throat. I hauled her up slightly, forcing her to look at me.

"You are going to give me his location," I demanded, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

More tears.

More silence.

I leaned in until my face was inches from hers.

"He is—" My voice was dead calm now. "—where—Gareth?"