Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 211

Chapter 211: Chapter 211

Kaelen’s POV

The foyer was a mess of puddles and muddy footprints. Rain streamed off all of us, pooling on the marble in widening circles. I kicked the door shut behind me and the howl of the storm dropped to a muffled roar.

Lyra was still clinging to Elara’s neck. Her small legs dangled against Elara’s hip, bare feet dripping. Elara held her like she’d never let go again, but her eyes were wrong. Glassy. Unfocused. Like she was staring through the walls rather than at them.

"Daddy." Lyra lifted her head from Elara’s shoulder, her cheeks flushed pink. "Miss Vance left."

I stilled. "What?"

"I told her we needed to find Mommy." Lyra’s voice was matter-of-fact in the way only a young child’s could be. "She got her coat and left."

I filed that away. Dealt with later. Right now—

Elara swayed.

It was subtle. A slight listing to the left, like a ship taking on water. I was at her side in quick strides. My hand pressed against her forehead before she could react.

Burning.

Not the warmth of exertion or the flush of emotion. This was furnace-heat. The kind that cooked you from the inside. The kind that would have been impossible if she still had her wolf. A wolf’s healing would have fought the fever off before it ever took root. But without one—

"Elara." I said her name sharply. Her ice-blue eyes drifted toward me. Slow. Delayed. "How long have you been running a fever?"

She blinked slowly. "I don’t... I’m fine."

She wasn’t fine. She was barely standing.

"Valerius." My voice came out in the tone my son recognized. The one that meant now, not later. "Take your sister upstairs. Both of you change into dry clothes immediately."

Valerius looked at Elara. Something complicated moved across his face—longing, worry, the lingering edge of hurt he hadn’t fully released. But he nodded. He gently pried Lyra’s fingers from Elara’s neck.

"Come on, Lyra."

"But Mommy—"

"Daddy’s got Mommy." Valerius said it quietly. Firmly. Like a boy who’d learned to be old before his time. He took his sister’s hand and led her toward the stairs. Their wet footprints marked the marble like a trail of breadcrumbs.

The moment they disappeared around the landing, Elara’s knees buckled.

I caught her. Of course I caught her. My arm hooked beneath her legs, the other around her back, and I lifted her against my chest. She weighed nothing. Nothing. Less than she had before. I could feel her ribs through the soaked fabric of her dress. Each one distinct beneath my palm.

Her head fell against my shoulder. Her breath came in shallow, rapid pulls. The fever radiated off her like a living thing, pressing heat through my shirt wherever her skin touched.

I carried her up the stairs. Past the nursery. Past the guest rooms. Past Valerius’s door and Lyra’s. All the way down the corridor to the end.

Our bedroom.

I shouldered the door open.

Everything was exactly as she’d left it. I hadn’t allowed a single thing to be moved. Not the silver hairbrush on the vanity. Not the half-read book on the nightstand, spine cracked at the page she’d abandoned. Not the dried lavender she’d hung above the window, now brittle and colorless but still there. Still waiting.

Years. This room had been a tomb. A shrine. A wound I refused to let heal because healing meant accepting she was gone.

I laid her on the bed. The sheets were fresh—the servants changed them regularly on my orders, even though no one slept here. Even though I hadn’t been able to stomach crossing this threshold most nights.

Elara’s eyes fluttered. She tried to sit up.

"Stay down." I pressed her shoulder back gently. "You’re burning up."

"The children—"

"Are fine. They’re changing." I crouched beside the bed. Assessed. Her dress was drenched. Heavy. The fabric clung to every line of her body, and I could see—

I forced my gaze to her face.

But I’d already seen. The bruises. Yellowing ones along her collarbone. A faded purple bloom on her shoulder. Newer ones on her forearms, dark as thunderclouds. And beneath those, the faint white lines of old scars that hadn’t been there before.

Years of hell. Written on her skin like a ledger of suffering.

My jaw locked so hard my teeth ached. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

"You need to get out of this dress." My voice was carefully even. "Can you manage?"

She tried. Her fingers fumbled at the laces along her side. Trembling. Useless. After a moment, her hand dropped back to the mattress.

"I can’t—" A breath. Frustrated. Humiliated. "I can’t feel my fingers properly."

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