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

Chapter 233: 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 smelled 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. Measured. 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 parchment. No greeting. No "good morning, Father." Just the document, extended at arm’s length, as though getting too close might be contagious.

I reached for my seal mechanically. 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 time 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 mentioned 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 me with a neutrality so careful it had to be practiced.

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

"I’m not a messenger."

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 me. I’m sorry."

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

For one breath, I thought he might say something. Something real. Something 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 something 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 me with a seriousness that broke something 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 meeting I’d postponed multiple times 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 message closer, noting it had been sent days ago. My own handwriting stared back at me from the envelope—steady when I’d written it, though my hands had been shaking.

Can we talk?

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