Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 236

Chapter 236: Chapter 236

Gareth’s POV

I basked in the joy of our successful scheme, savoring the triumph like fine wine I could no longer afford.

The ceiling above me had developed a new stain recently. Shaped like a crown. I chose to take it as an omen.

I swung my legs off the cot and crossed to the window. A few short steps. That’s all it took to traverse the width of my kingdom. Outside, the street below was gray and filthy—a gutter running with last night’s rain, a stray dog nosing through garbage, a drunk slumped against the opposite wall.

This was where the Empire’s second prince lived. This narrow, stinking box above a tanner’s shop.

But not for much longer.

I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and let myself dream.

The Privy Council would move first. They always did when scandal touched the crown. Whispers would become meetings. Meetings would become votes. And when the evidence was undeniable—an Emperor who’d bedded a woman not his mate, who’d fathered a bastard, who’d tried to pay millions to murder the child in her womb—even the most loyal councillors would have no choice.

Abdication. Or removal.

Either way, the throne would need a new occupant.

And who was left? Who shared the Nightfire blood? Who was the only living male relative with a legitimate claim?

Me.

I turned from the window and caught my reflection in the cracked mirror above the washbasin. Gaunt. Hollow-cheeked. My clothes were patched at the elbows. My boots had holes that let in water when it rained.

But my eyes—my eyes were alive. Burning with something I hadn’t felt in years.

Purpose.

"Emperor Gareth Nightfire," I whispered to my reflection. Then louder. "Emperor Gareth Nightfire."

The words tasted like honey. Like justice. Like everything I’d been denied since the day I was born into the wrong woman’s bed.

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I paced the small room. A few steps one way. A few steps back. My mind raced ahead, painting pictures of the future with savage detail.

The palace. Those soaring halls of black stone and gold leaf. The throne room with its vaulted ceiling and obsidian columns. I’d sat in that room exactly once—during my father’s funeral—pressed into a back corner like a servant while Kaelen occupied the central dais, accepting condolences he didn’t deserve.

Soon I’d sit where he sat.

And the first thing I’d do—the very first decree I’d sign—would be the summons.

Elara.

My blood heated at the thought. She’d be alone by then. Abandoned. No Emperor husband to hide behind. No crown to protect her. Just a woman with no status and no allies, dragging a child she couldn’t afford to feed.

I’d bring her back to the palace. Not as a queen. Not even as a guest.

As a servant.

I could picture it so clearly it made my pulse hammer. Elara in a plain gray dress, scrubbing the floors of the very halls she’d once walked as Empress. Those ice-blue eyes downcast. That silver hair tied back beneath a cloth. On her knees.

"Yes, Your Majesty," she’d say.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Whatever you command, Your Majesty."

And Isolde—I’d drag her back from whatever border camp she’d crawled to. My former wife, who’d called me dull. Who’d compared me to Kaelen every single day of our marriage until I wanted to claw my own ears off.

She’d serve alongside Elara. The two of them, side by side, polishing my boots. Cooking my meals. Begging for scraps from my table.

I laughed. The sound was sharp and ugly in the small room, but I didn’t care.

"Dull," I muttered. "We’ll see who’s dull when you’re emptying my chamber pot."

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