Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 240

Chapter 240: Chapter 240

Elara’s POV

The training sword slipped from my grip again.

It clattered against the packed dirt. A few recruits glanced over. I picked it up, adjusted my stance, and swung at the practice post.

The strike went wide.

I wasn’t here. My body stood in the royal training yard, feet planted, shoulders squared, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. Stuck in a loop. That hazy crystal image. Seraphine’s hand on her belly. The gentle curve of it. The timeline that fit like a key turning in a lock.

Seven months.

The inn. That night. His oath.

Nothing happened.

Everything happened.

"Elara?"

I blinked. Jessica stood at my elbow, her expression cautious. Careful. The way people looked at wounded animals.

"Hey. You’ve been hitting the same spot for a while now. The post is going to file a complaint." She tried a smile. It faded when I didn’t return it. "Listen, the recruits are almost done with their rounds. I can handle the cooldown drills if you want to—"

"Yes." The word came out too fast. "Yes. Thank you."

She didn’t push. Just nodded and jogged back toward the cluster of trainees already stretching near the fence.

I set the sword on the rack. My fingers were numb. Not from cold. From the effort of holding myself together—keeping every muscle locked tight so nothing leaked through.

Inside the rest chamber, three sealed letters sat on the narrow cot. Cream-colored parchment. The imperial seal pressed into dark wax. A courier had delivered them one after another, each time knocking softly, each time saying the same thing: From His Majesty. He requests an urgent reply.

I hadn’t opened a single one.

I grabbed my cloak, slung it over my shoulders, and walked out the back entrance. The stables were quiet this time of day. Most of the grooms were on their midday break. I could saddle my mare and be gone before anyone—

"Elara."

I stopped.

He was standing about thirty steps from the stable door. Waiting. Not sitting, not leaning against anything—just standing in the middle of the path like he’d been planted there.

Kaelen.

My husband. My mate. The Emperor of the Nightfire Empire.

He looked terrible.

Dark circles carved hollows beneath his eyes. His black hair, usually immaculate, fell across his forehead in disordered strands. His outer robe was creased—not slightly, not artfully, but deeply wrinkled, as though he’d slept in it. Or hadn’t slept at all.

His hands hung at his sides. Open. Empty. No guards flanked him. No attendants trailed behind.

Just him. Alone. Looking like something vital had been carved out of his chest.

From somewhere behind me, I heard the murmur of departing trainees. Whispers floated on the breeze—too low to catch full sentences, but I felt them. The weight of watching eyes.

"Five minutes," he said. His voice was rough. Stripped. "That’s all I’m asking. Five minutes."

I stared at him and felt nothing.

No. That wasn’t true. I felt everything—a storm of it, so vast and violent that it had overloaded something inside me, tripped some internal switch, and left me standing in the calm, dead center of it. The eye of the hurricane. Numb.

"Not here," I said.

"Then where?"

"There’s a tea house. Two blocks away."

"I know the one."

"I’ll walk. You take your carriage."

Something flickered across his face. Pain, maybe. Or shame. "We could ride together—"

"No."

He closed his mouth. Nodded once.

I walked past him without looking back.

---

The tea house was small and dim. Wooden beams. Latticed windows that filtered the afternoon light into pale stripes. The owner recognized me—I’d come here before, on quieter days—and led me to the private room at the back without a word.

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