Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 251

Chapter 251: Chapter 251

Kaelen’s POV

The letter from Marcus arrived at three in the morning.

I hadn’t been sleeping. Sleep had become a luxury I couldn’t afford, not with the empire crumbling at its edges. I’d been standing at the window of my study, staring at the dark silhouette of the mountains to the north, when the enchanted hawk swooped through the open casement and dropped the sealed parchment onto my desk.

I cracked the wax. Read it once. Read it again.

Your Majesty. Updated intelligence. Malakor has consolidated his forces. At least two hundred rogues confirmed at the Ashenveil Pass. He is issuing a formal challenge—single combat. One-on-one. Alpha against Alpha. Winner claims territorial sovereignty over the northern frontier. He has sworn before his war council that if you refuse, he will unleash his full force on every border settlement from the pass to the river. Civilians will not be spared. Awaiting your orders. —Marcus

I set the letter down.

Single combat. The oldest rite in our world. Two Alphas. One walks away. The other doesn’t.

I pressed my palms flat against the desk. The wood groaned under my grip.

If I refused, hundreds would die. Thousands, maybe. The northern settlements had no garrison walls strong enough to hold against a concentrated rogue assault. Women. Children. Farmers who had never held a sword in their lives.

If I accepted, I might not come back.

I closed my eyes.

I wrote my response in two lines. Challenge accepted. I ride at dawn tomorrow. Hold the line until I arrive.

Sealed it. Sent the hawk.

Then I left the study and walked down the corridor toward my children’s rooms.

---

Valerius’s room was dark. No nightlights. He’d insisted on that a while ago. Said he was too old for them.

He was asleep on his side, one arm tucked under his pillow. His dark curls fell across his face. Even in sleep, there was something watchful about him. A tension in his jaw. A crease between his brows that no child his age should carry.

My son.

I sat on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped under my weight. He didn’t wake.

I studied his face. My eyes. His mother’s cheekbones. That stubborn set to his mouth that was entirely his own.

He’d been so angry lately. Quiet and angry in the way that hurt more than shouting ever could. He missed his mother. He didn’t say it—not in words—but I saw it in the way he went rigid whenever someone mentioned her name. In the way he stared out windows at nothing.

I pulled his blanket higher over his shoulder.

"Sleep well, my little warrior," I said softly.

His breathing didn’t change. But his hand, the one under the pillow, shifted slightly toward where my voice had come from.

Then, I walked over to Lyra’s room.

Her door was slightly ajar. A faint glow of enchanted nightlights spilled into the hallway—little floating orbs shaped like moons and stars that drifted lazily near the ceiling.

I pushed the door open.

She was buried. Completely buried. Stuffed animals piled on every side. Bears. Rabbits. Wolves. A dragon with a crooked wing. A unicorn missing one button eye. I counted at least a dozen. Her silver hair fanned across the pillow, and her small fist clutched the ear of a battered velvet fox.

I knelt beside her bed.

She breathed in that slow, deep rhythm only children can manage. Total peace. Total trust in the world around her. As if nothing bad could ever reach her here, in this fortress of stuffed creatures.

I brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

"I am just going away on some ’business’," I whispered. "But I promise you, my little princess. I’ll come back."

She stirred. Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. She mumbled something that sounded like "...pancakes..." and rolled over, pulling the fox tighter against her chest.

I stayed there for a long time. Watching her breathe.

---

By eight in the morning, both children were awake.

I made pancakes.

It was absurd. The Emperor of the Nightfire Empire, standing in the palace kitchen, flour on his sleeves, burning the first batch because the griddle was too hot. The kitchen staff hovered at a respectful distance, horrified and fascinated in equal measure.

I waved them off. This was mine. Today, this was mine.

Lyra appeared first. Still in her nightgown. Dragging the velvet fox by its tail.

"Imperial Father! Pancakes!"

She climbed onto her chair and attacked the stack I set before her with the ferocity of a small wolf descending on prey. Syrup everywhere. On her face. On the table. On the fox.

Valerius came in a few minutes later. Dressed already. Hair combed. He looked at the pancakes, then at me, and something flickered across his face. Surprise. Suspicion.

"You cooked," he said.

"I did."

He sat down. Ate carefully. Watching me over his fork.

I sat with them. Ate nothing. Drank my tea and watched them and tried to memorize everything. The way Lyra hummed between bites. The precise way Valerius cut his pancakes into perfect squares. The morning light falling through the tall windows and catching the silver in Lyra’s hair.

"I need to tell you both something," I said.

Lyra looked up. Syrup on her nose. Valerius set down his fork.

"I have to leave for a while. Imperial business at the border. Important matters that require my presence."

Lyra’s lip trembled. "How long?"

"Not long, my little sweetheart. And while I’m away—" I paused. Steadied my voice. "Your mother is going to come stay with you."

The change in Lyra was instantaneous. Her eyes went wide. Bright. "Mama? Mama is coming?"

"Yes."

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