Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 78

Chapter 78: Chapter 78

Elara’s POV

The imperial airship cut through low-hanging clouds like a blade through silk.

I sat near the porthole, watching the landscape below shift from green farmland to sparse, war-scarred terrain. Charred patches of earth marked old battle sites. Broken watchtowers rose from the treeline like rotting teeth.

Across from me, Kaelen stared at the communication stone in his palm. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his neck stood out like cords. The stone pulsed with a faint amber glow—an incoming transmission.

"—river patrol. Two more critical. Requesting immediate evac—"

The voice was young. Shaking. The kind of voice that belonged to someone who had never seen real combat until it found him.

Kaelen pressed his thumb against the stone. "Hold your position. Medical reinforcements are en route with us."

"Yes, Your Majesty. But sir—they’re not healing. The wounds. They should be closing by now and they’re not. The flesh just keeps—"

The transmission crackled and died.

Kaelen’s dark gold eyes lifted to mine. Something in them I rarely saw. Not anger. Not command.

Worry.

He looked away before I could hold the gaze. Slipped the stone back into his coat.

"How far?" I asked.

"Soon."

That was all he gave me. One word. Tight. Clipped. He hadn’t wanted me on this airship. Had argued against it for a long time after Cassian’s report—pacing his study like a caged animal, listing every reason I should remain behind the palace walls.

Too dangerous. Too unpredictable. Too close to the front.

I’d refused. And he’d relented. Not because I’d convinced him. Because refusing me would have required physically locking me in our chambers, and we both knew what that would cost.

So here I sat. Watching him clench his jaw and pretend he wasn’t terrified.

Not of the enemy.

Of what I was going to do when we landed.

The eastern military base looked like something had chewed it up and spat it back out.

The airship descended into a clearing surrounded by hastily reinforced walls of sharpened timber and packed earth. Guard towers flanked the main gate—one of them leaning at a dangerous angle, its observation platform charred black. Smoke still curled from somewhere deeper in the compound.

Soldiers lined the landing area. They stood at attention, but the posture was wrong. Shoulders rounded. Eyes hollow. Some of them couldn’t be older than twenty-one or twenty-two—barely grown into their uniforms.

The gangplank lowered, and Kaelen stepped off first. I followed.

The smell hit me before anything else. Blood. Rot. Wolfsbane—that sharp, metallic tang that burned the back of the throat.

A man approached at a brisk pace. Mid-fifties. Hair gone white too early, cropped close to the skull. His uniform was pressed and immaculate—a stark contrast to everything around him—but his eyes told the real story. Sunken. Bloodshot. The eyes of a man who hadn’t slept in days and had stopped pretending he might.

"Your Majesty." He saluted. Crisp. Mechanical. "General Chen. Base Commander."

"Report," Kaelen said.

General Chen didn’t flinch. Didn’t soften. He delivered the information the way a surgeon delivers bad news—clean, fast, without mercy.

"Three coordinated strikes within two hours last night. North wall. East perimeter. River patrol. Seventeen casualties total." A pause. Not hesitation—calculation. "Three critical. Several others unable to walk. The rest are stable but not healing."

"Not healing," Kaelen repeated.

"No, sir. The wounds resist all conventional treatment. Our physicians have tried everything—herbal poultices, magical salves, even direct application of moonstone extract. Nothing takes."

"And morale?"

The General’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted behind his eyes. The faintest crack in the facade.

"Six transfer requests filed this morning, Your Majesty. Young knights. Good fighters. But they watched their comrades get torn apart and then watched the healers fail to put them back together." He let out a slow breath through his nose. "I can hold discipline. I cannot hold belief."

Kaelen nodded once. "Take us to the wounded."

The medical tent was a nightmare wearing the skin of an infirmary.

Rows of cots stretched the length of the canvas structure. The air was thick with the stench of infected flesh and herbal antiseptic that couldn’t mask it. Moans drifted from the far end—low, animal sounds that no conscious person would make by choice.

I saw him immediately.

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