Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 86

Chapter 86: Chapter 86

Elara’s POV

“Easy. One step at a time.”

Kaelen’s hand was firm against my lower back. His other hand held mine as I stood from the wheelchair at the entrance to the military base’s main hall. The stone floor was cold even through my boots. My legs trembled—not from weakness, exactly, but from disuse. Three days flat on my back had made my muscles forget their job.

“I can walk,” I said.

“I know you can walk.” His voice was low. Close to my ear. “I also know you nearly died a few days ago. So humor me.”

I didn’t argue. Partly because he was right. Partly because the energy pulsing through my veins made everything feel slightly unreal, and his grip was the most solid thing in my world.

The court physician had finally cleared me that morning, delivering the discharge with all the warmth of a sentencing judge—rest, no exertion, slow pace for at least another week, and if he heard so much as a rumor that I had lifted anything heavier than a water cup, he would personally drag me back to the infirmary by my collar. Kaelen had nodded along with grim satisfaction, as though he intended to enforce every syllable.

But I couldn’t stay in that room any longer. The walls had begun to close in. And there were people out there—knights, soldiers, friends—who had watched me collapse and hadn’t seen me since.

The hallway leading to the main hall was long and dim. Torches guttered in iron brackets. My footsteps echoed. So did the second heartbeat beneath my own—steady, warm, impossibly present. The baby. My hand drifted to my stomach without conscious thought.

And beneath that, deeper still—Moonlight. She prowled through my awareness with unhurried confidence, her green eyes catching light that didn’t exist in the physical world. Every sound was sharper now. Every scent carried layers. The stone walls smelled of damp and iron. The torches gave off pine resin and smoke. Kaelen smelled of cedar and winter and something electric that made Moonlight press closer to the surface.

We reached the double doors. Two guards flanked them. They straightened when they saw Kaelen—instinct, training, respect. Then their eyes moved to me.

I watched it happen.

The guard on the left inhaled. His nostrils flared. His pupils dilated. He blinked once, twice, and then his spine went rigid. Not in alarm. In recognition. Something ancient moved behind his eyes—his wolf, responding to mine before his conscious mind caught up.

He dropped his gaze. Lowered his head. A fraction of an inch. Subtle. Involuntary.

The guard on the right did the same.

Kaelen said nothing. But his hand tightened on mine. Just slightly.

The doors swung open.

The main hall was exactly as I remembered it—vaulted stone ceiling, long wooden tables, weapons racks lining the walls. The morning light fell through high narrow windows in pale, slanting columns. Dozens of knights milled about. Some were eating. Some were checking gear. A cluster near the far wall argued over a map.

Conversation didn’t stop when we entered. It stuttered. Faltered. Died in patches, like fire losing fuel, spreading outward from the doorway in a wave of sudden silence.

Heads turned.

I felt every pair of eyes. Felt the weight of them—curious, confused, wary. My fingers tightened around Kaelen’s. Moonlight stirred restlessly. Not threatened. Assessing.

The first person to approach was Sir Marcus.

He was exactly as I remembered him too—broad as a barn door, scarred hands, a face that looked like it had been carved from weathered oak with a dull knife. The combat instructor who had watched my early training sessions with barely concealed skepticism. Who had once told me, not unkindly, that I had the fighting instincts of a newborn lamb.

He walked toward us with his usual heavy stride. Then stopped. About ten paces away. His boots scraped against the stone.

Something changed in his face.

It started in his eyes. A widening. A flash of something raw and involuntary—his wolf surging forward, reading what his human mind hadn’t yet processed. His nostrils flared. His jaw slackened.

Then his spine snapped straight. Not the casual posture of a seasoned warrior greeting a colleague. The rigid, formal bearing of a soldier recognizing a superior.

“Ela—” He caught himself. The name died on his tongue. He swallowed. His rough voice came out altered. Careful. Almost reverent.

“Your Majesty.”

The word rippled outward. I could feel it move through the room like a stone dropped in still water—heads turning, whispers sparking, the scrape of chairs as people rose to get a better look.

“Marcus,” I said quietly. “It’s still me.”

He shook his head. Slowly. Not in denial. In wonder. “No, my lady. It isn’t. Not entirely.” His scarred hand pressed flat against his chest. A wolf’s gesture of acknowledgment. “Your aura. I can feel it. My wolf—he’s never bowed to anyone except His Majesty.”

Behind me, a familiar voice stammered.

“Ela?”

I turned. Leili stood a few paces back, her usual bouncing energy replaced by something tight and uncertain. Her dark eyes were wide. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, twisting the hem of her tunic.

“Ela? You... how did you become...?” She broke off. Pressed her lips together. Tried again. “You feel different. My wolf is doing something strange. She wants to—”

She stopped. Her cheeks flushed. She looked mortified.

“Leili.” I stepped toward her and took her hand. Her fingers were cold. Trembling slightly. “I’m still the same person who used to steal bread rolls with you from the kitchen.”

A strangled laugh escaped her. But her eyes were glassy. “You saved them,” she whispered. “All those knights. You almost died saving them. And now you’re—you’re—”

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