Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 87

Chapter 87: Chapter 87

Elara’s POV

The field infirmary smelled of iron and herbs.

Sir Cassian led us through a narrow stone corridor that opened into a long, low-ceilinged room lined with cots. Morning light filtered through small windows set high in the walls, casting pale rectangles across the floor. The air was thick—medicinal salves, old blood, the sharp tang of antiseptic compounds.

“Three wounded who have been suffering since a recent patrol,” Cassian said over his shoulder. His voice was measured. Professional. “The first two sustained claw injuries from Rogues. The wounds are designed to resist natural healing—some kind of venom in the claws that prevents the flesh from closing. The third knight fell during pursuit. Internal bleeding. The physicians have stabilized him, but he hasn’t regained consciousness.”

Kaelen’s hand tightened on mine. I felt it—the tension radiating through his fingers, up his arm, into the rigid set of his shoulders. His wolf, Alex, paced beneath the surface. I could sense the restless energy through our bond like heat through glass.

“Ela.” His voice was low. Only for me. “Promise me something.”

I looked up at him. His jaw was set. His dark gold eyes held mine with an intensity that bordered on desperation.

“If you feel dizzy. If there’s even a flicker of that drain you experienced before—you stop. Immediately. I don’t care if you’re mid-healing. You pull your hands away and you stop.”

The memory sat between us, unspoken but vivid. My body on the floor. The light leaving my eyes. His screams.

“I promise, Kaelen,” I said.

He held my gaze for another beat. Searching. Then he nodded once. His thumb swept across my knuckles—a single, rough stroke—before he released my hand.

“Lead on,” he told Cassian.

The first cot held a young man, a twenty-two-year-old knight. His dark hair was matted with sweat. His left shoulder was wrapped in bloodied bandages that had already soaked through, and more wrappings covered his chest from collarbone to ribs. The skin around the edges of the bandages was angry red, streaked with black veins—infection spreading like ink in water.

He was conscious. Barely. His eyes were half-lidded, glazed with pain and fever. But when our footsteps approached, he forced them open. Focused.

They widened.

“Your—” He swallowed. His voice was a dry rasp. “Your Majesty.”

“David,” Cassian said quietly, resting a hand on the young knight’s uninjured shoulder. “The Queen has come to see you.”

David’s gaze moved from Kaelen to me. I watched it happen again—the same involuntary reaction I’d witnessed in the main hall. His nostrils flared. His pupils dilated. His wolf surged forward behind his eyes, reading what his feverish mind couldn’t process fast enough.

“My lady.” The words came out reverent. Almost breathless. “You don’t have to—I’m not worth—”

“David, don’t finish that sentence,” I said gently. I moved to the edge of his cot and lowered myself carefully beside him. The mattress dipped beneath my weight. “May I?”

He nodded. Rapid. Uncertain.

I reached for the bandages on his shoulder. My fingers paused at the edge of the wrappings. Beneath the linen, the wound pulsed with wrongness—I could feel it now, in a way I never could before. Not just see the damage. Feel it. The Rogue venom was a dark, oily presence threading through his tissue, actively preventing the flesh from knitting together. His body was fighting it. Losing.

I placed both hands flat against his shoulder.

And called.

The light came instantly. Not the slow, painful gathering I remembered from before—no wringing it from my own life force like squeezing water from a stone. This was different. Effortless. Like opening a door and letting sunlight pour through.

Gold flooded from my palms. Rich, warm, brilliant gold that spread across David’s shoulder and chest like liquid dawn. It seeped into the wound, into the black veins, and where it touched the venom, the darkness simply dissolved. Burned away like frost under a noon sun.

David gasped. His back arched slightly off the cot. Not in pain. In relief.

I felt the tissue knit. Felt the muscle fibers reconnect, the blood vessels seal, the skin draw closed over fresh pink flesh. Layer by layer. Seamless. Complete. The infection retreated—shrank—vanished.

The whole process took mere moments.

I lifted my hands. The golden light faded. And beneath where the bandages had been, David’s shoulder was smooth. Whole. Not even a scar.

He stared down at himself. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—” His voice cracked. He flexed his arm experimentally. Rotated the shoulder. No wince. No catch. He looked up at me with eyes that shone with something too big for words. “Thank you. My lady. Thank you.”

I waited for it.

The dizziness. The drain. The cold creeping exhaustion that used to descend like a curtain the moment I finished healing. The sensation of my own life force trickling away like sand through open fingers.

Nothing.

I felt—fine. Better than fine. Energized. Moonlight purred beneath my ribs, a low, satisfied vibration that resonated through my chest.

This is who we are, she murmured. This is what we were always meant to do.

I stood. Steady. No tremor. No sway.

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