Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 93

Chapter 93: Chapter 93

Elara’s POV

The buzzing wouldn’t stop.

Kaelen didn’t move immediately. His arm stayed locked around me, his body rigid against my side. The communication stone rattled against the nightstand again—a second pulse, then a third. Each one sharper than the last.

Valerius stirred against my chest. “Daddy, what’s that noise?”

“Nothing, buddy.” Kaelen’s voice was calm. Measured. Already a lie. He pressed his lips to my temple one last time—quick, firm, a punctuation mark—then extracted himself from the bed with the controlled efficiency of a man who had spent his entire life being summoned.

He crossed the room in a few strides and stepped onto the balcony, pulling the glass door nearly shut behind him. Not all the way. The gap was thin—barely a crack—but enough for the cold morning air to thread through and carry fragments of his voice back to me.

“Report.”

I couldn’t hear Cassian’s reply. Only the low vibration of the stone and the occasional shift in Kaelen’s tone. Clipped questions. Long silences between them. His silhouette against the pale sky was taut as a drawn bowstring—shoulders squared, one hand braced on the stone railing, the other raking through his dark hair.

That gesture. He only did that when things were bad.

Valerius sat up beside me. His dark gold eyes tracked his father’s outline through the glass with an alertness that no child his age should possess.

“Mommy. Daddy looks worried.”

I smoothed his curls back from his forehead. Flour still clung to the strands. “Daddy has important work to do sometimes, sweetheart. That’s all.”

He considered this. Then he slid off the bed, retrieved his stuffed lion from where it had fallen to the floor, and climbed back up. He positioned himself cross-legged beside my hip and placed both hands on my belly with ceremonial solemnity.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered. “I’m here. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. That’s my job.”

The ache in my chest had nothing to do with nausea.

“What about Mommy?” I asked softly. “Will you protect Mommy too?”

He looked up at me with those dark gold eyes—Kaelen’s eyes in a child’s face—and his expression was so fierce, so deadly serious, that for one disorienting moment I saw the man he would become.

“Always, Mommy. I’m the big brother. I protect everyone.”

I pulled him against me and kissed the top of his flour-dusted head. He smelled like sweet pastries and syrup and the particular sweetness of a child who had spent his morning destroying a kitchen with absolute joy.

On the balcony, Kaelen’s voice had gone quiet. The communication stone had stopped glowing. He stood motionless, staring out at the pale horizon. His hand still gripped the railing. His knuckles were white.

Then he turned and came back inside.

The transformation was subtle but absolute. He’d rearranged his features into something composed. Steady. But I knew him now—knew the architecture of his control, the places where it buckled under pressure. And I could see the fracture lines.

In the tightness around his mouth. In the way his dark gold eyes swept the room before landing on Valerius. In the careful, deliberate breath he drew before speaking.

“Val.” His voice was easy. Warm. Not a trace of what I’d seen on the balcony. “Auntie Brenna sent you that lion toy, didn’t she? The one with the mane you wanted to color?”

Valerius brightened. “The golden lion! I haven’t finished his mane yet.”

“Why don’t you go work on that? Your coloring things are in the sitting room. I need to talk to Mommy for a minute.”

“About boring grown-up stuff?”

“The most boring.”

Valerius sighed with the theatrical exhaustion of a child deeply inconvenienced. He kissed my belly—a quick, smacking press of his lips—then scrambled off the bed, stuffed lion in tow.

“I’ll be right outside, baby,” he called over his shoulder to my stomach as he padded out. “Don’t be born without me.”

The door closed behind him.

The room changed.

Kaelen stood at the foot of the bed. The flour still streaked his hair and shirt, but it looked wrong now—absurd against the gravity settling into his frame. He crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. Ran his hand through his hair again.

“Tell me,” I said.

He met my eyes. No preamble. No easing into it.

“Since the last confirmed sighting at the border, it’s been eighteen full days. No tracks. No kills. No territorial markings. No scent trails. Nothing.” He let the word hang. “Every patrol, every outpost, every informant—complete silence.”

I sat up straighter against the pillows. The remnants of morning warmth drained away. “That’s not possible. A tribe that size can’t simply vanish.”

“Not without coordination. Not without discipline.” He began to pace. Three steps toward the window. Three steps back. “Rogue packs are chaotic. Disorganized. They fight over territory, they leave traces. Bodies. Scent. Damage. This kind of absolute disappearance requires—”

“Leadership.”

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