Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 254

Kaelen’s POV

The forest was wrong.

No birdsong. No wind through the canopy. Just the muffled crunch of boots on frozen pine needles and the low, steady breathing of men trained not to make a sound.

"Two miles cleared since we set up position," Marcus said, voice barely above a whisper. He walked half a step behind me, hand resting on his sword hilt. "Five days on this border, and not a single rogue sighting. No tracks. No scent trails. Nothing."

I stopped walking. Scanned the treeline ahead. Dense. Dark. The kind of dark that swallowed light and spat back nothing.

"That’s what bothers me," I said.

Marcus nodded. He knew. We both knew. Malak didn’t retreat. Malak repositioned.

The silence pressed against my eardrums like water. Somewhere to my left, a branch shifted under accumulated frost. I tracked the sound. Waited. Nothing followed.

I signaled the patrol forward.

We moved in a staggered column—our men spread across the forest floor. Standard sweep formation. Eyes scanning low. Every footstep tested before weight committed.

James walked point. At twenty-two years old, he was young and eager. He’d joined the order less than a year ago, and it showed in the way his gaze darted too quickly between shadows, never settling long enough to actually process what he saw.

"James," I called softly. "Slow down. Watch the ground."

"Yes, Your Majesty, I—"

The snap was unmistakable.

Metal jaws erupted from beneath a carpet of dead leaves. Rusted iron teeth clamped around James’s left ankle with a wet, grinding crunch. He screamed. The sound ripped through the silence like a blade through silk, scattering birds I hadn’t even known were there.

I was at his side in three strides.

"Don’t move. DON’T MOVE."

He was thrashing. Panic. His hands clawed at the trap, fingers sliding on blood-slicked metal. The teeth had bitten through leather and into bone. I could see white through the torn flesh.

"Marcus, hold him."

Marcus dropped behind James, locked his arms around the young knight’s chest, and pinned him flat. James sobbed. His pupils were blown wide. Shock was setting in fast.

I pulled a vial of pain-numbing potion from my belt pouch. I jammed the crystal tip into the muscle of his thigh and injected the liquid.

"Breathe," I ordered. "Look at me. Not the leg. At me."

His wild eyes found mine. Tears streaked through the grime on his face.

"You’re going to be fine, James. I need thirty seconds for the drug to work."

The longest thirty seconds of that boy’s life. His breathing slowed from ragged gasps to shallow pants. The potion dulled the edges. Not enough. But enough.

"Marcus, brace his knee. When I say one, I’m opening the jaws."

Marcus shifted his grip.

"I’m going to count to three," I told James.

He nodded, jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grinding.

"Three... two—"

I wrenched the trap open on one.

James screamed again—shorter this time, choked off by shock. The rusted jaws released with a grinding shriek. Marcus hauled him backward, clear of the device. Blood pooled instantly where his boot had been.

I stared at the trap. Old iron. Deliberately rusted to blend with the forest floor. The trigger plate was buried under a thin layer of soil and leaves. Professional concealment. This wasn’t a hunter’s leftover.

"Malak," I said quietly.

Marcus met my eyes over James’s trembling body. He didn’t need to say anything. We both understood.

A coward’s weapon. Not battle. Not confrontation. Hidden teeth in the dark, waiting for careless feet.

I stood and turned to the rest of the patrol. Their faces were pale. Alert. Afraid.

"He knows our route."

The words landed like stones in still water. I watched the realization ripple across their expressions.

"How?" Marcus asked.

"That’s what I intend to find out. But first—full sweep. Grid pattern. Every inch from here to the ridge." I pointed at the nearest scout. "Take a team. Half-mile radius. Mark everything you find."

The scout saluted and vanished into the trees.

They found six more within the first half mile.

---

Three hours. Fourteen traps.

Fourteen rusted iron mouths buried with surgical precision along every path my patrols had walked for the past five days. Each one placed where a boot would naturally fall—trail intersections, narrow passes between boulders, the soft ground beside stream crossings.

He didn’t just know our route. He’d studied it.

By the time we dragged the last trap from the frozen earth, my hands were raw and my patience was gone. James had been evacuated to the field medics on a makeshift stretcher. He’d keep the foot. Probably. If infection didn’t set in.

---

Camp was a collection of canvas shelters arranged in a defensive circle around a central fire that nobody had the energy to feed properly. The flames guttered low. Men sat against tree trunks and supply crates, eating cold rations in silence. Nobody slept well here. Three hours a night, if that.

I ducked into the command tent. Cassian was hunched over the map table, marking positions with small red stones. His eyes were bloodshot. A half-eaten piece of dried meat sat forgotten beside his elbow.

"They’re testing the eastern sector," he said without looking up. "Probing attacks. Small groups. Hit and retreat before our reinforcements arrive."

"Casualties?"

"Two wounded. Nothing critical." He placed another red stone. "But the pattern is deliberate. He’s stretching our line. Making us spread thin."

I studied the map. The red stones formed a crescent along our eastern flank. Methodical. Patient.

"He’s waiting for us to overextend," I said.

"He’s been waiting." Cassian finally looked up. Dark hollows beneath his eyes. "Sire, the men are exhausted. We need rotation."

"There are no reserves to rotate."

Silence.

I left him with the maps and retreated to my tent.

The communication crystal sat on the field crate that served as my nightstand. Its surface held the faintest shimmer—barely a glow. Energy reserves were down to thirty percent. I’d been rationing transmissions for days.

I picked it up. One message waited.

Her handwriting. Simple. Stripped bare of everything except what mattered.

Just let me know you’re alive.

My thumb traced the words. The ache in my chest had nothing to do with fatigue.

Elara.

My wife. My mate. The woman who had left a separation agreement on my desk and still couldn’t stop asking if I was breathing.

I composed a reply. Brief. Every word cost crystal energy I couldn’t afford to waste.

Alive. Border holding. How are you?

I sent it before I could second-guess the last three words. Set the crystal down. Picked it up again when it pulsed faintly.

Her response:

Valerius and Lyra miss you. They ask about you every night.

My throat tightened. I could see them—Valerius standing rigid with that too-old expression, Lyra launching herself off furniture. My children. Growing up in rooms I wasn’t in.

I channeled my magic into the crystal to form the words: Tell Valerius to keep studying. Tell Lyra to stop climbing things.

Sent it. The crystal dimmed further. I set it down and pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes.

---

Past midnight.

I’d almost managed unconsciousness when a voice outside my tent made me abandon the effort.

"Your Majesty? Sir?"

Young. Trembling. I pushed the tent flap aside.

One of the new knights. Nineteen years old. Standing in the freezing dark, arms wrapped around himself.

"Can’t sleep, Your Majesty." His voice cracked. "I keep hearing things. In the trees."

I studied him. His lip was bitten raw. His fingers trembled against his sleeves.

"What’s your name?"

"Rowan, sire."

"Rowan. You ate tonight?"

"Wasn’t hungry, sire."

"That wasn’t the question. Did you eat?"

A pause. "No, sire."

I reached inside the tent and tossed him a ration pack. "Eat. Then sleep. The trees aren’t going anywhere, and neither are you."

He caught the pack clumsily. "Sire... are we going to win?"

"We’re going to survive tomorrow. That’s the only day that matters."

He nodded. Swallowed. Walked away clutching the rations like a lifeline.

I ducked back inside. Lay down on the bedroll. Closed my eyes.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Sleep hovered just beyond reach, circling like a wolf that wouldn’t commit to approaching.

Then—footsteps. Running. Fast.

I was on my feet before the tent flap moved. Hand on my sword.

One of the perimeter guards. Pale-faced. Breathing heavily.

"Your Majesty!" he gasped. "Sire, we have a problem."