Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 101: Don’t expect loyalty

Chapter 101: Don’t expect loyalty

They left as the sun began to rise, the shadows of the trees long and cold behind them.

The trio returned just after the sun had cleared the horizon. The estate was still in a tense hush, the servants moving with guarded efficiency. Liora dismounted, her legs aching slightly from the long ride, but her mind sharper than ever.

As they passed through the gate, Beatrice approached with a look of concern shadowing her features. "You should eat. All of you. I had the cook prepare something warm."

Lucien gave a curt nod and disappeared toward his study, muttering that he had letters to read. Rowan trailed behind him, already pulling out his notebook.

Liora lingered.

"Are they always like this?" she asked Beatrice softly.

The older woman gave a knowing smile. "Men with burdened minds are seldom gentle with their hours. But you..." She looked Liora over. "You’re holding your own."

"I’m trying," Liora replied, then hesitated. "Beatrice, have you ever seen a sigil like this?" She sketched the feminine, jagged symbol they’d seen etched in the glass.

Beatrice’s eyes flickered.

"I have," she said after a long pause. "Once."

"Where?"

"In the east wing of the palace. Years ago. Etched into the embroidery of a cloak one worn by a foreign guest. A woman who dined once with the Queen Dowager... and never returned again."

Liora felt her breath catch. "Do you remember her name?"

Beatrice shook her head. "Only that the Queen Dowager seemed... unsettled that night."

Liora felt a chill crawl along her spine. She thanked Beatrice and turned away, her thoughts now tangled between the dead guard’s warning, the sigils, and the shadow of a woman who didn’t belong in the palace but left behind a mark no one forgot.

Later that Evening

Liora found herself in the library, flipping through books that hadn’t been opened in decades. The fire crackled beside her, casting dancing shadows on the worn pages. She was so absorbed she didn’t hear Lucien approach.

"You’re reading military records?" he asked, his tone more curious than reproachful.

She nodded. "There’s a mention of a woman connected to the border wars twenty years ago, one whose crest resembles that sigil."

Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the bookshelf. "You’re not supposed to know about those campaigns."

"Then someone should’ve locked these books better."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You’re stubborn."

"So are you."

Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t cold.

"I’ve never had someone follow this closely," he admitted quietly. "Not without expecting something in return."

"I’m not following," Liora said, eyes on the book. "I’m standing beside you. There’s a difference."

He looked at her for a moment, long enough for her to feel the weight of it, but said nothing. He turned, walking back toward the shadows of the hall.

But as he reached the doorway, he paused. "Thank you, Liora."

She blinked, startled.

For a man who rarely offered more than orders, it felt like a crack in the stone... a small one. But a real one.

She didn’t respond. She just lowered her gaze to the book again.

But her fingers lingered on the page.

And her heart, though she wouldn’t admit it, beat just a little louder.

Two Days Later in Blackthorne Estate.

Rain fell steadily over the estate, cloaking everything in a veil of mist. The courtyards were empty, puddles gathering along the stone paths. Liora stood beneath the eaves of the eastern veranda, watching the drops fall, her cloak drawn tightly around her shoulders.

The silence was comforting and yet disquieting.

Since the night in the woods, Lucien had kept mostly to himself. Rowan was gone most hours, chasing names and paper trails, while Beatrice quietly tended to daily affairs without asking questions she already suspected the answers to.

Liora hated waiting.

A soft step behind her made her turn.

Lucien stood a few feet away, his coat open at the collar, his dark hair damp.

"I thought you might be out here."

She didn’t reply at first. Her gaze remained on the horizon, where the fog was swallowing the edges of the world.

"Have you ever wondered," she said, voice quiet, "what it’s like to live a life that’s not dictated by other people’s sins?"

Lucien’s jaw clenched faintly, but he said nothing.

"I was never supposed to be anything more than a burden to my aunt. A pawn to be bartered away. And you..." She glanced at him. "They’ve turned you into a ghost. Not even letting you mourn your past properly."

He studied her with an unreadable expression, then moved to stand beside her, his arms folded.

"We are both the consequences of other people’s ambitions," he said finally. "But that doesn’t mean we can’t change the ending."

A long pause.

"You’re not a burden here, Liora. And I’m not blind to your loyalty. I don’t take it lightly."

She looked at him again, his face more open than she had seen it in days.

And yet... her heart resisted softening completely. The walls she had built, thick and necessary, didn’t fall with kind words alone.

Still, something between them shifted in that quiet moment. Not love. Not yet. But understanding. And that, perhaps, was even rarer.

Meanwhile in the Palace

Queen Dowager Lilian stood before a mirror in her private chamber, her fingers toying with a ring, silver, etched with the same jagged sigil Liora had sketched.

Behind her, a shadow moved. A woman cloaked in violet silk knelt.

"You were seen," Lilian said flatly.

"Only by the girl."

"She sees too much."

The cloaked woman bowed lower.

"What shall I do?"

"Nothing yet," Lilian murmured. "Let her chase shadows. The more she thinks she knows, the closer she’ll draw herself to the fire."

"And Prince Lucien?"

A slow smile crept across the Queen Dowager’s face.

"He’s finally doing what I wanted all along, gathering his own noose."

The storm had settled into a dull drizzle. Most of the estate had retired, the halls quiet save for the occasional creak of wood or distant rustle of wind against glass.

Liora couldn’t sleep.

The fire in the study was still lit, casting flickers of gold against the tall bookshelves. She stepped quietly into the room, thinking it empty, but paused.

Lucien was there, seated on the low couch near the hearth, boots discarded, coat draped over one armrest. A decanter of wine sat on the small table beside him, half-full, untouched. He looked up as she entered, not surprised.

"Couldn’t sleep either?" he asked.

She shook her head, moving to the opposite side of the room. "No."

He gestured toward the seat across from him. "Sit. The rain won’t stop scolding us till morning."

She hesitated, then lowered herself into the chair. Her fingers folded together in her lap.

For a few minutes, there was only the sound of the fire.

Lucien leaned back, his gaze on the flames. "Do you know why I never left this place?"

Liora looked at him, brows drawn faintly.

"I thought about it years ago," he continued. "After the trial. After the accusations. There were offers, foreign courts, mercenary bands, and even ships to distant continents. But I stayed."

She didn’t interrupt.

"Because somewhere in me, I believed the truth would eventually matter. That if I kept breathing, kept surviving... one day I’d get to look them in the eye and prove I wasn’t the monster they made me."

Liora’s voice was quiet. "And now?"

He gave a humorless smile. "Now I don’t care if they see the truth. I just want them to regret lying."

The fire popped, a log settling deeper into the embers.

Liora’s voice came softer, thoughtful. "Revenge burns just as much as grief. Maybe more."

Lucien turned his head slightly, regarding her.

"You speak as if you know both."

"I do."

Their eyes held for a beat. And there...just there, something passed between them. Not affection. Not yet. But that fragile thread of shared pain, of two lives broken differently by the same cruel world.

Lucien leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his tone low.

"You said you weren’t following me. That you were standing beside me."

"I meant it."

"I know." He paused. "And that’s why I won’t push you."

That surprised her. She blinked, unsure what she had expected him to say, but not that.

"I don’t expect loyalty," he continued. "Not from anyone. Least of all you. You were sent here to rot beside me. You owe me nothing."

"But I’m still here," she said quietly.

He nodded. "That’s why it matters."

The silence this time was warmer. A quiet kind. The sort that didn’t beg for words but allowed them both to sit with the comfort of not being alone.

Liora stood after a while, her movements unhurried. "Try to sleep, Lucien."

He didn’t answer right away. Only looked at her, gaze darker than before but less distant.

"Good night, Liora."

She paused at the door, her hand on the frame.

And then, for the first time, she smiled faintly...just enough to leave a trace.

"Good night."

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