Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 104: Dawn did not bring peace.

Chapter 104: Dawn did not bring peace.

The next morning dawned with a pale hush over the estate, as if the land itself was holding its breath. Liora stood by the window of the small library, watching the mist crawl low across the grass. Her hands were clasped before her, the chill of the glass pane seeping into her skin, grounding her thoughts that had begun to spiral ever since the meeting in the war room.

Behind her, footsteps approached with quiet purpose.

"You rise early," Lucien’s voice came, quieter than usual.

She turned, the light casting soft hues across her features. "There’s too much unrest in the air to sleep deeply."

He regarded her with a faint nod and moved to stand beside her. Their reflections stared back at them from the window two figures tied by duty and secrets yet bound to walk the same road. He didn’t speak right away. And neither did she.

It was Lucien who finally broke the silence. "Samuel found signs that one of the estate’s outer riders has been bribed. The coin was foreign, Avelorn mint."

Her brow furrowed. "So Calder’s reach might already have touched your land?"

"Possibly." His tone was carefully measured. "But I need more than suspicion. Which is why I’d prefer if you didn’t walk the estate grounds alone for the next few days."

Liora tilted her head, half in surprise. "Do you fear they’d target me?"

"I fear anyone who stands too close to me becomes a target," he answered simply.

There was no jest in his voice. And no warmth either. But the look in his eyes held something else with respect, caution, and an unspoken acknowledgment that she had stepped into something far more dangerous than either had anticipated.

"I understand," she said quietly.

Lucien’s gaze lingered on her for a beat longer than necessary before he turned to leave.

As he walked away, Liora’s fingers tightened slightly against her palm. Respect. That was all there was between them. And perhaps that was for the best. But why then did her heart always pause, ever so slightly, whenever he looked at her like that?

She turned back to the window, but this time, her reflection was alone.

A faint rustle near the corridor pulled Liora from her thoughts.

She turned sharply. The hall beyond the library door was dimly lit, but unmistakably, a shadow darted past a figure cloaked in gray. She stepped forward, quiet but quick, and followed, instincts sharpened by years of walking on thin ice with her aunt and uncle.

The figure turned into a narrow corridor that led to the servants’ quarters. Liora hesitated at the threshold but then pressed forward. These halls weren’t unfamiliar, she had memorized much of the estate’s layout during her earliest days of wandering restlessly after her arrival.

Down the hallway and past the kitchen’s stone archway, the figure disappeared into a side room, one of the old root cellars no longer in use. Liora approached slowly, keeping her footsteps light. As she neared the doorway, voices drifted toward her, low and hurried.

"...the signal will come from the northern tower. If they don’t light it, we wait. But if it does..."

A second voice, gruffer and more clipped, cut in. "Then we act immediately. We won’t get another window once the court is stirred."

Liora’s breath caught. She didn’t recognize either voice. A betrayal brewing from within?

She edged closer, pressing her shoulder against the wall. Through the cracked door, she could see the back of the man who had spoken first, tall, with a foreign posture and bearing. His cloak bore no crest, but the accent was sharp, clipped definitely not from Alden’s kingdom.

A spy.

The conversation shifted quickly, and the second man stepped into view. Her eyes widened.

Not a stranger. It was Lord Fereth, a lesser noble who had pledged loyalty to Alden after Lucien’s disgrace. His name was never far from any gossip involving the shifting tides of court favor. And now, here he was... plotting in the cellar of Lucien’s estate?

Liora backed away slowly, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. She couldn’t risk being seen. Not now. Not before she told Lucien.

Back in the manor’s upper levels, Lucien sat at his desk, a map unfurled before him. His mind had been a battlefield of strategy and shadows since morning. The riders. The coins. The silence from his brother Alden. And now, a creeping unease he couldn’t quite name.

A knock startled him.

Liora entered, pale but composed.

"There’s something you need to know," she said, voice steady despite the tremor she fought to hide.

And as she spoke, describing the root cellar, the cloaked stranger, and Lord Fereth, Lucien’s expression darkened, inch by inch.

When she finished, there was no pause before he responded.

"Call for Rowan," he said coldly. "We strike tonight. Quietly. And if Fereth is truly conspiring against this house from within..."

He didn’t finish the sentence.

But Liora could read the rest in his eyes.

War had just stepped onto their doorstep, and it was no longer just Alden’s kingdom at risk.

Night fell like a veil of ink, and the estate held its breath.

Lucien stood at the edge of the courtyard, cloaked in black, sword strapped, and eyes sharp. Beside him, Rowan adjusted his leather gloves, jaw tight with tension. They moved without the usual guards, no clang of armor or stomp of boots, only silence and shadows as their allies slipped through the corridors under Lucien’s orders.

From a side wing, Liora emerged, her hair tucked under a hood. She hadn’t asked; she had simply shown up with determination in her eyes and no hesitation in her steps. Rowan’s brow lifted slightly, but Lucien gave a sharp nod. He wouldn’t send her into danger, but keeping her close meant she wouldn’t be blindsided.

They crept down to the lower levels.

The root cellar loomed ahead, its stone walls slick with damp, air thick with the scent of mold and dust. Lucien held up a hand. "Wait." From within, muffled voices again. Not just Fereth and the foreigner this time. A third had joined them.

"...We’re already in place. If the prince refuses to bend, we’ll crush him before he reaches the capital. The dowager won’t interfere; she’s made it clear who she supports."

Liora’s breath hitched. The dowager?

Lucien’s eyes met hers for a fraction of a second. She saw no fear, just cold calculation.

He moved.

In one swift motion, Rowan burst through the door first, blade drawn. The men inside froze. Fereth turned, his face draining of color.

"You," he breathed. "You’re not supposed to..."

Lucien stepped in behind Rowan, his voice quiet and lethal. "Not supposed to what, Fereth? Know that you’re consorting with foreign agents under my roof?"

The cloaked foreigner pulled a dagger, lunging for Rowan, but was quickly disarmed with a brutal crack of bone. The third man, a scribe in appearance, dressed in traveler’s clothes, attempted to flee but ran directly into the flat of Lucien’s sword.

Fereth didn’t resist. He only looked at Lucien with a sneer. "You’re already dead, Blackthorne. You just haven’t stopped breathing yet."

Rowan gagged him before he could continue.

Lucien turned to Liora. "You remember the name of the merchant who brought the silver coins?" he asked.

She nodded slowly. "Petras."

"Send someone to find him. Tonight. Before word spreads."

"And the dowager?" Rowan asked grimly.

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the cowering men at his feet.

"We don’t confront the court yet," he said at last. "We feed them their own poison. One sip at a time."

Liora watched him then not with fear, but with the unsettling realization that the man she had assumed to be merely disgraced was something else entirely.

Not a fallen prince.

But a predator in waiting.

Would you like to see the aftermath at dawn or jump to how Alden responds to the news of Fereth’s arrest?

By sunrise, the entire estate buzzed with restrained chaos. Fereth and the two men had been locked away in one of the underground holding cells beneath the estate, silent, deep, and untouched by gossiping mouths. Only a handful knew the truth of the night’s events, and Lucien made it very clear that silence was not a request but a command.

Rowan oversaw the writing of two letters, one to Alden, coded in a cipher only the brothers knew, and another to be delivered to Petras, the merchant who had unknowingly handed over silver traced to the foreign envoy.

Meanwhile, Liora stood in the garden, gripping the letter addressed to the merchant. The cold morning air kissed her cheeks, but her mind was elsewhere, on the look in Lucien’s eyes when Fereth was dragged away. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t faltered. That calm, unshakable silence unnerved her more than any raised voice.

Beatrice approached from behind, holding out a wool shawl. "You look pale, girl. Are you certain you want to be part of this?"

Liora accepted the shawl wordlessly, her gaze still fixed ahead. "He doesn’t trust many," she murmured. "But he’s starting to trust me."

"And you?" Beatrice asked, arching a brow. "Do you trust him?"