Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 110: Daughter of a blacksmith

Chapter 110: Daughter of a blacksmith

Liora’s breath caught. "Is that...?"

"Yes," Lucien replied. "Eldhollow."

And without another word, they continued forward, toward the ghost of a place that remembered more than either of them expected.

They passed beneath the arch of twisted brambles that once formed the threshold to Eldhollow’s outer lands. Time had turned the village to bones, charred beams of old homes jutted from the earth like broken ribs, and moss climbed the crumbling stones as if trying to bury memory beneath green silence.

Liora slowed her horse as they entered the hollow, the soft thud of hooves muffled by a carpet of fallen leaves. "I thought Eldhollow was lost during the uprising," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It was," Lucien replied. "But it wasn’t empty."

He dismounted first, boots crunching over gravel. Liora followed, her eyes scanning the ruins. There was no sign of life: no birds, no wind, not even the buzz of insects. The stillness had a weight to it. A hush that pressed into the skin like cold fingers.

Lucien led the way through the remains of the square. Here, a stone well sat half-collapsed, its mouth gaping. There, a fallen sign bore the faded image of a sun crest—Petra’s old seal, long since abandoned.

He paused near what must once have been a shrine. Most of it had crumbled, save for the arched back wall and a small altar stained dark from weather and time.

"This is where they brought her body," he said quietly. "Before the soldiers came."

Liora turned to him. "Her?"

"My mother."

The words landed with weight. She hadn’t expected it, not here, not now.

Lucien stepped closer to the altar and crouched, brushing aside the leaves. "She was born here. Daughter of a blacksmith. When she married the king, they called it a scandal. A farce. Said he’d been enchanted. They never saw her the way I did."

Liora moved beside him. "What happened to her?"

Lucien didn’t speak for a long moment. Then: "She died giving birth to me. They said it was fate. Punishment. That she’d cursed the line by entering it."

Liora lowered her eyes to the worn stone. "And yet... you still came here."

"It’s the only place I feel like I can hear her." His voice dipped. "Sometimes I wonder what she would’ve said. What she would’ve thought of the man I became."

"You came back," Liora said softly. "That must count for something."

Lucien looked up at her. For a moment, he seemed younger, stripped of titles, rage, and grief. Just a man mourning a mother he never knew.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe it does."

The wind stirred then, gently rustling the branches overhead. It felt like breath.

Lucien stood, dusting his gloves, the mask slowly settling back over his features. "There’s a cellar beneath the apothecary ruins. It might still have what we need."

She didn’t ask what that was; he would tell her when it mattered. Instead, she followed as he turned away from the shrine and walked deeper into the skeleton of Eldhollow. She stayed close, not because of fear, but because of something else.

Because a place like this held memories too heavy for one person alone.

And because something in his silence made her want to walk beside him.

The apothecary’s ruins were little more than a tangle of stone walls and ivy now, sunken slightly into the earth as if the land itself had begun swallowing the past. The air here smelled faintly of damp herbs and ash, a ghost of its old identity. Lucien stopped before a low arch half-hidden beneath fallen timber.

"This is it," he said, pushing aside a plank with his shoulder. Dust exploded into the air, and for a moment he coughed, waving it off. "Watch your step. The cellar is narrow and steep."

Liora knelt beside him as he uncovered a set of stone steps spiraling downward. "You’ve been here before?"

"Once. Years ago. With Rowan."

He didn’t offer more, and Liora didn’t press. Instead, she stepped down carefully, fingers brushing the moss-covered wall for balance. Lucien followed behind, their footsteps echoing off the curved stone.

The cellar was cold and dry. Remarkably intact. Glass bottles lined a half-broken shelf, some still filled with clouded liquid. Scrolls were stacked in the corner, stained and curling, and at the far end of the room stood a locked iron chest covered in spiderwebs.

Lucien crouched before it. "Still here," he murmured.

"What is it?"

He pulled a thin blade from his boot and slipped it into the rusted lock. A sharp twist. A snap. The chest creaked open. Inside lay a bundle wrapped in oiled cloth, a series of scrolls, and a book with a cracked leather spine.

He handed her the scrolls. "You’ll want to study these. Alchemy notes. The woman who owned this place... She knew things even the royal scholars refused to acknowledge."

Liora’s brows drew together as she carefully unrolled one. The ink had faded, but the diagrams were precise, strange sigils, and meticulously drawn anatomy. "This isn’t just healing work..."

"No," Lucien said. "It’s meant for control. Poison. Silence. And survival."

She looked up at him. "You think your enemies used this?"

"I think my enemies buried anyone who tried to speak of it." He stood, tucking the book into his coat. "Come. There’s more to be found in the chapel archives, but we’ll need to leave before dusk. The patrols are more frequent now."

As they climbed back out, Liora paused. Her fingers lingered on the stone doorframe.

"Your mother..." she began. "Do you think she would have wanted you to keep fighting like this?"

Lucien didn’t answer right away. He stood at the top of the stairs, the wind tugging at his cloak.

"I think," he said at last, "she would’ve wanted me to live long enough to remember what peace feels like."

Liora joined him at the surface. Their gazes met, and for a flicker of a second, she saw it again, that weariness beneath his hardened eyes. The boy who’d grown up haunted by whispers and shadows. The prince without a place.

They didn’t speak as they walked back through the ruins. The silence between them no longer bristled. It felt shared. Worn like a familiar coat.

And somewhere, deep beneath the ruin and ash, something small and unspoken began to take root. It was not love; they were not there, not yet.

But a knowing.

And perhaps, one day, it will be something more.

They approached Petra just as twilight kissed the rooftops with gold. The village appeared peaceful from afar, smoke curling from chimneys, children’s laughter echoing faintly, but Lucien didn’t trust appearances. He slowed his horse near the outskirts and signaled Liora to dismount.

"We walk from here," he said.

She followed silently, the warmth of the ride fading from her limbs. Though she tried not to glance at him too often, her eyes kept finding him, his measured steps, his gaze sharp as a blade scanning rooftops and corners.

"Why here?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"You’ll see."

He led her through back alleys and past shuttered windows, stopping before what looked like a crumbling, empty house. Ivy curled up its walls. The door sagged on its hinges. Lucien knocked, three slow taps, a pause, two quick ones.

A narrow slit opened. A boy, barely in his teens, peered out. Recognition sparked in his eyes. The door creaked open.

Lucien stepped inside without hesitation. Liora followed.

Inside, the air was cooler. Dust swirled in the fading lamplight. Maps cluttered the walls, a few daggers hung near the hearth, and the floor was worn from pacing feet. The scent of parchment and wax filled her nose.

The boy vanished behind a curtain, and moments later, a woman entered. She moved with quiet confidence, tall, lean, perhaps in her forties, with peppered hair pulled into a tight braid. Her ink-stained fingers were clasped before her. Her eyes, a pale amber, flicked between the two of them.

"You’re late," she said, voice brisk.

Lucien inclined his head. "Had to make a stop."

Her gaze landed on Liora. "And this?"

"Liora Miral," Lucien replied, removing his gloves. "She’s with me."

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. "I remember the Miral name. Didn’t think the prince would bring company."

"She’s not company," Lucien said. "She’s earned her place."

Liora held her gaze, refusing to flinch.

Beatrice gave a tight nod. "Then she should hear what we intercepted."

She turned and led them into the next room, smaller, darker, filled with scrolls and sealed letters.

Beatrice laid a map across the table and pointed at it. "Petra’s not just a quiet village anymore. Someone’s using it as a funnel. Messages have been passing through—coded, fast. It’s a network. And it leads straight to the palace."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "So it begins."

Liora stepped closer, reading the inked markings. "Do you know who started it?"

"We’re close," Beatrice said. "But the names won’t be enough. You’ll need proof. And Petra’s about to get dangerous."

Lucien didn’t look surprised. "Then we move faster."

Liora didn’t speak. She watched the prince; he was not just a disgraced noble now but a man surrounded by secrets, schemes, and war maps.

And somehow, in the quiet tension of the room, she didn’t feel out of place, it was not like before anymore.