Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 115: I need a word.

Chapter 115: I need a word.

Across the fortress, Lucien stood at the edge of the training yard’s overlook, having returned from meetings with the northern scouts. Rowan approached with a quiet step, his brow arched.

"You’ve had them watched," Rowan said bluntly, "The new patient. The girl."

Lucien didn’t turn. "I’ve had them observed. Petra must remain safe."

Rowan exhaled, amused. "Of course. Nothing to do with the way you’ve been glancing out windows more often than usual."

Lucien’s jaw clenched, but his voice remained even. "He’s too comfortable. Too quick to smile."

"And she smiles back."

A pause.

Lucien turned, eyes cold. "She respects her position."

Rowan gave a short nod. "But respect is not the same as devotion. Not yet."

Liora lit the final lanterns of the infirmary. Elric, still seated on his cot, was watching the flames flicker.

"Do you miss it?" she asked suddenly. "Command. Riding. Being in the thick of it?"

He nodded. "Some days. Others... I’m starting to remember what peace feels like."

A soft silence fell between them. Then he looked at her again. "And you? What is it that you’re looking for, here?"

Liora hesitated. "Not peace," she said quietly. "Not yet."

And she left before he could ask more.

The courtyard had turned gold with the waning sun, shadows stretching long across the polished stone paths. Liora sat beneath the old fig tree, her sleeves rolled as she sorted medicinal roots. Elric approached, his movements slower than usual, still favoring his left leg. A small satchel swung from his shoulder.

"I brought something," he said, lifting the satchel and sitting opposite her without waiting for permission.

Liora looked up, amused. "You’re not supposed to be walking so much yet."

"Rebellion is my strongest trait," Elric grinned. From the satchel, he pulled out a half-carved wooden bird. "I was told this land was full of ashfinches. Thought I’d try shaping one."

She touched the bird gently. "It’s lovely. You carve?"

"Only badly." His eyes lingered on her hands. "But I had the time. And something to look at."

The words hung in the air between them for a breath too long.

From the shaded hallway above, Lucien paused mid-stride. He hadn’t intended to linger , a mere glance on his way to the council chamber. But his eyes caught the curve of Liora’s smile. The soft way she tilted her head toward Elric. The relaxed posture she rarely showed around others.

She was at ease.

Not guarded. Not sharp-tongued. Not stiff with duty.

He had never seen her that way.

The crack of Rowan’s boots behind him pulled Lucien from the trance. Rowan stopped at his side, following his gaze wordlessly. After a moment, he spoke.

"She’s just being kind."

Lucien didn’t respond.

Rowan looked at him from the corner of his eye. "You knew he was charming when you saved his life."

"I didn’t know he’d make her laugh," Lucien said quietly.

Liora returned late to her chambers, Elric’s carving still wrapped in a bit of cloth. She left it by the window without much thought.

Just before extinguishing the candle, she paused , remembering something in the way Lucien had looked at her that morning. Not harsh. Not cold. Just quiet. Watching.

She wondered if he’d say something at dinner. He didn’t.

But his silence held weight.

The sound of clashing swords echoed faintly from the lower training grounds. Lucien leaned on the stone balustrade of the war room’s balcony, a rolled map forgotten at his side.

From here, he could just make out the infirmary garden. Liora was there again. So was Elric.

They stood close today, not too close, but close enough for Lucien’s jaw to tighten.

He watched as Elric tried mimicking something with his hand, probably one of Liora’s techniques. She corrected him, laughing at the awkward motion. She reached for his wrist, adjusting it. Her hand lingered.

Lucien’s fingers curled into fists.

"I’d never have guessed you were the jealous type," Rowan said from behind, not even trying to hide his smirk.

Lucien didn’t turn. "He’s still recovering. He shouldn’t be walking that much."

Rowan chuckled. "He shouldn’t be flirting either, is that it?"

Lucien cast him a flat look.

Rowan just shrugged. "You could always walk down and make your presence known."

Lucien didn’t move. He only said, "If she wants distraction, she’ll take it."

"And if she’s not distracted?"

Lucien didn’t answer.

"Your grip’s still too stiff," Liora said, laughing softly. "You’re not cutting wood."

"Strange," Elric replied, feigning offense. "You heal me and insult me in the same breath."

"Part of the service."

He looked at her, more serious now. "You’re different from everyone here."

Liora blinked, unsure how to respond.

"I mean it," he said, voice lower now. "You don’t belong among these shadows and masks. You bring light."

The words unsettled her. She looked down, brushing her palms clean against her robes.

"I’m not here to be light," she said after a moment. "I’m here to be useful."

Before Elric could answer, a shadow fell across them.

Lucien.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, tall and still, his expression unreadable.

"Commander," Elric greeted, a bit stiffly.

Lucien’s eyes didn’t leave Liora. "I need her."

Elric glanced at her, confused.

"For what?" Liora asked.

Lucien didn’t blink. "A matter concerning Petra’s supply chains. You’re needed."

It was a lie, or at least, not urgent, but she didn’t question it.

She rose, brushing her hands clean once more. "I’ll get my notes."

Lucien waited until she walked ahead, then turned to Elric. "You should rest more. Your wound’s not as healed as you pretend."

"I’m getting stronger every day."

Lucien’s voice was cool. "Let’s hope you remember who saved your life if you plan to waste it."

Liora spread out the parchment on the long oak table, her hands steady, though her heart felt otherwise. Lucien hadn’t spoken since they left the garden. He stood across from her, arms folded, gaze fixed, but distant.

"There’s no change in Petra’s supply lines," she said quietly. "We both know that."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

"You pulled me away," she added, her voice softer. "From Elric."

His jaw flexed. "I didn’t like what I saw."

She blinked, surprised by the honesty.

"I thought you trusted me," she said.

"I do."

"Then why...?"

"Because I don’t trust him," Lucien said, sharper now. "Not with you."

The words hung between them like the silence before a storm.

Liora looked down at the map but no longer saw it. "You don’t have to protect me from kindness, Lucien."

"I’m not protecting you from kindness," he said, stepping closer, his voice low. "I’m reminding you that not all kindness is real."

She looked up, their eyes locking. "And yours?"

His breath caught.

"My kindness..." he said, then paused, as if the word itself felt foreign. "Mine doesn’t ask for anything."

A strange stillness settled between them. Liora swallowed, unsure why her chest felt tighter. She had always seen him as her master, her guardian , and now?

Now he felt... close. Not in distance, but in weight. In heat. In something that had no name yet.

She broke the silence first.

"Should we go over the grain routes again?"

Lucien studied her , her averted eyes, the quiet stiffness in her shoulders. Then he nodded, stepping back.

"Yes," he said. "Let’s get to work."

But neither of them moved.

The morning light filtering into the infirmary was softer than usual, casting golden lines along the whitewashed stone. Liora moved between beds with gentle efficiency, checking pulses, replacing linens, adjusting herbs. Her hands were steady, but her mind, scattered.

Lucien hadn’t joined her for breakfast. Not that he owed her his presence, but she had grown used to his shadow, steady, silent, observant. Its absence was... notable.

"Elric," she called gently, stopping at the cot where he lay propped against pillows, reading a battered book. "How’s your shoulder?"

He looked up at her, smile quick and warm. "Better, thanks to you. Though I admit I might exaggerate a bit just to keep you coming back."

Liora rolled her eyes. "Don’t flirt with your healer."

"Then you shouldn’t be so easy to admire," he replied, eyes dancing.

She arched a brow but said nothing, her fingers brushing lightly over the bandage as she examined the wound. "No swelling. Good. But you should still avoid lifting anything heavier than a spoon."

"I suppose I’ll need help stirring my tea," he said with mock helplessness.

She gave him a wry smile, but before she could respond, a shadow passed the doorway.

Lucien.

He paused just long enough to catch the sight of Liora smiling at Elric, her back turned, her hand resting lightly on the edge of his cot, before disappearing down the hall.

Liora didn’t see him, but she felt something shift.

Elric noticed. "You alright?"

She straightened. "Yes, just distracted."

"You’re always calm," he said. "Like a breeze before dawn."

Liora laughed softly. "Poetry now?"

"I write when I can’t sleep," he said, suddenly quieter. "And I don’t sleep well."

She looked at him, the teasing slipping away. "Nightmares?"

He nodded, once. "Too many memories. Too much blood. You?"

She hesitated. "I don’t have the luxury of dreams anymore."

There was a beat of silence.

Then Elric said gently, "Well, maybe you just need someone to remind you what peace feels like."

Liora blinked, her expression unreadable. Before she could reply, the door opened again.

Lucien stood there, mask unreadable, eyes cool.

"Liora," he said evenly, "I need a word. Now."

She turned, surprised by the stiffness in his tone. Elric’s brows rose subtly.

"I’ll come back," she said, stepping away.

But Elric caught her wrist lightly , not possessively, just enough to make Lucien’s eyes flash.

"Take your time, Lady Liora."

Lucien didn’t speak as she walked beside him, but the silence was heavy, full of things unsaid and impossible to name.