Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 116: I rest better when I hear your voice

Chapter 116: I rest better when I hear your voice

The crunch of Liora’s boots on gravel echoed against the stone walls as she followed Lucien out into the secluded courtyard. Early roses climbed along the stone arches, their scent rich and sweet in the warming air.

Lucien didn’t speak at first. He stood with his back to her, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the distance, though there was little to see except a lazy bird crossing the pale sky.

"You asked for me," she said softly, brushing her palms down the front of her apron. "Is something wrong?"

Lucien turned slowly. His expression was impassive, but she saw the tension in the set of his jaw.

"Who is he?" he asked.

She blinked. "Elric?"

"I don’t know his history," Lucien replied, voice calm, but edged. "And I don’t like that I don’t."

"He’s a patient, my lord. A soldier from the eastern garrison. Injured in the last skirmish."

"He seems more than that."

Liora tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Lucien stepped closer. Not enough to be improper, just enough that she felt the shift in the air.

"You smile more around him," he said. "Laugh. You let him touch you."

Her brows rose. "I tend to wounds, Lucien. I have to touch them. And....smiling? Is that... a problem?"

He hesitated. Just long enough.

"No," he said finally. "It isn’t."

But something in the word betrayed him. Liora’s voice softened.

"You’re not jealous, are you?"

Lucien’s gaze sharpened instantly. "What would I have to be jealous of?"

"That’s what I’d like to know."

For a long breath, they stared at each other. His eyes, steel and shadow. Hers, clear and unafraid.

And yet, neither of them moved.

Finally, Lucien turned away. "He’ll be watched," he said. "Petra isn’t open to just anyone."

"I’m sure he’s harmless," she murmured. "But if it helps ease your mind, do what you must."

Lucien looked over his shoulder. "It doesn’t ease my mind."

Liora didn’t reply. She simply watched him leave, his back straight, his steps harder than usual.

When he disappeared around the stone archway, she let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Her fingers brushed her sleeve, the same spot where Elric had touched her.

But it wasn’t Elric’s gaze that haunted her in that moment.

It was Lucien’s.

The fireplace crackled in the corner, casting dancing shadows against the bookshelves. Lucien stood near it, nursing a goblet of wine he hadn’t really tasted. The pages of the report before him lay untouched, the ink already drying on his quill’s last note.

He hadn’t been able to focus since the courtyard.

A knock came, soft and measured.

He didn’t look up. "Come in."

Rowan slipped in without ceremony, carrying a sealed scroll. "The latest from the west. Nothing new. No movement."

Lucien barely nodded.

Rowan didn’t leave. Instead, he moved to the small table and poured himself a glass, waiting a beat before speaking again.

"She’s good with the soldiers," he said casually. "Elric’s been in the ward a lot longer than I expected."

Lucien’s gaze flicked up. "So I’m not the only one who noticed."

Rowan chuckled softly. "You noticed for different reasons, I suspect."

Lucien didn’t answer.

Rowan continued, voice light but deliberate. "He’s not a threat. But he’s not blind either. Anyone with eyes can see Liora is... luminous."

"Don’t romanticize it," Lucien muttered.

"Why not?" Rowan shrugged, settling into the chair across from him. "You’ve spent your life drowning in duty and deception. And now there’s a woman in your house who actually sees you, not the prince, not the fallen man, but you. And that bothers you."

Lucien set the goblet down, harder than necessary.

"I’ve offered her safety. Education. Work. Nothing more."

Rowan’s brows rose. "And yet you glare at a man because he made her laugh."

Lucien didn’t respond. The fire cracked again. A log shifted.

"She’s not yours, Lucien," Rowan said after a long pause, his voice quieter now. "But if you’re not careful, you’ll lose her before you ever know what she could have been."

Lucien’s shoulders stiffened.

"She’s not mine to lose."

"No," Rowan agreed. "But don’t act like you haven’t already started to care."

Lucien closed his eyes. Just for a moment.

And then, in a low voice, barely audible above the fire:

"I don’t know what to do with it."

Rowan smiled faintly , but not mockingly, but almost with pity.

"Maybe," he said, rising, "for once, you don’t need to do anything. Just... feel it."

The infirmary was hushed, steeped in the scent of herbs and oil lamps. Liora moved between the cots like a ghost in the low light, checking on bandages, listening to breaths, ensuring the night would pass without alarms.

Elric stirred as she passed his cot.

"You should rest," she whispered.

He smiled sleepily. "I rest better when I hear your voice."

She didn’t blush, though her fingers paused as she adjusted his blanket. "That’s the medicine talking."

"Maybe," he murmured. "But still true."

Liora smiled faintly and stepped back. "Sleep, Elric. I’ll be here."

He closed his eyes with a contented sigh.

She moved to the small back room where Beatrice had set up the ledgers. The old healer had long since retired to her chamber, leaving Liora with silence and stacks of parchment. She lit a single candle and sat down.

Her hands moved over the ink and parchment, but her mind wandered elsewhere.

Lucien.

She had seen him earlier, watching from across the courtyard. He hadn’t approached, didn’t need to. His gaze had lingered just long enough for her to feel the weight of it.

Why?

He had been different lately. Not warmer, not softer just... watching more. Listening more. As if there were words on the tip of his tongue he couldn’t say.

Liora dipped her quill again, drawing a slow breath.

She didn’t understand him. She didn’t try to. But sometimes, when their silences grew long, and the world stilled between them, she felt a strange sense of safety. Not trust, not yet, but the beginnings of it.

And maybe something else, too.

The thought made her restless. She closed the ledger, stood up, and stepped outside. The night was cold. Clear. Stars scattered like salt across a velvet sky.

She tipped her head back, her breath misting in the air.

"I don’t know what this is," she murmured to the stars, "but it’s too early to call it anything."

Still, when she returned to her cot, Lucien’s gaze followed her into sleep.

The clang of steel echoed across the yard, a rhythmic cacophony of discipline and sweat. Lucien stood at the edge of the grounds, arms folded, watching two of his men spar under Rowan’s sharp commands.

"You’re late," Rowan said, without turning, sensing him nearby.

Lucien didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on a different corner of the yard, where Liora stood with Beatrice, wrapping a cloth around Elric’s forearm. The young man laughed, too loud for Lucien’s liking, his smile lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"Don’t scowl," Rowan muttered, stepping beside him now. "It’s just a bandage. She’s a healer, not his bride."

Lucien glanced at him. "Did I say anything?"

"No," Rowan said dryly. "But your silence could strip paint off the barracks wall."

Lucien said nothing. He watched as Elric murmured something, and Liora shook her head, amused but unaffected. She patted his shoulder, gave him a few instructions, and turned away, only to pause mid-step.

Their eyes met across the yard.

Liora’s gaze held his for a beat, calm and unreadable. She didn’t smile. She didn’t look away either.

Lucien tilted his head just slightly, acknowledging her, then turned back to the sparring soldiers.

Rowan smirked. "You’re not fooling anyone, you know."

Lucien raised a brow. "Fooling who?"

"She’s not a shadow. People notice."

"I never said she was."

Rowan lowered his voice, leaning closer. "You keep looking at her like she’s a flame and you forgot how to be cold."

Lucien didn’t respond. But he didn’t deny it either.

Behind them, the sparring match ended in a clang and a groan. One soldier collapsed to the dirt. Rowan barked at the next pair to begin. Lucien’s gaze strayed again, to where Liora had disappeared into the infirmary.

For now.

The scent of dried herbs clung to the rafters, mingling with the faint sting of alcohol and iron. Liora set aside the mortar and pestle, brushing her palms against her apron as Elric took a cautious seat on the wooden bench near the window.

"Don’t flex your wrist for a few hours," she said. "The herbs will numb the strain, but if you push it, the tendons..."

"Will tear again, yes, I remember." Elric grinned. "You’ve told me twice now, Lady Liora."

She gave him a faint look of amusement. "Then I expect you to actually listen this time."

Elric laughed, but his eyes lingered on her longer than they should have.

Liora moved to tidy the supplies, her back to him. "Is there something else you need?"

"A reason to stay a few more minutes. But I suppose that’d make me a difficult patient."

She paused at the shelf, her fingers curling briefly around a vial.

He continued, softer now. "I’ve heard stories about you. The quiet girl who walks like a ghost and heals like a saint. Didn’t know you were real."

"I’m not interested in stories," she said plainly, turning back to him. "Only in healing injuries."

"And yet," he said, standing slowly, "you don’t seem cold. Just... far away."

Their eyes met. For the first time...

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.