Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 118: He won’t need further tending

Chapter 118: He won’t need further tending

Lucien’s brows furrowed.

He didn’t approach immediately. Instead, he observed, arms crossed. The man leaned a little closer to her, saying something that made her laugh again, this time softer. Liora’s fingers brushed the edge of his sling, adjusting it with gentle precision.

"I see you’re healing well, Lord Rowan," she said, her voice polite but warm.

"Thanks to you," he replied, his eyes on her, not his arm.

Lucien stepped forward. "And thanks to the king’s medicine stores, I presume."

The words cut clean through the air.

Liora blinked and straightened, her demeanor shifting. "Your Highness."

Rowan looked up, his posture instantly more formal, though his expression didn’t lose its edge. "Prince Lucien."

Lucien gave a brief nod, his eyes narrowing. "You’re feeling well enough to flirt. I suppose your pain has truly subsided."

"I was merely expressing gratitude," Rowan said evenly, though his tone carried a slight challenge.

Lucien ignored him, his attention shifting to Liora. "There’s a report waiting in my chamber. The steward said, It requires your eyes."

She hesitated. "I’ll attend to it once I finish here. Lord Rowan’s sling still needs tightening..."

"I’ll send someone," Lucien said curtly. "Now, if you please."

Liora pursed her lips but nodded. "Excuse me, my lord."

As she followed Lucien out of the garden, her steps quickened to match his. They walked in silence until the infirmary doors were behind them.

"You didn’t need to interrupt," she said quietly. "He’s a patient."

Lucien didn’t look at her. "And you’re a healer, not a companion."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is there something you wish to say directly?"

Lucien finally stopped and turned to her, his expression unreadable. "He looked at you like he’s known you for years."

"And?" she pressed.

"And I didn’t like it."

The words hung in the air, simple, almost childish in their honesty. Liora stared at him, searching for the weight behind them.

"Then perhaps you should ask yourself why," she murmured before walking past him.

Lucien watched her go, something restless turning in his chest. He didn’t understand it fully, not yet. But he knew this: he didn’t want another man to look at her like that again.

Liora’s hands were steady as she flipped through the records in Lucien’s chamber, but her mind replayed his words like an echo she couldn’t silence.

"I didn’t like it."

He hadn’t said it as a man driven by possessiveness; no, Lucien Blackthorne was too guarded for that. But his tone hadn’t been cold, either. It had been something else entirely. Frustrated. Uncertain. As if he’d surprised himself by caring.

And that unsettled her far more than it should have.

Lucien entered not long after, the door shutting softly behind him. He didn’t speak and didn’t come closer. Just stood near the hearth, silent as shadows.

"I tightened Lord Rowan’s sling before I left," she said after a moment. "He won’t need further tending."

"I didn’t ask about him."

Her eyes met his.

"I know," she said quietly.

Another silence. Thicker this time. He moved to the desk where she stood, his gaze flicking to the scrolls spread out before her.

"You shouldn’t let your guard down around him," Lucien said finally. "He may be a noble’s son, but Petra isn’t free of men with ambition."

She arched a brow. "And you think I’m the sort of prize worth chasing for political gain?"

"I think some men are fools enough to forget where they stand," he said, voice low.

The fire crackled. She turned her eyes to it, the warmth brushing her face.

"I can take care of myself, Your Highness."

He didn’t respond.

She reached for the next scroll, but his hand stopped hers, fingers closing over hers lightly, firmly. The first time he’d touched her without command, without distance.

Liora looked up. He was closer than he’d meant to be. She could see the tension at his jaw, the flicker of conflict behind his eyes.

"You don’t need to be careful with me," she whispered.

A pause.

"But I do," he murmured.

Their hands lingered a moment longer before she gently pulled away, picking up the scroll again as if nothing had passed between them. As if her heart wasn’t beating too loudly.

Lucien said nothing more that night. But when he left, he glanced back once, just once, and his eyes lingered on her like a man quietly, reluctantly learning the shape of something unfamiliar.

Not desire. Not yet.

But something that could grow into it.

Lucien rode out before dawn the next morning, citing business with the northern quartermaster, but the castle seemed to notice his absence more than it should. Beatrice muttered about how breakfast was too quiet, and the steward tripped over his own feet when Liora asked a question that Lucien usually answered.

She tried not to notice it either, but she did.

She spent the morning tending to the remaining injured men. One of them, a young soldier named Aeren, had taken a blade to the thigh during a scuffle with bandits near the outer wall. He was sharp-tongued but warm-eyed, with an easy grin that came too easily for someone still in pain.

"You’ve a soft touch, milady," Aeren said as she cleaned the wound. "If the prince had you beside him on the battlefield, I wager he’d return without a scratch."

Liora smiled, shaking her head. "That’s not how battle works. And I’m no lady."

He winced as she pressed a poultice to his leg. "Could’ve fooled me. You’ve got the hands of a healer and the poise of one born to command."

"I’m neither."

"But you could be." His grin returned. "Maybe the prince sees it too."

She paused, her fingers stilling on the bandage.

Aeren chuckled at her expression. "Didn’t mean offense. I just assumed... well, he’s been staring holes into the ground when you’re not looking."

Liora stood. "You need rest. Not gossip."

But her cheeks were warm as she left.

Later that afternoon, Lucien returned.

She didn’t know it until she stepped into the stables with a bucket of salve for the injured hawks, and found him already there, his gloves off, stroking the neck of his black warhorse.

"You’re back early," she said, startled.

He glanced up, silent for a moment. Then, "You’ve been busy."

"Some of us don’t take half the guard with us when we vanish before sunrise."

He smirked faintly, then his eyes flicked to the bandage wrap tucked beneath her arm.

"Was he difficult?"

"Who?"

"The soldier. Aeren." His tone was careful. Too careful.

Liora blinked. "No. Why would he be?"

Lucien turned back to his horse, his hands tightening around the reins.

"No reason," he muttered.

But she caught the way his jaw flexed.

And for the first time, Liora wondered if the cold, composed prince felt something close to jealousy.

The following days moved with a strange rhythm.

Aeren, now walking with a cane, insisted on visiting the herb garden Liora often tended to. He’d appear during her morning rounds, leaning against the gatepost with that same easy grin, offering to help carry baskets or grind leaves for her tinctures.

"I’ve watched enough healers to know a fever root from a weed," he said once, plucking the correct stem without hesitation.

"You’ve also plucked a sprig of foxglove once," she replied, eyebrow raised. "You do remember what it does?"

"Only that you threw it out of my hand like it was cursed," Aeren laughed.

Liora chuckled in spite of herself.

They were light moments, free of the tension that always seemed to hum in the background whenever Lucien entered the space. But it wasn’t Aeren who made her pause late into the evening—when candles burned low and the halls turned quiet.

It was Lucien.

He’d grown quieter still, appearing at supper only when summoned and watching Liora with an unreadable expression. He spoke with Rowan more often now, hushed and clipped conversations that stopped when she entered a room.

She found him in the training yard one afternoon, slicing through the air with his blade. His movements were sharp and precise; it was too controlled.

"You’re favoring your left foot again," she said, stepping closer.

Lucien paused mid-swing, his breath misting in the cold.

"You shouldn’t sneak up on people carrying swords," he muttered.

"You shouldn’t spar when your thoughts are elsewhere."

He lowered the blade but didn’t look at her. "So you’ve been watching?"

"I always do."

The words slipped out before she could stop them. And his gaze finally turned to hers.

Something shifted in that moment.

A heartbeat, then another. His expression didn’t soften, but the stiffness in his shoulders waned slightly.

"Is he courting you?"

The question landed like a stone in still water.

Liora blinked. "What?"

"Aeren," Lucien said, quiet but sharp. "Is he courting you?"

She stepped back, stunned. "That’s not your concern."

His mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile. Not quite a frown. "So he is."

"He’s kind," she said. "But I don’t...." She caught herself.