Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 119: Border at first light

Chapter 119: Border at first light

"So he is."

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

Lucien didn’t press.

He only nodded once, slowly, before turning back to his blade.

But as she walked away, Liora swore she felt his eyes on her back... And something in her chest trembled.

The moonlight slipped in through the open windows of the corridor, casting pale shadows along the stone walls. Liora’s footsteps echoed softly as she made her way back to her quarters, fingers wrapped around the jar of dried bark she’d forgotten in the infirmary.

But she paused when she reached the balcony overlooking the lower courtyard.

Lucien stood there alone, one hand on the railing, the other curled into a fist at his side. He didn’t notice her at first, lost in thought. It wasn’t often she saw him like this, unguarded, still, almost... uncertain.

"Couldn’t sleep either?" she asked quietly.

Lucien didn’t flinch. "No. I find the silence too loud sometimes."

She joined him at the railing, placing the jar down beside her. "Strange. I find silence comforting."

He glanced at her then, his eyes catching the moonlight. "That’s because you don’t carry ghosts in it."

The words struck deeper than he meant, she suspected. Or maybe exactly as he meant them.

"I carry enough," she replied.

They stood there for a long moment, the night stretching between them. The tension that had once been sharp and bristling was softer now, like a fraying thread. Liora leaned against the stone, head tilted.

"Aeren has a good heart," she said suddenly, unsure why she felt the need to explain.

Lucien didn’t respond right away. "I never said he didn’t."

"You asked if he was courting me."

Lucien looked at her then, fully.

"You never answered."

She hesitated. "I don’t know. Maybe he’s trying to."

Another pause. His jaw clenched. "And would you let him?"

"I don’t know that either."

"Why not?"

She didn’t look at him. "Because I’m not ready to give that part of myself to anyone. Not yet."

Lucien said nothing, but something in his posture shifted, like a taut string easing just slightly.

"I’m not asking for answers, Liora," he said, voice low. "But I do hope... when you find them... you’ll tell me."

She turned to him, surprised. There was something raw in his gaze, not pleading, but waiting. Patient. Bruised.

And maybe, just maybe, a little afraid.

Liora swallowed, her voice soft. "I will."

Then she left him on the balcony, heart pounding louder than the silence she claimed to love.

Liora didn’t sleep much that night.

She lay awake in her chambers, the heaviness of Lucien’s gaze lingering far longer than she expected. He hadn’t said much, and yet... everything felt like it had shifted. Not dramatically, but like the slow turning of a key inside a lock that had been stuck for far too long.

When dawn came, she greeted it with tired eyes and a restless mind.

In the infirmary, her hands found comfort in the work, grinding herbs, mixing tinctures, tending to shallow wounds. Aeren arrived midmorning, his usual easy smile dimmed by concern.

"You look exhausted," he said, placing a small satchel of parchment on her desk. "Did I keep you too long last night?"

Liora shook her head with a faint smile. "Not at all. Just... couldn’t sleep."

He leaned forward, elbows on the edge of the table. "You know, there’s an old Petraean remedy for sleeplessness. Moonleaf tea, brewed with a touch of salt. Supposedly drives away haunting thoughts."

"Does it work?"

Aeren shrugged. "Not really. But the gesture is soothing."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "You’re terrible."

"No, I’m charming."

Their conversation was cut short when the infirmary doors creaked open. Lucien stood at the threshold, eyes briefly scanning the room before landing on Liora.

A beat of silence passed. Then he stepped inside, expression unreadable.

"I didn’t realize you had company," he said, voice cool.

Liora straightened. "We were just talking."

Lucien’s eyes shifted to Aeren. "Of course. You do seem to have a lot to say, healer."

Aeren met his gaze evenly. "Just trying to make her laugh. I find it helps recovery."

Lucien’s mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. "Laughter won’t keep her safe."

And just like that, the temperature dropped. Liora looked between them, the unspoken challenge stiffening the air.

Aeren rose from his seat, nodding toward Liora. "I’ll return later. Let me know if the tincture helped."

He exited with quiet steps, the tension he left behind prickling under her skin.

Lucien remained where he stood, his gaze lingering on the place where Aeren had been. Then, softly, "You smile more around him."

Liora blinked. "What?"

"With me, it’s always wariness or restraint. But with him..."

She exhaled, more tired than frustrated. "Lucien, if you’re going to speak in half-measured phrases and riddles, I won’t chase meaning through them."

He looked at her fully now, something dark and sharp behind his eyes...something not quite jealousy, not quite fear.

"I’m not afraid of his intentions," Lucien said. "I’m afraid of mine."

Liora froze.

For a moment, neither of them breathed.

And then he turned away, his cloak brushing the floor as he left the room without another word.

Liora stared at the doorway long after Lucien had gone.

His words clung to her like the scent of crushed rosemary, unexpected and hard to forget.

"I’m afraid of mine."

The idea of Lucien fearing anything at all was enough to unsettle her. But that he feared his own intentions around her? It stirred something she wasn’t ready to name. Something she had no space to hold, at least, not now.

She needed air.

Slipping out of the infirmary, Liora made her way through the quiet morning courtyard, her sandals soft against the stone. She walked past the soldiers at practice, the maids hanging linens, and the messengers galloping off toward the gates. Everything around her moved, and yet her thoughts stood still.

She didn’t notice Aeren until he fell into step beside her.

"Care for a walk?" he asked gently.

Liora blinked, then nodded.

They wandered toward the herb gardens, past the wall where wild vines climbed and clung, green and fragrant in the rising sun. For a while, neither spoke.

Then Aeren said, "You don’t have to explain anything to me, you know."

She looked at him.

"I see the way he watches you," Aeren continued. "And I’m not here to compete."

Liora’s throat tightened. "I’m not..."

"I know." He smiled, but it was laced with something softer, almost sad. "But maybe one day, you’ll let someone close again. And when that day comes, I hope it’s someone who sees all of you. Not just what you can endure."

Her steps faltered.

"That man..." Aeren went on, gaze drifting toward the castle walls. "He’s drowning in ghosts. And I don’t know if he’ll ever learn to reach for the living."

Liora looked down at her hands. They smelled of herbs and firewood. Of war and tenderness.

"I don’t know either," she whispered.

They walked in silence again, her heart caught in the strange middle place between two men, one who offered light with ease and another who cast long shadows even while reaching for it.

Lucien stood at the edge of the training field, arms folded, his gaze fixed not on the sparring soldiers but on the distant herb garden. He hadn’t meant to say those words to her; he hadn’t planned to let anything slip. But it was as if something inside him had cracked open when he saw her there, carefully wrapping bandages as though the world could still be made whole.

He exhaled, sharp and low.

From this distance, he could just make out her silhouette walking alongside Aeren. The physician’s gait was relaxed, shoulders bent slightly toward her, as though his presence alone could shield her from the world.

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

He looked away, then looked back.

A flicker of something coiled in his chest, slow and unfamiliar. It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t distrust. No. It was something far more dangerous. Something he had spent years burying beneath war, command, and the cold quiet of self-preservation.

Jealousy.

He turned sharply, striding away from the field and back toward the barracks, where silence could drown it out. But the image clung to him: her smile, small but unguarded, and Aeren’s quiet patience.

In a different life, he might have been that man.

In this one, he was a blade forged for vengeance. Nothing more.

As he passed the eastern corridor, a voice stopped him.

"Your Highness."

He turned. Beatrice, carrying a sealed scroll, bowed slightly.

"What is it?" Lucien asked.

"It came through the southern couriers, urgent. It bears your brother’s crest."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed as he took the scroll. Alden’s seal, waxed in royal blue, stared back at him.

The last time Alden had sent anything directly had been months ago, and it had ended with a veiled warning.

He broke the seal, read the message once, then again.

His spine stiffened.

"Prepare the horses," Lucien said, folding the parchment. "We ride for the border at first light."

Beatrice blinked. "Is it safe?"

"No," Lucien muttered, turning. "And that’s precisely why we’re going."