Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 128: Neither am I

Chapter 128: Neither am I

"There’s someone in the estate," she said, her voice lower than it should’ve been but firm. "He’s not a soldier. Not a servant. He said he was a patient, but he wasn’t. And he left this."

She walked forward and placed the torn note on the map beside Lucien. His gaze locked onto it. Valen’s Crossing, a name he hadn’t heard in years. A smuggling route. A forgotten place on the fringe of their borders, mostly used by outlaws and spies.

"Where did you find him?" Rowan asked, already moving.

"The northern wing. A room that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. He was calm. Too calm."

Lucien didn’t say anything. He was staring at the parchment like it had just altered the course of everything he thought he understood.

Then: "Did he see you take it?"

"I don’t think he cared."

"That’s worse," Lucien muttered.

He turned away from the table, moving to a hidden shelf embedded in the wall behind the desk. With a quiet click, the wooden panel gave way to a compartment where he kept older records, sealed letters, old alliances, and maps no longer in use. He found the one he was looking for, a treaty forged twenty years ago with a minor border principality near Valen’s Crossing.

"He’s not here to scout. He’s baiting us."

Rowan frowned. "For what?"

Lucien turned to Liora.

"You said he claimed to be a patient?"

She nodded.

"Then he’ll return. Or send someone else."

Liora swallowed. "So what do we do?"

Lucien stepped forward, his hand brushing her arm in a fleeting moment of tension-laced trust.

"We wait. But carefully. You’re not to walk the estate alone anymore. I’ll assign someone to you."

"I don’t need a guard," she said instinctively.

"You do now," Rowan said quietly. "That man wasn’t here for a casual stroll."

Lucien added, "And if he’s tied to any of the court nobles or..." he paused, "Lilian...then we have more than one game being played."

At that, Rowan straightened. "You think the queen dowager’s involved?"

Lucien didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back to Liora.

"You were brave. But next time, come to me first."

"I thought I was," she said, and it wasn’t just about the parchment anymore.

A quiet settled over the study.

Lucien let out a breath and looked back down at the map. "We’ll send scouts to Valen’s Crossing. And we’ll tighten security around the estate."

Rowan left to arrange it, and Lucien lingered. Liora hovered at the threshold, uncertain if she should leave or wait.

"You’re not a piece on anyone’s board, Liora," Lucien said without looking up. "Don’t let them treat you like one."

She nodded slowly. "Neither should you."

This time, he did look up.

And for the first time in weeks, the silence between them wasn’t heavy it was charged with something else.

Something unspoken.

The days that followed were quieter than they had any right to be. No more strange visitors. No new signs. But quiet didn’t bring peace. It only made everyone more cautious.

Lucien assigned a guard to Liora who was quick with a blade. His name was Thorne, and he said little, though he trailed Liora at a respectful distance, never intruding, never gone.

Yet Liora hated it.

She wasn’t used to being watched, let alone protected like some fragile flower. Still, she kept her protests to herself for now. Every time she passed the window facing the north courtyard, she expected the man from before to be standing there, waiting, smiling that unsettling smile.

He never was.

But Lucien had changed.

Not openly, but he was still sharp, calculating, always one step ahead. But he watched her now, too. Not with suspicion. Something else. She felt it in the lingering glances across dinner, in the way he waited for her to speak first during briefings, and in the way he never interrupted her anymore.

One morning, as the wind howled outside and frost clung to the stone sills, she found him alone in the stables, brushing down his horse.

"You don’t trust the stable boys anymore?" she asked, approaching cautiously.

Lucien glanced over. "I trust them. I just needed quiet."

She hesitated, then reached for the brush hanging by the stall. "Then you won’t mind sharing it."

He didn’t stop her.

For a while, they worked in silence. The horse, a sleek black mare, nudged Liora’s palm gently.

"She likes you," Lucien said.

"She likes sugar cubes."

"That too."

Liora gave a soft smile, and for a heartbeat, Lucien didn’t look away. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter.

"You handled yourself well. That day."

"You already said that."

"I meant it."

She met his gaze. "You don’t say things you don’t mean, do you?"

Lucien tilted his head. "No. It’s one of the reasons people fear me."

"And why I don’t," she said without thinking.

Lucien looked at her for a long moment.

"I’m not sure if that’s wise," he said finally.

"Neither am I."

They stood like that, the horse between them, steam rising from its breath, something fragile and new forming between the cracks of shared silence.

Then Rowan’s voice echoed from the hallway outside. "Lucien...news."

Lucien stepped back first, but his eyes lingered. "We’ll talk later."

Liora didn’t know if she wanted to.

But she would.

Lucien followed Rowan into the eastern hall, the one room not thick with old dust and memories. Maps sprawled across the long oak table, secured with iron paperweights shaped like falcons. Rowan leaned over them, fingers tracing a path down a northern trade route.

"This came in from our contact in Petra," he said, sliding a folded parchment across to Lucien.

Lucien unfolded it slowly. It was a report, coded, but familiar. His eyes scanned the symbols, and his jaw tightened.

"They’re shifting routes," he murmured. "Cutting through the northern edge instead of the center. That’s not trade. That’s maneuvering."

Rowan nodded. "And the upper ministers are too distracted by the king’s court games to notice."

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped to the tall window, staring toward the edge of the mountains in the distance. His voice was lower now, more thoughtful.

"They think I’m still disarmed. Still leashed. But if they try pushing past Petra, they’ll be walking into fire."

"You’ll need allies," Rowan said quietly. "Ones who still remember what loyalty means."

Lucien turned. "Find me a list."

Later that evening, while a quiet snow began to dust the estate’s rooftops, Liora walked alone in the gardens. Or as alone as she could be, with Thorne shadowing her at a polite distance.

She needed air. Her chest had been tight since the stable.

Lucien had changed. yes but she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. He still didn’t offer comfort or warmth. Just... steadiness. An anchor she hadn’t asked for but found herself slowly drawn toward.

The snow crunched lightly beneath her boots. That was when she noticed someone unfamiliar sitting on the stone bench near the dried fountain.

He rose when he saw her.

"Forgive me, my lady. I’ve heard much about you, but I hadn’t expected to meet you here."

Liora tilted her head. "You are?"

"Dr. Cassian Vale," he said with a respectful nod. "Physician, recently transferred from the western provinces to aid with your infirmary."

Thorne stepped forward, but Liora raised a hand, dismissing the tension.

"I didn’t know we were receiving additional aid," she said carefully.

"Your name has been passed through many hands," he said with a small smile. "And your work, more so."

She wasn’t used to praise. Especially not from strange men with eyes that looked too keen.

"I hope the patients here meet your expectations."

Cassian smiled again, something warm and lingering. "I expect they’ll be better off than they were."

He bowed slightly, then stepped away, disappearing down the garden path.

Liora remained still for a moment longer.

Thorne, quiet as ever, finally broke the silence. "Should I report this to Lord Lucien?"

She blinked. "Why would you?"

Thorne’s mouth quirked into what might’ve been a smirk. "He doesn’t like unexpected variables."

Lucien didn’t notice the late hour until Rowan lit the third lamp. The eastern wing was cloaked in shadow, the wind outside pressing cold fingers against the windows. He stood stiffly, eyes still fixed on the border routes.

Rowan returned from the corridor with a folder in hand. "The envoy from Petra confirmed what we suspected. There’s movement from Elthar. Slow, quiet, and under the guise of trade caravans filled with men instead of goods."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "And the king?"

"Still waiting for proof. He wants formal reports, not warnings."

Lucien leaned on the table with both hands. "By the time proof arrives, they’ll be inside our gates."

Rowan was about to reply when a quiet knock interrupted them.

It was Thorne.

"My lord," he said, with a glance toward Rowan, "there’s something you should be made aware of. The new physician... arrived early. Lord Cassian Vale."

Lucien’s brows drew together. "I didn’t approve any appointment yet."

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