Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 129: Your orders have been sent

Chapter 129: Your orders have been sent

Lucien’s brows drew together. "I haven’t approved any appointment yet."

Thorne hesitated. "He introduced himself to Lady Liora in the garden. Alone."

There was a pause. Rowan’s gaze flicked toward Lucien with a faint glint of knowing.

Lucien said nothing for a breath too long.

Then: "Is she safe?"

Thorne gave a slight nod. "He was respectful. She did not seem troubled."

Lucien turned away from the map. "I want his full history by morning." Where he trained. Who sent him? Why now?"

Thorne bowed slightly and left.

Rowan raised a brow as Lucien sat back down. "Shall I add him to the list?"

"Not yet," Lucien said. "But I don’t like unknowns."

Meanwhile, Liora stood in the infirmary’s main hall, flipping through the patient logs. The fire was warm behind her, but she didn’t feel it. Her thoughts drifted again and again to Cassian’s eyes, how they had studied her with such easy familiarity.

She didn’t dislike him. That was the problem.

He had polished, quiet charm but no arrogance. It made her uneasy in a way she couldn’t explain.

She turned the page, trying to push it from her mind.

Tomorrow, she’d meet him properly. Professionally.

Whatever Lucien might think of it, this was her work. Not his concern.

Morning came with a veil of mist curling low across the estate grounds. The grey hush of dawn hadn’t lifted when Liora stepped into the infirmary, her hair pinned neatly and her apron tied. She had slept little, partly due to the envoy’s talk last night, but mostly because of the encounter with Cassian Vale.

He was already there.

He stood near the back, reviewing the herb stock like he belonged, his sleeves rolled to the elbow, coat folded neatly beside the shelf.

"You’re early," Liora said, her voice measured but not cold.

He turned, offering a slight smile. "So are you."

"I always am."

"Then we’ll get along just fine."

Liora said nothing, only gestured toward the examination table. "There are three new cases this morning. Two foot injuries from the stables. And one fever."

Cassian nodded, already rolling up his sleeves further. "I’ll handle the fever. You take the others?"

She eyed him carefully. "You trained under Elric Vale?"

"My uncle. Yes."

"And why here, Lord Vale?"

"Cassian, please." He didn’t look at her as he crushed dried willow bark. "And I wanted something quieter. Somewhere the court’s shadows don’t reach."

She almost laughed. "You came to Lucien Blackthorne’s estate for peace?"

He paused, then chuckled softly. "Fair point."

From a window above, Lucien watched the exchange without a word. Beatrice stood beside him, arms folded.

"You wanted her to work," she said quietly. "She’s working."

Lucien didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his gaze hard on the scene below.

"She’s not yours to watch like this," Beatrice added. "And jealousy doesn’t suit you."

His voice was low. "It’s not jealousy."

"No?" She gave him a look. "Then why is Samuel watching Cassian now?"

Lucien’s silence was answer enough.

"She deserves to have someone look at her with warmth, not caution. If it isn’t you, don’t stop it from being someone else."

Lucien turned to her then. "You think I don’t know that? I asked for her to be brought here, not chained."

"Then let her breathe."

But she was already walking away before he could reply.

Lucien looked down once more at the sight of Liora laughing softly, unexpectedly, as Cassian handed her a bundled herb pouch. A small moment. A rare smile.

It twisted something in his chest he couldn’t name.

He turned away from the window.

"Rowan," he called into the corridor.

A shadow stirred behind the pillar.

"I want a background report on Cassian Vale." Every mentor, every city he passed through. And anyone he left behind."

Cassian’s presence became a quiet rhythm in the estate’s infirmary, never intrusive, always purposeful. He didn’t speak much, but when he did, his words were thoughtful, often laced with gentle humor that surprised Liora. She had expected arrogance from someone of noble lineage, especially a Vale, but Cassian rarely behaved like one.

Still, she kept her guard. Not out of distrust, but habit.

Lucien, meanwhile, kept his distance. He hadn’t visited the infirmary in three days. First.

Instead, he buried himself in war maps and supply ledgers, hosting short, tense meetings with Rowan and Samuel. The envoy’s visit had stirred something deeper, rumors of border unrest had reached Petra. A second message from Alden confirmed it: the northern lords were restless again.

This wasn’t a matter of rogue raiders. It was something coordinated.

"Do you think they’re testing Petra’s strength?" Rowan asked, eyeing the edges of the map Lucien studied.

Lucien’s fingers hovered over the boundary between Petra and the cold province of Rimeholt. "No. I think they’re testing mine."

He stepped back, folding his arms. "Send a coded message to Alden. Tell him if the Duke of Rimeholt so much as twitches, I’ll march to his doorstep myself."

Later that evening, Liora sat in the garden with her notes. Cassian had retired early, giving her a rare moment of stillness. The moon hung low, silver and solemn.

"You’re working late."

She stiffened at the voice, turning to find Lucien standing a few feet away, coat draped over one arm. He looked tired but alert, like a man who couldn’t afford to sleep.

"I needed quiet," she replied. "The infirmary gets crowded these days."

He nodded, then sat beside her without asking.

For a moment, they said nothing. Just the sounds of night, the rustle of wind, and the soft lap of water in the nearby fountain.

"She seems content around him," Lucien finally said.

Liora glanced at him. "If you’re referring to me, I can speak for myself."

He gave a faint smirk. "Then speak."

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she closed her notebook and set it on her lap.

"I appreciate his help." He’s kind, skilled, and... respectful."

Lucien didn’t respond.

"You think I’m forgetting why I’m here," she said.

"No," he said slowly, "I think you’re remembering who you are."

That gave her pause.

"I don’t want to get caught in anyone’s plans," she said after a while.

Lucien met her gaze. "Not even mine?"

She stood, brushing off her skirts. "Especially not yours."

She walked away, not waiting for his reply.

Lucien remained in the garden, staring up at the stars each one distant, brilliant, and impossible to reach.

Lucien returned to his chambers long after midnight, but sleep never came. Liora’s words echoed louder than any battle cry. "Especially not yours."

A man like him had no right to feel stung, but he did.

By morning, the estate hummed with new tension. A missive had arrived from Alden, brief but sharp.

"The Duke of Rimeholt denies all accusations. No troop movements. No raids. He suggests Petra is misinformed or imagining threats."

Lucien slammed the letter down. "He’s baiting us."

Samuel crossed his arms. "Or Alden’s court is shielding him."

"Same thing," Lucien muttered, then looked toward Rowan. "Tell our spies to check the mountain passes near Petra’s north. If they’re moving, we’ll find them."

Rowan nodded, his face unreadable. "And if they aren’t?"

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "Then they’re planning something worse."

Later that day, the estate was bustling with preparations: horses were shod, carts were loaded, and messages were sent out under seals of urgency.

In the infirmary, Cassian lingered beside a patient’s cot, watching Liora change bandages with practiced ease. He admired her hands steady, sure.

"You don’t belong here," he said quietly.

She looked up, arching a brow.

"I mean," he amended, "you’re too capable to be hidden away in a place like this. A forgotten corner of the realm."

"I’ve been told that before," she replied, tying a knot. "Usually just before someone tries to use me."

Cassian studied her, then gave a soft laugh. "Noted."

Lucien stood by the window in his study, watching the two of them through the garden path. Cassian said something that made Liora laugh genuine and brief, like a breeze slipping through tension.

Lucien said nothing, but his expression shifted. Slight. Cold.

Rowan entered with a quiet step. "Your orders have been sent."

Lucien nodded. "Good. Prepare a second escort. I’ll be visiting the old fort outside Petra. Alone."

Rowan blinked. "Alone?"

Lucien’s gaze never left the garden. "I need space." And Petra needs a show of presence. If Alden’s men are watching, let them see I haven’t lost my edge."

"And the lady?"

Lucien didn’t answer. Instead, he turned away, voice low. "She’s safe here."

Rowan hesitated. "For how long?"

Lucien didn’t reply.

Lucien’s departure was swift.

By the time the morning mist lifted off the hills, he was gone just a blur of dark riders vanishing into the tree line east of the estate. Liora watched from the upper corridor, fingers curled around the window frame, heart unsettled though she couldn’t explain why.

She wasn’t sure if it was the way he had left, silent, no word to her or the way her chest tightened as his horse galloped beyond view.

It shouldn’t matter. He was her keeper, not her companion. Yet....