Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 132: I’m not yours to give, Lucien

Chapter 132: I’m not yours to give, Lucien

Liora looked down at her hands. "Lucien doesn’t see that."

"Oh, but he does. That’s the problem. He sees it and doesn’t know what to do with it."

The next morning, Lucien found her near the old stables, brushing down a young horse the grooms hadn’t touched in days. She didn’t look at him when he approached.

He stopped beside her. "His name’s Arin. Wild. Hates reins."

"I noticed," she said, calmly.

Lucien hesitated. "You heard what I said last night."

"Yes."

"I don’t mean to make you a pawn."

"You already have," she replied. "But... I understand why."

Lucien watched her brush the horse’s mane, each stroke deliberate. "You could leave. I wouldn’t stop you."

"I know," she said, and finally turned to him. "But I won’t. Not yet."

A beat passed between them. No promises. No confessions.

Just the weight of a quiet understanding.

And somewhere deep in Lucien’s chest, something shifted.

That evening, the estate was strangely quiet. Liora walked through the inner gardens alone, her shawl wrapped tightly around her. The scent of roses lingered in the air, but something about the silence unnerved her.

A presence moved behind her

She turned sharply.

A young man, perhaps no older than Lucien’s brother, emerged from the shadowed archway. Dark hair, sun-worn skin, and a thin scar curling across his jaw. He bowed slightly, not entirely formally.

"Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you."

Liora studied him, cautious. "You’re one of the new guards?"

"No," he replied, smiling faintly. "I’m a physician. I arrived yesterday with the envoy."

That made her pause.

"A physician?"

He gave a modest nod. "Trained in Petra. Captain Vallis brought me with her. I’m meant to assist with the wounded, should the summit be agreed upon."

"I see," she said slowly, still wary. "And your name?"

"Elias." He extended his hand, not forward, but to his chest in respectful greeting. "Lady Miral, I presume."

She stiffened at the recognition. "How do you know my name?"

Elias gave a half-smile. "Petra keeps a close ear to court movements. Word of your... appointment to Lord Lucien reached us. A former noble’s daughter turned healer is rare."

"And you find that amusing?" she asked.

"Fascinating," he said softly. "Not amusing."

Before she could respond, a voice cut across the garden, low and unmistakably cold.

"Elias."

Lucien stood at the garden’s edge, half-shadowed by the colonnade. His eyes were fixed on the young man with a stare sharp enough to carve bone.

Elias turned, entirely unfazed. "Lord Blackthorne."

"You weren’t given permission to wander the estate."

"I apologize," Elias replied smoothly. "But my feet carried me where they pleased, and the lady was kind enough not to object."

Lucien’s gaze flicked to Liora briefly, measuring, unreadable.

Then he stepped forward. "Perhaps you’d like a proper escort back to your quarters."

Elias inclined his head. "If it pleases you."

Lucien didn’t answer. He simply waited until the younger man moved past, his expression like a storm held at bay.

Liora remained still, her voice low once they were alone again.

"He’s not a threat."

"That’s not your call," Lucien replied, his jaw clenched.

"It was just a conversation."

Lucien turned toward her, the distance between them suddenly feeling vast. "Every conversation here is more than that."

He walked away without another word.

And Liora stood alone under the soft bloom of moonlight, wondering just how deeply this web was spun and if anyone could ever come out of it untouched.

Servants moved in hushed urgency, and whispers carried faster than orders. Word spread that a message had arrived sealed not with Alden’s crest but one unfamiliar to most.

Lucien stood in his study, eyes fixed on the open scroll. His jaw was locked, his fingers tapping against the map table with a rhythm that betrayed his restraint.

"Petra has sent more than a healer," he muttered.

Rowan, positioned near the hearth, leaned forward. "You suspect Elias?"

Lucien’s gaze didn’t waver. "He’s too polished. Too composed for a common court physician. And his familiarity with Liora... it didn’t feel accidental."

Rowan nodded. "Should I have someone tail him?"

"Discreetly. And dig into his background. I want to know where Petra found him...and why he’s here."

As Lucien spoke, the door opened quietly. Liora stepped in, her face composed but guarded.

"You summoned me?"

Lucien gestured to the opposite side of the desk. "Sit."

She did, and the silence that followed stretched long. Finally, Lucien spoke.

"Do you trust him?"

Liora blinked back at him. "Elias?"

He nodded once.

"I don’t know him. But I believe he means no harm."

Lucien’s stare darkened. "Belief is not enough."

"I could say the same of you," she replied carefully.

For a moment, Lucien said nothing. Then, he exhaled, as though checking himself.

"I’m trying to protect this estate. These people. You."

"And I didn’t ask for that," she replied. "I asked for purpose, not protection."

Lucien’s hand curled slightly at his side, but he didn’t respond. Not with words. His eyes, though, held something else. A question. A wound. A silent demand.

Before it could shatter the room between them, Rowan stepped in.

"Message from Captain Vallis, my lord."

Lucien broke eye contact, taking the scroll. He opened it swiftly, scanning the contents. His brows furrowed.

"What is it?" Liora asked.

"Petra has formally requested a private audience," he said, his voice low. "And they want you to attend."

"Me?"

Lucien looked at her sharply. "They claim it concerns your family."

The room fell into a silence too heavy for comfort.

Lucien dismissed Rowan with a silent nod, waiting until the door shut behind him. His gaze returned to Liora, sharper now. Calculating.

"What family are they referring to?" he asked, voice low.

Liora shifted in her seat, uncertain. "I don’t know. I have no ties to Petra. Not that I recall."

He stepped around the desk, slow and deliberate, stopping just short of her.

"Then why would they summon you?"

She met his stare, her spine straightening. "Perhaps you should ask them that."

His lips twitched, not quite a smile, not yet irritation. He turned away instead, pacing toward the window.

"You’ve become a subject of interest to too many," he said. "And I don’t believe in coincidences anymore."

"I didn’t choose this attention," she replied softly. "You brought me here."

He looked back at her, eyes unreadable. "And now I must decide whether to let Petra have you for an audience."

That word "let" hung in the air.

Liora stood. "I’m not yours to give, Lucien."

His name on her tongue startled him more than her defiance. She rarely used it.

He approached her again, slower this time. "Then why are you still here?"

The silence stretched.

Finally, she said, "Because I want to be."

And before he could respond, she stepped back. "But not if I’m treated like a pawn."

She left the room without waiting for permission.

Lucien stood still for a long time, eyes fixed on the door she closed behind her. His fingers flexed once, then fell still. For a moment, he seemed caught between instinct and understanding.

He turned back to the letter from Petra.

If they wanted her, they’d have to come through him.

Two days later, the Petra envoy arrived.

They came under heavy escort, their carriages dark-lacquered and edged in silver, draped with banners bearing the hawk emblem of Petra. At the city gates, Alden’s guards intercepted them, stalling their progress until a formal invitation could be extended from the royal court.

Lucien observed from the shadows atop the eastern rampart, his cloak pulled tight against the wind. Rowan stood beside him, arms folded.

"They don’t look like they came just to pay respects," Rowan muttered.

Lucien didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on the second carriage...the one without insignia, heavily guarded.

"Do we know who travels in that one?" he finally asked.

"No name given. But rumor says Petra sent more than diplomats. They brought a monk... or an oracle."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "What would a Petra oracle want with a girl like Liora?"

Rowan shot him a look. "Perhaps the same thing you want."

Lucien didn’t respond. He turned sharply. "Double the watch on their quarters. No one goes in or out without my word."

"Are you planning to speak to them at court?"

"I plan to make them wait."

That evening, word reached Liora.

She was helping re-bandage a soldier’s shoulder when Samuel approached, careful not to interrupt her rhythm.

"My lady," he said quietly, "the Petra delegation has arrived."

She paused, pressing down the final knot. "So soon?"

"They’ve requested an audience. But... His Grace hasn’t answered yet."

She stood, wiping her hands. "Good."

Samuel blinked. "Good?"

"I’d rather not meet anyone who thinks they can summon me like a stray dog."

Samuel chuckled. "Petra’s known for arrogance. But you...you’re starting to sound like him."

She gave him a tired smile. "That’s not a compliment."

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