Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 133: Clothes of myth

Chapter 133: Clothes of myth

The Petra envoy was granted an audience on the third day.

Alden’s court was arranged with its usual decorum, though the tension was unmistakable. Ministers sat straighter, their expressions carefully neutral. Lucien stood near the king’s dais, silent and watchful. His eyes, however, flicked once to the side entrance where Liora stood, partially hidden behind a curtain, as instructed. She was not to be seen, only to observe.

The court doors opened with a solemn creak. In came the Petra envoy, three men and one woman. The leader, draped in deep crimson and layered silver chains, bowed respectfully. Behind him followed the silent figure of a monk, hooded and barefoot despite the cold marble.

"Your Majesty," the envoy began, "we thank you for your reception. Petra extends peace and honor."

Alden inclined his head. "Your gesture is noted. But peace rarely rides with such an armed escort."

The envoy smiled faintly. "Precaution, not presumption. Recent unrest in the western provinces, your own guards must understand."

At that, Lucien’s voice cut in, even and sharp. "If it’s peace you seek, why bring an oracle?"

The envoy turned slowly to him. "You must be Lord Blackthorne."

Lucien neither confirmed nor denied it.

The envoy gestured to the silent monk. "This is Brother Nareth. He seeks one touched by the stars; your realm may be hiding her."

Liora’s hand clenched behind the curtain. Her breath hitched.

Alden raised a brow. "Touched by the stars? What does Petra believe we are? A temple of prophecy?"

The envoy didn’t waver. "A woman fled Petra two winters ago. She was marked, a curse or a gift. It’s said she would bring ruin if not bound by fire and stone. Our priesthood has long searched for her."

Lucien’s face darkened. "And you think she’s here?"

The envoy did not blink. "We think she may have passed through the hands of a healer one under noble protection. We ask permission to seek her. Discreetly."

"No," Alden said before anyone else could speak. "You’ll not step beyond your lodgings without escort. If such a woman exists, we’ll inform you."

The envoy bowed. "Then we shall wait. But understand this: if she is not returned to us, Petra will consider it a theft. And our treaties do not cover theft."

A murmur rippled through the hall.

Lucien didn’t move. But his eyes met Rowan’s across the court. The same thought passed silently between them.

They knew.

And so did Petra.

Later that evening, the tension of the court session still clung to the corridors like smoke after battle.

Lucien stood alone in the war chamber, the envoy’s words echoing through his thoughts. "Touched by the stars... passed through the hands of a healer..." His hands rested on the edge of the table, gaze fixed on the worn map beneath. The lines of the kingdom were too still, too silent.

Footsteps approached, measured and soft. Rowan entered, closing the door behind him with a careful thud.

"They knew more than they revealed," Rowan said quietly.

Lucien didn’t glance up. "They always do."

Rowan stepped closer. "Do you think it’s Liora?"

Lucien’s jaw ticked. "She never speaks of her past. What happened before she came to the palace was buried by her uncle’s lies."

Rowan gave a slight nod. "Still, their interest in a woman under noble protection narrows it down."

Lucien finally looked up. "Then let them search. They won’t get near her."

Meanwhile, in the eastern wing, Liora paced her chamber. Beatrice had left after urging her to rest, but her mind refused to calm. The words of the envoy had struck something deep, old memories surfacing half-formed dreams, flashes of pale fire, a forest altar lit by dusk.

She turned as a quiet knock sounded. Edgar entered with a silver tray.

"Some tea, my lady," he murmured, setting it down.

"Thank you," she said, trying to smile.

He hesitated. "Is it true the envoy speaks of a woman marked?"

"I wouldn’t know," Liora replied too quickly.

Edgar studied her. He was kind, too kind. But she couldn’t afford anyone’s kindness now.

As he turned to leave, she finally asked, "Do you believe in such things?" Being touched by the stars?"

He paused at the door. "I believe truth often wears the clothes of myth, my lady. But whether it is a gift or a curse... depends on who seeks it."

That night, Lucien found himself in the moonlit corridor outside her room.

He didn’t knock.

He only stood there long enough for the air to cool his thoughts.

Long enough to realize that he couldn’t afford to care, not when the eyes of an entire empire were beginning to look toward her.

Not when Petra had already begun to move.

The early hours of dawn stretched slowly across the estate, casting a soft grey hue through the windows. The palace still slept, except for two souls whose rest remained elusive.

Liora stepped quietly into the garden courtyard. The dew clung to her slippers as if trying to hold her back, and the silence pressed close, broken only by the faint whisper of wind weaving through the hedges.

She hadn’t expected him there.

Lucien stood at the edge of the stone path, hands behind his back, staring out at the half-blossomed roses as if they held some answer.

He turned slightly when he heard her steps but didn’t speak.

Liora halted a few paces behind. "I didn’t mean to intrude."

"You didn’t," he said simply, his voice quiet. "Couldn’t sleep?"

She shook her head. "No."

He resumed his gaze on the garden. "I often come here when the world feels too loud."

Liora stepped beside him, leaving a respectful distance. "And does it feel loud now?"

"Louder than usual," he murmured. "Even in silence."

There was a stillness between them, not tense, but not entirely easy either. A thread neither was sure how to hold.

Liora glanced at the roses. "They’re late to bloom."

Lucien’s mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile. "They tend to be stubborn. Like people."

A soft laugh left her. "Or they just need the right season."

Their eyes met then, not long, but long enough. Something unsaid flickered in the space between them, something not yet love but no longer mere civility.

"I’ve asked Samuel to double the guards on the eastern ridge," Lucien said suddenly. "And Rowan is looking into the envoy’s records. If there’s more they’re hiding..."

"You think they’re looking for someone like me." It wasn’t a question.

"I don’t think," he replied. "I know."

Her fingers curled at her sides, jaw tight. "Then perhaps I shouldn’t be here."

Lucien stepped closer. "You are under my roof. And you are not to blame for the interest you stir."

Her voice was quieter now. "But what if their interest brings ruin?"

"Then they’ll learn the cost of looking too closely."

And just like that, he turned and left.

Leaving her standing beneath a sky just beginning to lighten, with the scent of stubborn roses rising into the chill morning air, and a heartbeat that didn’t quite know what it was reaching for yet.

By midmorning, the estate’s calm had returned to its practiced rhythm...servants moving swiftly, guards posted with discipline, and letters arriving from the capital. Yet, beneath it all, there was a whisper...one that reached Lucien before it reached the court.

A single sealed missive sat atop his study desk.

Rowan entered without needing to be summoned, the shadow of urgency on his face. "We intercepted it before it passed to the courier. From one of Beatrice’s stewards. It’s written in cipher."

Lucien broke the seal, eyes narrowing as he read.

"They’re making contact with Lord Carriven," Rowan said, watching him. "He’s been lying low since the southern council dissolved...but if he’s aligning with Petra’s envoy, then..."

"Then it’s not just a diplomatic threat," Lucien cut in coldly. "It’s a domestic one."

Carriven, an aging but shrewd noble from the western coasts, had long held a grudge after Lucien refused his alliance years ago. A man who wore civility like a veil and bitterness like steel beneath.

Lucien turned the letter in his hand. "They’re planning something bigger than we thought. A distraction, maybe. Or a provocation. And they know I’ve left the capital."

"And if it’s timed right..."

"It could push Alden into making concessions," Lucien finished grimly.

Rowan stepped closer. "Do we inform His Majesty?"

"Not yet. Let him think we still chase shadows." Lucien’s voice lowered. "For now, we set one."

He crossed the room to his shelf, retrieving a carved token marked with the symbol of a hawk in flight. "Send word to Samuel. Tell him to reach out to our Petra contact in the northeast. Quietly. I want names, faces, and movements."

Rowan hesitated. "And what of the girl?"

Lucien turned.

"Liora?" he asked, as if testing the weight of her name on his tongue. "She remains where she is. Hidden in plain sight."

Rowan studied him. "But if they’re hunting her..."

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