Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 134: Are you she?

Chapter 134: Are you she?

As Rowan slipped out to deliver the orders, Lucien turned to the window.

Below, Liora walked slowly through the inner garden with a tray in her hands, likely delivering herbal remedies to one of the estate’s workers. The hem of her dress caught on a rose branch, and instead of hurrying, she paused, carefully freeing the cloth without tearing it.

halls of Dreven Keep, in thefar west of the capital, where sea winds carried the scent of iron and salt, Lord Carriven sat before a long, narrow table. On it were two letters: one with the king’s crest, unopened. The other, torn and re-sealed, marked with Petra’s lesser sigil.

"Your silence speaks for itself," said the voice across from him, young, polished, and dangerously confident. The man wore Petra’s dark robes but spoke the kingdom’s tongue with ease. "Prince Lucien will not be easy to move, but the queen dowager has begun her push. That is leverage."

Carriven’s wrinkled hands folded over his cane. "Lucien is a thorn, not a branch. If we break him, Alden will have no sword left."

The envoy smiled faintly. "You underestimate your own influence, my lord."

"I underestimate nothing." Carriven stood slowly. "Petra wants territory. You’ll only get it if Alden signs it away or dies. And he won’t die unless we make him bleed first."

A woman entered then, sharp-eyed, veiled, with a braid wrapped like a crown atop her head. "Then it is war you want?"

"No," Carriven said, glancing at her. "Not yet."

She placed a folded parchment in front of him. "A contact within the palace just confirmed, Lucien is at the estate. And he brought a girl. The one your spies called the healer."

Carriven narrowed his eyes. "The Miral girl?"

The envoy leaned forward, amused. "You think she’s more than she seems?"

Carriven didn’t answer at once. Then he muttered, "No one’s sold without value in that family. Especially not to the dowager queen."

He looked back at the parchment. "If we get her, we can force Lucien to move. If he moves, the king will respond."

"And if the king is forced into defending him?" the woman asked.

"Then we’ll make sure it costs him something he cannot afford."

Outside, the wind rose.

Inside, Petra’s envoy smiled.

Back at Lucien’s estate, that same wind brushed the papers on his desk. He looked down at a report just delivered, detailing strange movements along the coast. Ships docking with false flags. Quiet exchanges at inns near the cliff ports.

He frowned, running a finger along the map’s edge. "Carriven’s awake," he muttered.

From behind, Rowan entered. "Message from the capital. Queen Dowager Lilian summons a private audience."

Lucien let the silence hang.

"Burn it," he said coldly.

And with that, he turned to the flickering candle, watching the flame dance as if already lighting the path toward war.

Liora had always thought silence was peaceful.

But lately, the silence inside Lucien’s estate had started to feel... watchful.

She sat in the corner of the herb chamber, carefully grinding dried valerian root, when a soft creak sounded just beyond the hall. Her hand paused mid-motion. It wasn’t the sound itself that chilled her, but how often she’d heard it lately. Always outside her room. Always in the late hours.

The first time, she thought it was just a servant passing by. The second time, she’d dismissed it again.

But last night, she had been awake, and there was definitely someone standing behind the door.

She hadn’t told Lucien. Not yet. Not because she feared him, but because she wasn’t sure how he would react.

"You’re tense," said Beatrice, stepping in without knocking.

Liora quickly lowered her gaze. "Just tired."

Beatrice glanced at the half-ground roots and then at Liora’s fingers. "That’s not exhaustion. That’s a distraction."

"I didn’t sleep well."

"Good. Keep it that way," Beatrice muttered.

Liora blinked. "What?"

Beatrice sighed as she sat across from her. The older woman’s shoulders were stiff with some inner war. "If you sleep too well in this place, you won’t notice when they come for you."

Liora looked up now, frowning. "Who?"

Beatrice didn’t answer. Instead, she placed a folded piece of parchment on the table.

Liora hesitated before picking it up. Her eyes ran over the words.

It wasn’t a message; it was a threat.

"One step out of line, and the truth about your parentage will never reach you."

Her hands trembled.

"This came for you three nights ago. I didn’t deliver it until now," Beatrice said, standing. "I wanted to see how much of your fear was your own. Now I know it’s not."

"You read my letter?"

"No," Beatrice said flatly. "I recognize the handwriting."

Liora looked up, her voice dry. "Whose is it?"

Beatrice’s lips pressed together. "Someone from the capital. High rank. It means you’re either important or dangerous to the wrong people."

She turned to leave, pausing by the door. "Lucien doesn’t know yet. But he will. And when he does, you won’t like how far he’ll go to keep you safe."

Liora sat still for a long moment after she left, the letter trembling in her fingers. She should’ve felt fear.

But strangely, she felt fire.

Someone knew something about her parents. And someone wanted to keep her from it.

She was done waiting.

Lucien stood in the eastern wing, eyes locked on the edges of the old parchment map laid across the table. The envoy had long since left, but the information remained fresh unsettling, yet too incomplete to act upon. His fingers tapped against the side of the table as Rowan entered silently.

"You were right," Rowan said, holding out a sealed letter. "The paper was traced back to Norwin quarters. High Council territory. But not from any official channel."

Lucien took it, broke the seal, and read through. His jaw tightened.

"Beatrice kept it from her," Rowan said carefully. "Three days."

Lucien looked up sharply. "And she didn’t think I should know?"

"She said it wasn’t her call to make," Rowan muttered. "Said the message wasn’t signed with anything... except the truth."

Lucien turned away from the table, walking to the tall windows. Below, the estate grounds were quiet, falsely peaceful. The breeze carried no hint of the rot that was clearly spreading beyond their walls.

"Find out who exactly sent this. Use Samuel’s contacts in Norwin. Quietly," he said. "And keep watch on Beatrice. If she dares play both sides, I’ll remind her of her place."

"Yes, master."

"And Liora?" Lucien asked, still not turning.

Rowan hesitated. "She hasn’t said a word to anyone. But she’s been restless. I believe she’s preparing to act."

Lucien’s mouth twisted.

"Good," he said finally. "Let her. She might flush out the mole for us."

Meanwhile, in the quieter part of the estate, Liora had returned to her room with the letter tucked into her sash. Her hands were cold, but her heart beat quickly.

Who was sending these?

And more importantly, why now?

She lit the oil lamp and reached into the small wooden chest beneath her bed. Carefully, she drew out the only item she had smuggled with her from the old town, a necklace. Worn leather, a cracked gem at its center. It belonged to her mother, the only thing Liora remembered clinging to as a child.

She ran her fingers over the carved initials at the back. M.V.

"Mirena Vale," she whispered. "Why did they come for you?"

There was a knock.

Not Rowan’s.

Not a servant’s.

Cautiously, she opened the door a sliver.

A young man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, unfamiliar to her. Brown eyes, rough hands. he wore a physician’s coat, the hem slightly muddy from travel.

"I’m looking for the healer assigned to Lady Cecilia," he said. "Are you she?"

"I am," Liora said, wary.

"I’ve come with orders to assist you. I’m from the Petra border," he added. "Name’s Elias."

He extended his hand. She shook it slowly.

"You must be tired from the journey," Liora said, stepping aside to let him in.

Behind her, the hallway remained empty.

But Lucien, hidden at the far stairwell, had seen the interaction.

And something about that man’s easy smile... didn’t sit well with him.

The morning light slanted through the thin drapes of the infirmary chamber where Liora was rearranging the herb shelves. Her fingers paused briefly over a jar of crushed myrrh when a knock came.

Elias entered again, carrying a stack of folded cloth and a satchel.

"I thought I’d make myself useful," he said, placing them near the washing basin.

Liora gave a nod, measured but polite. "Thank you."

He had a charm to him, unpolished but warm. There was a calmness in his presence that made the air less tense than usual. Still, she remained cautious. Too many people arrived at this estate with smiling faces and hidden blades.

"You worked with Cecilia before?"

Liora asked as she crushed dry leaves into powder.

"Not directly," Elias replied. "But I studied under the same physician she trained with. Lady Cecilia’s condition has drawn attention from the Council; one of the ministers sent me here."

She looked up at that. "A minister? Why?"

"Something about preserving valuable bloodlines." Elias shrugged. "They tend to interfere under the pretense of concern."

"Of course they do," she muttered under her breath.

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