Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 136: Do you know who he is?

Chapter 136: Do you know who he is?

In the northern wing of the estate, Liora was awake as well, sitting in silence by the fireplace of her small room.

She’d wrapped a shawl around herself, but it wasn’t warmth she needed. Her mind circled the look on Lucien’s face when he’d smelled the herbs, when he realized the game had shifted.

She didn’t like that expression. Not on him.

He looked like a man returning to war.

There was a knock., "Come in," she said softly.

To her surprise, it was Samuel.

He stepped in, quieter than usual.

"My lady," he said, not out of habit but hesitance. "There’s been word."

She blinked. "Word?"

Samuel nodded. "From the capital. Queen Dowager’s court."

Liora straightened. "Something about Lucien?"

Samuel’s brows furrowed. "No. About you."

The scroll he carried trembled slightly in his hands.

"I wasn’t supposed to open it," he added, "but I did." Because I serve Lucien first."

Liora took it, unrolling the message slowly.

The message was short and it was brutal.

"If the girl shows signs of loyalty, proceed with caution. If she does not... remove her from the equation."

There was no seal.

No sender.

Only a shadow of ink meant to vanish if she held it long enough.

Liora lowered the scroll, meeting Samuel’s eyes.

"I need to speak with Lucien," she said.

He hesitated. "He’s not in his quarters."

"Then find him."

Elsewhere, in the abandoned wing near the back courtyard, Lucien stood alone, his hand resting on a hilt he had not drawn in years. He stared at the crest engraved into the metal: the same mark his first wife had worn on her comb.

He hadn’t seen it since the day she was buried.

Now it had shown up on the edge of the burned herb sacks.

Lucien’s gaze darkened.

Someone from the court had returned to finish what they’d started.

And this time, they were using Liora as bait.

Lucien didn’t return to his chambers.

When Samuel informed Liora of that, she didn’t wait. She pulled on her cloak, tied it without haste, and stepped into the moonlit hallway.

The night air was cool, but the tension in her chest made it feel heavier than usual. She crossed the courtyard silently, avoiding the guards who patrolled the outer gardens, and followed the corridor that led to the old wing, unused, dark, quiet.

Too quiet.

There was one room there where a single light flickered.

She paused at the doorway.

Lucien stood inside with his back to her. The firelight painted long shadows across the stone walls. He had removed his coat and gloves, the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows. He held a blade in his hand, not drawn for violence, but for memory. A blade older than his title.

"I didn’t expect you to come," he said without turning.

"I didn’t expect you to be here," Liora replied.

Lucien finally turned. His expression was unreadable, but there was no rage in it. Only stillness. The kind that came before the storm.

"I was told the message arrived," he said, voice low.

"So you knew," she said.

"I know what Lilian’s court is capable of. I just didn’t think they’d be so impatient."

Liora stepped further into the room. The distance between them now felt weighted. "You knew they would try to use me."

He nodded. "They don’t see you as a person, Liora. Only as a tool. Just as they once did with Scarlet."

"Then why make the deal with me?" she whispered. "Why tell me you’d help me find the truth?"

Lucien placed the blade gently on the table, as if setting aside a memory too heavy to carry. "Because I want to know it too."

Liora met his eyes. There was something in them tonight that hadn’t been there before, not coldness, not fire, but something closer to quiet grief. And beneath it, guilt.

She stepped forward. "You think what happened to her, Scarlet, will happen again."

He didn’t answer.

"I’m not her, Lucien," she said softly.

"I know," he replied. "But you’re being hunted like her."

Liora stood silently beside the table. Her hand moved, almost on its own, brushing the pommel of the blade.

"Tell me," she asked, "how far will you go to protect what’s yours?"

Lucien looked at her.

"Far enough to make them regret ever touching what isn’t theirs."

The fire popped quietly in the hearth.

Liora lowered her gaze. "Then teach me."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"Teach me to protect myself," she said. "I may not be a warrior, but I will not wait in the dark for someone to end me."

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, Lucien gave the faintest nod. "Very well."

The training began before dawn.

Lucien didn’t ask her twice. When Liora arrived in the inner courtyard, breath clouding in the crisp morning air, he was already there, leaning against the column, a wooden training sword in hand, his coat left somewhere behind.

"You’re late," he said.

"You never gave me a time," she shot back, walking forward with folded arms.

"Still late."

Liora narrowed her eyes, but the corner of Lucien’s mouth curled. He tossed the wooden sword to her. She fumbled and barely caught it, her fingers stiff from cold.

"It’s heavier than I thought."

"Good. Then you’ll learn balance first."

And so began her first day, not of noble duties or secret tasks, but something far simpler and stranger. She stumbled, slipped, swung wide, and hit air more than she hit the target. Lucien corrected her stance, his hands briefly adjusting her grip, the press of his palm at her back to straighten her posture.

"You fight like someone trying not to be seen," he murmured once, stepping away. "But there’s no hiding in battle."

Liora’s breath puffed out in frustration. "I’m not used to being watched."

"Get used to it. The world is watching. And the court? They don’t blink."

As she stepped forward for another try, someone clapped slowly from the archway.

"Well said, Your Grace," Rowan called, arms crossed, his expression amused. "Though I thought you didn’t train concubines."

"She’s not a concubine," Lucien replied without looking.

Rowan raised a brow, watching Liora, who paused, surprised by the firm denial.

"Oh?" Rowan smirked. "Then what is she?"

Lucien didn’t respond.

But Liora, for once, found her footing. "Someone trying not to die."

Rowan tilted his head. "Good answer."

He walked closer, the amusement fading just slightly from his eyes. "Speaking of which, there’s been news from the capital. Samuel’s sources say Minister Gaius is returning to court. Apparently, Alden requested his presence."

Lucien’s eyes sharpened. "That man would rather eat his own titles than serve the king. He must be up to something."

"He’s never just visiting," Rowan agreed. "But there’s more. He brought someone with him. A young envoy from one of the southern provinces. No name. But I caught a glimpse; he’s no regular diplomat."

Liora looked between them. "Could he be from the border provinces?"

Lucien’s jaw clenched slightly. "Petra’s envoy?"

"Possibly," Rowan said. "But he was too well-dressed for a country ravaged by war. And too confident."

Lucien stepped back, handing the wooden sword to Liora. "Training ends early today."

She blinked. "Why?"

He met her gaze. "Because something bigger than us is moving, and I need to know what."

By the time the sun climbed above the estate walls, the halls were abuzz with whispers of the royal envoy. Beatrice was the first to confirm it, her quiet murmurs reaching Liora as she helped organize the infirmary.

"They say he’s young. Too young to be a minister," Beatrice muttered, folding linens, "but walks like one born with a crown on his head. That kind don’t come without purpose."

Liora wasn’t paying much attention, not until Beatrice added, "They say Lucien was seen speaking with him personally. That’s rare."

That made her ears perk.

It wasn’t long before the opportunity to see him arrived. The envoy, Caldrin, he introduced himself, was brought to the estate’s temporary council chamber. The other lords hadn’t arrived yet, but he had come early "at the suggestion of His Majesty," as he announced with an elegant bow.

Liora had gone to deliver herbs, nothing more.

But Caldrin noticed her instantly.

"You’re not nobility," he said, not rudely, just observant. "And yet you walk these halls as if you own them."

"I don’t," she said simply.

"Strange," he said with a thoughtful smile, his sharp eyes glancing toward her basket. "But you hold yourself well. Not like a servant."

Lucien, who had just entered, cut across the room without missing a beat. "That’s because she isn’t one."

The tone wasn’t sharp, but it was clear.

Caldrin turned, still smiling. "Ah, Lord Lucien. You guard your estate well. Even your secrets."

Lucien’s eyes didn’t blink. "What brings you here ahead of the others, Caldrin? Alden prefers punctuality, not anticipation."

Caldrin offered a small, deliberate shrug. "I like to understand the places I negotiate with. And their people.

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