Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 138: This place just got louder

Chapter 138: This place just got louder

Marianne’s eyes widened. "Are you Lady Liora? The one who used ground fennel to ease Lady Cecelia’s cough?"

"I am," Liora replied cautiously.

"You’re like a legend in the healer gossip circles!" Marianne exclaimed, eyes sparkling. "They say you saved a noble’s child with nothing but thyme and dried plum!"

"That’s not exactly how it happened..."

"I’m Marianne, by the way," she said quickly. "I was supposed to study under Master Gilbert, but he retired to live with sheep, and now I’m here!"

Liora blinked. "With sheep?"

"He said they were quieter patients," Marianne explained earnestly. "Anyway, I’m good with stitching, bad with blood, and I faint at the sight of frogs. I hope we can be friends!"

For the first time in days, Liora smiled, genuinely.

"Let’s start with helping me repack the supply shelf. And no fainting."

"No promises," Marianne grinned.

From the shadows, Rowan, who had arrived to report to Lucien, watched the two women. He raised an eyebrow and muttered, "Well, this place just got louder."

Liora found herself smiling more than she had in days. Marianne’s energy was chaotic but genuine, and her awe toward everything, even a perfectly labeled bottle of rose vinegar, was endearing.

They spent the rest of the morning reorganizing the infirmary shelves. Liora handed over dried herbs, and Marianne tried to guess them by smell.

"This one’s definitely... crushed moth wings?"

"Lavender."

"Oh."

"Don’t taste anything without asking."

"Too late," Marianne muttered with a small gag. "I’m okay, just my tongue’s asleep."

By afternoon, word had already reached Lucien that a new girl had joined the estate. He hadn’t thought much of it, until Samuel, on his way back from the northern border, passed the herb wing and caught sight of Liora laughing.

Laughing, and not at Lucien’s dry sarcasm or Rowan’s poor storytelling.

Samuel watched discreetly as Liora tied Marianne’s braid back with a strip of cloth. The two looked like mismatched puzzle pieces, one calm and grounded, the other a walking whirlwind, but somehow they fit.

Later, over a quiet dinner with Rowan, Lucien asked without looking up from his cup, "Who is the girl that arrived today?"

Rowan took a bite of roasted quail before replying. "Name’s Marianne Alder. Apprentice from the Royal Medic Academy. Got sent here by accident."

Lucien’s brows lifted slightly. "They don’t make such mistakes."

"Unless," Rowan smirked, "someone made it look like a mistake."

Lucien leaned back. "And?"

"She’s harmless so far. Loud. Trips over air. But she’s trained. She’s also clinging to Liora like a burr on velvet."

Lucien said nothing, swirling the wine in his goblet.

Rowan added, "Jealous already, milord?"

Lucien shot him a cold look. "I don’t have time for jealousy."

"Mmhm," Rowan hummed. "But you noticed."

Meanwhile, in the infirmary, Marianne had just discovered the empty bed at the far end.

"Who stays here?"

"No one anymore," Liora said quietly, folding fresh linens. "It belonged to someone who didn’t make it."

Marianne grew silent. "I’m sorry."

Liora nodded, not offering more. Not everyone needed to know everything.

A sudden knock came at the door. Marianne turned, and a guard stepped in. "Lady Liora. His Highness requests your presence in the war room."

Liora stood, surprised. "Now?"

"Yes. And bring your records of patient conditions from the last two weeks."

She grabbed her leather-bound notes and gave Marianne a small nod. "Stay out of the dried poppy jars."

"I won’t touch anything unless it looks delicious," Marianne chirped, then paused. "Wait...was that sarcasm?"

Liora smiled faintly and followed the guard.

When she entered the war room, Lucien, Alden, and a few high-ranking officers were bent over a map. But Lucien’s eyes flicked up the moment she entered, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

She stepped forward, holding the records. "You called for me, Your Highness?"

Lucien nodded and gestured to the table. "Tell us about the illness spreading near Petra’s border."

As Liora laid out the symptoms and possible water contamination signs, Lucien watched not just her words but also her calm under pressure, the way she didn’t flinch even as nobles debated heatedly.

Beside him, Alden leaned and muttered, "She’s different from the women you usually avoid."

Lucien replied softly, "She’s not like them."

Liora stood beside the war table, her fingers tracing along the edges of the parchment map as she pointed to the cluster of villages along Petra’s border. "These are the regions where symptoms were reported: fatigue, shallow breathing, and high fevers. I’ve marked the wells. Most were contaminated or poorly maintained."

Alden frowned, tapping a finger on the valley pass. "If their water source is compromised, the people will turn desperate. Petra might weaponize that desperation."

Lucien didn’t speak immediately. His eyes had been on the reports, but his attention kept flicking to Liora. The calm, measured way she answered each lord’s question. No stutter. No nervousness. But not arrogance either.

"Any indication of a plague?" one of the ministers asked sharply.

Liora didn’t flinch. "It’s localized. Unlikely to spread without a waterborne vector. But if Petra intends to spread fear, they won’t need a real plague. Just enough chaos."

Lucien crossed his arms. "That’s what they want. Fear breeds disorder. They want us to react blindly."

He walked around the table, stopping beside Liora. She felt the tension in her shoulders rise, he was close enough that she could feel the warmth from his coat brushing against her sleeve. His voice was calm but low. "Do you think your methods can contain this?"

Liora met his gaze without wavering. "Yes, Master Lucien. If I’m given a few assistants and free access to the border infirmaries, I believe we can contain it."

A silence followed. Lucien nodded once, then turned to the ministers. "See to it that she gets what she asks for. I want no mistakes."

As the meeting concluded, Alden approached Lucien with a quirked brow. "You trust her judgment."

Lucien didn’t respond. His eyes were still following Liora as she packed her notes.

"I hope it’s her mind you’re trusting," Alden muttered as he walked off.

Lucien stayed quiet.

Liora stepped forward. "Shall I return to the infirmary now?"

"Yes," Lucien said after a beat. "You’ve done well."

Liora blinked. It was the first praise she’d heard from him directly.

"Thank you, Master," she replied softly.

As she turned to leave, Lucien’s voice stopped her again.

"You may ask for Marianne’s help too. I believe she won’t trip over a plaque."

Liora allowed herself a small smile. "She might surprise you."

"I doubt it," Lucien said but there was a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

Later that evening, Rowan stepped into Lucien’s study. "You know, I saw her tending to a child today. She smiled more in that moment than I’ve seen her do since arriving."

Lucien didn’t respond, but he sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed at the candlelight. "Good."

Rowan paused, then added with a grin, "And Marianne seems to be getting along quite well with that visiting guard what’s his name again? Theo? Charming fellow."

Lucien’s gaze sharpened. "What guard?"

Rowan whistled as he walked out.

The morning sun cast a golden wash over the estate as Liora stepped into the east courtyard, a cloth bag of herbs tucked in her elbow. She had just finished inspecting the new storage barrels when she heard footsteps—too light for a soldier, too confident for a maid.

"Lady Liora, correct?"

She turned.

A young man stood there in a forest-green coat lined with Petra-style gold embroidery. His dark auburn hair was brushed to one side, his hazel eyes bright and warm, and there was an unmistakable charm to the way he held his posture, like he’d walked through too many capitals with a smile and a sword.

"I’m Theo. Captain of the outer patrol," he said, placing a fist to his chest in a respectful gesture. "Lord Rowan mentioned I could assist you with the infirmary scouts."

Liora blinked, surprised. "You’re... the captain who came from the southern watchtower?"

"Guilty," Theo grinned. "Though it’s been mostly chasing wolves and arguing with tax collectors. Helping a healer sounds far more noble."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You’ll regret saying that once you’re grinding poultices and fetching fever water."

"Oh, I’ve suffered worse. Once had to bathe an old general after he collapsed in the latrine...long story," he winked.

From a window above, Lucien’s gaze remained locked on the courtyard.

He had seen the young man approach her. I saw the way Liora’s shoulders relaxed and how her lips curled ever so slightly, not out of duty, but comfort. He tapped the windowsill twice, deep in thought, then stepped away without a word.

Later that day in the infirmary, Theo handed Liora a leather pouch. "Boiled bark and foxglove roots, as requested."

Liora examined it, impressed. "You followed my instructions well."

"I follow pretty women even better," he quipped, then winced. "Too soon?"

She laughed, eyes wide. "A little."

"Noted. I’ll delay my next compliment by at least an hour."

As she arranged the herbs, Theo glanced around. "So, forgive me, but... what’s it like working under him?"

Liora paused. "You mean Lord Lucien?"

He nodded. "He looks like he bites."