Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 143: With her

Chapter 143: With her

Evander looked to Liora again, searching her face. "Then I ask you... as someone who once gave life to a dying girl... will you help us?"

Liora looked between them.

Lucien. Evander. And a choice that might pull the threads of fate in ways she wasn’t prepared for.

Liora’s heart thudded inside her chest.

She hadn’t asked for this.

She had only just begun to find her footing here amid the cold halls, the watchful eyes, and Lucien’s stormy moods. And now someone from the past, a past she had buried beneath years of pain had come to unearth it.

"I..." she began but stopped when she saw Lucien’s gaze sharpen.

His eyes were unreadable, but his posture screamed command. He hadn’t moved, yet the air around him pressed down like a storm ready to break. "Liora, step out," he said quietly.

"But..." Evander began.

"She will not be part of your cause." Lucien’s voice dropped further, darker. "Not without knowing what that cause costs."

Liora looked at Lucien. "Just... give me a moment," she said, almost pleading.

His jaw tightened, but he gave a single nod. Liora turned and walked out into the corridor, her footsteps echoing softly behind her. She needed air. Clarity.

Lucien turned his full attention to Evander.

"You come here with your kind words and your seals, but you should know she is not some flower you can pluck and place where you please. She has survived enough."

Evander’s calm didn’t waver. "And yet she still blooms. Doesn’t that tell you she’s meant for more than just this cage you’ve built around her?"

Lucien’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You speak like you know her."

"I know what it’s like to ask for help," Evander said, "and I know what it means to be refused because of power, not merit."

There was a long silence between them.

Then Lucien walked closer. "She’s not going," he said, voice low. "But not because I’m afraid of her leaving. It’s because I still don’t trust where the roots of her story begin. Not yet."

Evander studied the prince. "Then don’t trust me. Trust her."

Meanwhile, outside, Liora stood near the stone archway of the garden wall. The late afternoon breeze tousled her loose hair, and her thoughts raced. The idea of leaving or walking away to help someone tugged at a part of her that still felt alive.

But Lucien’s words held her fast.

Not because he commanded her. But because... something in her had started to care about what he thought.

She hadn’t realized that before.

When she turned, she found him watching her from the hall his expression not cold, not commanding.

Just... searching.

Lucien didn’t say a word at first. His footsteps were quiet on the stone as he stepped out into the fading light where Liora stood. The archway cast long shadows over them, and the wind carried a stillness neither of them could break for a moment.

Liora turned to face him fully, her hands clasped in front of her. "Why did you stop me?"

Lucien didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched her face, that same calculating look softening just slightly. "Because you don’t know who to trust yet," he said simply.

"I can decide that for myself," she replied, keeping her voice even.

"You think you can," Lucien said, stepping closer. "But people like Evander come with smiles and seals... and intentions buried so deep, even they forget what they came for."

"You don’t know him."

"And you do?" he asked, brow arching. "Liora, you barely know what this court is capable of. The moment you step out to help someone else, you become vulnerable."

"I already am vulnerable, Lucien," she said, her voice sharper than she meant it to be. "I wake up every day in a house that doesn’t want me, with a title I never asked for, and in the eyes of a man who thinks I’m a tool sent by his enemies."

Lucien’s jaw clenched.

Her words struck deeper than he let on.

But Liora continued, softer now. "I just wanted to help. Not to escape, not to betray you. Just to help."

Lucien stepped closer, his voice low. "And what if helping them gets you killed? What if it’s a trap? Lilian has her hands in more places than you can imagine. And so do others. You think you’re safe walking into a foreign camp with no guard, no protection?"

She stared at him. "Then come with me."

That silenced him.

For a long moment, Lucien stood still, looking at her as if she had just spoken in a language he hadn’t expected.

"I can’t," he said at last, quietly. "Not yet."

"Then stop trying to own my decisions," she whispered. "I am not yours to protect like a possession."

Lucien’s gaze didn’t waver. "You’re right," he said. "You’re not."

He took a breath, then added, "But if anything happens to you... I won’t be able to forgive myself."

Those words hung in the air.

And just like that, the cold prince wasn’t so cold anymore.

Before she could respond, Rowan appeared in the archway, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Apologies, but there’s a message from the palace," he said. "It’s about the border treaty session. His Majesty Alden requests Lucien’s presence."

Lucien didn’t take his eyes off Liora. "I’ll come," he said, then turned and walked past Rowan without another glance.

Liora stood still for a few moments after they left, her heart caught between guilt, confusion, and something else she couldn’t name.

Maybe not yet.

But something was changing.

Tessaline, still adjusting to the mess she had half-willingly created, paced by the corridor with a basket of linens, her braids half undone and brow furrowed in guilt. She had overheard only bits of Lucien and Liora’s conversation, and though she’d whispered every detail to Layla in haste, her heart now twisted with doubt. Something felt wrong. Something was changing.

At the far end of the corridor, the newly appointed assistant healer, Mira, who was here, tripped over the uneven hem of her borrowed gown again, cursing under her breath. "If one more rug catches my foot, I swear I’ll burn the whole floor," she muttered, rubbing her elbow where she’d hit the wall.

Beatrice, standing with arms crossed, looked at Mira with her usual unimpressed squint. "Perhaps walk like a person next time, not a bird missing one wing."

"I’ve got both wings, thank you," Mira retorted with a clumsy bow. "One’s just better at balance than the other."

Beatrice let out a huff that was half-amused and half-done-with-this-nonsense. But she didn’t dismiss the girl. In fact, Mira had managed to charm some of the older maids with her sharp tongue and genuine kindness. The bruised soldier she had helped last week swore she’d saved his arm from infection. Beatrice wasn’t about to admit it out loud, but the girl might actually be useful.

"Where’s Liora?" Mira asked, brushing dust from her apron.

"Still in her chambers, I presume," Beatrice replied curtly. "She returned late from the stables."

Mira blinked. "Stables? She doesn’t even like horses."

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. "She wasn’t there to ride."

The air between them fell silent.

Meanwhile, in the court at Petra Palace, the tension was thicker than the velvet curtains drawn open behind Alden’s throne.

Lucien stood a few paces from the royal seat, eyes on the map sprawled out over the polished table.

Three council members stood behind Alden, while Lord Vale from the southern regions reported troubling signs: border scouts gone missing, two messengers intercepted, and whispers of a rebel faction growing out of an abandoned farming district near Ismorthe.

"They’re stirring," Vale said, his voice low. "I believe they’re waiting for a crack in our internal structure."

Alden leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge. "Or creating one."

Lucien said nothing at first, fingers tracing the faded routes inked across the map. "If someone within the court supports them, we’ll find them."

"But if they’re not within the court?" Vale asked. "If they’re using the unrest among the commoners, or whispering among our enemies abroad?"

Lucien looked up, meeting his brother’s eyes. "Then they’ll try to use our weakest link."

A pause.

Everyone in the room knew what that meant.

The Queen Dowager.

Back at the estate, Liora finally emerged, her hair pinned simply, eyes tired but focused.

She made her way down to the garden corridor, where Beatrice stood observing Mira trying to balance two trays at once.

"Good morning," Liora said softly.

"Late morning," Beatrice corrected, then softened a little at Liora’s tired expression. "Come. I have something to show you."

Liora followed, and behind them, Mira glanced up with a curious spark in her eyes. "Can I come too?"

"No," Beatrice and Liora said in unison, though Liora bit back a smile.

They didn’t know it yet, but Mira was about to get tangled in this mess far more than anyone expected.

And someone was watching them from the shadows of the estate wall with a scroll in hand and a name on their lips:

"Liora."