Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 39: Then we hunt.

Chapter 39: Then we hunt.

Lilian’s gaze swept over the gathered servants as she stepped down from the dark wooden carriage stairs. Edgar was there, steadying her by the arm. Her golden robe with an emerald cloak shimmered under the daylight.

Beatrice, standing at the front, bowed to her respectfully and greeted, "Welcome, Your Majesty."

Lilian gave a brief nod, her sharp green eyes scanning the surroundings before she spoke. "Where is Lucien?"

Beatrice straightened. "He is being treated, Your Majesty."

Without wasting another breath, Lilian stepped forward. Beatrice quickly moved aside, motioning for her with her one hand to follow. "I will show you the way to master’s..."

Before she could finish, Edgar smoothly stepped in between them. "It is the same room as my last visit, correct?" he asked, turning his aged yet sharp eyes to Beatrice.

Beatrice, though smiling, felt the urge to snort. But with Lilian present, she swallowed it down. Instead, she nodded. "Yes, but the opposite one, Sir Edgar."

Edgar clasped his hands together, then casually added, "Then there is no need for you to bother yourself. You may continue with your work. I will escort Her Majesty myself."

Beatrice’s smile stiffened. Her jaw clenched subtly as she inwardly cursed,

’This veiled old man...’

Edgar caught the shift in her expression and smirked to himself before turning to Lilian. He adjusted his pace to match hers, but as they walked, he spoke once more, this time issuing an order to Beatrice

"Beatrice, you do remember Her Majesty’s preferred dishes, don’t you? Prepare something suitable for her. She has traveled in haste for her son and has not eaten much." This made Beatrice’s patience reach its limit; she never had a liking for this old man but right now she would bear his presence as Lilian was her; at least she felt happy for her master; he would like to see his mother when he gains his consciousness.

Lilian, who had been distracted surveying the estate, arched an eyebrow at Edgar’s words as he was ordering Beatrice. She didn’t stop walking, but she informed Edgar,

"I do not have much of an appetite, Edgar. And unlike the palace, this place has no proper sources for a meal. What makes you think it will be edible and that I would have an interest in eating the meal?"

Edgar coughed lightly, "ahem," as if clearing his throat. "A sip or two of soup won’t be harmful, Your Majesty. And I will personally assign a physician to see you once we return to the palace."

Lilian hummed, but she still was unimpressed.

"But," Edgar continued, glancing sideways at her, "considering Sir Lucien’s usual disposition, it may please him to see that you are comfortable enough to have a meal here."

Lilian’s gaze flickered for a brief moment. She didn’t answer, merely continuing up the stairs. Behind them, Beatrice had followed them through the hallway. She let out a slow breath through her nose, watching them disappear towards Lucien’s chambers. Her fingers twitched at her sides before she turned sharply on her heels, already planning how to make Edgar’s request as inconvenient as possible but just for him.

Samuel and Rowan waited outside Lucien’s door, their shoulders squared; they were leaning their backs against chilly walls. Rowan’s fingers were folded behind his back, fingers twitching every so often, while Samuel’s arms were crossed, his left hand pinching the bridge of his nose as if he were attempting to chase away a soon-to-arrive headache.

The air outside Lucien’s room had thickened with the smell of herbal medicine and hints of blood. Inside the room, the doctor and his assistant tended to Lucien, who lay unconscious on the bed. His fever had not yet broken, and although his breathing was even, his chest was rising and falling.

The instant Lilian came, Edgar trailed behind her, followed by two servants Beatrice assigned them, and Lilian did not waste a second to glance at Rowan or Samuel, her emerald robe billowing around her as she strode right past them. The two men shared a look, Samuel raised an eyebrow, and Rowan exhaled a slow breath, steeling himself for whatever tempest was to break loose within.

Lilian stepped into the room without caring about the treatment in process. The pungent aroma of medicinal herbs filled her nostrils, and she automatically scrunched up her nose in distaste. Her eyes roved over the room; it was dimly lit, the heavy draped black curtains closed the daylight, the room was messed and it looked like it had been a long time since the room was cleaned.

Under the thick blankets, Lucien’s bare chest was partly bare, and his skin turned white with fever. His dark hair clung to his sweaty forehead. The doctor sat beside him, applying a damp cloth gently to his temple, while another assistant ground more medicinal substances into a powder.

Lilian pursed her lips.

"Is this what you’d term treatment?" She said her tone was cold.

The head physician, who was a gray-haired older man, looked up, and hastily, after seeing who it was, he bowed his head. "Your Majesty, we are doing everything we can. The poison was insidious; it did not appear at once, which held us back from diagnosing it. But the fever will break in a day or two."

Lilian’s eyes grew dark. "Poison?"

Edgar, by the door, took a sharp breath. Rowan and Samuel, remaining in the hallway, stiffened at the word, although they sort of had a feeling it was a poison but this news is now revealed to Lilian and that might create questions in her mind.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the physician affirmed. "It was not a common wound. There were remnants of a foreign material along the cut. Luckily, it appears the quantity was not fatal, but it has debilitated his system significantly."

Lilian inched nearer, her eyes on Lucien’s face but not leaving them. He appeared sick and weak to her,

"I see," she spoke softly.

She extended her hand but withdrew before contact was made, turning instead towards the physician. "Ensure that he recovers perfectly. Failure will make you personally responsible."

The doctor’s eyes widen as he hears Lilian’s words; he swallows hard. "Of course, Your Majesty."

With that, Lilian spun on her heels and marched towards the door, looking down as if she were on the verge to cry aloud. As she exited, Rowan stood up straight, waiting for orders, while Samuel stayed in his normal position, watching her intently.

She looked between them with her misty eyes and stated, "I want the complete report of what occurred to him. And I want to know who was behind it."

Rowan, who was tensed now but successfully feigned his expressions, putting a hand over his chest, bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Without further ado, Lilian swept past them; Edgar followed her.

"Well," Samuel grumbled, massaging his temples. "That was better than I hoped for."

Rowan gave a mirthless laugh. "If that was better, I don’t want to see what worse is."

Samuel and Rowan both heard doctor mentioning the wound is caused by a poison, they were uncertain if it was poison or an infection, but these made Rowan and Samuel concerned for Lucien, but something wasn’t quite right.

He looked around, ensuring there were no servants or loose lips within the area they could hear, before nodding for Rowan to accompany him deeper into the darkened hallway. The flickering candle flames danced across the walls of cold stone as the two men came to a stop at the opposite corner, distant from any prying ears who might listen. With Queen Dowager Lilian present in the estate, their conversation had to remain both secret and secure.

Rowan crossed his arms, his jaw clenched in irritation. "How the devil does a simple soldier end up being a poison-bearer? Looking at the wound caused by the poison, it does not look like a simple one," he grumbled.

Samuel rested against the wall, his chin stroking in contemplation. "That’s what bothers me. A foot soldier would not have access to that; poisons such as those aren’t something an average fighter carries. It’s either brought in from the black market or..." He dropped off.

Rowan’s eyes furrowed. "Or?"

Samuel breathed out of his nose. "Or it was his only."

Rowan gritted his jaw, his fingers flexing at his sides. "You mean someone issued that order? That soldier wasn’t just some random bastard seeking trouble?"

Samuel nodded. "It could be. Consider it... Master’s a professional fighter. He’s been fighting since he was old enough to hold a sword. Even drunk, he wouldn’t have let a regular soldier cut him to make him this sick. But a poisoned blade? That makes all the difference."

Rowan’s mouth twisted in rage. "If I find out who did this, I’ll strip the skin from their body myself," he spat, his voice increasing.

Samuel’s hand flashed out, grasping Rowan’s shoulder. "Lower your damn voice," he cautioned softly. "Lilian is present. If she even gets a whiff of this before we have concrete evidence, do you know what will occur?"

Rowan let out a harsh breath, shaking Samuel’s hold off. He spun around and pounded his fist against the stone wall, frustration coursing through his frame.

Samuel sighed, observing his friend brood in silence. "Look," he said, his tone controlled. "I understand. I want answers too. But Master must wake up before we do anything stupid. We take orders, Rowan. We wait."

Rowan snorted. "Wait?" He caught Samuel’s eyes, his own face blackening. "You actually think this person is going to just twiddle their thumbs? If they managed to get close enough in the first place, they can do it a second time around."

Samuel’s face sharpened. "And that’s why we don’t get slack. Whoever he is, won’t see us watching for them."

Rowan panted, his fury still burning, but he saw the sense. He ran a hand through his hair and turned away. "Fine. We wait. But as soon as Lucien gives the signal... "

Samuel grinned. "Then we hunt."

Lilian had barely settled in the hallway before she decided to take tea in the glass corridor, a place she knew well from her past visits. The estate was quiet, it lacked the liveliness,. When the tea was served it was accompanied by a small plate of cookies, Lilian frowned as he looked at the table, Her displeasure was visible on her face. She despised such simplicity as luxury had always been her standard.

Beatrice stood by the side, noticed the flicker of discontent on Lilian’s face. Keeping her head low, she offered an awkward smile. Lilian took a careful sip of the tea, but the taste was far from satisfying. Her lips pressed together in displeasure as she set the cup down with a soft clink.

"No need to trouble yourself for lunch," she said curtly.

Beatrice hesitated before responding, carefully choosing her words. "Apologies, madam, but we receive only a modest amount of funding for the estate."

Lilian nodded slowly, her sharp eyes settled on Beatrice. "Yet, I believe the funds should be sufficient for my son to live in comfort. Why, then, does this place feel so... lacking?" Her voice was calm, but her words held weight. She glanced around, her attention shifting to the many servants moving about. "And tell me, why are there so many servants here?"

Beatrice opened her mouth to respond, but before she could utter a word,The screech of horses’ hooves filled the air. as they heard the sound, to escape the questioning the old woman took Lilian’s permission to check who had arrived and left the room.

Unlike the palace, where a steward would always be present to announce visitors, the estate lacked such formalities. Her heart pounded she walked briskly toward the entrance.

As she reached the door, the sight before her made her breath hitch. Stepping gracefully out of the carriage, holding the hem of her gown delicately, was Roseria.

Beatrice’s eyes misted over. Perhaps today was the most emotional day she had experienced in years. First, Lilian’s sudden arrival, and now this was Roseria, the sweet girl she had watched grow up, standing before.

The princess moved carefully, her honey-colored hair catching the light. Her droopy green eyes, so much like Lilian’s, scanned the estate with a soft curiosity. She had always been a quiet presence, delicate in demeanor yet strong-willed in her own way.

Beatrice instinctively took a step forward, unable to stop herself. Her hands twitched, wanting to reach out, to hold the young lady’s hand like she used to when Roseria was a child.

"Princess Roseria..." Beatrice’s voice came out in a whisper, almost unsure if she was dreaming.

Roseria lifted her gaze at the familiar voice and offered a small, hesitant smile. "Beatrice," she greeted, her voice as gentle as ever.

Just as Beatrice was about to step closer, another voice rang through the air...

"Why the rush? Am I invisible?"