Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 40: Look at this filth

Chapter 40: Look at this filth

Just as Beatrice was about to step ahead with Roseria, another voice rang through the air, "Why the rush? Am I invisible?".

Beatrice’s steps froze in the middle of the walk. She knew that voice.

Turning her head, she looked at another person stepping out from the royal carriage.

Layla Valcour.

Her deep violet gown flowed elegantly as she stepped down, her arms crossed with a smirk on her lips. Her sharp eyes scanned Beatrice’s reaction, clearly enjoying the moment.

"Did you forget about me already, Madam Beatrice?" Layla teased her innocently, raising an eyebrow. "I thought we were on better terms than that."

"Lady Layla," Beatrice bowed slightly; she stutured herself. "I... of course not. I was only..."

Layla waved a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Relax, Madam Beatrice; I’m only teasing." Then, turning to Roseria, she took the princess’s hand. "And you, little flower, nearly ran inside without me."

Roseria’s lips curled into a slight smile, her fingers tightening around Layla’s in silent reassurance. "I just, uh, wanted to see my brother’s house." Happiness shone in her eyes as she finally made it here; she never got to see the brother who pampered her the most after these years.

Layla’s smirk softened. She gave Roseria’s hand a gentle squeeze before shifting her eyes back to Beatrice.

Beatrice cleared her throat, quickly stepping aside. "Madam Lilian is inside," she informed them. "She..."

Roseria’s expression faltered for a brief second, but she quickly masked it. Layla noticed but said nothing, only linking her arm with Roseria’s.

"Well then," Layla exhaled dramatically, "since Aunt is already here, I suppose we should make our entrance."

Beatrice stepped aside as the two women walked past her into the estate. As she turned to close the doors, her gaze lingered on the golden carriage for a moment longer, and her thoughts swirled. Today was proving to be full of surprises.

Layla entered the house with a sunny smile and her eyes sparkling with eagerness. She had pictured Lucien’s home to be vastly different...like something humble, near a manor, but this residence was pretty much smaller; it was alright considering his current standing, but he was still a prince.

She had been brought up on the crest of luxury, and anything less always proved to be lacking in her eyes. Nevertheless, her passion was never wavered. She was here, after all, entering the house where Lucien resided.

Lucien. A name that had been in her mind since childhood. He was her dream man.

A small smile twitched on her lips as she pondered him. He had never been like the other nobles; rather, he was strong, enigmatic, and completely disinterested in her, which only served to make her pursue him more.

Roseria, who was accompanying her, was very subdued. Her green eyes darted around the mansion. She did not have any expectations of opulence or splendor, as she expected the house to be like the way it was.

Beatrice strolled by Roseria’s side, her hands demurely crossed before her. She had tended Lucien for years, and although she was relieved that the princess had arrived, she could not shake her concern over the presence of Layla.

Layla had a reputation for paitence regarding Lucien, and Beatrice understood that Lucien could hardly stand her affections. If Layla brought on unnecessary drama, complications might ensue, but for now he was resting.

Layla reached out and nudged Roseria with her elbow. "Well, Rosie," she teased, "you get to see your brother now. Aren’t you thrilled?"

Roseria blinked, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yes... but I’m afraid, too. Beatrice said he was sick."

Layla rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. It’s Lucien. Do you actually believe some disease can get to him?"

Roseria did not answer but nodded and smiled, but she was concerned.

Beatrice cleared her throat, gaining their attention. "The Queen Dowager is already here," she told them. "I will escort you both to her first."

Layla pouted. "Oh, come on, Beatrice. Can’t we see Lucien first?"

Beatrice didn’t even blink at Layla’s try at coercion. "Lady Layla, you would do well to know that going to Master Lucien against the Queen Dowager’s wishes would be seen as inappropriate."

Layla rolled her eyes dramatically, tossing a lock of her hair over her shoulder. "Fine, fine. Show me the way."

Beatrice nodded and started off, with Layla and Roseria trailing behind.

The tea house remained quiet since Lilian left the room, and Beatrice was not aware of this so she led Layla and Roseria into the tea house. The room smelted with freshly prepared tea, yet no one filled the room. Beatrice asked the maid in the room, "Where has Her Majesty gone?" The maid, who was clearing the table, answered, "Her majesty asked us to lead her to the library; she said she was bored."

Beatrice’s mouth twisted as she spun back around towards Layla. "Apologies, my lady," she bowingly exclaimed.

Layla hardly acknowledged the words. She drummed her fingers against her arm, her face impossible to read, and Roseria looked between them before speaking instead. "It’s alright, Beatrice."

Beatrice’s gaze darted to Layla before coming to rest on Roseria. She nodded sharply. "The Queen Dowager has gone to the library," she said. "I will escort you there."

Roseria hummed in return, gripping her sleeves as they followed Beatrice through the estate. Roseria’s steps slowed, and she hesitated just before the large wooden doors. Layla, noticing her nerves, gave a soft chuckle and gently touched her cheek. "Rosie, wait here. I’ll talk to Aunt and calm her down. She’ll listen to me, alright?"

Roseria gazed up at her with green eyes wide as saucers. "Will she be terribly angry?"

Layla smiled, full of assurance. "Not with me," she promised. "Just trust me."

Beatrice gestured for the doors to be pushed open, and as they creaked apart, Layla went in with the elegance of a princess who had never known rejection.

Inside the room, the musty smell of old parchment surrounded her. The library was only lightly lit, the tall wooden shelves standing high, their tiers stacked with books bound in leather. Lilian was positioned off-center, holding a book from Lucien’s collection open on her lap. She did not glance up to speak.

"Miss Valcour, does my word carry no weight within my palace?"

Layla hesitated for an instant before steadying herself. "Your Majesty," she greeted, advancing with practiced poise. "I would never do anything to ignore your command. But Roseria..."

"She asked you?" Lilian shut the book in her hands, the crisp snap ringing out in the still library.

Layla nodded, dipping her eyes briefly in a gesture of respect before raising them again with determination. "Your Majesty, Roseria, is extremely sensitive. I have known her since she was a child. She is delicate, like a lamb, and Lucien has always been her closest. How could I refuse her plea?"

Lilian raised a brow, her piercing eyes evaluating Layla.

Layla stood her ground; she was soft-spoken and coaxing as always. "That is why I came here, Your Majesty. I asked Beatrice to present me before you first because I wished to make an apology for Roseria on our behalf. I understand you only desire to defend her, but please, let us not be too unforgiving toward her."

Lilian regarded her for a moment, her fingers drumming against the back of the book she was holding. She appeared to consider Layla’s words with a sigh.

"Very well..."

She got no further to complete what she was going to say when something brushed against her hand. She looked at her hand, which held the book and her breathing caught as she watched a spider climb up her fingers. She winced, shaking it off with a quick brush of her hand. The book fell from her fingers, thudding to the floor with a loud clunk.

"Beatrice!" she barked; she was breathing heavy the anger in her voice travelled till the hallways.

Outside the library, Beatrice and Roseria both straightened at the urgent tone. Beatrice quickly stepped forward, pushing the doors open wider as she entered.

Lilian’s gaze swept over the library, she was disgusted She flicked her wrist as if shaking off invisible dirt, then turned to Beatrice with an unimpressed expression.

"Although my son provides all the funds for this house, you still can’t manage to keep a place clean?" she snapped, her eyes narrowing. "Look at this filth, Beatrice. Dust, cobwebs, and even insects crawling on the books! Are you getting lazy with age?"

Beatrice lowered her head slightly, knowing Lilian’s temper well she was stammering while asnwering "Madam, it was Master who instructed us not to clean here,".

Lilian paused for a moment, her brows knitting together. "And why would he do that?"

Beatrice hesitated before answering, her voice quieter. "This... was Madam’s room."

Lilian’s fingers twitched slightly as her eyes darted back to the shelves, as if seeing them for the first time. The books stacked neatly were not military records or history of war victories but books on gardening. Handwritten journals with aging ink.

A humorless laugh escaped her lips. "Gardening?" She took a step forward, reaching out to brush her gloved fingers against the spines of the books. "No poetry, no grand tales of war or valor? Just this?" Her voice was thick with ridicule. "How utterly useless."

Layla, who had been standing elegantly to the side, let out a soft, baffled breath. "Gardening?" She turned to Beatrice, her expression a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

Beatrice only nodded.

Layla lifted a perfectly shaped brow. She glanced between Beatrice and Lilian, as if considering something, but then pressed her lips together and remained silent.

Meanwhile, Lilian’s hand tightened around the edge of a particularly old book, her grip hard enough that her knuckles turned pale.

Then, just as abruptly, she let go. The book thudded onto the shelf, a small cloud of dust rising from where it landed.

She exhaled sharply and turned away. "Enough of this nonsense."