Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 42: There was a trespasser

Chapter 42: There was a trespasser

Layla watched Liora with narrowed eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line. No matter how she probed, Liora had given her nothing, not a single useful detail about her relationship with Lucien. It was as if the girl herself had no clue what was going on between them.

Just as Layla was about to question her more, Liora’s body suddenly straightened, and her eyes widened slightly. "Oh! Lady Layla, I... I apologize, but I must take my leave." She spoke with urgency, clenching her hands into small fists at her sides.

Layla blinked. "Excuse me?" Layla never had anyone talk to her like that.

Liora, who was already walking out of the room with her movements stiff and awkward, as though each step she took would require immense concentration, held her dress in one hand. The heavy fabric of her gown only made it worse, the hem swaying oddly as she struggled forward. It wasn’t looking graceful at all. In fact, it was downright improper. The heavy dress only made it worse; the fabric was dragging and he was struggling to maintain it.

Layla’s brows furrowed, while she muttered in disdain after witnessing that walk. "Did Aunt Lilian not even check her walking? How could someone meant to be associated with Lucien be so... unpolished?"

She considered calling Liora back but dismissed the thought almost instantly. It wasn’t worth it. Instead, she turned back toward the bookshelves, her fingers trailing over the spines of the neatly arranged books.

She was more interested in what was left behind in the room, what Lucien’s first wife had read when she was with him, and what had occupied her thoughts. Perhaps the past held more answers than this clueless girl ever could.

Liora just couldn’t take it anymore. Things had reached a do-or-die situation; she was needing a bathroom. Now. If she couldn’t return to her own quarters, then she would need to find an alternative.

The idea of taking the stairs in her present condition was unthinkable; with her climbing the stairs, it would make her bladder burst. She required something local, something on the ground floor. But in a state of confusion, having rushed, she had lost her bearings. ’Which way should I go?’

Her brain whirled as she looked around, attempting to remember the floor plan of the manor. She also wanted to keep Lilian at arm’s length. She didn’t need a refresher course on decency when she was on the brink of ruin.

Her only recourse were the most distant chambers, where no one would disturb her.

She hastened along the corridor, her rigid footsteps making her seem even more unnatural. When she was at the first door, she took the handle and turned it, and it was locked. A disappointed whimper escaped her lips as she approached the next one. This time the door yielded with a small creak.

A pungent medicinal odor struck her at once. The room was dark, but not dark enough to conceal the blood-soaked cotton dabbed onto the floor in a sloppy manner. Liora stiffened, forgetting for a moment her pressing necessity was right there.

A maid, leaning over a bedside table, spun towards the sound of the door opening. Her eyes furrowed, as though she had anticipated someone else. "You have the herbs?" she snapped hastily.

Liora blinked, belated; a realization struck her. She had entered a sickroom straight

In the meantime, Layla got nothing of what she wanted in the library. Her fingers still tingled from running over the fine inscriptions on the books regarding Lucien’s deceased wife, but the information she was looking for was disappointing. Neither scandalous nor useful, but she got an idea of her ex-wife’s hobbies.

It was too late for asking questions in any case. Beatrice had already told her that Lucien was still undergoing treatment and required rest.

But resting or not, Layla wished to see him.

Even if he lay unconscious, even if she couldn’t utter a word to him, simply seeing his face would be sufficient.

With that intention, Layla spun on her heel and went in the direction of the stairs. She had but one destination in mind: the floor above, where Lucien’s room waited.

A while ago,

On the floor above, Edgar was sitting on the armchair; he thought of being here to check on Lucien’s health rather than be with Lilian; he knew Queen Dowager must be resting, but he was also there to be sure of the fact that something was off and he was being sure of his doubts; as he was here, his eyes never left Rowan’s and Samuel’s faces, which made them awkward.

But Rowan’s patience was over his limits of being staired. "Sir Edgar, if you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, staring at me won’t get you anywhere." His voice held its usual edge.

Edgar smirked, tilting his head slightly. "You seem tense, Rowan."

Rowan scoffed, crossing his arms. "Forgive me for not being at ease while my master is unconscious in that room and we’re stuck waiting around for orders."

Edgar’s smirk didn’t waver even a bit. "Patience is a virtue, sir."

Rowan rolled his eyes. "And yet, I’ve never seen you rush to practice it yourself."

Before Edgar could respond, Samuel strode out of Lucien’s room, shaking his head slightly. "Still out cold," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He ran a hand through his hair before turning to Rowan. "Though I doubt it’ll be for much longer. His breathing is steadying."

Rowan let out a breath of relief, as if releasing some of the tension coiled inside him. He wanted to ask the physician about the wound and about the strange appearance, but Edgar’s presence made it impossible for them to ask about any details about Lucien’s injury. This old man was sharp, and there were questions Rowan didn’t want him prying into just yet, or maybe never.

"I suppose we’ll be leaving soon, once Her Majesty is finished with her meal." He turned toward Samuel, his tone casual. "Unless, of course, you two have something you’d like to discuss before that? I would like you gentlemen to tell me how exactly Master Lucien was hurt."

Rowan’s nerve on his forehead twitched. "Look, sir Edgar, does it really matter? Master Lucien handled it, as always."

Edgar took a step forward, his voice lowering. "And yet, he’s bedridden. A single cut wouldn’t have done that to a man like him. So tell me, what is that you are not saying?"

Edgar’s question came straight and direct, leaving no space for these two to worm their way out of answering. He had been watching them since his arrival, and while he had kept silent in Lilian’s presence, it wasn’t because he hadn’t noticed their uneasy faces. Lilian was short-tempered, prone to snapping when things didn’t go her way, and Edgar had no intention of letting her explode without reason. But now that she wasn’t here, she would not interfere.

He adjusted the cuffs of his robe. "Are there things you’re hiding from Queen Dowager?" His fingers were drumming against the velvety armrest of his chair.

Rowan stiffened and avoided looking at Edgar, while Samuel gave a quick shake of his head. "No, sir," they answered almost in unison.

But Edgar was not convinced. "Master Lucien was barred from the palace. He was ordered not to leave this estate. So tell me, how does a man who never steps beyond these gates end up wounded?"

Rowan opened his mouth but hesitated. Samuel, on the other hand, cleared his throat, eyes darting briefly to the side before he muttered, "It was... in a fight." Edgar’s fingers paused mid-tap, unblinking; his eyes flicked between the two men.

"A fight?" Edgar’s brow lifted,

Rowan cursed under his breath, realizing the Samule’s tongue slipped. But now that the words were out, they couldn’t take them back. Gritting his teeth, he quickly added, "And there was a trespasser."

"You mean to tell me," he began, voice low, "that not only was there a fight, but someone managed to enter the estate?"

Samuel shifted slightly to the wall on his left, while Rowan’s shoulders tensed.

Edgar exhaled, as if reigning in his frustration. "Lucien Blackthorne has faced wars and battles, yet I have never seen him fall sick over a mere wound. explain it"

Rowan clenched his jaw, already irritated by Edgar’s knowing tone. He would have to wait, as he did not want to ruin his mood more. Edgar paused like a man who had already come to a conclusion and was merely giving his opponents a chance to fix their mistake.

Rowan’s fingers twitched against his side as he flarred his nostrils, resisting the urge to rush and take hold of Edgar’s collar.

Edgar wasn’t just asking them for answers. He was digging for the truth he already suspected. He knew Lucien had stepped beyond these walls.

He had seen Lucien’s fall with his own eye; he saw a prince had been stripped of everything. There had been kings who had killed their queens and still kept their thrones, but in Lucien’s case, even though there had been no solid proof, no justified crime. It was just a single accusation and the majority of the court wanted Lucien to be barred.

His loyalty to Lilian had never been the reason for his concern for Lucien and had nothing to do with duty. In this court of politics, he had served long enough to know when a storm was brewing, and right now, Lucien was standing in its eye.

Even now, his questions to the men infront of him were all for him to help him from Lilian, because Lilian was aware of the wound and she will definitely pry on it

"You’re both terrible liars," he said finally.

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