Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 63: Ashven dust

Chapter 63: Ashven dust

Kenneth’s words settled like puzzle pieces in Rowan’s mind. He’d heard similar gossip in the palace halls before, but never gave it much thought. It was different now, with a name and symptoms tied to someone he served.

Shaking off the heavy thought, Rowan glanced at Kenneth. "Let’s leave that for now. Tell me about the poison. Should I read this?" He waved the paper.

Kenneth nodded but added quickly, "The poison... it’s a foreign material, just like your physician suspected. Likely something recently traded into the region. The palace has dealt with poisons before, but this one is new. Never catalogued in our archives."

He placed a thoughtful hand beneath his chin, mimicking the posture of his mentor, Master Melman. Rowan couldn’t help but notice the way Kenneth unconsciously mirrored his teacher’s mannerisms.

"So, can you detect where it might’ve come from by its tendencies?" Rowan asked, curious now.

Kenneth lit up, tapping his forehead as if just remembering something vital. "Ah...yes! That’s what I almost forgot to mention. The poison mimics symptoms of a heat stroke were dry throat, sudden dizziness, blurred vision, and in more potent doses, it looks like nerve failure... almost like a stroke."

Rowan’s brows pulled together. That matched exactly what Lucien had shown, that there were weakness, confusion, and then collapse.

"So... how can it be used? What are the methods of consumption"? Rowan’s voice grew sharper.

Kenneth’s eyes sparkled. The question clearly excited him. "Let me fetch my notes....wait!"

He darted inside the back room and returned in a flurry, arms wrapped around a thick, worn medical book. He flipped through the pages with practiced hands until he found what he was looking for.

Rowan leaned in to get a better look.

"There," Kenneth pointed. "Ashven Dust Flower."

Rowan stared at the drawing of a pale, spindly plant with wide leaves and a burst of tiny blooms. A dry landscape shaded in the background told him more than the text.

"This is from the desert?" Rowan asked, eyes narrowing.

Kenneth nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. This plant thrives in the southern desert region. The key part? It’s pollen. When it dries, it turns golden. That’s the active agent."

Rowan’s eyes widened slightly. "You found this in just a day? That fast?"

Kenneth grinned sheepishly. "I ran a few tests. On mice. The symptoms were nearly identical to what you described. Then I cross-referenced it with known poisons. My teacher once mentioned something similar—a poison called Whisper of Dust

—but this variant’s more refined. It affects blood flow and neural function subtly, mimicking natural conditions."

Rowan exhaled, absorbing the weight of it. This wasn’t just accidental poisoning; it was calculated. Hidden.

Kenneth, still animated, turned toward him again. "Let me ask you something. When was the last time you were near the southern desert?"

Rowan blinked. "During the war. I traveled near the border."

"What month?"

"Beginning of summer."

Kenneth’s expression fell. "Ah..."

Rowan frowned. "What’s with that face now?"

Kenneth closed the book gently. "That’s when the Ashven flowers are harvested. Just before the dry winds blow, they collect the pollen before it turns brittle. Which means... whoever got their hands on this did it early. Before the borders tightened. Maybe through black market trade."

Rowan’s jaw tightened. He folded the paper the physician had originally given him and tucked it into his coat.

This wasn’t a random act. Someone had gone to great lengths to acquire something untraceable.

And they had used it on Lucien

"Why is that disappointing?" Rowan scowled, his arms crossing.

Kenneth scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "It’s just... The Ashven plant only blooms in winter. If you’d been there around that time, you could’ve seen it. Oh!..wait!" His eyes lit up. "Did any of your soldiers fall ill during that period?"

"No," Rowan’s voice hardened. The war was a sensitive topic. "I was in charge. We won before a single sword was drawn."

Kenneth blinked, confused. "How...?"

"There was something strange going on with their general. They called off the attack before it even began. Submission without battle." Rowan shrugged. "Can’t say more."

Kenneth waved his hand as if brushing it aside. "Alright, alright. I get it."

"Anyway," Kenneth continued, returning to his book, "if you had been there in winter, you might’ve seen the plant. But get this...it takes years for the pollen to age, turning black first, then finally into gold. That’s when it becomes deadly."

Rowan’s brows rose. "Seriously?"

"Isn’t nature incredible?" Kenneth hugged his book like a cherished friend.

Rowan chuckled, already turning to leave. "Alright, if I’ve got all the information you have for now, I’ll take my leave. But if anything new turns up, send word."

Kenneth’s expression twitched with anticipation, but Rowan raised a hand to stop him.

"No, no...don’t send anyone. I’ll be back next week. Keep digging."

As he turned to go, Rowan gave Kenneth a firm pat on the back.

Kenneth blinked, then pouted slightly. That pat was casual, almost patronizing. He made a mental vow to tease Rowan about it the next time they met.

Exiting the physician’s block, Rowan stepped into the sun-drenched corridor only to nearly collide with a familiar figure.

The maid from earlier. The one who had been eyeing him a little too curiously.

She looked up, eyes sparkling with recognition. "We meet again, sir."

Rowan gave her a polite bow and walked past without saying a word.

Before she could gather the nerve to speak again, a voice rang out from behind. Sharp and clear.

"Mina."

The maid flinched slightly. "Yes, my lady!" She called out and rushed toward the source.

From behind a column stepped Olivia. Dressed immaculately, her presence was poised but her body betrayed something else; she wavered, leaning on the wall for balance.

Mina reached her quickly, grasping her arm. "My lady, are you alright?"

Olivia nodded faintly, though her complexion was pale and her lips were drawn tight. She peered past Mina, ducking her head slightly to catch a glimpse of the man walking away.

She had seen him, just his back. But it stirred something in her memory.

And Rowan... Rowan had heard the call. His steps quickened as he disappeared around the corner.

The timing was too close.

She almost recognized him.

"That old man refused to treat me again, Mina..." Olivia’s voice trembled as she sat on the edge of her chaise, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "It’s so embarrassing... The Lord is busy giving all his concubines a chance. Gwen’s even pregnant now, but me..." Her voice cracked. "I have nothing. No charm, no body worth noticing. I must be the one they call ugly behind my back."

Siya knelt beside her, her voice gentle but firm. "No, my lady. Please don’t speak like that. Perhaps the new pills will help... Give you the figure you desire to attract His Highness."

Olivia let out a long breath and wiped her tears with the edge of her sleeve. "Alright... let’s leave before anyone sees me like this. Have you kept the pills safe?"

Siya caught the hint and nodded immediately. "Yes, my lady." Quietly, she tucked the small box into her robes and followed Olivia out.

Meanwhile, in the villa...

Liora had spent the morning in quiet thought. Despite her growing comfort in this strange household, guilt tugged at her chest. She had promised to help Beatrice but had worked barely half a day. Her thoughts circled back to her mother’s letters, those faded inked lines that replayed in her mind like a broken tune. She didn’t want to return to her room. Not when those memories still made her cry.

Instead, she turned down the corridor and headed toward the kitchen.

The moment she stepped in, chaos greeted her.

The kitchen was a mess ,ingredients scattered across counters and floors, flour dust in the air, pots clanking in the background. A few maids rushed around, trying to prepare dishes that admittedly smelled delicious... But the place looked like it had survived a storm.

Beatrice stood in the center of it all, arms crossed, her expression strained.

Liora walked up quietly and whispered, "What’s happening here?"

Beatrice glanced sideways and gave a tired sigh. "Didn’t you hear? Madam Layla’s maids arrived this morning."

As Beatrice turned fully to face her, her eyes caught the faint cotton patches still stuck to Liora’s cheeks. The bruises hadn’t faded, it was a evidence of the slap from the day before.

"You shouldn’t be here," Beatrice said, looking away. "Shouldn’t you be resting?"

"Oh, I just... wanted to help. With something. Anything," Liora offered gently.

"Why?"

Liora tilted her head and smiled faintly. "Didn’t I promise you I’d be of help?"

Beatrice opened her mouth to argue, but her gaze flickered. She remembered Queen Dowager Lilian’s words, that Liora was to assist, to learn, to find her footing through action, not just be treated as a fragile guest.

Clearing her throat, Beatrice nodded. "Alright then. If you’re sure... there is a task I could use help with."

"Very well," Liora replied quickly.

Her arms were still weak. The bruises ached. But she didn’t care.

Doing something being something was better than sitting in silence, waiting to be pitied.

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