Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 68: Next step

Chapter 68: Next step

Liora’s footsteps echoed against the marbled corridor as she stormed away, her fists balled at her sides. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, though she forced her breaths to steady. That wasn’t how she planned it. She had entered the hall to confront Lucien, to make things clear, but once again... he twisted it.

How was it that he always seemed to have control, even when she confronted him?

She took a sharp turn into the adjacent hallway and paused, leaning against the stone wall. Her head tilted up, eyes shut. The coolness of the stone behind her offered a strange comfort.

Behind her, someone approached. She knew the gait.

Rowan.

"I told him this would turn into a storm," he said casually, his voice lacking its usual playful lilt. "But that man listens only to shadows and schemes."

Liora didn’t move. "I didn’t come there to make a spectacle."

"I know," Rowan said, stepping beside her. "But when you walk into a den of snakes, even silence becomes a weapon."

She glanced at him then, weary. "Why are you telling me this? I thought you didn’t trust me."

"I don’t," Rowan admitted. "But I also don’t like watching people become pawns. I’ve seen enough of it."

A brief silence lingered between them.

"Do you think I made a mistake?" she asked, not looking at him.

Rowan studied her, then sighed. "That depends. Are you in this to win, or just to survive?"

Liora didn’t answer. Not yet.

Meanwhile, back in the dining hall, Layla dabbed at her lips with a silk napkin, her composure regained. Her attendants hovered close, all murmuring about the scene they’d just witnessed.

"She’s bolder than I thought," Layla mused aloud, speaking more to herself than them. "But foolish. Very foolish."

Tessa leaned in. "Should we do something, Your Highness?"

Layla’s eyes flicked to her with a slow, poisonous smile.

"Oh, we will," she said sweetly. "But not yet. Let her feel safe first. Let her think she matters."

She stood, brushing down her violet gown. "When the time comes, we’ll remind her of her place."

Her gaze drifted to Lucien, still calmly eating, completely unaffected. That, more than anything, stirred something bitter in her chest.

He never looked at her like that.

Never challenged her like that.

But for her—that girl who smelled of nothing noble—he had changed the rules of the game.

Layla’s fingers tightened around the edge of her goblet.

She wasn’t about to lose again. Not to a Miral.

And definitely not to Lucien Blackthorne.

Liora sat curled up on the window seat of her chamber, her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them. The sun was long gone, and the moonlight spilled in silver threads across the floor, painting her in soft light. Yet, peace eluded her.

The confrontation in the hall kept replaying in her mind like a cruel theatre.

She had wanted to shake Lucien—force him to acknowledge her. But instead, he turned the tables again, making her seem like a foolish girl throwing a tantrum.

And now... now everyone was watching.

A soft knock interrupted her brooding.

She stiffened. "Who is it?"

There was a pause.

Then his voice came, low and firm. "It’s me."

Lucien.

She didn’t answer.

"Open the door, Liora," he said, quieter this time. "Before I break it."

Liora stood reluctantly and opened the door only a crack. "You already caused a scene. What more do you want?"

Lucien raised an eyebrow. "To talk. Unless you’d rather continue shouting across dinner tables?"

He pushed the door open gently, and she stepped back, not stopping him. He closed it behind him, locking it with a soft click that made her heart pound in her ears.

"Say what you came to say," she snapped, crossing her arms.

Lucien stepped closer, his presence once again overwhelming the space around him. "You were foolish."

She glared. "You don’t say."

"But brave," he added, eyes narrowing. "And reckless. That... I didn’t expect."

Liora blinked.

He continued, "You think I’m not doing anything, but everything I do, I do with a purpose. This isn’t just about us, Liora. There are ears in every hall, eyes behind every pillar. What we say can get us both killed."

"Then why keep me close?" she whispered. "Why pretend I carry your child? Why involve me at all?"

Lucien looked at her for a long, silent moment. Then he stepped forward, lifting her chin gently between his fingers.

"Because you matter," he said simply.

Liora’s breath caught.

His voice was softer now, more vulnerable. "You being here... wasn’t my choice. But your presence is changing things. More than you know."

She blinked, unsure if she’d heard him right.

Lucien dropped his hand and turned, walking to the window, staring out into the courtyard. "Layla has eyes everywhere. You’ll be watched. And after today, they’ll suspect more than they already do."

Liora asked hesitantly, "Then what do we do now?"

Lucien turned to her, shadows dancing across his face. "We give them a performance they’ll never forget."

"And what does that mean?"

"It means," he said, approaching her again, "from tomorrow onward, you’re not just my concubine. You’re the woman I’m falling for."

Liora’s eyes widened. "Wh–what?"

Lucien smirked, voice low, teasing, "You asked to be useful, didn’t you?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Then start playing the part, Lady Miral."

And just like that, he left her chamber—leaving behind only his scent and a chaos that now lived inside her chest.

The soft rustle of fabric and the faint scent of roses marked the arrival of Queen Dowager Lilian in the private solarium of the inner palace. The sun poured through the stained glass ceiling, scattering colored light across the marble floor. Seated on a plush chaise was Beatrice Valcour, cousin to Princess Layla and one of the most ambitious noblewomen in court.

She rose and curtsied the moment Lilian entered. "Your Grace."

"At ease, child." Lilian waved her hand gently as she took the seat beside her. A servant silently poured tea before stepping out, leaving the two women in privacy.

Lilian stirred her tea, her gaze distant. "Something is shifting in the palace."

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, though she kept her tone curious rather than eager. "Shifting how?"

The older woman gave her a knowing look. "Lucien. That boy—he has begun to stir again. He’s no longer content being the outcast prince hiding in the shadows."

Beatrice’s lips twitched into a tight smile. "I’ve noticed."

Lilian’s eyes sharpened. "You were always clever. That’s why I called you here. You’ve been watching them, haven’t you?"

"The new concubine?" Beatrice tilted her head slightly. "Liora Miral."

"Mm." Lilian exhaled through her nose, her fingers tightening around her cup. "That girl... there’s something off about her."

"She doesn’t behave like a courtesan. She doesn’t cower." Beatrice’s voice carried a subtle edge. "She even dared to raise her voice at the prince during the midday meal."

"Yes. I heard." Lilian’s eyes narrowed. "And yet he didn’t strike her. He didn’t send her away. That is what concerns me."

Beatrice’s lips curled slightly. "You think she has influence over him?"

"I think he’s testing the court. And she’s his pawn... or his accomplice." Lilian set her teacup down with a soft clink. "I don’t like uncertainty, Beatrice. You know that."

Beatrice’s voice dropped. "Then what would you have me do?"

Lilian reached for her hand and held it firmly. "You’ve been patient. You’ve played the perfect court lady. Now it’s time to move."

Beatrice’s eyes lit up with a hunger she no longer tried to hide.

"Undermine her," Lilian whispered. "Turn the court against her. Subtly. No open confrontations. No poison. I want her ruined by whispers, not blood."

"I understand," Beatrice said, her voice like velvet over thorns. "I’ll begin immediately."

"Do it quietly," Lilian warned. "If Lucien suspects too soon, he’ll dig his heels in further. He’s prideful like his father. Push him, and he’ll cling to that girl out of defiance."

"I’ll make it look like it came from the maids," Beatrice said calmly. "Or the lesser concubines. A few comments here, a few misunderstandings there. She’ll be called a temptress by the end of the week."

Lilian nodded approvingly. "And if she runs crying to him?"

"Then it’ll be her word against ten others." Beatrice smiled, almost sweetly. "He won’t believe her."

Lilian gave her a rare, pleased smile. "This is why I trust you. Layla lacks the finesse."

Beatrice bowed her head slightly. "Layla plays with silk. I deal in steel."

"Good girl." Lilian stood, smoothing the folds of her gown. "Win this for me, Beatrice... and I’ll see you in a place far higher than any cousin of the princess."

Beatrice’s gaze followed the Queen Dowager as she departed, and then she turned back to her tea, her expression calm, eyes glowing with purpose.

Liora Miral would soon learn: the palace didn’t need knives to kill. Just the right words whispered into the wrong ears.

And Beatrice knew exactly where to begin.

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