Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 71: Summoning

Chapter 71: Summoning

Rain drummed gently against the tall windows of the eastern tower, where King Alden had chosen to keep the next meeting quiet. Just a handful of trusted ministers. The war chamber was too loud, too crowded — too leaky.

"Lord Calder has begun requesting access to the court’s intelligence records," Alden murmured, fingers pressed together, elbows resting on the arms of his darkwood chair. "He says it’s to secure our borders."

"Convenient," said Commander Thorne, his brow creased. "Especially after Lucien’s reports were dismissed as ’paranoia’."

Alden didn’t flinch, but he remembered the words too well. It had been Calder who urged the court to ignore the early warnings from Lucien’s estate. Calder who said Lucien was trying to stir trouble, reclaim relevance.

And now? Caravans gone. Velmora stirring. Whispers of internal sabotage.

Maybe Lucien had seen what others hadn’t.

"We can no longer ignore him," Alden muttered.

"Your Majesty," one of his quieter advisors, Lord Rein, stepped forward. "If I may... House Blackthorne may be disgraced publicly, but its network remains intact. If you trust no one here—perhaps... perhaps it’s time to look at your brother with different eyes."

Alden looked up sharply. But he didn’t argue.

At the estate, Lucien was reviewing a new map sprawled across his desk, Rowan and Samuel flanking him on either side.

"Calder’s begun intercepting border posts," Samuel said, voice clipped. "If we’re not careful, he’ll paint your ’private militia’ as an act of treason."

Lucien didn’t glance up. "Let him."

Rowan tilted his head. "That’s bold, even for you."

"Because he’s already planning it," Lucien replied. "So I’d rather strike the match before he lights the fire."

He circled a portion of the eastern valley, then marked it with a black pin. "We move a supply route here. Empty. Let them ’catch’ it. Make them think they’ve won."

Samuel narrowed his eyes. "And when they come celebrating to the court?"

Lucien smiled faintly. "We’ll have their names. Their routes. And by then, Alden will be watching."

Meanwhile, Liora stood by the study’s arched window, a report in hand — one she hadn’t meant to open but had found lying half-folded near Beatrice’s old ledgers. It wasn’t marked confidential. But the contents were... chilling.

It detailed names. Orphan registries. Trafficked children. Families paid to surrender infants. Disappearances in towns near the border.

And one name stuck out to her.

Miral.

Her family name.

She blinked, heart thudding. One of the old registries had crossed off her mother’s name with the words: "Settled debt, Miral family."

"What debt?" Liora whispered, brows furrowed. "And why... would I be in this?"

She tucked the paper into her robe and turned to leave the room — only to nearly collide with Rowan.

"You look pale," he said, raising a brow.

She blinked up at him, eyes burning. "I need to speak to Lucien."

"Bad news?"

"Possibly a beginning."

Back in the palace, Alden stood alone by the window of his private chambers, watching the rain cloud the city’s skyline. He didn’t hear the servant enter — not until a piece of parchment was placed silently on the table beside him.

He opened it.

A map. Velmoran sigils. A list of Elarion’s outer border guards... and a symbol he hadn’t seen in over ten years.

The insignia of Lucien’s underground intelligence division.

A smile touched Alden’s lips.

So his brother was watching, too.

And now, perhaps... it was time they stopped watching and started acting.

The light in Lucien’s study flickered as a breeze swept in through the slightly opened window. Liora stood frozen, the parchment trembling between her fingers. The faded ink, the seal half-broken... it bore her family’s name — Miral. She recognized the emblem, the unmistakable symbol her uncle used on his personal correspondences. But what unsettled her more was the note attached to it.

"Debt paid. The girl will be removed from the household and placed where required. This should settle our agreement. — H.M."

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes stung as realization clawed at her chest — she hadn’t been cast away because of shame or scandal. She had been traded. Sold like cattle.

Behind her, the door creaked open. Lucien’s boots clicked softly against the floor as he stepped in. He paused when he saw the file in her hands.

"I told you not to touch anything on that table," he said, voice low, but not harsh.

Liora didn’t flinch. "What is this?" she asked quietly.

Lucien walked past her and took a seat in his chair. "Something I thought you weren’t ready to know."

"You knew?" she asked. "You knew I wasn’t just... chosen? That they—" Her voice broke. "That they sold me?"

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. He studied her expression. Her eyes weren’t teary. She looked furious. Betrayed. Alive.

"I suspected," he finally admitted. "Samuel intercepted the letter on one of his runs. We traced it back to your uncle. It confirmed everything."

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Because you were barely holding yourself together when you arrived," he replied, his voice hardening. "And because I needed you focused on the role you’re playing here."

Liora’s hand balled the parchment into a crumpled mess. "So I’m a pawn again?"

"No," Lucien said, his gaze sharper now. "Now you know the board. And I expect you to play it with your eyes open."

There was a knock at the door. Rowan stepped in, his expression grim.

"We’ve received word from the capital," he said. "A private letter, from the king’s shadow clerk. Alden’s court suspects Minister Calder has been funding border unrest. They’re asking if Lucien can confirm if Velmora has had contact with any of our upper ministers."

Lucien didn’t miss a beat. "That confirms it," he said. "Calder’s been too quiet ever since the land survey changes were announced. And now Alden is finally doubting his own court..."

Rowan gave a stiff nod. "They want you to return, Lucien. But quietly. A closed-court session. No public records."

Liora looked at Lucien. "You’ll go?"

Lucien stood and took the crumpled paper from her hand, setting it on the desk. "This is the kind of thing we go for," he said, almost gently. "Justice. Not just for the crown, but for people like you."

Liora said nothing. Her mind was racing, her heartbeat erratic — not from fear, but from something awakening. A purpose. A fury.

Lucien looked at her one last time. "If I leave, I want you to stay here. Safe."

She took a step forward. "And if I don’t want to stay safe?"

He gave a soft, almost proud smirk. "Then wear something darker. Blood looks better on black."

The royal court was unusually quiet. No pageantry. No ceremonial guards. The throne room, normally adorned with gold and open banners, was stripped bare save for the councilmen seated around a long table and the king himself at its head.

King Alden leaned forward, fingertips pressed together, his light blue eyes unreadable.

Lucien entered without the usual fanfare. No title was announced. No herald cleared his way. Just the echo of his boots and the stares of old enemies and wary allies.

"Prince Lucien," Alden greeted coolly, his voice a calm tide against the tension. "You arrived quicker than expected."

"I didn’t want to keep suspicion waiting," Lucien replied as he bowed slightly, enough to show respect — but no more than required.

High Minister Calder sat three chairs down from the king. His face remained impassive, but the stiff clutch of his goblet betrayed something else. Anxiety, perhaps. Or calculation.

"Let us not waste time," Alden continued. "You received the communique?"

"I did. And I bring confirmation."

Murmurs rippled through the chamber. The Chancellor narrowed his eyes.

Lucien reached into his coat and retrieved a slim folder, handing it directly to Rowan, who followed silently behind him. Rowan placed it in front of Alden. The king scanned the contents — intercepted letters, coded messages decoded, lists of grain shipments and unusual troop movements along the northern borders.

Velmora had been stoking fires within the outer provinces, subtly influencing minor houses with trade incentives and whispers of independence. And Minister Calder’s name appeared in one too many correspondences.

"This," Lucien said, voice sharp, "is not mere treason. It’s a slow poison being fed to the spine of this kingdom."

Calder scoffed. "You base this on whispers and fragments."

Alden didn’t look at him. Instead, he addressed his question to Lucien. "Do you believe he’s working with Velmora?"

"I believe he’s being paid by them," Lucien replied. "Whether out of desperation, greed, or belief in another crown, I cannot say. But I know this—if left alone, it will not stop at trade routes."

The air was still.

Calder rose, his voice dripping with disdain. "And what of your loyalties, brother? Or do we forget the whispers about your estate? Your hidden guests?"

Lucien didn’t blink. "The only guest I harbor is the truth you tried to bury."

Before Calder could speak again, Alden raised a hand.

"We will deliberate," he said. "The court will reconvene at nightfall. Until then, no one leaves the palace grounds."

A guard stepped forward, placing a quiet but firm hand on Calder’s shoulder. Not an arrest. Yet. But the signal was clear: He was no longer above suspicion.

As the chamber emptied, Lucien remained still, watching his brother.

"You’re changing," Alden said softly.

Lucien gave a faint smile. "So is the game."

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