Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 76: You summoned me

Chapter 76: You summoned me

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. "Liora?"

"She was never meant to be part of this," he admitted. "But if she becomes Lucien’s weakness, we use it. That’s your job now, isn’t it?"

Beatrice clenched her jaw.

"She’s not his weakness. Not yet."

"Then make her one."

He stood and tossed a coin on the table. "Time’s moving, Lady Beatrice. Lilian’s patience isn’t eternal."

At the same time, inside Lucien’s estate, Rowan returned from the main city, dust on his boots and urgency in his stride.

Lucien met him in the study.

"Report," Lucien ordered.

Rowan didn’t waste a word. "Merrow’s dinner guest two nights ago , Baron Osric,he has ties to the border garrisons. Three of them were replaced in the last month."

"Who replaced them?"

Rowan’s voice dropped. "Names from the east. Traders, mercenaries. But all papers signed by High Minister Caldus."

Lucien’s brows furrowed. "Caldus... he’s one of Alden’s closest."

"Or was."

Lucien turned toward the window. "They’re building something. Slowly. Through politics, through people. A slow noose."

Rowan hesitated. "And the king?"

Lucien’s silence was answer enough.

"We’ll go to Fernwatch," he said finally. "Not the envoy. Us."

"You and Liora?" Rowan asked carefully.

Lucien’s gaze turned sharp. "She’s not to be involved."

"She already is."

Later that evening, Liora sat by the window in her chambers, fingers tracing the embroidery on the curtain. Something about Lord Merrow’s gaze haunted her. That recognition. That smirk.

She didn’t know how she was involved, but she felt it in her bones ,her past, her family, something buried... it was surfacing.

And she wasn’t going to sit idle.

Meanwhile, in the palace...

A lone scroll arrived on Queen Dowager Lilian’s table, marked with the insignia of a long-disbanded southern house.

She opened it and frowned.

In place of words, there was a single feather, black and charred, and a symbol she hadn’t seen in twenty years.

"Gods save us," she whispered.

But gods did not frequent court.

The storm clouds gathered over Fernwatch two days later.

Lucien arrived not in royal procession but as a trader — his cloak coarse, his boots worn. Rowan rode beside him, quiet and watchful, with Samuel trailing behind, dressed as a scribe.

They didn’t come with guards.

They didn’t need them.

Fernwatch was one of the oldest border towns of the kingdom — a place that smelled of sea salt, iron, and secrets. But Lucien wasn’t there for nostalgia.

They went straight to the old outpost, now occupied by new hands and unfamiliar faces.

And one of them was waiting.

"Lord Blackthorne," came a voice from beneath a hood. "Or shall I say... the ghost of a prince."

Lucien didn’t blink. "You know me?"

The man lowered his hood — brown eyes, grizzled hair, and a smile too sharp.

"Caldus sends his regards."

Rowan stepped forward, but Lucien raised a hand. "Let him speak."

"Fernwatch is no longer yours. Nor Alden’s. It belongs to a new order — one that doesn’t kneel to a puppet king or his disgraced brother."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "You’ve declared treason."

"We’ve declared independence." The man’s grin widened. "And you’re standing in it."

Lucien didn’t strike.

He simply said, "You’ll regret not killing me today."

And then he turned.

They were out of Fernwatch before the sun set.

Back at the estate, Liora found something that didn’t belong, an old letter tucked beneath the floorboard of the room she had just moved into. She wasn’t looking for it, but the loosened plank had creaked under her slipper.

It wasn’t addressed to her.

But to someone named Serene.

The handwriting was hurried, blotched with dried ink.

"You were right. They’re using Fernwatch as a gate. I saw the symbols again not ours. They’re moving through the minister’s hand, not the crown. Burn this after reading. Tell Lilian if I don’t return by the 15th."

The date was five years ago.

The letter had never been sent.

Liora clutched it, heart pounding. What was Serene to Lucien? Or Lilian?

And why did the name feel so... familiar?

In the palace, Queen Dowager Lilian held the feather and stared at the map. Her fingers tapped beside Fernwatch.

"Beatrice," she said coldly. "Bring Minister Caldus to me. Quietly. And send word to Lucien... no. Send word to Liora. Use the old code."

Beatrice blinked. "You trust her with this?"

"I trust that if someone wants to hurt Lucien... they’ll go through her."

That night, Liora stood on the balcony of her chambers, the wind biting against her skin, the letter still in her grip. She looked out at the distance.

"Serene," she whispered. "Who were you?"

And why did it feel like this was only the beginning?

The letter burned in her hands long before she put it to the flame.

Liora didn’t destroy it not fully. A copy remained, transcribed in her tightest handwriting, hidden in the seam of a cushion no maid would dare touch. The name Serene looped in her thoughts, familiar like a scent she couldn’t place.

She didn’t tell Lucien.

Not yet.

Not until she knew why the Queen Dowager had once trusted someone outside the noble web. And who had been meant to read that warning in Fernwatch?

Meanwhile, in the palace, Queen Dowager Lilian met Minister Caldus behind closed doors.

Beatrice lingered outside the thick wooden doors; no guards were posted, and no scribe was present. Just silence.

Inside, Caldus bowed low, not out of reverence, but out of habit.

"You summoned me," he said.

"I did," Lilian responded, gaze fixed on the painted window. "There’s unrest in the north."

"Fernwatch?" Caldus’s voice betrayed nothing. "Merchants’ squabbles. Nothing that needs royal attention."

"But it needs mine."

He stiffened. Lilian turned slowly, eyes sharp. "Have you been corresponding with the foreign court in Velmira?"

He smirked. "You suspect me of treason, my lady?"

"I suspect you of ambition," Lilian said flatly. "Which is far more dangerous."

Caldus’s fingers tapped the hilt of his belt dagger. "You had no interest in the north for years."

"Because it was secure," she snapped. "Until someone decided to stir ghosts."

Caldus smiled. "Are you suggesting Lucien is your only shield?"

"Lucien is the sword," she replied, stepping closer. "But I... am the hand that wields it."

He didn’t answer.

"You will leave Fernwatch to me," she said, her voice low now. "And if you overstep, Caldus, I will gut your reputation so precisely, even your own bastard children won’t remember your name."

She left him in the silence.

Back at Lucien’s estate, a visitor arrived at dusk a weathered soldier with no rank on his chest and a Velmiran coin in his palm.

Rowan intercepted him before the man could ask for Lucien.

"State your purpose," Rowan barked.

The man leaned in. "I’m here for the girl. The one who looks like her."

"Her who?"

"Serene."

Rowan stiffened.

Liora, unaware, sat in the library, scanning older maps tracing Fernwatch’s lineages and the history of the northern holds. Her finger paused at a scribbled name a family thought extinct. The House of Serren.

Could Serene be..

"My Lady," Samuel said, entering breathlessly. "There’s a man who asked for you by name."

She looked up. "By my name?"

Samuel shook his head. "By another. Serene."

At midnight, Lucien entered her chambers without knocking.

"Who is Serene?" he asked.

Liora stared at him.

"She was someone," Lucien said quietly, "I was never supposed to remember."

Lucien’s words lingered in the air, heavy and cold.

Liora didn’t move. She sat by the writing table, fingers resting on the edge of the map. Her breath stilled.

"Where did you hear that name?" she asked, her voice quieter than the candle’s flicker.

Lucien didn’t answer right away. He crossed the room, setting something on her table — a folded piece of parchment, sealed with wax.

"You tell me first," he said, eyes fixed on her face. "Is there something I should know, Liora?"

She didn’t look at the paper. Her eyes found his, searching. "I’ve never been called that."

He studied her, trying to see past her tone, past her calm. "But someone thinks you are."

Liora stood and turned toward the hearth. The room was warm, but a shiver ran down her back. "I found the name in a letter, addressed to the Queen Dowager. From Fernwatch."

Lucien’s jaw tensed. "That’s where she started," he murmured. "The woman named Serene. She worked for the crown but disappeared after the southern unrest ten years ago. I was told she betrayed the court."

"Then why does someone think I’m her?" Liora turned back to him. "Why does someone come looking for me using that name?"

Lucien didn’t answer. He paced, as though walking would keep the truth from hardening. "Because Serene was never just a spy," he said finally. "She was a child from the House of Serren. The family was destroyed in a northern raid. But one child was rumored to survive."

"And you think that’s me?"

"No." Lucien faced her. "But someone else clearly does."

She looked at the folded letter he brought in. Slowly, she broke the seal.

Inside, the handwriting was sharp, disciplined.

"To the man who once stood beside kings,You are being watched. The girl is marked.Should she awaken, the throne will lose its balance.If she is Serene she must not remember."

Liora’s hand trembled.

Lucien watched her reaction. "Do you?"

"No." Her voice was firm. "I swear I don’t."

But her mind echoed with fragments she couldn’t name, a white cliff, a name called in the wind, and a lullaby no one had sung to her before.

In the capital, Queen Dowager Lilian reread her own copy of the Fernwatch warning. Alone in her chambers, she finally called for her maid.

"Send word to Minister Caldus," she said. "We’ll reopen the records of the northern nobility. Discreetly."

"And what of Lord Lucien?"

Lilian’s lips thinned. "He’s still loyal enough to keep the girl alive. But not loyal enough to be told everything."

Meanwhile, far beyond the borders of their estate, in the flickering firelight of a smoky camp, a soldier held up a painted pendant.

A woman sat across from him, hood low over her face.

"She’s alive," he said. "Just like they said."

The woman reached for the pendant, fingers brushing its edge. "Then the House of Serren has not fallen," she whispered.

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