Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 78: Impersonation

Chapter 78: Impersonation

Liora stood at the edge of the estate’s overgrown garden, her gaze fixed on the small parchment Mirun had pressed into her hands before he left.

A name. A crest. A place.

Lucien read it over her shoulder. "The ruins of Iscath?"

"It was once Serren territory," she murmured. "My mother must have gone there. Or maybe someone who knew her still remains."

He didn’t answer right away. Then, softly: "If we go... it will have to be in secret. Rowan and Samuel can arrange the route. No guards. No attention."

She looked up at him, the evening sun casting golden shadows across his face. "I don’t want to bring more danger to your name."

"You already have," he said dryly, but his eyes softened. "And I’d rather follow you into fire than let someone else use your name while you remain blind."

Before she could answer, Samuel approached from the path, his face tight with urgency.

"There’s something you both need to see."

In Lucien’s Private Study

Samuel laid out the contents of a sealed scroll on the desk. "Intercepted correspondence from a Tharven diplomat. The letter was addressed to Lord Gravell. Buried among trade routes and military requests... this."

He pointed to the final line, underlined thrice:

"The White Flame is prepared. Once the girl is confirmed, the southern banners will fall."

Liora’s stomach twisted. "They mean me?"

"Or someone pretending to be you," Samuel said grimly. "But either way they plan to rally the border lords under her name."

Lucien paced. "Gravell has been patient for years. He never challenged Alden directly... But if he can spark civil unrest and tie Alden’s hands, he’ll move."

"And the Queen Dowager?" Liora asked.

"She suspects," Samuel replied. "But she doesn’t act without leverage. We have no proof Gravell is behind this just threads."

"Then we pull those threads," Lucien said. "One by one."

At the Royal Court

Gravell sat beneath the painted ceiling of the war chamber, surrounded by lesser ministers and tired military men. He feigned boredom as they debated grain routes and training regimens.

But his eyes gleamed when a young scribe approached and whispered, "The envoy returns tonight. The Flame moves north."

He stood slowly. "Then so must I."

As he left, Minister Veyra watched from the corridor shadows. She turned to her companion. "Send word to Rowan Vale. Gravell moves under the veil, but the wind still carries whispers."

That Night, Lucien’s Estate

Liora stared out her window. In the moonlight, she could just make out the silhouette of Rowan speaking to someone near the stables.

A rider had come. News, perhaps. Or something worse.

Behind her, the old book of Serren myths lay open, its pages marked by her mother’s handwriting—faded, but still present.

She ran her fingers over a line:

"When the blood returns, the fire will burn twice,once in truth, once in shadow."

Lucien’s voice came quietly from the doorway. "Are you ready to leave?"

She turned. "No. But let’s go anyway."

The estate was still under the hush of night when Rowan and Samuel prepared the horses.

Liora kept her cloak close, hood drawn, though the early spring air had not yet turned biting. Lucien, already mounted, gave a slight nod to Samuel, who handed her a leather pouch and whispered, "You’ll want to read that before you reach the woods."

"What is it?" she asked.

Samuel didn’t answer. He simply looked away, his lips tight. Rowan took his place beside Lucien, and within moments, the four of them disappeared into the tree line beyond the estate.

The journey southward was silent for a long while. The moon had begun its descent, giving way to a creeping lavender dawn. It wasn’t until the edge of the forest that Lucien slowed his horse.

"We’ll camp by the stream. The ruins are a day’s ride from there."

"I know you don’t like this," Liora said softly.

"I don’t like walking toward smoke without knowing where the fire lies," he replied. "But I trust you."

She turned her head to the trees, blinking against the rush of unexpected emotion.

Meanwhile, in the Capital

The court sat unusually tense that morning. Alden’s seat was flanked not by his usual advisors, but by two unfamiliar figures—envoys from the Eastern Dominion. Their presence alone was enough to draw the hawkish eyes of the older lords.

Minister Veyra stepped forward, expression unreadable. "Your Majesty, may I speak plainly?"

Alden nodded. "You always do."

"There’s movement in the southern provinces. Not a rebellion, not yet. But something stirs. Lord Gravell has taken leave of his estates, and the border towns are flooded with Tharven steel. And these new allies—" she gestured to the envoys "—are conveniently timed."

One of the envoys, a man with oiled hair and a placid smile, bowed. "Your Majesty, we only seek trade... and mutual understanding. If there is unrest in your kingdom, surely our presence offers support, not a threat."

Alden’s eyes narrowed. "That remains to be seen."

Back on the Road to Iscath

Liora opened the pouch when they made camp.

Inside, a single parchment sealed with a dark crimson wax. She broke it with shaking hands.

The letter was unsigned.

"She was the last of the Serren bloodline, yes, but not the only one who bore the fire. If you reach Iscath, do not trust what looks familiar. The White Flame knows your face and walks in it."

Liora’s breath hitched.

Lucien, noticing, crouched beside her. "What did it say?"

She hesitated. Then: "Someone else is using my name... and perhaps my blood."

Lucien’s brow furrowed. "Impersonation?"

"Or relation," she whispered.

And suddenly the myths, her mother’s journals, even the whispered legends of a twin born under moonlight, they didn’t feel like myths anymore.

Elsewhere, in the Shadows of Iscath

The rider dismounted, face veiled, posture practiced. Before them stood a woman cloaked in white, her eyes sharp, her smile bone-deep.

"You summoned me, Lady Flame."

She turned, gaze fixed on the horizon. "They are coming. Let her see what she left behind. Let the past greet her before I do."

The rider bowed low.

And the White Flame, who bore Liora’s face but none of her heart, smiled as the wind rose.

The ruins of Iscath stood like broken teeth against the gray morning sky. Jagged walls, choked with ivy, rose from the earth like a forgotten curse. The closer they rode, the heavier the air became—silent, thick with something unspoken.

Rowan dismounted first, stepping over the worn threshold of a crumbled archway. "This place hasn’t been touched in decades."

Samuel gave a curt nod. "And yet the campfire’s fresh."

Lucien’s eyes darted to the blackened stone. Someone had been here, not a day past. But why leave no trace no belongings, no scent, not even ash warm to the touch?

Liora approached one of the stone columns and placed her palm against it. Cold, damp... but oddly familiar.

She turned to the others. "My mother wrote about Iscath in her final journal. She said the Serren women were brought here when accused of heresy, locked away for bearing what they called ’wild flame.’"

Lucien scanned the horizon. "You mean magic."

"No," she murmured. "It was power. Influence. Women who stirred loyalty, unrest... resistance. They weren’t burned. They were buried."

Rowan looked at her sharply. "Are you saying someone’s trying to... awaken that influence again?"

"Or replace it," she said, voice low.

From the edge of the broken courtyard, Samuel lifted a scrap of fabric pinned beneath a loose stone—deep violet, torn and familiar.

Liora froze. "That’s from the palace. The Queen Dowager’s crest."

Lucien snatched it from Samuel’s hand. His face remained unreadable, but the steel in his voice said enough. "So Lilian’s hands stretch farther than we thought."

Liora clenched her fists. "Beatrice must’ve sent word. Or worse—someone else is working with Lilian here, closer than we know."

Just then, the howl of a hunting horn echoed far in the distance.

Lucien looked to Rowan. "We’re not alone. Ready the horses."

Back at Court , Alden’s Private Chambers

"What did you find?" Alden asked, standing by the window, watching clouds gather over the towers.

Minister Veyra set down a sealed report. "The Tharven envoy has been meeting secretly with Lord Harren."

Alden turned, slow and deliberate. "My Lord of Canth? He’s barely spoken in session these past months."

"That’s exactly why it’s concerning," Veyra replied. "He’s gathered men in the southern hills under the guise of ’estate guards.’ I believe he’s plotting a rebellion—or worse, offering an open gate to Tharven forces."

Alden exhaled slowly. "If the capital falls from within... we won’t survive a foreign blade. We’ll burn by our own hand first."

"Should I have him arrested?" she asked.

"No," Alden said. "Let him think he’s winning. We’ll need to cut the root, not the leaf."

Elsewhere – Deep in the Ruins

The woman with Liora’s face stepped from the shadows, her pale eyes flickering under the ruined arch. She wore violet, but her crest bore no family.

She pressed a hand to the stone pillar Liora had touched only moments ago and whispered, "She’s close. I can feel it."

A voice behind her said, "Shall I prepare the veil, Lady Flame?"

She nodded.

"Let her see her own shadow before she learns how deep it stretches."

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