Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 81: Summon the council

Chapter 81: Summon the council

"There!" she gasped. "Near the servants’ wing!"

Without hesitation, two of the guards sprinted with her back toward the danger.

As they rounded the corner, a fight erupted.Steel clashed against steel.

The intruder was fast, too fast slicing down one guard before the others could close in.

But Liora didn’t run.Not this time.

She seized a fallen dagger and flung it, the blade spinning through the air. It grazed the intruder’s shoulder, buying the guards a precious second.

It was enough.

The attacker was subdued, bound, and dragged to the main hall.

Liora’s hands shook. Her breath came ragged.

But her eyes were fierce.

She had defended Lucien’s home.Their home.

Even if he would never know.

Lucien arrived just past midnight, the cloak of darkness clinging to his boots as he crossed the threshold of his estate.

Rowan met him first, face grave.

"Samuel’s sending a full report, but there’s something you need to see immediately."

Lucien followed without a word, his steps silent as a blade’s edge.

They entered the east hall, hastily converted into a makeshift holding area. There, bound to a chair with iron chains, was the intruder.

Blood matted the man’s sleeve where Liora’s dagger had struck him. But it wasn’t the wound that caught Lucien’s attention; it was the insignia stitched inside the attacker’s cloak.

Not a thief. Not a mercenary.

A court courier.

Lucien’s expression darkened.

Rowan spoke lowly beside him, "Found a letter sewn into the lining of his coat. Ciphered."

Lucien took the parchment, fingers brushing over the thick, expensive paper. Not the kind of message meant for commoners.

His gaze shifted briefly to Liora, standing near the door, a blanket hastily thrown over her nightdress.

She didn’t speak, but her wide, alert eyes told him everything.

She had fought. And she had stayed.

Without thinking, Lucien gave a short nod a gesture of respect. Liora blinked, startled, before ducking her head.

"Have Edgar decipher it," Lucien ordered. "And double the patrols tonight. No one moves in or out without my leave."

Rowan hesitated. "There’s something else."

Lucien tensed. "Speak."

"The noble gathering we spied on tonight... it wasn’t just talk. Adrienne Vane and Hildebrand Alstone proposed aligning with"...Rowan dropped his voice lower..."Lord" Chancellor Varric."

Lucien’s jaw clenched.

Varric.

One of the king’s closest ministers. A man with influence deeper than half the court combined. And if Varric had been seduced to rebellion... Alden’s reign might already be in danger.

Lucien paced, thoughts sharp.

If they moved too soon, they’d be crushed. If they moved too late... they’d lose their only chance.

He turned back to Rowan.

"Send word to Samuel. Tell him to follow Varric’s aides. Quietly."

Rowan nodded and slipped away into the shadows.

Lucien’s eyes remained locked on the bound courier.

"Who sent you?" he thought, the unspoken words heavy between them.

The courier said nothing — but the slightest flicker of fear crossed his face.

Lucien smiled coldly.

He would find out.

He always did.

Meanwhile in the Depths of the Palace

In a hidden chamber deep within the royal palace, Adrienne knelt before an enormous map of the kingdom, pins and lines crisscrossing its surface.

Hildebrand poured wine, watching her.

"The courier should’ve arrived by now," Adrienne murmured. "If he delivered the message, Lucien Blackthorne will have no choice but to act."

Hildebrand raised a brow. "And if he doesn’t?"

Adrienne smiled.

"Then we light the fuse ourselves."

Outside the chamber, unnoticed by them, a shadow stirred. An unseen figure slipped away, to deliver news neither Adrienne nor Hildebrand would want anyone else to hear.

The court’s web was growing thicker. And before long, it would snap.

Lucien stood before the bound courier, the flickering torchlight sharpening the grim lines of his face.

"Your loyalty is admirable," he said softly, almost kindly, a tone that made the man flinch.

Behind Lucien, Rowan and Samuel observed in silence. Samuel, having arrived minutes ago, held the ciphered letter. His face was grave.

"We’ve cracked part of it," Samuel said. "It’s an instruction to create unrest in the borders... mentions planting evidence against the Blackthornes."

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

So it wasn’t just a personal attack; it was a layered plot aimed at destabilizing the entire region.

He took the letter, scanning it quickly.

Two names stood out: Varric and Lady Evelyne Miral.

His gaze sharpened. Liora’s aunt.

It wasn’t a coincidence.

Lucien turned back to the courier. His voice, low and ironclad, left no room for argument.

"You can die here, nameless and forgotten. Or you can speak and perhaps live long enough to bargain for your life."

The courier swallowed.

A tense silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of the torches.

Finally, the man rasped, "It wasn’t just Varric... someone from the royal household... promised support."

Lucien stilled.

Royal household?

Not a mere minister, then but someone closer to the throne.

He needed names. Faces. Proof.

Lucien straightened, commanding Samuel, "Lock him in the old wine cellars. No visitors without my seal."

Rowan stepped forward, ready to carry out the order, as Lucien turned on his heel and strode from the hall, his mind already racing ahead.

If Evelyne Miral was involved... if Varric was plotting rebellion... if someone inside the palace was leaking information,

Then it was no longer about him or Liora.

It was about the survival of the entire crown.

And Lucien Blackthorne would not let traitors win.

At the Royal Court The Next Morning

Alden sat heavily upon the throne, listening to the morning petitions.

The marble floor gleamed beneath his boots, banners of Valcour fluttering faintly above him. Courtiers whispered in clusters, careful not to draw attention.

The court was tense today. Rumors were a wildfire; words like treason and rebellion dropped too easily.

Alden’s advisors, Lord Neville, the cautious elder, and Lord Harriston, the younger hawk stood at either side.

"Majesty," Neville said in a low tone, "we’ve received troubling reports from the western provinces. Supplies intercepted. Soldiers missing. There’s talk of... foreign involvement."

Alden’s brow furrowed.

Foreign involvement?

He shifted in his seat, sharp eyes scanning the gathered nobility.

Were they all loyal? Or were some already bought?

Before he could respond, a herald entered briskly, bowing low.

"Your Majesty ...urgent message from Blackthorne Estate."

A letter, sealed with Lucien’s personal mark, was placed into Alden’s gloved hand.

He cracked the seal.

As his eyes darted over the message, a muscle twitched in his jaw.

"They’re moving faster than we thought," Alden muttered.

He crumpled the letter in his fist.

Then, louder: "Summon the Council. We are declaring emergency measures."

A ripple of panic swept the court.

Nobles stiffened. Servants froze mid-step.

Across the marble floor, Lady Adrienne Vane smiled sweetly too sweetly and turned her face away, hiding her satisfaction.

Everything was falling into place.

Elsewhere

At Blackthorne Estate, Liora stood at the balcony, watching the distant hills with narrowed eyes.

There were storms brewing far beyond what she could see.

And somehow, she knew she and Lucien were already caught in it.

Together... or against it.

The war hadn’t started yet. But the first shot had already been fired.

The corridors of Blackthorne Estate were alive with a tense undercurrent. Servants whispered. Guards doubled their patrols. Even the oldest stones seemed to hum with anticipation.

Lucien sat in the map room, Rowan and Samuel standing close. Before him, stretched across a heavy oak table, was a map of the kingdom borders, forts, and trading routes painstakingly marked.

"We’re blind in the south," Samuel said grimly, tracing a line with his finger. "If Varric’s allies strike there, we won’t have enough forces to react in time."

Lucien leaned back, deep in thought. "We need eyes," he said. "Someone they wouldn’t expect."

Rowan exchanged a glance with Samuel.There was only one man they could think of.

"You’ll have to call Elias," Rowan said, almost reluctant.

Lucien’s lips twisted into a humorless smile. "Old habits die hard."

Elias Valemont was a former royal agent — brilliant, unpredictable, and slippery as an eel. Cast aside years ago during court purges, he now lived in the shadowed edges of the kingdom, dealing in secrets and debts.

It was a risk. But they needed him.

"Send word," Lucien ordered. "Discreetly. If he asks for payment... tell him I’ll owe him a favor."

Samuel bowed and disappeared into the shadows.

Rowan remained.

"You’re moving fast," he said carefully.

Lucien gave a small, bitter laugh. "Because they are moving faster."

Rowan hesitated before speaking again. "And what of Lady Liora?"

At the mention of her name, Lucien’s gaze sharpened.

"She’s not to leave the estate," he said. "Double her guard. Quietly."

Rowan gave a small nod, understanding the weight behind the order.

This wasn’t just politics anymore.This was survival.

And Liora was now tangled in it, whether she knew it or not.

Liora tugged her shawl closer around her shoulders, feeling the wind bite sharper today.

The gardens, once a place of mild beauty, now felt different.Heavier. Watched.

She had noticed it over the last few days, the way conversations halted when she entered a room, the way some servants avoided her eyes.The sense that something dark was looming just out of reach.

She wasn’t naive. Her years living under Evelyne’s roof had taught her to read danger long before it struck.

And right now, danger hung over Blackthorne like an unspoken curse.

Still, she walked, forcing herself to act normal.If someone watched her, let them.

Halfway down the path, she spotted a figure ahead: Lady Beatrice.

The woman stood with her hands folded, her smile tight.

"Lady Liora," Beatrice greeted, voice syrupy sweet. "Taking the air, I see."

Liora curtsied politely. "It’s a fine afternoon."

Beatrice’s gaze swept over her, judging. Measuring.Then, seemingly casual, she said, "Strange times we live in. Best to know where loyalties lie, wouldn’t you say?"

Liora kept her expression serene. "Loyalty is a rare jewel," she said lightly. "Those who have it should treasure it."

A flicker of surprise crossed Beatrice’s face, just a flash, before she smiled again, false and shallow.

"I dare say you’ll do well here, Lady Liora. Provided you... tread carefully."