Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 88: He dies in woods

Chapter 88: He dies in woods

"We need to find a way inside," Rowan muttered. "No one’s been in there for years, but that doesn’t mean it’s empty."

Liora nodded, slipping off her horse with practiced grace. "We’ll see for ourselves."

They made their way toward the manor’s rear, hidden by the overgrown trees and thick underbrush. The stone walls were weathered, but the iron gates were intact, as if guarding the entrance from prying eyes.

Rowan was quick to find the latch, expertly slipping it open. The creak of the gate sounded louder than it should have, but no guards appeared. No one came rushing out. It was as if the manor was waiting for them.

Liora moved first, stepping cautiously through the gate and into the shadow of the house. The place was eerily silent, the only sounds the rustle of leaves in the wind and the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet.

Inside, the halls were dusty, old portraits lining the walls, their eyes seeming to follow them as they moved. It felt wrong, like an abandoned place that refused to stay forgotten. The air smelled stale, and Liora could almost hear the whispers of the past.

Rowan was already moving ahead, his eyes scanning every door, every corner. "There’s something off about this place," he muttered, barely above a whisper.

Liora followed him down a narrow corridor, the dim light casting long shadows against the walls. She was about to ask him what he meant when a sound caught her ear, a faint rustling, almost like a whisper, but too deliberate to be the wind.

Without warning, Rowan drew his blade, his body tensing. "Someone’s here," he hissed.

Liora’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel it now, the presence, like the weight of an unseen gaze. Her fingers brushed the hilt of her own dagger, but she held herself still, trying to discern the source of the sound.

"Stay close," Rowan murmured, his voice low but urgent.

They pressed forward, closer to the source of the noise, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet underfoot. The sound was louder now, a soft scraping, like something, or someone, was moving behind a hidden door.

Rowan motioned for her to stay back, but Liora didn’t listen. She had to know. She had to find out what Alaric Fen had left behind in this forsaken place. What had he been hiding, and why?

She stepped forward, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside. The sight before her was enough to make her blood run cold.

A figure stood hunched in the center of the room, cloaked in darkness. The air was thick with the smell of old, decaying parchment. A desk was covered with scrolls and letters, some of which had been burned halfway through. But it wasn’t the papers that caught her attention; it was the figure itself.

The man’s eyes gleamed in the dark, catching the faintest light.

"Well, well... Someone’s been very curious," the voice was low, smooth, and laced with an unsettling calmness.

Liora’s breath caught in her throat as the figure stepped forward, revealing his face haggard, but unmistakable.

"Alaric Fen," she whispered.

Rowan’s hand was already on his blade, but Alaric raised a hand, as if dismissing the threat.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," he said with a smirk. "I’ve been waiting for you."

Liora did not flinch. Her eyes narrowed on the man who had once been Lucien’s closest political ally and perhaps his greatest betrayal. Alaric Fen stood before her in the flesh, though the years had not been kind to him. His face was gaunt, skin drawn over sharp bones, and his once-groomed beard had turned ragged. But his voice carried the same quiet danger as the man they’d once whispered about in the palace halls.

Rowan stepped forward, eyes cold. "You disappeared the night Lucien was disgraced. Why are you still breathing?"

Alaric gave a soft chuckle and moved toward a table, trailing his fingers across dust-laced scrolls. "Because I knew the game better than any of you." He didn’t look at them. "Lucien was meant to fall. You think it was just Queen Dowager Lilian’s schemes? Please. There were layers upon layers, and I... I peeled away when the blade turned too close."

"You left him to rot!" Liora snapped, stepping between Rowan and Alaric. "He trusted you!"

"And I preserved what little I could," Alaric shot back. "Had I stayed, I would have been silenced, just like the others. Like Cassian. Like Lord Velmont. I ran, but not to hide. I watched, and I waited."

Rowan’s hand was still on his hilt, but he paused. "Waited for what?"

Alaric’s eyes finally met Liora’s. "For you."

That drew silence. Heavy, palpable.

Liora’s brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I know who you are, Lady Liora Miral," he said. "I know what they did to your parents. What Evelyne traded for her own daughter’s security. I know the truth behind your exile and your binding to Lucien."

Her breath caught.

Alaric opened a small chest on the table and pulled out a bundle of sealed letters, each bearing the old royal sigil. "Lucien was framed, yes. But the framing was possible only because of information passed through your family."

Rowan’s eyes widened. "Her family?"

Alaric nodded. "Documents. Passcodes. Guard schedules. Evelyne Miral passed them to the Queen Dowager’s inner circle under the guise of charity favors. They were looking to get rid of Lucien and needed someone to play the part. When they found the perfect scandal, his wife’s murder, they wove it around the only prince too proud to kneel and too hated to defend."

Liora’s voice was a whisper. "My aunt... knew?"

"She knew. And she made sure you wouldn’t interfere. That’s why you were discredited and sent as his concubine, because it was better to bury you with him than risk your mouth running loose."

Silence fell again, the weight of truth thicker than any mist.

Rowan broke it. "Why tell us now?"

Alaric’s tone shifted, quieter, heavier. "Because it’s no longer about clearing Lucien’s name. The Queen Dowager is preparing to crown someone else. Prince Merek, young, impressionable, and loyal to her cause. If that happens, Lucien will never regain his position... and your entire kingdom will fall under her command."

"And you?" Liora asked, steel in her voice. "What do you want in return?"

Alaric smiled thinly. "I want the court to burn. And I want Lilian’s hands tied in front of the nobles she corrupted. I’ll give you names. Locations. Allies hiding in plain sight. But I want my life guaranteed and a seat at Lucien’s table when the new order comes."

Rowan scoffed. "That’s rich....."

"No," Liora interrupted, eyes locked on Alaric. "We’ll decide once Lucien hears every word."

She turned to Rowan. "We’re taking him back."

"And if he runs?"

Liora’s eyes never left Alaric. "Then he dies in the woods."

Alaric inclined his head, grimly amused. "You really are your father’s daughter."

The hall of Blackthorne estate had not heard this many footsteps in years. The rain outside had ceased, but the storm inside was only beginning to swell.

Lucien stood by the arched window when Rowan and Liora entered soaked in travel dust, with a ghost trailing behind them. Lucien’s posture stiffened the moment he saw Alaric Fen.

"So it’s true," he said, his voice low and calm, the kind of calm that screamed danger. "The rat lives."

Alaric gave a slight bow. "I do. Though not by your grace."

Rowan’s hand hovered over his blade again. But it was Liora who spoke, firm and unyielding. "He brought proof. Documents. Letters from nobles loyal to Lilian. Evidence that your disgrace was planned by more than her alone."

Lucien turned slowly, the firelight dancing across his face, casting shadows beneath his eyes. "And why should I believe him now? After all these years?"

"Because the game has changed," Alaric said. "Lilian’s not just consolidating power anymore she’s preparing for war. Prince Merek is being raised as the future king in all but name. The ministers are dividing. And foreign gold has started pouring into border towns."

Lucien’s gaze sharpened. "Whose gold?"

"Cirisian," Alaric replied, naming the empire to the northeast. "They’re funding rebel factions within our borders. Mercenaries posing as ’trade protection’ squadrons. It’s not an invasion yet but they’re waiting. Watching. Hoping our court will eat itself from the inside."

Lucien didn’t speak for a long time.

Then he turned to Liora. "And you brought him here because...?"

"Because you deserve to know," she said. "And because we don’t win this war your war, by playing safe anymore."

For the first time in weeks, something flickered in Lucien’s eyes. A hint of the old fire. Of the prince who once dared challenge the throne.

He stepped forward slowly, standing toe to toe with Alaric. "Swear on your life, Fen. You’re not lying."

Alaric met his gaze. "I swear on what little I have left."

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