Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma -
Chapter 92: As your wife....
Chapter 92: As your wife....
"Minister Halric fell."
A pause. The first voice chuckled. "So the King found his courage."
"He has allies now. The Blackthorne is not as disgraced as we hoped."
Lucien. They had been watching him. Planning his downfall just as they had Halric’s rise.
"We proceed with the next phase," the voice said. "If the east doesn’t burn, the crown won’t listen."
That was enough. Rowan slid back, retraced his steps, and slipped into the shadows toward the stables. He had to ride tonight. If what they said was true, the rebellion wasn’t political; it was military. A distraction in the east would cost them more than dignity. It would cost lives.
Back in the estate, Liora watched the candle flicker in her room. News hadn’t come yet, but her gut twisted. Something was wrong. She had learned to trust these feelings.
Lucien had been absent from her side for hours now. Samuel was guarding her door tighter than usual. When she asked, he only offered, "Orders, my lady."
The silence felt louder than words.
A knock sounded.
"Lady Liora," Beatrice’s voice came through, uncharacteristically quiet. "Might I enter?"
Liora stood and opened the door. Beatrice’s eyes were dark-ringed. Her usual stiffness had softened.
"I received word from the estate’s southern informants. A disturbance on the docks," she said. "Rowan might be caught in it."
Liora’s heart pounded. "Why didn’t Lucien tell me?"
Beatrice gave a tired sigh. "Because he thinks keeping you safe means keeping you in the dark. But I disagree. You’re not a bird in a cage."
Liora stepped back, shocked by the support. Beatrice? After all this time?
"I misjudged you," Beatrice admitted. "Thought you were just a burden left at his feet. But... I see now, he looks at you like you matter."
The two women stood in silence, the flickering candle casting twin shadows on the wall, both weary, both watching something far bigger closing in.
The sky was still ink-dark when Rowan saddled the mare from the inn’s hidden stables. Every second wasted meant another step the rebellion took toward Verden’s throat. As he kicked off into the mist, his cloak billowing, the wind seemed to whisper threats he couldn’t quite name.
He had memorized the trails. Cut through the Lorrick Pass. Avoid the guards near the outposts. And reach the eastern manor by dawn.
He wasn’t just carrying a message he was carrying a warning that could break a kingdom.
At the palace, Alden was already up.
The king stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back. His tunic remained unbuttoned at the collar, and his crown rested on the table. He wasn’t the image of a ruler not in that moment. He was a man calculating the weight of war.
Beside him stood General Casien, his eyes trained on a parchment sealed with black wax.
"Verdenport is active," Casien murmured. "Too active."
Alden turned. "You mean smuggling?"
"I mean something worse. They’re calling it a ’shift in tides.’ Arms shipments. Coin exchanges in foreign scripts. And someone paid off our tax collectors to look the other way."
Alden’s jaw clenched. "And Halric?"
Casien lowered his gaze. "He kept many secrets. Including his dealings with Revanth’s eastern lords."
The Revanthians. Allies once, now vultures circling the eastern coast with honeyed words and poisoned offers.
"How much time do we have?"
"Not enough," Casien answered. "Unless someone is already riding."
The manor buzzed with hushed voices as Rowan arrived near sunrise.
Samuel met him at the courtyard, his sword already drawn. "You’re late."
"Tell Lucien I have something that cannot wait. And tell him to keep Liora out of the room when I speak of it."
But it was too late.
Lucien stepped out, expression unreadable. And Liora followed, worry written plain across her face.
"You found something," Lucien said, sharp-eyed.
Rowan didn’t waste breath. "There’s an eastern siege planned. Verdenport is just the gateway. They’ve infiltrated the nobles. Ministers we never suspected are funding mercenaries from Revanth. And whoever this ’Gold-Eyed Man’ is he’s orchestrating it."
Lucien looked past Rowan, his eyes meeting Liora’s. She hadn’t spoken, but her hands were clenched tightly.
"They want war," Rowan said. "Not just against Alden. Against the entire royal bloodline."
A long pause stretched between them.
Then Lucien spoke. "We don’t have time to argue loyalties. Prepare the council. I’m going to the King."
Rowan blinked. "You’ll return to the palace?"
Lucien nodded, a calm fury in his voice. "They want to cut the roots while Alden is still healing. Let them try. But this time, I’ll be ready."
Liora stepped forward. "Then I’ll go too."
Lucien turned to her, lips parting to refuse.
But something in her gaze stopped him. She was no longer the frightened concubine sent in disgrace. She stood with the strength of someone who had learned to survive the storm.
He said nothing. I just reached out and took her hand.
The palace looked no different than it had before Lucien was cast out.
The same marble steps. The same towering arches. Yet as Lucien dismounted, the silence that greeted him felt heavier. As though the stones remembered what the men had conveniently forgotten.
No fanfare. No welcome. Only the sound of hooves against the stone and Rowan’s sharp instructions to the guards.
Liora stood beside him, her veil lowered, not to hide, but to observe.
"Why do I feel like we’re walking into a lion’s den?" she whispered.
Lucien gave a wry smirk. "Because we are."
Inside the inner court, Alden sat straight-backed, robes of ink and crimson pooling around him. General Casien flanked him, unreadable. And seated near the left column was Minister Farren, the man whose name had surfaced too often in Rowan’s report.
Lucien’s boots echoed on the floor as he stepped forward, every noble’s gaze snapping to him like crows scenting a corpse.
"Prince Lucien Blackthorne," announced the court scribe.
There was no cheer. Only a strained pause, broken by Alden’s measured voice.
"You return not as a defendant. Nor as a prince in exile. But as a witness to a greater threat."
Lucien bowed his head, then raised his eyes to the court.
"My brother speaks truly. I bring word of treachery, and I do not say this lightly."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber.
"Verdenport has been compromised. Merchants, guards, and even our own collectors bought it. Revanth is funding a rebellion cloaked in trade and masks. And it begins with Minister Farren."
Gasps. One noble rose to protest.
Farren, calm as still water, only smiled. "That is a dangerous accusation, Your Highness."
Lucien’s gaze didn’t falter. "And I will provide evidence. Rowan Vale has the ledgers. Names. Dates. Transfers."
Alden turned to Rowan, who stepped forward and unfurled the stolen documents.
The chamber erupted in shouts, threats, and one lady fainting in disbelief.
But Liora saw something else.
Beatrice, seated silently to the side as court secretary, paled and then glanced not at Farren but at Lord Ismere, seated three rows back.
The man caught her eye and offered a brief nod.
Liora’s heart sank. Beatrice knew.
Later, as the court was cleared and the ministers detained, Alden pulled Lucien aside.
"You’ve done what no one else could. Uncovered a rot I didn’t want to believe existed."
Lucien’s voice was low. "The rot still runs deeper."
"I know," Alden said. "Which is why I need you here."
Lucien froze.
"You want me at court?"
"I want you at war," Alden said. "If Revanth rises, I need someone who understands politics and the blade. Someone who isn’t afraid to be cruel when needed. I need you."
Lucien’s jaw tightened. "And Liora?"
"She stays. As your wife or not, that’s your matter. But she’s already noticed more than half the court combined."
Lucien turned to glance back Liora stood in the archway, speaking quietly to Rowan. Observing. Always watching.
Maybe it was time she took the place she was meant to.
For the first time, Liora sat alone in a royal salon no chaperone, no nursemaid, no curious maids pretending not to gossip. Only scrolls, a fresh pot of ink, and the sound of her pulse in her ears.
She wasn’t summoned. She chose to come.
If Alden’s court was a theater, then she was done hiding behind curtains.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, steadying her voice.
The door opened to reveal Lady Ceryn, one of Queen Ellora’s distant cousins—known more for her talent in social maneuvering than any loyalty. And behind her, a second woman entered tall, scarred, and dressed in merchant garb, clearly out of place.
"I was told Lady Liora would see me," the second woman said, eyes sharp.
Ceryn glanced between them. "Shall I remain?"
"No," Liora replied, cool but polite. "Close the door behind you."
The noblewoman hesitated, then obeyed.
Now alone, Liora gestured to the seat across from her.
"And you are?"
"Captain Myra," the woman said. "Formerly of the coastal watch. Dismissed after I reported unusual shipments heading inland. Most under Minister Farren’s seal."
Liora’s spine straightened.
"Why come to me?"
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