Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 93: That’s treasonous

Chapter 93: That’s treasonous

"Why come to me?"

"Because Rowan Vale sent word. Said if anyone would listen without silencing me, it’d be you."

Rowan, Liora thought. So he was working quietly already.

Myra placed a small cloth-wrapped bundle on the table. Inside: old coins, a broken signet ring, and a sealed letter bearing the crest of Revanth.

"Minister Farren’s ’trade deals’ weren’t trade. He was smuggling mercenaries and funds. Someone’s building an army in the shadows."

Liora inhaled slowly. "And you think it’s Lord Ismere?"

Myra nodded. "Him....or the one he serves."

That evening, in the private corridors behind the court hall, Rowan and Lucien waited.

Liora joined them without being summoned.

She handed over the bundle Myra had brought, her fingers smudged with ink.

Lucien frowned. "You met someone?"

"She found me," Liora replied. "And I listened."

Rowan flipped the letter open, read the first few lines, and exhaled through his teeth. "This... this is damning."

Lucien turned to her. "You’re not afraid of stepping into this pit?"

"I was," she admitted. "But if we’re going to fight this war inside these walls and beyond I won’t be a shadow anymore."

Lucien’s gaze held hers for a moment, unreadable. Then he turned to Rowan.

"Send word to the border posts. And find out who Captain Myra reported to before she was dismissed."

Rowan nodded and slipped away.

Lucien leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You’ve changed."

"No," Liora said quietly. "I’ve just stopped waiting."

Queen Ellora’s chambers were known for their silence. Not peace no, the walls simply knew better than to echo what they heard. Servants moved like ghosts, and no one ever knocked.

That morning, Ellora stood before her mirror, brushing her hair, her gaze fixed on her reflection but her thoughts were elsewhere.

"Revanth," she murmured. "You always send your vultures when the kingdom weakens."

A soft shuffle behind her signaled her confidante’s arrival.

"Lord Ismere met with Farren last night," said Lady Thalia, her voice clipped. "Under the pretext of ’tax reforms.’ But it seems something shifted after that."

Ellora turned. "Go on."

"They’re watching Liora now. Closely. Ever since the merchant captain was seen entering the estate."

"So the girl’s growing teeth," Ellora said, setting the brush down. "Good."

Thalia blinked. "You want her involved?"

"If Liora roots out the vipers I can’t strike directly," the Queen said, smoothing her sleeves, "then she’s more useful than half the court."

"But she’s unpredictable. And Lucien..."

"Lucien still listens to her. Which means he’s not entirely beyond reach."

Thalia hesitated. "And if Liora uncovers our own web?"

Ellora smiled thinly. "Then we teach her which strands are sacred."

Meanwhile, in a small chamber above the old city archives, Rowan and Samuel pored over letters from border outposts. None were signed. All bore the same mark—a broken sun.

"This was the old sigil of Lord Renoux," Samuel muttered. "He vanished during the last Revanth war. Thought dead."

"He’s not dead," Rowan said, tapping one letter. "He’s recruiting. His name has weight with old blood houses. They might rally."

"But for who?"

Rowan didn’t answer immediately. Then:

"For whoever promises vengeance."

Later that day, Liora stood by the estate’s garden wall not strolling, but reading, memorizing troop positions, old smuggling routes, and nobles linked to Farren.

A quiet footstep broke her concentration.

Beatrice stood a few feet away, arms folded.

"I see the discarded concubine has become quite the strategist," Beatrice said, her tone hard to decipher.

Liora met her eyes. "I didn’t ask for your approval."

"You don’t have it," Beatrice said coolly. "But you’ve piqued my curiosity. You’re not as dull as I thought."

"What do you want?"

Beatrice’s gaze lingered. "A war is coming. The kind that won’t be fought with swords. You may be on the wrong side of it."

"And yet," Liora said, closing the book, "you’re warning me."

Beatrice didn’t deny it. "I serve Lilian. But not blindly. And right now, I’d rather have your fire than the Queen Dowager’s puppets."

Then, softer: "Don’t trust too easily, Liora. Not even the ones who bleed for you."

She turned and left.

Liora stared after her, a hundred new questions burning behind her eyes.

The court convened earlier than usual.

Heavy drapes muffled the whispers bouncing off cold marble. Ministers lined the hall, their expressions unreadable, each one quietly recalculating allegiances.

King Alden entered flanked by two new faces commanders from the Southern Regiment, whose sudden presence struck a chord across the benches. If the court was a sea, then today, it rippled.

Not far behind, Queen Ellora appeared late, but unbothered. Her steps slow, almost delicate. The kind of grace one wore like armor.

"My lords," Alden began, "we received word from the western border. A garrison was overrun. No survivors. The attackers bore no banners."

A few gasps escaped. But most remained still eyes darting to favored houses and historical enemies.

Lord Feran of the Council of Swords stepped forward. "This is not the act of bandits."

"No," Alden agreed. "It’s a message."

A page approached, bearing a sealed scroll.

Lucien, seated at a distance, observed in silence. He recognized the paper before the seal was even broken military reports from Rowan. What had once been channeled quietly to him was now passed publicly to the king.

He met Alden’s gaze, and the king did not look away.

"Lord Renoux’s sigil was seen," Alden said, lifting the scroll. "We believe he lives."

Silence again. The name still carried weight.

Ellora finally spoke. "Renoux fell in the Revanth campaign. If he lives, someone’s been hiding him."

"Or reviving his legacy," Lucien said, his voice calm.

A murmur followed. Every noble had a theory many unspoken aloud.

Lord Gairos of the Treasury stood. "We should suspend all court reforms and military reallocations until we determine where the loyalties lie."

"To do so would be a sign of fear," Queen Ellora countered.

"Perhaps," Lucien murmured, "but to ignore it entirely would be suicide."

A sharp look passed between the queen and the disgraced prince but it didn’t last. Not here. Not yet.

From the shadows, one more figure watched quietly: Minister Corvane. A man known more for ink than action. But lately, he had grown close to several former allies of Renoux.

And if his silence today meant anything, it was that the storm wasn’t just gathering outside the court.

It was already here.

The scrolls in the palace library were untouched for years at least the ones stored in the lower vault.

Liora had learned to walk the halls like a shadow. Not from anyone’s teaching, but necessity. No one questioned a concubine if she moved without sound and never looked them in the eye.

That day, she carried no fan, no jewels. Just parchment, and silence.

She’d been following a whisper.

It started with an accounting discrepancy Edgar had offhandedly mentioned a missing convoy, rerouted funds. Coin that left the royal coffers but never reached the western outposts. She’d seen it before, back in the Miral estate how quiet theft always traveled in ledgers, not blades.

And now, standing before a cracked shelf of taxation records from five years past, she found it again.

The name wasn’t bold, but it was there.

Corvane.

Receipts of "grain subsidies" to villages that had long been abandoned due to flooding. Requisition orders signed off under wartime provisions dated after peace was declared.

Someone was keeping a ghost town fed. Or laundering coin through it.

She carefully rolled the parchment, tucking it inside her sleeve as soft footsteps echoed behind her.

Rowan.

"You walk like a thief," he said, though his voice lacked bite.

"I walk like someone who wants to live."

He arched a brow. "You’re in the restricted wing."

"I’m also doing Lucien a favor."

That silenced him.

He came closer, glancing at the shelf, then her hands. "You found something."

"I found where your army’s food went missing."

Rowan exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. "Do you know what this means?"

"I know enough to stay quiet."

"Good," he muttered. "Because if Corvane catches wind of this before Lucien can move..."

"Then you’ll both be silenced before the court even wakes."

Outside, a bell tolled faintly.

In the distance, a new caravan arrived at the gates of the capital.

Inside it sat a veiled woman in silver and beside her, a man with an accent foreign to this kingdom, bearing letters from a nation that should have remained quiet.

The court storm was far from over.

The guards at the eastern gate didn’t question the sigil on the envoy’s banner it bore the official crest of the southern port city, Irvale. A place nominally loyal to the crown but known for its shifting allegiances. The caravan passed through without delay.

From behind the silk-draped interior, the woman watched the capital unfurl before her eyes, its towers tall, its banners sharp against the sky. Her veil hid her smile, but not the knowing in her eyes.

She had not returned to the capital in ten years. Not since the war.

And now she came bearing messages sealed in foreign wax.

Inside the castle, Lucien’s chambers were tense.

Rowan laid the ledgers out one by one, his hands careful not to crease the edges. "Three years’ worth of forged records. If these are real...."

"They’re real," Liora interrupted. "I cross-checked them with the border archives. Even got a clerk to verify the seal."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. "And Corvane’s name?"

"Tied to every one of them. Funds misdirected through hollow villages. The same ones we supposedly abandoned during the plague."

Samuel, standing beside the hearth, let out a quiet curse. "That’s treasonous."

Lucien leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "It’s worse than treason. It’s organized."

He looked at Liora then, the faintest shift in his voice. "You risked yourself for this."

She shrugged, but her hands betrayed her tightly clasped behind her back.

"I knew how to blend in. You would’ve done the same."

Their eyes met for a beat longer than necessary.

Rowan cleared his throat deliberately. "And there’s more. A messenger arrived half an hour ago. The southern envoy has returned."

Lucien frowned. "We weren’t expecting an envoy."