Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 96: You’re a fool

Chapter 96: You’re a fool

Liora moved forward then, drawn by instinct rather than purpose. She reached for the velvet-bound ledger beside him, her fingers brushing his by accident. He didn’t pull away.

A moment. Brief. Quiet. Enough.

His voice was lower now. "They think you’re a fool. A girl flung from disgrace into another’s ruin."

Her eyes met his. "Do you?"

"No," he said, after a beat. "But let them think so."

The fire crackled between them. She didn’t smile. Neither did he.

And yet something shifted...like the first thaw in a bitter season.

In another wing of the estate, Rowan paced through the hallway, a sealed letter in hand. The seal bore the mark of the Lord of Berrenwald...a vassal land near the southern border.

He handed it off to Samuel with a frown. "They’re offering grain in exchange for one thing: a marriage pact. They want to send someone to court."

Samuel whistled. "Does Alden know?"

Rowan’s gaze narrowed. "He will. But this, this reeks of someone’s game. And if Beatrice has anything to do with it..."

"We’ll need to move carefully," Samuel said. "And Lucien mustn’t know. Not yet."

Later that evening, the estate dimmed under a blue-hued twilight. Servants moved quietly, their presence reduced to murmurs and shadowed footsteps. In Lucien’s private garden tucked behind the west wing, Liora wandered alone, the scent of wet earth and night jasmine lingering in the breeze.

She had taken to walking here, away from the judging eyes and careful whispers. It was the only place no one seemed to intrude.

Except tonight.

"You avoid the main halls," Lucien said behind her, his tone unreadable.

She turned, neither startled nor smiling. "I prefer quiet places. They don’t pretend to like me."

He stepped further into the light, no longer wearing the ceremonial black but a deep charcoal tunic, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. Less prince, more man. "You’ll need to stop caring what people pretend."

She tilted her head. "You’ve mastered that, haven’t you?"

A faint smirk played on his lips just for a moment. "Survival requires it."

They stood in silence, the distance between them narrowing with the weight of what was not said.

"You should be inside," he murmured. "The wind’s colder now."

"You came outside," she pointed out.

"I’m not recovering from poison and humiliation," he replied, softer than expected.

Liora’s gaze held his. "And I’m not as weak as you believe."

"I don’t think you’re weak," he said.

The words caught her off guard not for what they meant, but for how simply he said them. Not flattery. Not kindness. Just truth.

She looked away first.

In the far distance, the gates stirred. Samuel was speaking with a courier, their forms barely visible under torchlight. Rowan approached a second later, urgency in his stride. Even from here, Lucien noticed the tension. It settled in his gut like a warning bell.

"Something’s changed," he said, eyes narrowing.

Liora followed his gaze. "Another letter?"

"No," Lucien muttered. "That’s not just a message. That’s a call."

They walked back together in silence, the steps slow, almost reluctant, tethered not by affection yet, but by something heavier: shared wounds and the growing sense that everything was about to shift again.

Rowan met them halfway down the corridor, torchlight flickering across his sharp features. "We received a sealed dispatch. Not from the palace, this one bears the insignia of Eltherra."

Lucien halted. "The border province?"

Rowan nodded. "A noble estate along the eastern edge claims that scouts from Vandrel have been spotted too close to our lands."

Liora glanced between them, catching the sudden shift in Lucien’s expression. Not fear but calculation.

"Vandrel hasn’t stirred in over a decade," Lucien said, more to himself. "Why now?"

"It could be mere provocation," Rowan said. "Or a distraction."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "Either way, Alden will need to respond publicly. And he’ll want me to stay quiet."

Liora remained silent, unsure if she had a place in this conversation. But Lucien turned to her.

"You’ve read court records. How well-guarded is the eastern border in the recent maps?"

She blinked. "Lightly garrisoned. Fewer posts since last winter. Lord Ferrick proposed reassigning the troops to the capital."

Lucien let out a bitter sound. "Ferrick again. That man would strip our walls bare to protect his own name."

Rowan gave Lucien a warning glance, one that wasn’t unnoticed by Liora.

"Then we need to act before this turns political," she said, her voice even.

Lucien looked at her, eyes narrowing not with suspicion, but curiosity. "You’re not afraid of overstepping?"

Liora met his gaze. "If I was, I’d never have survived your household this long."

A pause. And then, a faint nod from him.

"Come," he said. "You’ll attend the meeting with Samuel and Rowan. If we’re to be watched, we may as well give them something to talk about."

It wasn’t affection, not yet. But there was trust forming, slow and tentative. She didn’t smile, didn’t soften. But something settled in her chest. For once, she wasn’t walking behind him.

She was walking beside.

The war chamber had emptied, but the tension lingered like smoke after battle. Outside, the rain tapped faintly against the narrow window slit, steady, patient. Liora hadn’t moved since the others left. Her arms were crossed loosely, posture relaxed, but her eyes never strayed from the map that still lay spread on the table. The ink had begun to dry at the edges, curling faintly, but the urgency it held remained.

Lucien stood across from her, silent. He watched not with suspicion or command, but with the quiet weight of someone used to reading too deeply into silences. The flickering fire behind him threw long shadows across the stone floor, blurring the lines between presence and hesitation.

"You didn’t need to speak up in there," he said at last, his voice low but free of reproach.

"I know," she replied without looking up. "But I didn’t like how close Rowan’s assumptions were to what Vandrel wants. It would be foolish to wait."

Lucien considered her words. In truth, she hadn’t said anything he hadn’t thought himself, but there was something sharper in the way she had voiced it, no ceremony, no flattery. Just strategy. It reminded him of... someone he used to be.

"I chose my allies carefully once," he said, walking toward the hearth, the warmth casting faint lines of weariness along his cheekbones. "Then they chose differently."

Liora finally looked at him. "Then choose again. You’re not the only one rebuilding, Lucien."

He turned then, not quickly, but fully. The way a man does when he decides something without saying it aloud. For a moment, the stone walls faded and so did the weight of betrayal and titles and hidden blades. There was just the echo of truth in the room. Something old, but unfamiliar. Trust, maybe, in its first breath.

"You’ll ride with Rowan’s scouts," he said, his voice firmer now. "He’ll resist it, but he’ll yield."

"And if I don’t return?"

Lucien’s gaze held hers, unreadable. "Then I’ll know not to forgive myself again."

It wasn’t affection yet. But it wasn’t nothing. A tether had started to form, a thin, almost invisible, but real one. And in a world built on secrets and power, that was far more dangerous than either of them understood.

The following morning broke with a brittle chill, the kind that settled into the bones and made silence feel sharper. Liora adjusted the fur-lined cloak at her shoulders as she stood in the courtyard. Horses stamped and snorted in the damp, and Rowan was already barking at the scouts, his voice like gravel dragged across stone.

Lucien stood on the steps behind her. He said nothing as he watched her prepare, his arms crossed loosely. He hadn’t given her farewell, just instructions—detailed and brief. He didn’t believe in goodbyes.

Liora mounted the gelding assigned to her without assistance. She was no stranger to a saddle, though it had been some time since she’d ridden beyond the palace walls. Rowan gave her a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

"You’ll ride in the middle," he told her. "Speak only if necessary."

"I wasn’t planning a conversation," she answered.

Rowan’s lips quirked at that, but he turned away before it became anything more.

They rode out in a lean, shadowed column, disappearing through the west gates. Lucien remained at the top of the stairs, watching until the mist swallowed the last of them. He didn’t know why he lingered. She was not like the others. And that unsettled him.

That evening, Beatrice sat with Lucien in the war chamber again, this time poring over the reports from the border towns. Trade disruption. A sudden buildup of armed patrols near the eastern river line. Too many coincidences. Her eyes flicked to him.

"You trust her?"

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. "I trust her sense."

"She is still a Miral. That family breeds ambition."

He turned sharply, but not in anger. "She was discarded by them."

Beatrice’s expression tightened. "Then all the more reason for her to carve a place where she won’t be discarded again."

Lucien looked back at the map. "I don’t need her to be loyal to me. I need her to act in the best interest of the realm. So far, she’s done just that."

Beatrice didn’t argue. But her silence wasn’t agreement.

Three nights later, under a stretch of moonless sky, Liora stood beside a ruined watchtower. Rowan leaned on a rock nearby, arms folded.

"You don’t look like a court girl," he said after a long pause.

"I’m not."

"You look like you don’t belong anywhere."

She met his eyes. "That’s because I don’t."

Rowan didn’t respond. Instead, he tossed her a waterskin and turned away. She caught it easily, then looked toward the border beyond the black trees.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.