Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 97: He knew something

Chapter 97: He knew something

The hallway outside Lucien’s study was quiet, but Liora hesitated before knocking. Beatrice had asked her to deliver the latest report from the steward, but something in her expression hinted that it was more than a mere errand. Ever since Beatrice had started speaking to her with less clipped formality, Liora noticed how the woman watched her closely as if weighing her worth.

She knocked.

"Enter."

Lucien’s voice wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t exactly warm either. Liora stepped inside, the folds of her pale gown brushing against the polished floor.

He was seated near the window, the late afternoon light falling across his desk. Papers were scattered before him sealed letters, ledgers, and a detailed map of the southern borderlands. Without lifting his head, he gestured for the report.

Liora moved forward and placed it before him. "From Beatrice, my lord."

Lucien’s gaze lifted briefly, his pale eyes catching hers. "Thank you."

As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her. "Did she say anything?"

"No," Liora replied, then paused. "Only that it might be better if you read it before dinner."

That drew a small shift in his expression an almost-smile, quickly masked.

"Stay," he said after a moment, surprising them both.

Liora stilled. "My lord?"

"I’ll only be a moment. You may sit."

She moved cautiously to one of the armchairs near the hearth. The fire was low, crackling softly. She watched as he opened the folded letter, eyes scanning its contents with trained sharpness.

After a stretch of silence, Lucien folded the report and sighed. "The south is stirring."

She glanced toward the map. "Trouble?"

"Possibly," he said, rising from his chair. He moved to stand by the hearth, staring into the flames. "The Marquis of Elowen is too quiet, and the Queen Dowager’s informants in the region have sent conflicting reports."

Liora tilted her head. "Would they dare turn against the Crown?"

Lucien looked at her, just for a heartbeat too long. "Everyone dares something, given time."

The flickering light painted golden lines across his features, softening the hardened edges. Liora’s thoughts drifted, not to romantic illusions, but to something else. An ache, perhaps. Recognition of the weight he carried.

"You seem quieter these days," he said unexpectedly.

She blinked. "I don’t want to overstep."

"You’re part of this household now," Lucien said, his tone firm but not unkind. "What Beatrice asks you to observe or deliver do not think it without purpose."

Liora looked at him steadily. "I understand."

Another silence. But it wasn’t the tense, stifling kind they used to share. It hung between them like a thread, not quite fragile, not quite strong. Just... there.

Lucien turned back to his desk. "Go rest. There may be a gathering of ministers in the coming days. You’ll be expected to know the names they speak of."

She rose. "Then I’ll study."

As she reached the door, Lucien’s voice stopped her again.

"Liora."

She looked back.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then simply, "Thank you."

She nodded and this time, when she left the room, her steps were lighter.

The morning air carried the scent of burnt parchment and spiced tea. Liora stood in the small alcove off the main courtyard, watching as servants bustled past with crates of sealed letters and baskets of woven silk. Something was shifting she could feel it in the hush beneath the usual murmurs.

Beatrice approached from behind, her cloak swaying softly. "You’ve heard, I assume?"

Liora turned. "The envoys?"

Beatrice nodded, her mouth a thin line. "From Elowen. Two carriages, royal colors. They entered the gates at dawn."

Liora’s stomach tightened. "Will they be meeting Lord Lucien?"

"Yes," Beatrice said quietly. "And you’ll be present."

Liora blinked. "Why?"

"Because you need to listen." Her voice dropped lower. "And because they will underestimate you."

It wasn’t praise. But it wasn’t scorn either.

The audience chamber felt colder than usual. The high windows let in streaks of light, but the marble floors held a chill that crept up Liora’s spine. She stood beside Beatrice, who as always remained unreadable.

Lucien sat at the head of the long table, his fingers steepled, eyes focused on the men who had just entered. The envoys wore deep blue robes trimmed in gold, the crest of Elowen embroidered in precise threads.

The older of the two, Lord Deren, bowed low. "Lord Blackthorne."

Lucien gave a small nod. "You’ve traveled far."

"The roads were generous," Deren said smoothly. "We bring word from the southern court. And gifts, as a show of good faith."

Lucien’s brows lifted faintly. "Gifts usually arrive when a favor is being asked."

A younger envoy sharp-eyed, barely older than Liora shifted beside Deren, but said nothing. Deren smiled as though the air hadn’t tightened. "Merely a sign of trust."

Liora kept her gaze down, but she was listening. Every word, every inflection.

Lucien didn’t move. "Speak plainly, Lord Deren."

There was a pause. Then Deren said, "The Marquis wishes to reaffirm his loyalty. In person. He requests an audience with the Crown. Here. Within the month."

Beatrice stiffened beside Liora. It was too soon, too direct.

Lucien leaned back slowly. "Reaffirm loyalty or test how far it reaches?"

Deren’s smile didn’t falter. "Surely, my lord, you don’t suspect treachery."

"I suspect what silence cannot explain," Lucien replied.

Liora’s gaze flicked to the younger envoy he was watching her.

And in that moment, she understood something that made her skin crawl: she had been recognized. Not as a concubine, not as a bystander but as a girl with a name. A girl with a past.

Later, when the envoys were led away to their quarters, Lucien’s voice cut through the quiet chamber. "That boy. He knew you."

Liora hesitated. "I think so."

"From where?"

"I don’t know," she said honestly. "But he knew something."

Lucien’s jaw tensed. "We’ll find out what."

Beatrice stepped forward. "If the Marquis comes to court, the Queen Dowager will not welcome him blindly."

Lucien’s eyes darkened. "No, but others might."

He looked to Liora again. "You may need to remember more than you want to."

Liora met his gaze. "Then I will."

And just like that, something fragile but resolute passed between them. Not affection not yet. But trust, perhaps. Or the beginning of it.

That night, the halls were quiet. Too quiet.

The walls of the estate whispered, as if trying to remember old secrets. Liora walked the corridor just outside the records room, lantern in hand. She hadn’t meant to be restless, but sleep had slipped away from her. Her mind was clouded with the envoy’s stare, the familiarity in his eyes.

He had known her. Or known of her. That was enough.

She paused before the records room. The door was slightly ajar. Unusual. Beatrice always made sure it was locked after her evening rounds.

Liora pushed it open.

Inside, Lucien stood by the high shelf, a single candle lighting the table. He didn’t look surprised to see her.

"I could ask the same," he said softly, returning his gaze to a worn scroll.

She stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her. "I couldn’t sleep."

"Neither could I."

The candlelight cast soft shadows over his face. Liora noticed the ink stains on his fingers, the looseness of his collar. It was the first time he looked... not just tired, but unguarded.

"What are you looking for?" she asked.

"Names. Clues. Anything that connects the Marquis of Elowen to the last rebellion." He glanced at her. "And anything about you."

She frowned. "About me?"

"That boy knew you." He tapped the scroll gently. "And if someone from Elowen recognizes you, then you’re tied to something deeper than just a false accusation by your aunt."

Liora stepped closer, eyes scanning the open scroll. "What if there’s nothing?"

"Then we look deeper."

The quiet that settled between them was not uncomfortable. He didn’t speak again, nor did she. For a while, they simply read, side by side in the golden hush, their shoulders nearly touching.

Liora wasn’t sure what shifted. Maybe it was the candle flickering, maybe it was the way his hand stilled as she leaned slightly over the page but for one moment, Lucien looked at her. Really looked.

"Do you regret it?" he asked suddenly.

"Regret what?"

"Coming here. Living this... half-life."

She didn’t answer right away. Her fingers lightly brushed the edge of the scroll. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But then I remember I would’ve still been caged either way."

Lucien’s expression didn’t change, but his voice softened. "You don’t belong in a cage."

She met his eyes. "Neither do you."

The air between them trembled. But neither moved. Neither reached.

And that was the beauty of it.

Whatever was growing between them, respect, trust, something unspoken it was not hurried. It was not easy. But it was there.

The morning after their quiet exchange in the records room, the estate stirred earlier than usual. Beatrice was already in the herb garden, her sleeves rolled up, instructing a maid on the right way to trim the lavender. Her tone, as ever, was clipped but never unkind.

Liora stepped onto the stone path with a basket in her hands, paused, and watched her for a moment. The older woman noticed.

"You’re up early," Beatrice said, straightening.

"I couldn’t sleep again."

Beatrice’s gaze sharpened briefly, observant as always but she said nothing. "Take some chamomile with you. It’ll help next time."