Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 99: Taken the bait

Chapter 99: Taken the bait

The council chamber had not yet filled, but the atmosphere was already strained. A storm had passed the night before, leaving the palace cloaked in the smell of rain and the silence of brewing disquiet.

Lucien entered without ceremony, flanked only by Rowan. He did not dress in court finery, no brocade, no crests, only dark, utilitarian robes. A prince by blood, yet every thread of his presence screamed exile. Still, as he strode to his place at the side alcove, murmurs rose and fell around him like startled birds.

Minister Caelis arrived moments later, robed in red and grey, the colors of his house. His face, smooth as polished marble, betrayed nothing. But Lucien saw it the stiffness in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed before resting on the edge of the council table.

Queen Dowager Lilian had not arrived.

That meant this was a test.

Lucien did not wait for a summons. He leaned forward slightly. "Minister Caelis. I received word of your trade caravan passing through the northern trail."

Caelis raised an eyebrow, face impassive. "My lord, you are well-informed. I had thought you far removed from trade matters."

"A shipment labeled grain’ but carrying explosive resin?" Lucien’s voice was quiet, deadly. "I imagine the court would take more than a passing interest in such cargo."

Caelis tilted his head. "That shipment was diverted. A merchant’s mistake."

"A mistake crossing into near-border territory with goods forbidden by treaty?" Lucien returned.

Other ministers shifted in their seats. This was no longer casual. This was war by question.

Caelis smiled, faint and poisonous. "Are you accusing me, Prince Lucien?"

Lucien’s eyes locked on his. "Not yet."

Meanwhile, in the garden behind the estate, Liora stood beneath the shade of a sprawling mulberry tree, the basket in her hands nearly full. The breeze had grown chillier, stirring her sleeves and tangling loose strands of her hair.

She didn’t realize he was watching her from the covered walkway.

Lucien should have returned to his study. But instead, he paused, being hidden behind the carved lattice wall.

She looked tired, a faint smear of dirt across one cheek, and her hands bore tiny cuts from harvesting too quickly. Yet there was a softness to her, a rhythm in the way she moved. Steady. Self-sufficient.

Not a pawn. Not a court rose. Not like Layla.

He left before she noticed.

Back in the estate’s northern study, Beatrice closed a scroll and looked toward Liora, who sat by the window, lips moving silently as she read from the old texts Beatrice had assigned.

"You hold the page like you’re ready to tear it."

Liora looked up, blinking. "It’s just hard to focus. They write like every sentence is a riddle."

Beatrice smirked. "That is the art of politics. Say everything without saying anything. You’ll learn it soon enough."

Liora glanced out the window, catching the last glimpse of Lucien’s silhouette as he disappeared down the far path.

"I hope so," she murmured.

Beatrice raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

She’d noticed too.

That evening, silence hung over the estate like an unanswered question.

Liora walked through the corridor with a tray in her hands. Beatrice had requested warm tea, though Liora suspected it was more of an excuse to step away from the endless scrolls. The lanterns flickered, casting golden light on the stone floor, her shadow trailing behind like a whisper.

As she neared the door to Beatrice’s chambers, voices stopped her.

"I warned you," Beatrice’s voice, sharp, quiet, and laced with tension. "You’re letting her draw too close."

Lucien.

"She is under my protection," he said, his voice low but steady. "That does not mean I have forgotten her place."

"Protection becomes sentiment before you realize it," Beatrice said. "And sentiment is dangerous. Especially when she has no idea of the knives being drawn for her."

Liora didn’t move. Her fingers clenched around the tray, the scent of lemon balm and honey rising faintly from the porcelain.

"She’s learning," Lucien answered. "And I need someone I can trust to stay unbought."

Beatrice exhaled, slow and disapproving. "Then make sure she stays untouched. The court is already whispering".

Liora stepped back silently, her heart an odd mixture of confusion and heat. She returned the way she came, careful not to let the cups clink.

The next day, Layla Valcour arrived at court with a letter sealed in green wax.

Queen Ellora accepted it with unreadable poise. "You bring tidings from the southern envoy?"

Layla curtsied gracefully. "Indeed, Your Majesty. But also... a gift."

She gestured, and a young noblewoman stepped forward. Thin, fair, with observant eyes that darted quickly across the court. Not southern. Northern dialect in her posture. Trained.

"A cousin from my mother’s side," Layla said. "She has a fine eye for detail and a very clever tongue. I thought she might be of use to you."

Ellora studied the girl, then gave a small, regal nod. "Leave her with the steward. We shall see how clever she is."

But as Layla turned to go, she caught Queen Dowager Lilian’s eye, sharp and cold from the gallery above.

She smiled sweetly.

That night, Lucien stood at the edge of the cliff behind the estate, looking over the lanterns that dotted the city below like distant stars. Rowan approached, his boots crunching softly against the gravel.

"You think Caelis will make a move?"

Lucien didn’t answer at first.

"He already has."

He held up a slip of parchment. A report smuggled through the old network, one that hadn’t been used in years.

"Beatrice was right. Someone is sending information from within. They’ve been watching Liora."

Rowan stilled. "You think she’s in danger?"

Lucien’s jaw tightened.

"She already is."

The morning arrived with an unnatural stillness.

Liora reached for her brush, only to pause; its position was wrong. She always kept it by the basin, angled with the bristles downward. But now, it lay turned, as if someone had picked it up, examined it, and placed it back with a careless hand.

A faint unease tightened in her chest.

She scanned her room.

Nothing else seemed out of place. The inkpot was closed. Her drawer was slightly ajar, but she remembered leaving it that way, didn’t she? She stepped to the window. The latch had been undone.

Someone had entered.

She opened the drawer slowly. Her fingers touched the folded letter she kept her mother’s handwriting was faded but still legible. It hadn’t been moved.

But beneath it, a new slip of parchment rested. Unfolded. No signature.

"Your silence buys you protection. Your curiosity, your end."

Elsewhere, in the dark recess of the palace’s eastern wing, Queen Dowager Lilian sat with a pale girl, Layla’s cousin, the "gift."

"She’s taken the bait?" the girl asked.

Lilian nodded. "She has the eyes of a survivor, not a fool. She’ll hesitate. That gives us time."

"And Lucien?"

Lilian’s smile was thin. "A man who hides behind shadows believes no one sees him. But he forgets I was raised with vipers and taught by wolves. His mind is sharp, but not unbreakable."

Later that afternoon, Liora stood quietly by the stables, feeding a restless mare. Lucien approached, dressed in darker riding clothes, his brow furrowed.

"You moved your bed," he said without preamble.

"I didn’t," she replied. "But someone else did."

He stilled.

"I wasn’t imagining it," she added. "There was a note. No name."

Lucien took a step closer, voice low. "Did they take anything?"

"No. But the message was clear."

His jaw clenched, and then, unexpectedly, he handed her a thin dagger wrapped in cloth.

"Keep it," he said. "You’ll be watched even more now."

"I thought I already was."

Lucien met her gaze, and something unreadable flickered behind his eyes. "Not just by enemies."

That evening, the halls of Lucien’s residence fell under an eerie hush. Servants moved with cautious steps, and guards lingered longer near entrances. Word of the break-in hadn’t been spoken aloud, but in a place like this, silence only fueled suspicion.

Liora sat at the writing desk near the open balcony, the dagger Lucien had given her now hidden beneath a fold of her sash. She hadn’t asked why he had one ready for her, nor what it meant that he was prepared for a threat in his own home. Or had he always known it would come?

A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.

Rowan entered.

He offered a slight bow, then handed her a scroll bearing the royal seal. "From the Queen."

She broke the seal. It was not an invitation; it was a command.

Come at once. We must speak.

"She’s never summoned me directly before," Liora murmured.

"Because until now, you were only Lucien’s concubine in name. But something’s changed," Rowan said quietly. "You’ve caught more attention than you should have."

Liora narrowed her eyes. "Or someone wants me exactly where they can keep an eye on me."

Rowan didn’t argue.

"You’re late."