Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 161: Bury the cloth there.

Chapter 161: Bury the cloth there.

"You, nothing. Stay here."

She frowned. "You expect me to do that while people are dying?"

"I expect you to stay alive."

"You’re not my..."

"Don’t say it," he interrupted. "Because if I were, I wouldn’t be letting you out of my sight right now."

The silence was thick. But Liora didn’t argue. She understood something in his voice was protective, not controlling. Perhaps even fearful.

Lucien turned to Samuel. "Double the guard on every border-facing post. I want messages sent to Alden discreetly. Let him know we need to discuss Petra immediately."

Samuel nodded and exited the room swiftly.

Lucien remained where he stood, hand resting against the edge of the map table.

Liora moved beside him quietly. "This isn’t just about the border, is it?"

"No," he admitted. "It’s about whoever’s inside the palace feeding them these details."

Liora swallowed. "You think there’s a spy?"

Lucien’s expression hardened. "I think there’s more than one."

A knock interrupted their thoughts again. This time, a soft voice came from the other side.

"Sir? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude..."

It was the newly arrived girl, the clumsy assistant physician Lucien had reluctantly accepted under Rowan’s pressure, Mae. She stumbled in, holding a cloth bag to her chest.

"I just...there was a wound report from the border soldiers that came in..." She stopped when she saw Liora, blinking awkwardly. "I... didn’t realize you were in a meeting."

Lucien raised a brow. "Come in, Mae."

Mae gave a nervous bow and stepped inside, handing Lucien a bloodied scrap of cloth. "This was tied to the murdered commander’s uniform. There’s something stitched into the corner."

Lucien turned the cloth in his hand.

There, in faint but deliberate red thread, was a name:

"Blackthorne."

Liora froze.

Lucien’s face turned to stone.

"Whoever did this," he said, "wants the whole world to believe it was me."

Silence gripped the chamber like a cold fist. The scrap of cloth bearing Lucien’s family name sat between them like a curse. Liora stared at it, her hands clenched at her sides.

"Who would dare use your name like this?" she asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Lucien didn’t respond right away. He lifted the cloth again, turning it in his hand. His eyes narrowed at the stitching; it was messy, unlike the fine embroidery expected from noble circles, but intentional. The message wasn’t for the courts or the king. It was for him.

"Someone who knows exactly what I left behind," he said at last. "Someone who wants to stir what I buried."

Mae, still standing awkwardly by the door, asked hesitantly, "Should I send word to the estate’s physician? Or... the commander’s records?"

"No," Lucien said without turning. "You did well bringing this. Tell no one."

Mae nodded, backing away quickly. "Yes, my lord."

As the door clicked shut behind her, Lucien finally looked at Liora. His voice was low. "They want the name Blackthorne to ring with blood again. To remind the court what I was accused of."

Liora moved closer, placing a hand gently on the edge of the table, careful not to touch him. "And what do you want it to ring with?"

Lucien’s eyes met hers. "Truth."

It was a rare word from him, bare, unguarded. For a second, something shifted between them. Not affection, not yet, but a fragile string of understanding. He didn’t look away.

Then he straightened, the moment gone. "I need to leave for Petra before the court decides to meddle."

Liora blinked. "You’re leaving? Now?"

Lucien nodded. "Tonight. With Rowan."

"I should come with you," she said.

"No."

"Why not?" she challenged.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t argue. He simply looked at her with a gaze that left no room for question. "Because if something happens to me, someone has to survive to carry the truth."

Liora’s throat tightened. "You think you’re walking into a trap?"

Lucien smiled faintly, bitterly. "I think I already did. Months ago."

She stepped back, not because she agreed, but because she didn’t know how else to stop herself from grabbing his arm and saying, Don’t go.

Instead, she whispered, "Then promise me something."

Lucien raised a brow.

"If you don’t return..." She struggled with the words, "...make sure Samuel brings back whatever you find. Don’t let this disappear into silence again."

Lucien stepped forward. Slowly, he reached out, not to touch her, but to press the cloth scrap into her hand.

"Then keep this safe, Liora. If I don’t return, tell Alden. Tell him it wasn’t me."

Their fingers brushed. Just for a breath of a moment.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving Liora standing in the room, the weight of his name and his truth in her hands.

The estate grew quieter as the night deepened, but Liora couldn’t sleep.

She sat by the window in her chamber, fingers tracing the edge of the cloth Lucien had handed her. It was stiff with dried blood. Someone had gone to great lengths to deliver a message that only Lucien would understand. Or fear.

She replayed his words in her head. "If something happens to me, someone has to survive to carry the truth."

The idea of him not returning sat heavy in her chest. It wasn’t love; she didn’t even know what she truly felt for Lucien. But it was something more than duty. Something fragile and infuriatingly real.

A soft knock startled her.

She opened the door to find Samuel, cloaked and armed. His expression was unreadable.

"His Highness left," he said quietly. "Rowan’s with him. I’m staying behind to keep an eye on the estate."

Liora nodded. "Thank you for telling me."

Samuel hesitated. "He left a second message. For you."

She blinked, surprised.

Samuel reached into his inner coat and took out a small envelope. It was sealed with the same broken Blackthorne crest that had once decorated Lucien’s sword hilt. Liora took it, heart thudding.

Samuel didn’t linger. "I’ll keep watch outside. We’ve noticed unfamiliar riders circling near the far hills. Probably scouts."

With that, he vanished into the corridor.

Liora closed the door, turning to the flickering candlelight, and broke the seal.

There was no flourish in Lucien’s handwriting. Just a line, ink slightly smudged.

"If I’m wrong about Petra, burn this cloth. If I’m right, bury it at the chapel stone. You’ll know what to do."

She didn’t know what it meant, not yet. But a part of her, a quiet, stirring instinct, knew this was bigger than a name. Bigger than Lucien. Maybe even bigger than the court itself.

That night, as the cold wind slipped through the cracks of the window, Liora tucked the cloth and letter into her satchel and returned to the table.

There, she began writing a letter to Alden. Carefully. Slowly. Without betraying Lucien’s trust but ensuring if anything went wrong, the king would know.

And just as she dipped the quill once more, another knock came. Quieter this time.

She opened it again, expecting Samuel, but instead found a woman. Younger than Beatrice, but with a hurried, nervous energy. Pale cheeks, smudged ink on her fingers, and a scroll in hand.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lady Liora. I...I’m Norra. I was sent by the steward of Petra’s outpost. There’s news."

Liora frowned. "Why bring it to me?"

"Because..." Norra hesitated, biting her lip, "because the king’s envoy is missing. And Lucien... might be walking into something far worse than a trap."

Liora’s breath caught.

The flickering lantern in her room cast Norra’s pale face in trembling shadows. For a moment, neither of them spoke, just the soft creak of wooden floorboards between them and the wind tapping faintly at the glass panes behind.

"Missing?" Liora repeated. Her voice came out weaker than intended.

Norra nodded hastily. "The envoy was supposed to reach Petra’s outer hold two days ago. My father, who’s a scribe there, sent word to me in secret. No one wants to speak aloud what they suspect, but Lady Liora..." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "They think there’s betrayal. From inside."

Liora’s mind churned.

Lucien had left only this morning. If the envoy never reached Petra, then the map he was carrying... could be a decoy. Or worse it’s a trap.

"You said your father is a scribe?" Liora asked.

Norra nodded. "He overheard the lord of Petra’s hold speaking with one of the upper ministers. They said something about false borders being drawn... and someone else wanting to take claim of Petra. Not just for power, but to uncover whatever’s beneath that land."

Liora blinked. "Beneath?"

Norra bit her lip. "There’s a stone. A chapel ruin just beyond Petra’s ridge. My father says it’s older than the founding of the kingdom. No one’s dared excavate it in years. The priesthood left it alone. But recently, strange riders have been circling. Digging in secret."

The weight in Liora’s chest deepened.

Lucien’s note had mentioned the chapel. "Bury the cloth there."

It wasn’t just a hiding place. It was a mark and a secret

A truth buried beneath generations of lies.

"I have to warn him," Liora said, stepping back and grabbing her shawl.

"But you don’t know the way..."

"I don’t care."