Sold to My Killer Husband: His Concubine's Dilemma
Chapter 163: Sent for a second opinion

Chapter 163: Sent for a second opinion

Lucien turned to Samuel, who now approached with a forged seal. "Lord Miras of the council," Samuel said. "He fell ill two days ago. Queen Ellora had her personal medic assigned, but he’s old and cautious. You’ll be the quiet one checking on the old man."

Pros? It was brilliant. Queen Ellora wouldn’t question an additional healer coming under council summons especially in matters of health, which she held dear. And the old wing’s isolation could be an opportunity to dig into deeper secrets.

But the cons? Too many moving parts. One wrong glance from a palace guard who recognized her as that girl from Lucien’s estate, and everything could collapse. She had no allies inside Petra. Not anymore.

"And what if I get caught?" Liora asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Lucien didn’t look away. "Then you’re on your own." A pause. "But you won’t."

That, oddly enough, felt like trust.

Norra stepped up, whispering, "You shouldn’t go alone. Let me..."

But Liora shook her head. "Too many faces will bring attention. Let me do this."

Samuel handed her a satchel and nodded once. "Everything you need is inside. The crest, the herbs, and the letter."

They watched her go, her steps steady but her breath shallow. Every stride toward Petra was a step into memories she had buried the high halls, the scent of stone floors scrubbed with lemon water, and the echo of her own silence when they passed judgment on her. She wasn’t Liora Miral inside those walls. She had been a mistake.

But today, she walked in with a name. A purpose. And a deal.

From the shadows of the cliffside, Lucien remained still, his arms crossed as he watched her disappear down the curve of the hill. Rowan came beside him, narrowing his eyes.

"You trust her that much?"

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. "She’s survived worse than I’ve thrown at her."

"Still," Rowan said, "she’s walking straight into Ellora’s chambers. One misstep..."

Lucien’s voice was low. "She won’t misstep."

Yet beneath his conviction, a flicker of unease settled.

Back in Petra, behind its white stone walls and ivy-laced towers, Queen Ellora reclined in her chambers, unaware that a quiet storm now walked her halls; a girl who once begged for mercy at their gates now carried the key to truths Ellora never intended to expose. And someone, watching from the shadows, had recognized her already.

The game had only just begun.

The gates of Petra didn’t creak or protest; they welcomed Liora too easily.

A guard glanced at the forged seal and her carefully worn healer’s robe and nodded without pause. The moment the gates closed behind her, Liora’s breath stilled. She had entered through the outer ring easily, but now, every step inward would be like walking across threads of a spider’s web, like quiet, delicate, but deadly if disturbed.

The palace hadn’t changed. The cobbled floors still gleamed under the late morning sun, and the hallways echoed with hushed footsteps and clicking heels. Her fingers grazed the satchel’s edge as she passed the marbled corridor leading to the council wing. She didn’t need to look back to know someone was watching; this palace had eyes in the walls.

Lord Miras’s room lay in the older infirmary wing; stone pillars flanked the hall, now half-forgotten with peeling plaster and closed-off doors. Just as Lucien said.

The old noble lay on a cushioned bed, skin pale but eyes alert. He looked at her as she entered, suspicious yet too weak to protest. A younger servant stood beside him, uncertain, but Liora offered a soft, convincing smile. "Sent for a second opinion, my lord," she murmured, laying down the seal gently.

He grunted, waving off the servant. "If the queen trusts you, then I’ll allow it."

That line. It lingered oddly. ’If the queen trusts you...’

She worked quickly, but not carelessly. She had to keep up the ruse, but every pause and every blink was deliberate. She scanned the chamber, the furniture, the half-opened drawer with scrolls, and beneath them a black ring of melted wax stamped with a crescent and dagger.

Not the royal crest.

Her heart pounded, but she kept her fingers steady as she disguised it beneath the medical tools again. Something was going on with Miras and perhaps he wasn’t just ill.

But she had no time to investigate.

The moment she left the chamber, she was intercepted. A young girl, who was no older than sixteen with golden-brown curls and flushed cheeks, handed her trembling hands. "You’re the healer, aren’t you?"

Liora blinked. "Yes...?"

"My sister, she works in the scullery. She fell and hasn’t woken. They said no one would come." Her eyes shimmered with panic. "Please, miss. I heard you were kind."

A risk. A trap?

But Liora’s voice softened, "Take me."

They moved fast through side passages until they reached the servant dormitories. The girl’s sister, barely older than her, lay on a thin mat, unconscious and pale. Not an injury, Liora realized, but poison. Faint, slow-working, but deadly.

She examined the girl’s mouth and breath, and the signs were unmistakable: someone had used diluted morne root, a compound known only to those familiar with court poisons.

Liora pressed a linen cloth into the younger sister’s hand. "Don’t let her eat or drink anything else. I’ll get what she needs." She hesitated, then added, "And tell no one I was here."

The girl nodded rapidly, lips quivering. "What’s your name? So I can thank you later."

Liora paused in the doorway.

"...Just call me the ghost," she whispered, and slipped away.

Back at the outskirts, Rowan paced near the campfire. Norra sat nearby, sharpening her blade without speaking, while Lucien remained unreadable as he scanned the Petra skyline in the distance.

When Liora returned by nightfall, hair loose and eyes darker than they were in the morning, Norra stood first.

"You made it."

Liora didn’t answer immediately. She dropped the satchel at Lucien’s feet. "Your Lord Miras is either a traitor, a pawn, or dying for reasons no one’s questioning. His drawer hides the crest of a secret faction."

Lucien’s gaze narrowed. "Did you take it?"

"No," she said simply, "I’m not you."

She turned to Norra. "And I need more morne root antidote. Someone’s poisoning the palace staff."

Rowan raised his brows. "That... escalated fast."

Lucien’s fingers curled around the satchel strap. "It’s begun."

Because one secret always leads to another. _{fre.eweb novel\.c om}

And Petra had no shortage of corpses buried beneath silken tapestries.

Ellora Valcour sat in front of her dressing mirror, her hands motionless, lips parted in soft disbelief. The note lay open in her lap, smudged with urgency.

Liora Miral has returned.

That name. That ghost. That mistake.

She folded the parchment again once, twice and slipped it beneath the silk lining of her jewelry box, between a locket of her late mother and the sealed vial of perfume she hadn’t used in years.

Her reflection stared back, calm, poised, and unreadable.

But inside her chest, it felt like a tapestry had unraveled.

Liora Miral should have disappeared the moment she crossed the palace threshold, years ago, when her aunt bartered her into Lucien’s disgraced household. Her existence had been a nuisance then. A ripple in the still pond Ellora had cultivated.

And now, she was back? Boldly walking the halls of Petra?

Ellora rose from her seat, stepped into her shoes, and dismissed the maid who had just entered with a fresh gown. "I’ll dress myself tonight."

The girl blinked but obeyed. Ellora needed the solitude and needed the silence to think.

She had played this game long enough to know when the wind was shifting.

Somewhere beyond the palace walls, a crow perched outside the window of a quiet chamber. The man inside, old, blind in one eye, wrapped in moss-green robes held out his hand.

The crow hopped down, its feet clicking across the wood. Tied to its leg was a single scroll. The old man unrolled it, ran gnarled fingers across the ink, and chuckled lowly.

"She returns like a thread thought cut," he rasped.

Behind him, someone stepped from the shadows. "Shall I send word to the network?"

"No," the old man said slowly. "Let the storm brew. Let them all think they still have control."

Then, his grin split across cracked lips. "She’ll either pull the kingdom down or weave it anew."

Meanwhile...

Liora scrubbed her hands with rose ash and vinegar, the only way to mask the faint trace of morne root. She was silent as Norra handed her a damp cloth.

"You smell like panic and poison," Norra muttered, leaning against the tent pole. "Was it worth it?"

"Yes," Liora said. "And no."

Lucien was waiting. Arms crossed, expression unreadable. Rowan leaned against a tree stump nearby, casually tossing a dagger between his fingers.

"Tell me about the seal," Lucien said. "You said a dagger and a crescent?"

"Yes. Carved into black wax. Not royal. Not council either."

Lucien’s jaw clenched. "That’s the seal of the Veiled Fang."

Norra’s brow furrowed. "I thought they were disbanded after the rebellion."

"They weren’t disbanded," Lucien said. "They were absorbed. Quietly. Used by the throne whenever the crown needed blood on its hands, without leaving fingerprints."

Liora glanced at him. "You think Miras is working with them?"

"I think..." Lucien exhaled. "I think someone inside the palace is playing with fire. And I want to know if that fire is meant to consume the king..."

"Or you," Rowan added, voice low.

Then Lucien looked at Liora. "Are you still in?"

Her heart answered before her lips. "Yes."

He stepped closer, so close she could see the faint scar at the corner of his mouth. "Then don’t go near the Queen. She doesn’t forget, and she never forgives."

"I don’t need her forgiveness," Liora whispered. "I just need her secrets."