CHAPTER 183: I READ YOUR LETTER

The palace corridors whispered with secrets. Liora had learned to walk softly, not because she feared the guards or the curious maids, but because silence gave her power. The quieter she moved, the more she saw. The more she saw, the more dangerous she became.

Lucien had not summoned her again after the night of the queen’s passing. Rumors of Queen Dowager Lilian’s sudden death still floated like a heavy fog. Some claimed grief from the king’s behavior had finally broken her; others suggested poison. But Liora knew better. That night had changed something between Lucien and Alden. And she had stood at the center of it all, watching the threads tighten around her.

She hadn’t seen Rowan either. His absence spoke louder than any words. Which meant Lucien was planning something. Something that didn’t need Liora’s presence, at least not yet.

So she waited. Not passively. Every walk through the gardens became a study of hidden paths. Every conversation with a maid became a test of loyalty. She had grown sharper, more deliberate. Her soft words, once hesitant, now held the echo of steel.

And yet, her thoughts constantly tangled themselves around Lucien.

He had changed. That much she could feel in her bones. His gaze lingered longer. His silences weren’t cruel, just burdened. Whatever he had seen or lost that night, it had shaken him. But he hadn’t pushed her away. That meant something.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. She straightened in her seat, setting down the book she hadn’t really been reading.

"Come in."

It was Edgar. His appearance always meant something was brewing.

"My lady," he said with a polite bow. "The prince requests your presence. He’s in the old west wing."

The old wing?

A cold ripple slid down her spine. That wing hadn’t been used in years, not since the scandal of Lucien’s fall. Dust and decay had claimed its halls. For him to return there now... it was symbolic.

"I’ll go," she said simply, rising to her feet.

The walk to the west wing took longer than she expected. Torches had been re-lit, but the walls still wore the ghosts of abandonment. Faded tapestries, cracked tiles, and silence broken only by her footsteps.

She found Lucien standing in a narrow hall at the end, facing a sealed door.

"I didn’t think you’d come," he murmured, not turning.

"You summoned me," she replied.

A faint smile touched his lips. "That’s not why you came."

He turned then, and Liora stilled.

His eyes were unreadable, light and storm at once. "Behind this door is the truth," he said. "My truth. My fall. My wife’s death. The betrayal that stripped me of everything."

Liora didn’t speak.

Lucien stepped aside, revealing the ancient lock. "If you enter, you become part of it. There’s no going back. No pretending you didn’t see what lies within."

She looked at the door.

Then at him.

"I’m already part of it, Lucien," she said quietly. "I have been since the day I stepped into your house as your concubine."

His jaw clenched.

Then, slowly, he placed the key in her hand.

"You open it."

The courtyard was shrouded in moonlight, its quiet beauty deceptive under the silver hue. Lucien stood at the edge of the reflecting pond, his eyes unfocused, fixed on the water but seeing something far beyond its ripples. His hands were behind his back, clasped tightly. The weight of the night felt heavier than usual. Rowan had left moments ago with the rest of his reports, but something about the letter Liora had written hadn’t let him breathe freely since.

He hadn’t read it again, though it burned in his pocket like embers.

Behind him, footsteps approached quietly, hesitant but deliberate. He didn’t need to turn.

"I told Edgar not to disturb me."

"But I’m not Edgar," Liora’s soft voice said.

He turned.

Her hair was unbound, falling over her shoulders, and a pale shawl was wrapped loosely over her dress. She looked like she hadn’t come here out of obligation. No servant trailed her. No pretense of errand or task.

Lucien’s jaw flexed. "It’s late."

"I know." She stepped closer, hands at her sides. "But you didn’t return to the room. And I thought... perhaps you needed company."

He stared at her. The same girl who once trembled every time he walked in. The one he had pushed away with silence, with threats, with indifference. She was no longer the same.

"I read your letter," he said.

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

He continued, voice low, like it might break if spoken too loud. "It was reckless of you."

"I meant every word," she replied.

He looked away. "Do you know what happens to people who get close to me? They’re used. Manipulated. Or worse... they die. Do you really wish to be caught in that?"

"I already am."

That drew his attention. She stepped forward until she stood just a breath away. Her voice, barely louder than the rustle of wind through the trees, was unwavering. "You think you’re the only one with ghosts. But I have mine too. And I’m tired of being protected from pain by being left alone."

Lucien exhaled, a harsh sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. "You don’t understand what you’re asking for."

"No," she agreed. "But I want to."

He searched her face, desperate to find some hesitation, some doubt. But all he saw was the same stubborn determination he’d once admired in silence.

Her hand brushed his sleeve. "Let me stay."

He should have turned away. He should have told her to leave. But instead, Lucien reached up, gently catching her hand.

The silence between them stretched, no longer cold or cruel, but fragile, like a thread holding something sacred.

"I don’t know how to be kind," he whispered. "I’ve forgotten how."

"Then let me remind you."

And for the first time in years, Lucien didn’t walk away.

Liora followed the steward silently as he led her away from the corridor where she had encountered Prince Alden. Her fingers still tingled with the phantom touch of the prince’s grip, and her mind whirled with confusion. Why had he stopped her? Why had he called her name with such urgency, only to say so little?

The halls they walked through were quieter, deeper into the concubines’ quarters. The tapestries here were older and muted in color, and the candlelight seemed dimmer, casting elongated shadows. Liora felt like she had been taken deeper into the palace, not just physically, but into its secrets.

The steward, Edgar Allne, finally paused outside a large wooden door. "This will be your chamber, Lady Liora," he said. His voice remained even, though he seemed to study her face for any reaction. "Your belongings have been placed inside. If you need anything, speak to the maid assigned to you."

Liora bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, Steward."

He opened the door for her. The room inside was modest compared to the grand halls of the palace, but it was far from uncomfortable. A lacquered table stood near the window, and a screen separated the sleeping area from a small dressing corner. There were cushions on the floor and silk curtains tied neatly back with golden cords. It smelled faintly of roses and parchment.

As soon as Edgar left, Liora stepped inside, her feet barely making a sound against the polished floors. Her eyes drifted to the window. From here, she could see the gardens where she had first arrived, though the angle was limited. Somewhere beyond those hedges, Lucien roamed.

Lucien.

Her heart ached at the thought of him. He hadn’t come for her. Hadn’t sent word. He hadn’t even appeared when she was being dragged to the palace.

A soft knock at the door broke her thoughts.

"Enter," she said, turning.

A maid stepped in, her head bowed low. "Lady Liora, I’ve brought warm water for your hands and face. If you require a change of clothes, they have been arranged in the cedar chest."

Liora nodded, grateful. "Thank you."

The girl placed the water basin on the table and retreated quickly. Liora walked over, dipping her fingers into the warmth, watching the water ripple. Her reflection shimmered on the surface, a girl with tired eyes and a broken heart.

And yet, something in her refused to fall apart.

She dried her hands and moved to the cedar chest, opening it to find delicate robes in soft shades of ivory, blue, and gold. As she ran her hand over the fabric, a small piece of folded parchment slipped from between two layers.

Frowning, she picked it up.

The handwriting was sharp and quick.

"Meet me at the back of the Moon Pavilion after nightfall. Come alone. - R."

"R?" Her fingers closed around the note. Rowan. It had to be him. But how did he know where she would be? Had he been watching her since she entered the palace?

Heart racing, Liora folded the note and tucked it into her sleeve.

She had no allies here. But maybe, just maybe, she still had one.