CHAPTER 212: USEFUL FOR WHOM

"Bad news?" she asked, her voice breaking the silence.

Lucien folded the parchment slowly, slipping it into his coat. He looked at her for a long moment, as though measuring what he could and could not say. Finally, his lips curved in something that was not quite a smile.

"News," he said simply. "And news, Liora, is never good or bad. Only useful."

The cryptic reply unsettled her. She crossed her arms, refusing to let him brush her aside again. "Useful for whom?"

His eyes glinted with that dark humor of his. "For those clever enough to use it."

Before she could push further, Rowan appeared at the edge of the garden. He bowed politely to her but spoke directly to Lucien.

"The queen dowager has sent for you. Privately."

The tension between master and confidant was subtle but unmistakable, a taut string neither of them dared pluck.

Lucien’s expression sharpened. "Of course she has," he murmured, almost to himself. Then, louder: "Prepare the horses. We leave within the hour."

Rowan hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly toward Liora before he inclined his head and left.

Liora waited until the footsteps faded before speaking again. "The queen dowager," she said carefully, tasting the weight of those words. "Why would she want you now?"

Lucien finally turned to her fully. For a fleeting second, his mask cracked, just enough for her to see the steel beneath.

"Because, Liora," he said, his voice low and deliberate, "pieces are moving on the board. And whether we wish it or not, you and I are both already in the game."

The wind stirred, scattering petals across the garden path. Liora felt her chest tighten. The game had begun, but she still didn’t know whose rules she was playing by.

The carriage wheels ground over the cobbled streets as Lucien and Rowan made their way to the palace. Liora had been left behind, though not without a pointed look from Rowan that told her not everything said or done today would reach her ears.

The Blackthorne crest on the carriage caught whispers as they passed, curiosity, disdain, even fear. Lucien ignored them all, eyes fixed on the looming palace gates.

When he finally stepped into the private solar of Queen Dowager Lilian, he was greeted by her calm yet piercing gaze. She sat by the window, light falling across her silver-threaded hair, a queen even without her crown.

"Lucien," she said softly, almost like a mother to a son. "It has been too long."

He bowed, the gesture respectful but edged with distance. "Your summons was unexpected, Your Grace."

"Unexpected things are often the most important." She gestured for him to sit. "The court thinks you are buried. Powerless. That is exactly why I need you."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "You stripped me of my title."

Her lips curved faintly. "I preserved your life. Do not confuse the two."

The words landed like a blade between them.

Queen Dowager Lilian leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Your brother grows restless. Alden has always been too cautious, too merciful. But there are those in court who find mercy inconvenient. They whisper of... replacing him."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. "And you want me to protect him?"

She gave a small, enigmatic smile. "I want you to find the hand moving the whispers. If Alden falls, you fall with him. And perhaps..." She paused, watching him carefully. "...you might even clear the stain from your name."

Lucien stiffened at that. The mention of his ex-wife’s death, though unspoken, hung heavy in the air.

"Do you imply," he asked slowly, "that the same hand that tore my life apart now seeks the crown?"

Her silence was answer enough.

At last she rose, her silken robes whispering across the floor. She reached for his hand, an almost maternal gesture. "You will not do this for Alden. Nor for me. You will do it for yourself, Lucien. Because truth is the only coin left to you."

Back at the estate, Liora sat in Lucien’s study, her fingers tracing the edges of old ledgers. Edgar, the steward, had let slip that records of the Miral estate, her parents’ lands, were still kept there, tucked away as part of a transaction years ago.

Her eyes froze on one entry.

A transfer. Gold and land. Signed by Evelyne Miral. Witnessed by... Edgar Allne.

Her pulse quickened. If her aunt had sold off her parents’ holdings, what else had she concealed?

And why had Edgar, Lucien’s trusted steward, been involved?

The ledger slipped from her hands as realization struc, kLiora was not just caught in Lucien’s shadow. She had been tangled in this web from the very beginning.

The palace corridors echoed behind Lucien as he and Rowan exited the queen dowager’s solar. The air outside was sharper and cooler, but it did nothing to ease the weight pressing down on him.

Rowan matched his stride, his tone measured but edged with urgency.

"So... she knows more than she lets on. About your disgrace. About your ex-wife. Perhaps even about..." His voice trailed off, though his glance was enough. Liora.

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. His mind replayed Lilian’s words, each one like a carefully placed chess piece.

If Alden was being threatened, it meant his own downfall was not a coincidence. Someone had orchestrated everything: his disgrace, the whispers, and the murder.

Rowan stopped him as they reached the steps leading to the carriage.

"You should tell Liora," he said quietly. "At least some of it. Before someone else does."

Lucien’s expression darkened, the memory of Darius’ taunt cutting sharper than any blade.

"She already knows too much. And too little."

Rowan studied him. "Then the danger isn’t just in what’s hidden. It’s in what fills the silence you leave behind."

Lucien’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing more. He stepped into the carriage, the decision heavy and unresolved.

At the Blackthorne estate, Liora paced the study, the ledger open on the desk. She read and reread the line until the ink blurred.

When the door creaked, she turned sharply. Edgar stood there, his hands folded, expression unreadable.

"You’ve been searching," he said calmly, as if he had expected this.

Her voice trembled, but it carried steel. "You were there. The night my aunt sold my parents’ lands. You signed it."

Edgar inclined his head, not denying it. "Yes."

Her heart pounded. "Why? Why would you, Lucien’s steward, be involved in that?"

For the first time, Edgar’s mask cracked. His gaze softened, a flicker of something almost like pity.

"Because, my lady... your parents’ deaths were not a simple tragedy. And the ledger is not the only record I kept."

Liora’s breath caught. "What do you mean?"

Edgar stepped forward, lowering his voice.

"There are truths Lucien cannot give you. Not yet. But if you truly wish to know... I can show you what your aunt and uncle buried."

Edgar moved deeper into the study, the weight of years reflected in the careful way he carried himself. His voice was low, but every syllable pressed against Liora like stone.

"Your parents," he began, "were loyal to the Crown. But loyalty is a dangerous thing in a court where power shifts like sand. They stood in the way of an alliance Queen Dowager Lilian sought to secure, an alliance with the eastern lords. Your father’s refusal to hand over your lands marked him."

Liora’s throat tightened. "So my father... was killed because he resisted?"

Edgar hesitated, then nodded. "And your mother, because she refused to bow after him."

The words hollowed her. It was one thing to suspect betrayal, another to hear it spoken.

Her voice wavered. "And Lucien? Where was he in all of this?"

Edgar’s eyes flickered just for a moment with hesitation. "He was caught between two blades. His loyalty to the Blackthorne name... and the price of silence. If he spoke, he risked the same fate as your parents. If he stayed silent, he carried the stain of complicity."

Liora’s breath shook. "So he chose silence."

Before Edgar could answer, the door to the study opened sharply.

Lucien stood in the doorway. His presence filled the room like a storm rolling in, his eyes catching the firelight, sharp and unreadable.

"Enough," he said, his voice calm but carrying command. "Edgar."

The steward bowed deeply, retreating without another word, though his glance at Liora lingered with meaning, as if to say, "Choose carefully whom you trust."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Lucien stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her, unreadable shadows in his eyes. "So. You’ve begun to dig where the earth runs deepest."

Liora’s hands trembled against the ledger, but she didn’t look away. "You’ve kept me in the dark. About my parents. About yourself. How much longer do you expect me to live blind under your roof?"

Lucien’s jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat he looked as though he might lash out in anger. But when he spoke, his tone was quieter, heavier.

"I kept the truth from you," he said slowly, "because once you know it, there is no going back. And the weight of it is something I would not wish on you. Not yet."

Her chest ached, torn between fury and grief. "The weight is already mine, Lucien. You only left me to carry it alone."

For the first time, his expression faltered, pain breaking through the steel.