CHAPTER 188: DANGEROUS HOUR TO WANDER

"His Grace instructed this to be locked," Edgar said, his tone devoid of judgment, merely delivering fact. "You will find fresh water and linens. Supper will be brought shortly."

She stepped inside without answering, listening to the click of the lock as it slid into place behind her.

For a long moment, she stood still, taking in the small, sparsely furnished room. A narrow bed against the far wall. A single chair beside a desk that had seen better days. No windows. The kind of place meant to keep someone, not welcome them.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. This wasn’t a chamber; it was a cage dressed in politeness.

Liora moved to the desk, fingers brushing over the rough wood, then stopped when she noticed a small iron bolt on the inside of the door, useless now, with the outer lock secured. She drew a slow breath, forcing her pulse to steady.

If Lucien Blackthorne thought she would wilt in a locked room, he had gravely underestimated her.

She began moving with quiet precision, as though every step might wake some unseen guard.

First, the desk, its single drawer stuck stubbornly when she tried to pull it open. Liora tugged harder until it gave with a sudden jerk, the sound too loud in the cramped stillness. Inside, there was only a dried inkpot, a cracked quill, and a folded scrap of parchment yellowed with age. Blank.

Her gaze swept to the chair. Heavy, oak, with one leg slightly shorter than the rest, making it wobble when she pressed on it. The screws holding it together were rusted, but one looked loose enough to pry free if she had the right leverage.

She crossed to the water basin, lifting the clay jug to test its weight. Full. The cool slosh inside tempted her to drink, but she set it down untouched. Trusting nothing here was safer than risking a sip.

Near the bed, she crouched, running her fingers along the floorboards. Dust clung to her skin, but in the far corner, one board felt different slightly raised, its edge rough and splintered as though tampered with before. She traced it again, her mind already mapping possibilities.

Above, the ceiling was low, the beams exposed and coated in shadow. A spider spun lazily in the far corner, undisturbed by her presence.

The room had been meant to confine her. But every prison had its weaknesses.

And Liora intended to find them all.

A faint sound broke the stillness a muffled thud, then the low scrape of boots outside her door. Liora froze, breath shallow.

The footsteps didn’t pass by. They stopped.

A man’s voice murmured something she couldn’t make out, followed by the subtle metallic click of a key being turned in a lock her lock. But instead of opening the door, the sound halted midway, as though the person had thought better of it.

Another voice, quieter but sharper, hissed in reply. The tone alone carried warning, even without the words.

Her pulse quickened. She inched closer to the door, tilting her head toward the narrow gap beneath it. The faint scent of smoke drifted through woodsmoke mixed with something bitter and chemical. Not from the kitchen, she was certain.

The first man spoke again, this time clearer: "Not yet. Orders are to wait until he’s distracted."

The second voice grunted. Then both sets of footsteps receded down the hall, swallowed by the thick silence once more.

Liora stayed there a moment longer, every muscle taut. Whoever "he" was, she doubted they meant anyone but Lucien.

And if they were waiting for him to be distracted...that meant something was coming.

Her mind spun. If they were planning to strike when Lucien was distracted, then she had two choices: warn him immediately or take control of the distraction herself.

The second option made her stomach knot, but it also meant she could decide when and how it happened. If she left it in their hands, she’d be gambling with both their lives.

Her gaze swept the room. The oil lamp on the desk flickered faintly, its golden light dancing over the papers Lucien had left behind. Ink, parchment, a half-burned candle, and the fire poker leaning by the hearth are mundane objects, but each has its own possibilities.

She moved to the window, careful not to let the wooden frame creak. Outside, the courtyard was quiet, dusted in moonlight. A single guard patrolled the far side, his shadow stretching long over the cobblestones. He was too far to overhear anything exactly, which was what she’d feared.

Her pulse drummed in her ears. No one was coming to help her.

Her eyes lingered on the locked door. If she moved fast, she could slip out and find Lucien before they did. But if the men in the hall spotted her, she’d lose the element of surprise entirely.

Her fingers brushed the fire poker. Heavy. Cold. Reliable.

A slow, determined breath left her lips. If they thought they could hunt him while he was distracted...then perhaps she could be the distraction they didn’t see coming.

Liora eased the latch up, wincing at the faint metallic click.The corridor beyond was dim, the torches spaced too far apart, leaving long stretches of shadow.

Two men stood at the far end, their heads bent close in hushed conversation. Their posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in their stance, a readiness that didn’t belong to mere palace guards.

She stepped out, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could.The faint scuff of her slipper against the stone made one of them glance up.

"Evening stroll, my lady?" the taller one asked, voice smooth, mocking.

She tilted her head, summoning a calm she didn’t feel. "Couldn’t sleep."

The shorter man smirked. "Dangerous hour to wander. Hallways like these... You never know what you might run into."

Her grip on the fire poker tightened."Then I suppose," she said lightly, "I’ll just have to make sure they run into me first."

The taller man’s eyes narrowed, the smirk slipping.The air between them shifted; no more pretense.

The taller guard took a step forward, his boots whispering against the flagstones.Liora matched his pace by stepping back, her chin lifted, eyes steady. The fire poker wasn’t very lightweight, and the end was still faintly warm from the hearth but it was something, and right now, she needed something.

"Brave words for someone who’s... what? One night old in this place?" he drawled.

"One day is enough to learn how quickly snakes reveal themselves," she replied.

That earned her a low chuckle from the shorter one, though it carried no humor. His eyes darted down the corridor toward the bend that led to the main staircase calculating distance, angles, and and perhaps the fastest way to drag her there unseen.

Her fingers tightened around the poker until her knuckles ached.

"Lucien might tolerate a pretty little gift wandering around after dark," the shorter one said, stepping closer, "but the rest of us..."

"Won’t," Liora cut in. "You won’t tolerate it because you don’t want anyone seeing the things you hide here."

The taller man’s face hardened. "Careful."

But she had already caught it. the flicker in his eyes, the faint twitch of his jaw. She had struck close to something true.And if truth made them dangerous, so be it.

She angled her body so her back was to the wall, forcing them to approach from only one side. Her breath came slow and deliberate.A plan began to form not perfect, not even good, but enough to make noise, to draw attention.

"You know," she said softly, "if you’re going to try and scare me, you should really think about who’s watching."

Both men glanced behind them instinctively.

Liora didn’t waste the moment. She slammed the poker against the nearest torch bracket.The clang rang out down the corridor, a sharp metallic crack that bounced off stone.The torch wobbled in its sconce, embers spitting as the taller man cursed and lunged toward her.

She swung wild but fast, catching him across the forearm. He grunted, grabbing the poker with his free hand. For a heartbeat they wrestled for it, his grip like iron, his breath hot and sour.

The shorter one darted in, aiming to pin her arms, but she drove her heel into his shin. He yelped, stumbling back, just as another voice cut through the tension.

"What in the hell is going on here?"

The command was ice-edged, clipped Lucien.

The men froze, the taller one releasing her as though her skin burned. Liora straightened, chest rising and falling, the poker still in her grip. Her pulse thundered, but she forced her breathing to slow.

"My lord," the shorter man stammered, bowing sharply. "We..."

"I didn’t ask you," Lucien said, stepping forward until the torchlight caught his face. His gaze slid to Liora, lingering not in concern, but in calculation. "I asked her."

She met his eyes, the weight of the moment pressing hard against her ribs. If she told him the truth, she’d be naming enemies. If she lied, she’d be handing them her silence as a weapon.

And in this place, both choices were dangerous.