My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 141

Chapter 141 Quiet Strategies

Chapter 141 Quiet Strategies

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Fiona kept her gaze on the board, thinking only of her next move, and offered no reply.

Helen let out a low sigh, the sort that skimmed the surface of silence like wind over a winter pond. She said nothing more about Soren. His name lingered for a breath, then vanished.

Fiona had been expected back in Jexburgh well before the coming–of–age ceremony scheduled three months hence. Yet, days before her departure, a sudden fever found her bed–bound, and every plan collapsed in the hush of the sickroom.

By the time she recovered, her stay in Yondale had stretched to nine full months–long enough for winter to thaw into spring and back again.

The ceremony was held there first, a polite placeholder the Niven family would replicate once she reached home.

Convalescence had not diminished Fiona. If anything, the months away had carved a subtler curve to her waist, lent a confident poise to her shoulders, and brushed a deeper luster across her eyes.

Cecilia once swore Luna was the most bewitching woman alive, but now, watching her cousin move, she had to concede the crown. No single word–delicate, graceful, alluring–came close. Every tilt of Fiona’s head balanced frost–cool dignity with devastating bloom.

Still, a worry gnawed at Cecilia. Soren had gone silent for far too long–no letters, no whispers of the wedding he once pursued with such fire.

Has he forgotten her? Worse, has he changed his mind? Let him stew in regret once she returns.

“When you finally set foot in Jexburgh again, every eligible bachelor will be elbowing the others bloody just to stand in your shadow,” Cecilia said.

Fiona sat at an ebony desk, brush gliding over the cream page of a letter meant for Meryl. At Cecilia’s tease she lifted her gaze, a soft laugh slipping free. “Whether men fancy me or not is hardly earth–shaking.”

Being fought over by a flock of men–what blessing is that, really? In the end, a woman may choose only one, and she may still choose wrong. A man who weds poorly can always wed again; our margin for error is razor–thin. Besides, with Father exiled to Junbert, realistic suitors will probably keep their distance.

Cecilia watched the brush fly. The characters, sharp as arrowheads, betrayed a firmness at odds with Fiona’s luminous features. Half a slender wrist showed above the sleeve–archer’s muscles hidden in porcelain skin, the source of that unwavering stroke.

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Chapter 141 Quiet Strategies

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The girl before her seemed quieter than in years past, a lake after storm clouds had drifted on.

Sometimes Cecilia wondered if Fiona carried a sliver of Helen inside her–steady, unhurried, impossible to rattle. The difference was that Fiona wrapped that composure in generosity, keeping its edges from ever cutting the people she loved.

Cecilia tapped the edge of the desk. “So what did Aunt Meryl write this time?”

A brighter smile leapt into Fiona’s eyes. “Something wonderful–truly wonderful.”

Vincent, who had been stationed beyond the frontier for endless seasons, was finally home in Jexburgh.

Cecilia bit her lower lip, though her eyes sparkled. “Vincent is back, then. No wonder you’re so eager to leave me and flee to the capital.”

Fiona had meant to be there first, ready to greet him at the gates. Illness flipped the order; now her brother waited for her.

Seeing the reluctance in Cecilia’s face, Fiona softened. “If you like, you could come to Jexburgh for a spell.”

Envy flickered, but reason won. “I can’t leave Grandmother,” Cecilia said. “Father and Uncle Zachary are forever on the road. She’s getting old; someone must stay at her side. If the chance comes later, I’ll find you–never fear.”

Fiona had met women who measured themselves against every rival, and women whose jealousy burned like brandy.

She had also met carefree souls, as playful as Cecilia. But she had never encountered a lady willing to abandon the obligations of blood. Cecilia, for all her mischief, would not be the first.

Fiona laughed. “Very well. I’ll be waiting.”

After dispatching the letter at the post station, Fiona returned to the estate and nearly collided with Helen in the corridor.

“The Thankerton Estate sent over fresh Earl Grey today,” the princess said, her smile equal parts invitation and command. “Sit with me and taste a cup?”

Fiona let the hush settle between them while pale curls of steam rose from the teapot at her side.

At last she inclined her head, a single graceful nod that sent the sunlight glinting along the edge of her hair. “All right,” she murmured, the promise light on her lips yet solid as

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Chapter 141 Quiet Strategies

hammered iron.”

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Since Fiona had arrived in Yondale, Helen had tasted her brew only once. Now, for the second time, she watched the girl arrange the porcelain cups, coax a coal–red flame beneath the brazier, and pour water in deliberate circles. Everything about the ritual felt measured, elegant, inevitable.

The older woman’s chest tightened with something that was half pride and half regret. “None of the young lords in this province will manage to hold you,” she sighed, the words slipping out before she could reclaim them.

“If a man could trap me so easily, Grandmother, you would have every reason to worry,” Fiona said, laughter trembling like glass on the brink of a crack.

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