My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 153

Chapter 153 Junbert Reckoning

Chapter 153 Junbert Reckoning

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With that single remark, Emperor Aldric fixed the narrative–Zachary’s transfer to the frontier was not exile but a commendation, the mark of a meritorious servant.

Soren’s glance slid toward Xavier. He knew full well that Zachary’s success in stabilizing Junbert owed much to the quiet support now standing beside him.

As they walked out of the palace together, sunlight breaking over the marble steps, Xavier finally spoke. “Nothing you wish to ask me, Lord Soren?”

Soren kept his pace even, eyes forward. “You lent Zachary more than a little help.”

Xavier’s smile was faint, almost amused. “Isn’t that precisely what you wished to see, my lord?”

Soren offered no reply; the soft tap of their boots was the only answer.

After a heartbeat, Xavier spoke again, his tone careful but candid. “You kept clear of Junbert’s struggles, yet the outcome suits you. I eased Zachary’s worries, but in doing so, I also removed a thorn from your own side.”

Soren turned to him at last, one brow slightly raised. “And what thorn would that be?”

Xavier’s answer came without hesitation. “You profit from Junbert,” he said, “but you wish more to see its people safe. Yet you have feared extending your reach too far, lest His Majesty grow suspicious. By supporting Zachary’s appointment, you pursued reform without exposing your own hand. I merely ensured the plan stayed on course.”

Soren remained unfazed as he reflected about Xavier. At Princess Helen’s banquet, he had dismantled the puzzle of Pierre’s plot with a few precise words, hinting that the shadow came not from Yondale but from the throne itself. Were it not for him, I would never have traced Emperor Aldric’s hand so quickly. But that same brilliance makes him suspect. If Fiona can remember another life, why could there not be a second such soul walking these halls–and why might that soul not be Xavier?

A faint smile tugged at Soren’s lips. “You truly do see the future, Xavier.”

Xavier’s hand stilled, the parchment before him forgotten. He lifted his gaze and met Soren’s eyes. Only then did he register the chill behind that measured stare, a glint that tested every word left unspoken. He understood Soren’s nature all too well–razor–keen, unrelentingly suspicious–so each breath he drew felt as if it might be weighed and judged in the next

instant.

“The person who tailored my garments,” Xavier said at last, voice level but unhurried, “was

Fiona.”

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11:30 Thu, Oct 16

Chapter 153 Junbert Reckoning

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Soren studied him for several heartbeats. “Xavier, stop circling the edge. If something must be said, say it.”

Silence dragged between them, thick as fog across a riverbank. Only after that hush had stretched to breaking did Xavier inhale and begin. “Back in Junbert,” he said, choosing each word with care, “I suffered the same dream night after night. In it, you and Fiona met in secret for a time. When your interest waned, you handed her to me. I bridled at first, yet pressure mounted until I agreed to marry her. Strangely, once wed, we found an easy harmony, even a quiet happiness.”

Soren’s expression emptied, as if every muscle had turned to marble. I remember the morning she lay against my chest and, half asleep, whispered, “Mr. Xavier.” I resented it. Yet perhaps she spoke from habit–habits born beside another man in another life.

“In that dream,” Xavier pressed, eyes never leaving Soren’s, “Fiona was my wife.”

Soren’s mouth twitched, the darkness in his gaze deepening, but no answer came. For reasons even he could not name, he would not commit himself.

Xavier bowed with formal precision. “It is only a dream, yet it troubles me deeply. I fear it might one day prove prophetic. Therefore, my lord, I beg you–keep your distance from her in the waking world.”

Xavier had not yet left the Imperial Palace when word flew ahead of him. Barely past twenty, he now held a senior fourth–rank post–real power radiant with Emperor Aldric’s favor. In Jexburgh, nobles were plentiful; favorites of the throne were rare. Yesterday, the Luthor Estate stood quiet as a chapel at dusk. Today, its gates lay wide, corridors thrumming with visitors who arrived, one after another, bearing congratulations and well–rehearsed smiles.

Meryl had summoned Fiona to join her. Fiona had visited the Luthor Estate often enough that Victoria’s ladies–in–waiting recognized her at once. One such maid beamed and hurried forward. “Ms. Fiona, Mdm. Meryl, come–let me fetch you a seat.”

Victoria, more accustomed to tending roses than entertaining a crowd, darted from parlor to corridor, already on the verge of being overwhelmed.

Gloria gave Fiona an appraising, kindly once–over. “Mdm. Meryl, your daughter is striking,” she said, chuckling. “We have not met in months, yet her beauty has deepened–there’s a new, womanly grace about her.”

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