My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 208

Chapter 208 Rafts On The Twilight Lake

Chapter 208 Rafts On The Twilight Lake

“All right–let’s see how it feels,” Fiona said at last, summoning a small, brave smile..

Naomi clasped her hand and guided her onto the bamboo deck, the raft rocking gently beneath their combined weight.

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From the shore Soren lifted his head, the orange firelight catching in his eyes, while Callum, arms folded, followed their every move with quict curiosity.

At first Fiona clung to the guiding pole, knuckles whitening each time the raft bobbed.

But the breeze soon teased strands of hair across her cheeks, the water hissed softly beneath the hull, and something unshackled inside her.

She laughed, a clear, startled sound, and let the current carry her wherever it pleased.

Seeing that smile bloom on her face, Callum’s own expression softened. “Fiona, are you left- handed?” he asked, noticing she held the pole with her left.

“Her right hand is sore,” Soren answered before she could speak. His quick glance at her bandaged palm made it clear he had already deduced the cut beneath the linen.

Callum blinked, taken aback; he had not expected Soren–so taciturn by nature–to interject, much less on a detail concerning a young lady’s comfort.

Soren, however, simply returned to stoking the embers, his face a study in calm indifference.

By the time the raft bumped lightly against the bank, Fiona’s shoulders had loosened, and the heaviness she had carried into the forest felt several shades lighter.

In these hills, supper was hunted, not harvested, less out of necessity than for the pure delight of tasting fresh game beside a crackling fire.

The young men turned spits of quail and rabbit, their sleeves rolled past elbows slick with smoke; the ladies formed a bright semicircle around the flames, conversation rising like sparks into the night.

“Ms. Fiona, this rabbit leg is for you,” offered the same young lord who had pitched her tent earlier that afternoon.

Over the hiss of fat, Soren lifted his eyes from the fire, a fleeting shadow crossing his features. Fiona thanked the young lord, reaching out with gentle courtesy to accept the skewer.

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Chapter 208 Rafts On The Twilight Lake

But his hand twitched, and the rabbit fell, sizzling, into the dirt.

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“Someone must have bumped me,” he murmured, checks flushing as he turned, unable to pinpoint the culprit.

“No harm done; I can wait,” Fiona replied, the gratitude in her smile undimmed.

“Then I’ll roast another for you,” he said, spirits recovering.

Soren took the skewer he had been tending and passed it to Naomi, inhaling as though to speak.

“Take that to Fiona,” Callum instructed, placing a fresh skewer in Naomi’s right hand.

Naomi glanced at Soren. She did not need to guess–this skewer, like the raft and everything else, was always meant for Fiona.

He might keep his distance, but the things that mattered he handled, quietly, thoroughly, without ever asking for thanks.

Soren held the smoking skewer between two fingers, yet said nothing. The stillness around him suggested the roasted meat had never been meant for the crowd at all but for his younger sister, a silent gesture of brotherly indulgence.

Naomi crossed the clearing and stopped beside Fiona. With a small, almost imperceptible sigh, she pressed the skewer into Fiona’s hands. Soren and Fiona had once been closer than decorum allowed; letting Callum interfere tonight would have felt painfully out of place.

Only after Fiona took her first bite did Soren permit himself to look away, the firelight sliding off his narrowed eyes like liquid copper.

This is wonderfully done, Fiona murmured, teeth grazing the crisp edge before sinking into the tender center. The juices flowed–neither dry nor greasy–spreading a buttery warmth across her tongue.

Across the blaze, Soren’s mouth curved into the ghost of a grin. The tension on his sharp features eased by a single, satisfied notch.

When the last scraps were gone, the young lords and ladies drifted toward the bonfire. By unspoken rule, men sat shoulder–to–shoulder with men, women with women. Naomi took the place beside Soren; on her other side, another brother–and–sister pair mirrored the arrangement.

Hillary hugged her knees, eyes shimmering with reflection. “I’ve heard the autumn hunt is just as lively,” she said, a note of regret threading her words. She had never attended and clearly felt

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Chapter 208 Rafts On The Twilight Lake

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its absence.

Mindy answered, stirring the embers with a twig. “Hardly so carefree. His Majesty and the Sixth Prince patrol every moment of that hunt. Protocol hangs over the camp like a net- nothing like tonight’s freedom.”

A slender young lord leaned into the firelight. “Still,” he mused, “there was that dancer. Radiant beyond words–the way she moved is carved into my memory.”

More lords chimed in at once, recalling the same breathtaking figure, their voices tumbling over one another in awed agreement.

Fiona felt her pulse stumble. She folded her hands in her lap, trying to look merely curious while Soren’s half–lidded gaze skimmed her, his lips shaped into a knowing, almost wicked smile. She glanced away, cheeks warming.

Only two men in that circle, Soren among them, knew the dancer had been hired by Fiona herself.

He liked to wear virtue as armor, but even at the hunt his stare had lingered on her waist more than once. The heir apparent, it seemed, possessed an eye for beauty as sharp as any blade.

“Lord Soren, do you still remember that dancer?” another lord finally asked, sensing a story.

“Can’t say I do,” Soren replied, sounding bored while flicking Fiona a sideways look that told a different tale entirely.

The asker nodded gravely. “Of course. Your lordship rarely concerns yourself with such trifles. Yet when we sought her after the hunt, her face held none of the vitality we’d seen that night- she vanished into the crowd.”

“Perhaps,” Soren said, voice smooth as velvet, “you were simply following the wrong woman.”

He’s teasing me in front of everyone, and not one of them can hear the double meaning, Fiona fumed, fingers tightening around her skirts.

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