My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 67

“These two jars of Snow–Glow Cream are defective. I will have them exchanged. Wait here in the carriage for me, Yolanda,” Fiona said.

Inside the Amber Room’s rear courtyard, the air was cool and smelled faintly of crushed mint.. Thomas, the Niven family’s veteran steward, sat waiting, travel dust still clinging to his cloak.

“Thomas, the journey must have been tiring. Join me for a cup of tea,” Fiona said softly as she stopped beside him.

Beneath the covered walkway, a ribbon of fragrance drifted past, light and clusive, like the promise of distant blossoms.

“How did you recognize me?” Thomas asked, fingers stroking his beard as doubt flickered in his eyes

Because I saw you once before fate turned its wheel, long before you ever learned my name.

“I know the Divine Doctor. He mentioned you,” Fiona said, smiling with deliberate mystery.

There is no need for stories, my lady. I know every companion the doctor keeps, Thomas replied with a quiet laugh.

I am telling the truth. We have met,” Fiona insisted, the weight of another lifetime pressed between the syllables.

The doctor wonders where you found that prescription,” Thomas said. “It carries his signature style, yet one herb surprised even him. Your page gave him fresh insight.”

“Then let me explain it to him in person. Please convey my wish for a meeting.” Fiona said.

As she spoke, Fiona’s gaze drifted to the heavy brocade curtain at the rear of the room. Odd. She did not recall it being lowered earlier.

On the other side of that fabric, Soren sat motionless, fingertips tapping his knee in silent rhythm, his eyes gleaming with thoughts only he could hear.

The contradiction struck Fiona as almost playful.

Somewhere in Jexburgh, the Divine Doctor’s secret remedy was being traded in whispers–yet, by Thomas’s account, the great Morgan himself had no idea it existed.

“The Divine Doctor asked me to find you, Miss, simply so the two of you could speak,” Thomas

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Chapter 67 Hidden Motives

said, drawing a folded sheet from his sleeve and offering it with both hands.

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Fiona broke the wax, scanned the neat characters, and fixed the appointed place in her

memory.

Without hesitation she fed the letter to the tiny brazier beside the tea set, watching ink curl into smoke before the parchment vanished.

“My task is done, so I’ll trouble you no further,” Thomas added, backing away with a respectful

bow.

As soon as he left, she paced, thinking of Pearl Terrace.

Outwardly it was little more than a den of painted laughter, yet the web of power behind those red–silk doors was anything but simple.

Which courtier counted Morgan among his confidants?

The bamboo curtain lifted. A man in russet riding leathers stepped through–broad- shouldered, steady–eyed.

Soren

“When did you return, Lord Soren?” Fiona asked, her calm belying the flutter in her chest. She knew his sudden appearance meant one thing–he did not entirely trust her where the Divine. Doctor was concerned.

“Two days ago,” Soren replied, voice low, almost careless. He had heard of a stranger at the Amber Room, guessed it concerned Morgan, and chosen to stay in the shadow,esting her foresight one more time.

Again, she had predicted events before they unfolded. Whether she had truly lived another lifetime or simply possessed uncanny instinct, it was an advantage too useful to ignore.

“So, she said, chin lifting, “what is it you wish to ask?” Her earlier conversation clearly puzzled him–especially the way she produced a formula even Morgan himself lacked.

Soren’s gaze slipped to the delicate ear cuff glinting beneath her hair. Most women in Duflana favored jade, yet she never wore the same ornament twice.

His silence stretched,

Fiona rose, forgetting the sharp ache in her knees;

toward the floor.

the pain buckled her legs and she lurched

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Chapter 67 Hidden Motives.

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Splendid, another fall and I’ll be confined a fortnight, she thought–right before Soren’s arm caught her and drew her against his chest.

The embrace was wide and unwavering.

People often separated that handsome face from the brawn of a seasoned soldier, but h frame–broad shoulders, tapered waist–rivaled any warrior’s.

To Fiona, he belonged squarely in the category of “dangerously strong.”

“Thank you, Lord Soren.” The moment her balance returned, she pushed away; she had no intention of gaining from accidental closeness.

What happened to your leg?” Soren asked, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest concern.

Too long on my knees. It’s injured,” she answered, unembarrassed by the mundane truth.

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