My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 110

Bringing Fiona to Yondale under the guise of convalescence suited another purpose as well- Helen intended to choose the girl a husband.

Most noble houses here owed the Princess Royal favors. An alliance through marriage would make Fiona, in essence, Yondale’s young mistress; her life would be no poorer than that of any imperial prince’s bride.

Fiona folded her arms, resolve flashing in her eyes. “Granny, must you, too, hurry me toward marriage? I have no wish for it–none at all.”

Helen normally bristled at petulance, yet her granddaughter’s plaintive tone melted her steely composure.

“If you truly object, I shall not compel you,” Helen said, voice low and indulgent. “Remaining single is hardly a tragedy. Should you crave diversion, Yondale overflows with handsome men to while away an afternoon.”

If she did that, Meryl would never allow her to set foot in the Niven household again; that much was clear. Fiona felt her throat tighten. The surest way to survive was silence, so silence

it was.

“Enough fretting,” Princess Helen said, rubbing the stiffness from her shoulders. “Rest first. The Princess Royal’s estate and all of Yondale will still be there tomorrow–and the day after–to dazzle our eyes.”

Once they had passed beyond the west court’s carved gates, Helen exhaled a thin stream of breath. “Zachary’s girl is almost painfully proper,” she muttered. “A nature that straight invites wolves.”

Agatha chuckled, the sound soft as felt. “In Jexburgh, my lady, a young woman who isn’t impeccably proper would be devoured by rumors. Besides, Ms. Fiona’s archery and

horsemanship marks are excellent. You trained her well. If anything is missing, you can always polish it later.”

“The Zonfrillo Estate has its eye glued to me these days,” Helen said, irritation flicking across her face. “Until I tidy up Pierre Lawson’s affair, they won’t loosen their grip. Otherwise, I’d spoil Fiona properly, take her roaming the city,”

She had never laid eyes on this granddaughter before today, and the sudden ache to know the girl better throbbed like a fresh bruise.

“With Prince Jinks‘ Estate backing you, the Zonfrillos will think twice,” Agatha assured her,

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Chapter 10 Who Is Your Sweetheart

adjusting the shawl around Helen’s shoulders. “Rest easy, Your Highness.”

* Free Ching

Fiona slept so deeply that two full hours slipped by. When her lashes finally fluttered, she found Pearl Winters and another maid locked in a silent stare–off.

“Ms. Fiona is awake,” the stranger announced, smile curving her eyes as she stepped forward. fresh clothes folded over her arms.

“I can handle my lady myself,” Pearl said, sliding between the newcomer and the bed, distrust sharpening her tone.

The maid only dipped a graceful bow, her smile never slipping, and drifted out of the room like candle smoke.

“This place is extravagant, my lady,” Pearl whispered, taking in the inlaid jade columns and silk–draped beams. “So grand it unsettles the heart.”

I feel it too. If Granny fails to forge a safe path, we will be nothing more than meat on another’s platter.

Fiona’s arrival in Yondale had stirred the household early. Edmund and Cecilia, the Princess Royal’s only grandchildren, had hurried home before dusk.

Helen’s children numbered two sons and a daughter. The eldest son was gone, leaving only Edmund and Cecilia. The second son now served under Prince Jinks‘ Estate, seldom home.

“Edmund, Cecilia,” Fiona greeted them with a respectful dip of the chin, already certain of their identities in the sparsely staffed hall.

Edmund–already a married man and steady as oak–nodded once, offered a few considerate queries about her journey, then fell quiet again.

Cecilia, by contrast, seized Fiona’s hands, her questions tumbling out–weather, gossip, fashions, anything from glittering Jexburgh that might spice the quiet of Yondale.

“I heard a woman called Luna enchants Jexburgh,” Cecilia said, eyes sparkling. “The Zonfrillo heir supposedly wounded General Yelton for her. Tell me–do you know her?”

Fresh from the road, Fiona had heard none of it. Her mind blanked, surprise showing plainly in her lifted brows.

“Is she truly, as the rumors claim, beauty beyond mortal measure?” Cecilia pressed.

“Luna is indeed a rare gem,” Fiona answered after gathering herself. “The first time I met her, I could scarcely look away.”

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Chapter 110 Who Is Your Sweetheart

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“Why waste breath on the Zonfrillo Estate?” Helen cut in, brows knitting, her voice chill as

shaded water.

Cecilia stuck her tongue out, then mouthed the words, “We’ll talk later” to Fiona.

Fiona bit back a laugh; she understood all too well. In a quiet town, a little scandal was sweet as honey.

Cecilia was the sort who slipped into new surroundings as though she had always belonged there. That very night, she padded barefoot across the shadowed gallery, pushed open Fiona’s door, and declared the wide mattress theirs to share.

Cousins by blood, Fiona felt no reason to object. Besides, the west court was cavernous— marble corridors that swallowed every footfall, latticed windows rustling with unsleeping bamboo. To sleep there alone invited a chill that had nothing to do with night air.

They lay face–to–face beneath the gauzy canopy, the hush between them broken only by the soft creak of the old bed. After studying Fiona’s profile for a thoughtful beat, Cecilia lifted her head just enough for moonlight to silver her curious smile. “So tell me,” she murmured, “who’s your sweetheart in Jexburgh?”

Fiona blinked at her, puzzled, the question dropping between them like a pebble into still

water.

Without waiting for an answer, Cecilia let the backs of her fingers drift across the delicate notch of Fiona’s collarbone, as though reading Braille only she could see. “He kissed you here,” she noted, voice liquid with mischief. “Look how red the mark is—he must be utterly taken with you.”

Fiona, to her embarrassment, had not even noticed the bruise until that moment.

Heat flooded her cheeks so swiftly it seemed her blush might scorch the pillow. Yet just as quickly, the color drained, replaced by a creeping panic. For over a month, she had insisted on bathing and dressing herself; if any maid had spotted that tell–tale stain on her skin, her reputation would already be ashes.

“Tell me,” Cecilia whispered, her tone suddenly conspiratorial. “When you were with him, did either of you shed every last stitch?”

Understanding the implication, Fiona gave a quick, resolute shake of her head.

Cecilia inched closer, so near their breaths mingled with the faint scent of night–blooming jasmine drifting through the lattice. “Then it is you he wants,” she concluded. “Any man can crave a body, but to restrain himself–that means he wants the woman.”

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Chapter 110 Who Is Your Sweetheart

The distinction rang clear in the quiet: one hunger belonged to flesh; the other, to the soul that lived beneath the skin.

“There is no secret liaison between us,” Fiona insisted. Still, the words poured out. Unable to cork the memory any longer, she described that bewildering afternoon–the sweetness of Dreamveil in the air, the accidental tumble into his arms, the betrayal of her own racing pulse. All she kept from Cecilia was Soren’s name.