My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 176

Chapter 176 Incense And Intentions

Chapter 176 Incense And Intentions

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and let the silence stand.

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She spoke first. “Does Clearsky Pavilion have any good books lately? I told Meryl I was out looking for books. If I return empty–handed, she will think I spent the day at play.”

Soren paused, then called for Quentin and ordered him to see the request filled.

“In a few days,” he said, “there will be polo at the Imperial Palace. Come with your brother.”

Fiona’s curiosity stirred. “Besides a few princes and you, who else will ride?”

Soren studied her. “Whom would you like to see?”

Fiona closed her mouth and only thought of going home.

“Is it Mr. Xavier who interests you?” he asked.

“Do not be absurd. I never mentioned him,” she replied, unwilling to drag Xavier in.

Soren let the matter drop.

By the time Fiona crossed the arched gate of the Niven family manor, her brother Vincent had been waiting for quite some time. He stood beneath a carved cedar beam, shoulders squared yet visibly tense, the usual effortless smile nowhere to be seen.

“Vincent, how did it go?” Fiona asked, her voice soft with worry, eyes searching his for any crack in the calm mask he wore.

“Nothing to fret about,” Vincent replied, forcing a small smile. “Neither the Zonfrillo Estate nor Lord Soren gave me any trouble.”

“Then what has you so preoccupied?” she pressed, refusal to accept half–truths flickering in her

eyes.

Vincent’s thoughts, however, had drifted to Harriet and the dangers swirling around her, yet he reminded himself he couldn’t mention that.

“I was thinking about the polo match in a few days,” he said at last. “The prize is tempting enough. Trouble is, I’m paired with the Fourth Prince and–well–his game is unsteady.” He rubbed the back of his neck, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve no idea how skilled Mr. Luthor is. If he can handle a mallet, we might still manage a win.”

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Chapter 176 Incense And Intentions

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“Mr. Xavier is quite good at these sorts of competitions,” Fiona assured him without hesitation.

Vincent’s brows lifted. “You seem to know him well. Why not come to the palace that day and lend me your support?”

Meryl had already spoken to Vincent about Xavier: a man who had carved his own place in the world, neither arrogant nor servile, brilliant in his scholarship, and–most importantly- quietly attentive to Fiona. During their father’s stationing in the rugged province of Junbert, Xavier had watched over the duke with near–filial devotion. That gesture alone secured Vincent’s approval.

Now, with the polo match looming, Vincent resolved to craft the perfect moment to draw the two of them together.

Fiona did not for one second believe that a simple polo match had scattered her brother’s focus. Yet when Vincent chose silence, she respected the boundary, tucking her questions behind a polite nod.

Later, when she learned that Soren had offered to negotiate military supplies with Vincent, Fiona’s brows rose in quiet surprise. She understood at once: the gesture was a sugar–coated favor meant for her.

She lowered her gaze, knowing all too well that what tasted sweet today could become tomorrow’s poison.

The very next day, Xavier paid a brief, unannounced visit to the Niven estate.

From across the courtyard, Fiona met his gaze–one swift, electric glance–then turned away. She refused to draw attention to him, not when her presence could invite unwanted complications.

After concluding business with Vincent, Meryl greeted Xavier warmly and insisted he stay for dinner.

“I’m grateful,” Xavier said with patient courtesy. “But I’m leaving Jexburgh tomorrow. I should return early to prepare.”

Most of his assignments walked the razor’s edge of danger, and Meryl knew it. She exhaled a quiet sigh. “Your path is anything but easy.”

New worries coiled inside her: if her daughter married this man and his life remained so perilous, what future awaited a young bride left to stand vigil as a widow?

Yet another fear eclipsed even that thought–the dread that Xavier himself might never return from the shadows he walked. More than arranging marriages, Meryl simply wished the young

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Chapter 176 Incense And Intentions

man would survive.

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“Please don’t worry about me, Mdm. Meryl,” Xavier answered, voice steady even as her concern softened his gaze. “My life is not in jeopardy.”

“You saved Fiona, and you’ve done more than your share for her father,” Meryl said, emotion warming every word. “In my heart, that makes you one of our own.”

Her words cracked open a flood of memories Xavier had lived in another lifetime–echoes of sacrifices, debts, and roads left untraveled. After a long, quiet breath, he murmured, his voice edged with faint bitterness, “It was only my duty.”

Meryl reminded herself that Fiona’s kindness touched everyone she met; offering aid was simply her nature. With that gentle thought, she let the conversation drift toward lighter

matters.

A gust of autumn wind pulled Xavier straight back into the corridors of memory. He saw a young woman he had barely met plunge through arrows and smoke to drag him from death, never asking his name, only smiling as she whispered, “Does it hurt?” Then, like spilled ink, another image flooded in–Fiona Niven on her wedding day, drowned in crimson silk, the lantern light turning every bead on her veil into a falling star.

Everyone at that banquet had fallen silent. One stunned glance at her was enough to fracture every conversation, as though a comet had skimmed the rafters.

What no one noticed was how often Xavier, hidden behind carved pillars, stole breathless glances, greedy for each flicker of her smile.

Not once had he imagined a world where that smile would disappear forever.

When he finally reached Jexburgh, dust turning his cloak gray, she was already wrapped in white linen and laid inside a sandalwood coffin. She looked only asleep. The courtyard overflowed with mourners–friends, strangers, and every soul she had ever helped–each waiting to follow her one last time.

The ache in Xavier’s chest then was sharper than any blade. Seeing her still face was ten thousand times crueler than the message that had preceded it.

Meryl’s grief ripped through the air like torn silk, and even the stoic retainers of the Zonfrillo Estate wiped their eyes.

At last, the master of ceremonies raised his voice. “Time to lift the casket. The Niven family lacks enough men. Today, the young lords of the Zonfrillo Estate, the Niven heir, and Mr. Luthor will carry her. Lady Fiona once saved Mr. Luthor; it is only right that he lend his strength now.”

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