My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 224

Chapter 224 Midnight Whispers.

Chapter 224 Midnight Whispers

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Soren glanced toward Pearl, eyes steady, making certain his uninvited presence caused her no alarm.

“Pearl, you may go,” Fiona murmured, her tone gentle but firm.

Soren added, “I intend only a quiet conversation with your young lady-there’s no cause for worry.” Her loyalty pleased him more than he cared to admit.

Pearl finally pushed the door aside, her shoulders hunched as though the draft itself had scolded her. Lantern in hand, she shuffled down the veranda, reluctance hanging off each step like wet wool.

The screen slid shut. Now only Fiona and Soren remained in the quiet chamber of Bamboo Lodge.

They had met here before, yet Fiona’s pulse still jumped, sharpened by the deep hush of a sleeping garden and the lateness that pressed against the walls.

Fiona lowered her gaze, thumb circling the frayed edge of her sleeve. “My mother usually looks in on me during the night.”

Soren studied her face, eyes steady and unreadable. “Did you truly go to the temple yourself for that safety charm?”

Tucking a wandering strand of hair behind her ear, Fiona answered, “Hillary invited me on her pilgrimage to Frostenden Temple, so I picked one up for you while I was there.”

She knew Soren could verify the story with a single inquiry; a small gesture of goodwill felt harmless enough.

A faint smile curved Soren’s mouth. “You were thoughtful, Fiona.”

Fiona hesitated, then asked, “Was your journey peaceful, Lord Soren?”

Soren crossed the tatami mats and stopped beside the bed. He eased himself onto the edge, the mattress dipping under his weight.

Fiona’s spine locked straight; she wrestled her uncase into silence and remained perfectly still.

His voice fell to a whisper, deliberately gentle. “Don’t be frightened. I’ll do nothing untoward. I simply never imagined you would seek a safety charm for me. The discovery is equal parts shock and delight.”

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Chapter 224 Midnight Whispers

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She lifted her eyes. In their depths she thought she saw warmth-yet something darker moved beneath, a current she could not name.

After a quiet moment she murmured, “It was only convenient, nothing more.”

He tilted his head, a sly light flickering in his eyes. “If it was merely convenient, why didn’t anyone else come to mind?”

He did love to crown himself with credit.

In truth she had bought another charm-for Xavier-but she had never mentioned it to Hillary.

Every so often Xavier’s name floated through her thoughts. She dared not ask why, yet whenever it surfaced, a quiet warmth spread through her chest.

Breaking the silence, Soren said, “In a few days, come up to Frostenden Mountain. I’ll teach you the simplest sword forms. What do you say?”

Fiona bit her lip, the mere thought making her shiver. “It’s freezing,” she whispered, the words a gentle refusal.

Soren kept his tone patient. “A little sword work will help you defend yourself. Remember the trouble in the woods? Danger seldom announces itself.”

“You said yourself it isn’t easy. And if I falter, you’ll lose patience with me.”

He shook his head. “I would never turn a cold face toward you.”

A soft laugh escaped her, stripped of mirth. “Oh, you have-and often. In Marcus’ estate, in Yondale… Shall I count the rest?”

“I’ll do better,” he said quietly,

Fiona lowered her eyes to her lap. “Mdm. Keating of the previous dynasty trusted a man’s honeyed words, and all that remained of her were bones. Believing men rarely ends well.”

A low chuckle vibrated in Soren’s chest, though his words were sober. “Her husband never meant for her to live. Keeping her near would have marked him as besotted. He wanted her dead from the start.”

A quiet doubt brushed Fiona’s mind-perhaps Soren himself was no safer than that long-dead

husband.

Her chin lifted, resolve hardening her voice. “You don’t truly trust me. If you teach me the

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Chapter 224 Midnight Whispers

sword, I might aim every stroke at you.”

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“Come back tomorrow.” Soren’s voice cut through the courtyard air, light and casual, as though flicking dust from a sleeve. He ignored Fiona’s protests entirely. From his vantage, even

months of study would grant her only the merest shell of skill, nothing sharp enough to touch him.

Still, when Soren decided she must learn, resistance was impossible; turning him down felt like trying to halt the tide with bare hands.

He even arranged a so-called “fine instructor.” Meryl, shaken by the dangers that had lately stalked her daughter, clapped happily and showered the teacher with a glittering reward, convinced no sum outweighed Fiona’s safety.

Fiona winced at the sight of so many bright coins vanishing into another’s purse. “There’s no need-truly, keep your money,” she blurted, her voice a mix of gratitude and distress.

Meryl waved the concern away like an offending gnat. “If this tutor can make the blade feel at home in your hands, what is a pouch of silver to me?”

Had this been a genuine apprenticeship, Fiona would have offered everything she owned with a smile. Yet she knew the real master lurking behind the curtain was Soren himself.

Paying another for lessons he would secretly provide felt like tossing silver into a well and hearing no splash. Unable to explain, she gulped the grievance down.

On the very first morning of training, Soren showed no hint of mercy. “Run,” he said, pointing to the rugged path that circled Frostenden Mountain. Before she could ask how far, he had already started upward.

People bustled along the front route that led worshippers to Frostenden Temple, their and chatter filling the air.

prayers

But the back trail, the one that wound from the rear cliffs to the tiny lodge on the summit, lay silent and deserted, as though the mountain kept it for secrets alone.

Soren glided over the stones, his boots scarcely scuffing the moss, every breath steady as morning fog. Fiona, meanwhile, was gasping by the third bend, forced to stop and clutch the rough trunk of a pine more times than she cared to count.

Forgive me, but is he trying to kill me for sport? Fiona wondered, sweat dribbling into her eyes.

“Do not slack off,” Soren called over his shoulder, the words crisp as flint striking steel.

“I’m tired,” Fiona said, her wide eyes begging him for the briefest sanctuary.

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“Quit acting spoiled,” Soren replied, unmoved.

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I am not acting spoiled in the slightest. Where did he even get that idea?

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Soren’s decision to train her had not come on a whim. While journeying north to Brorchester he had seen a refugee woman beset by a band of men and rescued her with effortless precision; yet the image of helplessness clung to him.

He could not bear the thought of Fiona in such a cage. That, more than anything, had set these lessons in motion.

“This conditioning will strengthen your body. With a solid foundation, the sword will obey you sooner,” Soren explained, as though it were the simplest arithmetic.

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