My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 239

Chapter 239 Hidden Blades

Soren flicked his sleeve and reset the stones. “Another round?”

Marcus gave a single nod. He did not need words.

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This time Marcus played with unexpected skill. Piece by piece, the battlefield grew intricate, the balance tilting first one way, then the other, until neither man could claim advantage.

“The throne does not tempt me,” Marcus said quietly. “If the people can eat and sleep in peace, I am content to remain a leisurely prince. Yet your estate–its heir cannot release his grip on power or the glory that comes with it.”

Soren laid a stone and met his gaze. “A hundred years of foundation, built step by step by my forefathers–would you have me be the Zonfrillo who lets it crumble?”

Marcus set another piece. “Zephyr is no born sage.”

“No,” Soren conceded, “but even a rough stone can be polished into diamond.”

Marcus said nothing more. The silence between them thickened like cooling metal.

The Zonfrillo Estate had always wielded its influence like a honed blade, forcing Emperor Aldric to restrain his own excesses. Without that counterweight, he might never have grown into even the passable ruler he was now.

Thus Aldric both needed the estate and despised it, forever searching for ways to cut it down while leaning on it to steady his crown.

In the space of only a handful of terse sentences, each side had already located the other’s red line. Their paths diverged too widely for cooperation. Further persuasion would be a waste of breath, so the conversation died where it stood.

July descended on Broadmoor like a blade. The Steppe Nomads swept in without warning, and Alexander met them head–on, steel to storm. When their first assault shattered against his lines, the Steppe Nomads fractured into smaller raiding parties, circling the frontier, torching farmland, bleeding his stores dry.

Ten days later, sure that the fortress at Drocver had run out of arrows and bread, the Nomad commanders marched through the open gates–only to find Alexander waiting, swords freshly whetted, turning defense into a roaring counterattack.

The fire, smoke, and thunder stretched on for more than a month. By the time news of victory reached Jexburgh, the capital was already living through August.

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Chapter 239 Hidden Blades

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August was the hottest stretch of the year, thick with air that lulled even the most disciplined soul toward drowsy idleness.

Fiona drifted in a late–morning nap, the heat pressing like a quilt, until Pearl’s urgent whisper cut through the haze and tugged her back to waking.

“Miss, you really mustn’t fall back asleep. In a moment we have to claim a spot along the road -Duke Zonfrillo is riding into the city today.” Pearl’s words tumbled out, bright with excitement.

There would be no more dozing. Fiona swung her legs over the side of the bed, dressed in haste, and left the Niven Estate with Lilith keeping pace at her elbow.

Even Emperor Aldric had abandoned the marble cool of the palace for the gatehouse steps, eager to greet his conquering general.

Fiona and Lilith pressed themselves into the outermost corner of the crowd. From there they watched the endless column of soldiers roll forward, shields gleaming beneath the sun, a tide of disciplined power that drew awed murmurs from every throat.

It was the first time in a year Fiona had laid eyes on Alexander. Seasons of war had forged an aura as sharp as broken ice around him. One casual glance from the man could send a chill skating down anyone’s spine.

Yet for all the frost in his bearing, the face beneath the battle scars remained striking- handsome still, and confident enough to claim every inch of the avenue.

Among the attendants rode Soren. He must have ridden north days ago to escort his father home, and now his figure was impossible to miss.

At that very moment Soren turned, his gaze colliding with hers. A flash of displeasure–cool, reprimanding passed across his features before he faced front again.

Since the tide had turned in Broadmoor, Soren had invited her out more than once. But with Alexander’s victory assured, Fiona felt no further reason to meet. One by one she declined each request and allowed the distance to settle in.

Alexander swung down from his stallion. Before his knee could touch the paving stones he bowed, but Emperor Aldric caught him by the shoulders and laughed, booming with delight. “My loyal friend has earned Duflana glory beyond measure. Without the Zonfrillo guardians on our borders, Jexburgh would never know such peace. Every soul in this realm owes you thanks, Alexander.”

Around them, ministers and courtiers chorused their agreement, voices layering like a tide of praise.

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Chapter 239 Hidden Blades

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“All credit belongs to Your Majesty’s trust,” Alexander answered, his tone steady but fervent. “You placed command in my hands without a moment’s doubt. Only a wise sovereign could grant such freedom, and only because of that freedom did we triumph.”

Emperor Aldric’s smile broadened, warmth creasing the corners of his eyes.

Still, the Steppe Nomads regroup quickly. They will return, and we must not let our vigilance dull, Alexander added, the warning clear beneath the courtesy.

Fiona heard the hidden edge in those words. Alexander was reminding the Emperor–and every official within earshot–that a commander who held an army was a different creature from a desk–bound minister.

Does His Majesty understand? she wondered. Or did he already gamble that a defeat in Broadmoor might trim the Zonfrillo power to a safer size?

For Emperor Aldric, the fear of Alexander’s growing influence might weigh as heavily as any fear of distant Steppe Nomad lances.

Lost in those uneasy thoughts, Fiona caught Alexander looking her way. His eyes slid from her face to Soren’s and back again. He spoke no word, yet the glance carried a message deep and deliberate, one that made her heartbeat stumble.

Soren sat with an almost austere calm, eyes lowered yet unruffled, as though Alexander’s probing stare had drifted past him and fastened on some distant phantom only the prince could see.

Fiona paused, her sleeve settling against her wrist just as Emperor Aldric turned toward her.

“You have spent so many seasons away from Jexburgh, Alexander. The girls of the capital are women now, and I doubt you still know their faces. Allow me to present Fiona Niven, the fourth daughter of the Niven family.”

At that, Alexander allowed a rare curve to soften his severe mouth. “Ms. Fiona truly catches the eye. I have also heard of her scholarship–first in mounted archery, first in study–proof enough that courage is not the sole province of men.”

Such praise, offered in open court, was not lost on anyone. A prince did not laud a lady so warmly unless there was purpose coiled beneath the words.

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