My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 42

Chapter 42 Sunlit Rivalries

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Both women she named were minor teachers at the academy–cultured, curious, and on cordial terms with Yolanda.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Fiona said, genuinely touched. “Naomi and I are hardly enemies. Her pride is simply bruised.”

She told Yolanda everything–how Roxanne’s family preferred their heir apparent, how the proposal had been politely declined, every uneasy silence that followed.

“The Thankerton elders may favor their heir, but Roxanne has more than one suitor,” Yolanda huffed. “Nothing is settled. Everything remains in play. Acting as if you snatched him away only makes them look foolish.”

That, precisely, was the thorn beneath Fiona’s calm expression.

“Why not marry into the Wagner clan instead? Look at Rita–every soul under this roof spoils

her rotten.”

Rita’s good fortune was not owed to the Wagners kindness alone. She herself possessed a gift for winning hearts–forever comparing, observing, adjusting her words until affection became inevitable.

Fiona laughed. “That would never do. People would say our two families kept the best fish for ourselves.”

Already beloved, Rita now carried a child, and Elijah shadowed her like a diligent footman, refusing to let her lift a finger.

Fiona grinned. “Elijah has sharp eyes for chores.”

Rita squeezed Fiona’s hand. “First–time fathers are always like this. Wait until the fourth or fifth child–they forget the poetry of it.” She pressed a bowl of the finest broth into Fiona’s and Yolanda’s hands.

She might have been showing off, but Rita trusted her sister more than distant in–laws; if generosity must overflow, better it flood family first.

The three young women basked in the afternoon sun until the shadows stretched long, then offered parting bows and took separate roads home.

Not long into the journey, Fiona’s eyelids drooped. The carriage lurched to an abrupt halt, jerking her fully awake.

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Chapter 42 Sunlit Rivalries

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“Insolence! How dare you get in the royal carriage’s way? Clear the road at once!”

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Fiona’s heart thudded. She stepped onto the roadside, skirts brushing dust. An officer of the Imperial Guard regarded her with a blade–cold stare. The driver had already collapsed to his knees, trembling.

Across the way stood a coach she recognized–lacquered black with gilded phoenixes: the Sixth Prince’s personal carriage.

“Zephyr, is that you?” she called softly.

Zephyr had just left Soren’s quarters, his temper coiled tight. The cautious sweetness in Fiona’s voice drained the heat from his chest like snow dropped in hot iron.

Zephyr lifted the carriage’s velvet curtain. Beyond it Fiona stood at perfect attention, as though every etiquette lesson she had ever absorbed now crystallized in a single poised breath. He noticed at once that she had sprouted another inch since their last encounter, the extra height only sharpening the brilliance she already carried like a halo. Simply occupying the space in front of him, she dazzled.

Fiona, for her part, studied Zephyr with equal care. The family resemblance to Soren was unmistakable–same straight nose, same decisive brow–yet Zephyr’s features tilted toward a quieter refinement. Soren, taller by half a head, would always command the first glance in any crowd, a reality that had once planted the earliest seeds of rivalry between the two princes.

“And what made you so certain it was me?” Zephyr asked, one eyebrow rising with playful skepticism.

“Among all the princes in the palace, you’re the only one I truly know,” Fiona answered, her tone light yet earnest. “So I gambled on the hope that the voice behind the curtains belonged to you.”

Zephyr’s mouth curved into a half–smile. “Fiona, you may want to reconsider your coachman. Had the carriage belonged to that young lord of the Zonfrillo Estate, you would not have slipped away so easily today.”

He meant Soren, of course, and the moment the name hovered unspoken between them. Zephyr’s eyes darkened, a flicker of grievance rippling beneath his calm.

“Thank you for the warning, Zephyr,” Fiona said, lowering her gaze in polite gratitude.

Zephyr tempered the bite in his voice–this was hardly the time for moonlit pleasantries—and signaled to the guards nearby. “I’ll let you through first.”

Fiona noticed the anger he forced behind clenched teeth and, guessing its source, ventured

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Chapter 42 Sunlit Rivalries

gently, “Has something troubled you, Zephyr?”

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“Nothing serious,” he replied, the words clipped. “Soren and I exchanged a few heated words, that is all.”

“He and you are family,” Fiona reminded him, voice soft but firm. “A quarrel between kin means little, but harmony means everything. My mother always says the only people who truly spare no effort for us are our own. Losing that harmony would be a costly mistake.”

The advice cooled Zephyr’s temper like water poured over hot iron. She’s right. At the end of the day, Soren is blood, and I am hardly about to side with Cornelius. Nursing this grudge would hand Fourth Prince the advantage.

Realization loosened the knot in his chest, and he found himself genuinely grateful for Fiona’s clear–eyed counsel.

Life in the palace had schooled Zephyr to doubt even his own sisters, yet Fiona’s sincerity felt untainted. He allowed his posture to relax. “You’re right,” he conceded quietly. “Among our own, there is nothing worth counting so carefully.”

“You have a thousand duties awaiting you,” Fiona said, stepping aside. “Please, go first.”

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