All Chapters of Claimed by my Sister's Fiancé : Chapter 271 - Chapter 280

CORMAC POV "Her name is Fenna. She was born during an eclipse rarer than anything our own records have documented, three bloodlines converging in a way our healers simply don't have the knowledge to guide."Sorcha spoke carefully, clearly rehearsed, though grief and hope both showed plainly beneath the careful words. She stood before the great hearth of Ashgrove’s receiving hall, the salt-rimed hem of her traveling cloak trailing against the pale stone flagstones."Three currents," Bridie repeated, her voice hushed with recognition. "The same as Maren.""I believe so," Sorcha said, meeting Bridie's gaze with the tired, desperate gratitude of a traveler who had finally found someone who spoke her dialect. "Though our own bloodlines carry different names for what you'd call Ironfang or Frostbound gifts. The pattern beneath it feels remarkably similar, from everything I've read of your family's own history."Beside me, Bridie's fingers brushed against my forearm, a silent anchor. We had

CORMAC POV"The elders want a formal ceremony. Something to mark what she is publicly, before rumour decides the story for us instead."Osgar delivered the news grimly, three days into our visit, the whole Sable Reach council apparently divided over what such a ceremony should even look like.The wind off the southern sea was driving sheets of cold rain against the thick glass of the lodge windows, rattling the driftwood frames with a dull, unrelenting roar. Outside, along the high cliffs, the grey surf battered the jagged rocks below, churning white foam into the narrow crevices. Osgar stood by the hearth, poking at the smouldering peat with the iron tongs, his broad shoulders hunched as though bracing for an incoming breaker."What kind of ceremony are they proposing," Bridie asked, setting down a bowl of dried kelp broth she’d been sharing with Deirdre."Containment, some of them call it," Osgar admitted, the peat-iron clattering against the hearthstones as he dropped it. "Others w

CORMAC POV"A weaving child, seven years old, paraded through three separate territories as proof of her family's superior bloodline. Bridie, this isn't fear calcifying into grief. This is fear being exploited on purpose."I read the report aloud at Ashgrove's war table, barely a week after our return from the Sable Reach, the family's brief rest already interrupted.The parchment between my hands was cold and stiff with river damp, bearing the sharp, aggressive wax seal of the western inland valleys. Sunlight was streaming through the high arched windows of the council chamber, warming the polished heart-pine floorboards, but around the table, the air had gone instantly frost-sharp. The easy comfort of baby Maren’s nursery, the salt spray of the southern cliffs, the quiet relief of watching Fenna sleep whole—all of it felt pushed aside by the sudden, ugly reality of an old game wearing a brand-new mask."Exploited how," Elira asked, leaning forward, her hands resting flat against the

CORMAC POV "You cannot simply walk into this territory and suggest we abandon the one advantage keeping two hostile houses from swallowing Ashvale whole."Lord Berrick, Senna's father, delivered the accusation coldly, the formal council chamber less welcoming than his wife's private audience had been.The vaulted stone hall was draughty and cavernous, flanked by towering lancet windows that let in the harsh, flat glare of the midday sun. High banners bearing the gold-and-crimson sunburst of Ashvale hung from the gallery, their heavy silk trembling slightly in the chill air. Berrick stood on the raised dais behind a carved oak council table, clad in dark plate armor and an ermine-trimmed mantle, looking less like a father governing a family and more like a besieged garrison commander bracing for the final assault. At the far end of the room, seated upon a velvet stool beneath two armed guards, sat Senna. She was dressed once more in that stifling, gold-embroidered gown, her small chin

CORMAC POV"Two hundred and eighty chapters, and I think this might be the first time I've watched an entire territory's politics get rebuilt around a seven-year-old's simple wish to just be tired from playing instead of performing."I said it to Bridie as our small party finally began the journey home, lighter than the one that had carried us south.The horses set an easy, unhurried pace along the winding valley trail, their hooves rhythmically crunching over dry shale and fallen pine needles. The heavy, suffocating dread that usually followed us away from a contentious border was completely absent. Above us, the high southern ridges that had bristled with watchtowers and signal fires for sixty years looked serene beneath a sky of washed linen blue."I think that's rather the whole point we keep relearning," Bridie said, leaning into me as our stirrups brushed, her green traveling cloak fluttering in the cool mountain breeze. "Grand gestures matter. But most of what actually heals th