Chapter 1

At the feast celebrating the Nightwood Clan's victory over the vampire hunters, Julia suddenly shot to her feet, pointed at me, and declared, "I accuse Chief Advisor Elizabeth of stealing clan property!"

I looked at the woman—a blood servant turned fledgling not three months ago—and wondered who gave her the audacity.

"Stealing? What proof do you have?"

She produced a scroll.

"For the past year, you have spent over twenty hours a week alone in the treasury!"

She unrolled the scroll, revealing rows of meticulous records.

"Not only that, but fifteen crates of high-grade mana crystals and hundreds of vials of our finest rare bloods have vanished!"

Julia stared down at me, her eyes glittering with ambition. "You used the clan's campaigns as a cover to line your own pockets! You abused your position and took these priceless resources for yourself!"

The great hall fell dead silent.

My gaze calmly swept over the ledger.

Every entry was accurate.

But I hadn't been lining my pockets.

The fifteen crates of mana crystals were for the wounds on my back, gashes that went down to the bone. I'd gotten them a month ago, shielding Joseph and the elders from the silver bullets of three top-tier hunters so they could retreat.

And the hundreds of vials of rare blood? They were all sent to the northern werewolf territory.

It was the only price they’d accept to send their warriors to support the Nightwood Clan.

Because of those sacrifices, we had achieved total victory in yesterday's final battle, utterly destroying the Hunter's Guild.

I was the one who won this war.

I lifted the goblet before me, swirling the crimson liquid inside, and ignored her.

Julia's expression twisted with fury, and her voice grew louder. "Look at her, so arrogant! Are we going to let a selfish thief like her continue to control this clan's lifeblood? I propose she be thrown into the Silverwater dungeons immediately!"

The Silverwater dungeons. A place for traitors.

I paid the posturing fool no mind, my gaze sweeping over the clan’s core members.

Elder David, whom I had personally dragged from a sunlit cage during a hunter raid.

Now, the esteemed elder stared intently into his empty wine glass as if it held some fascinating secret. He avoided my eyes.

Captain Mark, whose full suit of black steel armor I had secured from the dwarves on my own credit.

Mark bowed his head, saying nothing.

Sarah, the lieutenant I had personally mentored.

I taught her swordsmanship, strategy, and treated her like a sister.

Now, Sarah crossed her arms, turning her face away, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Silence. From all of them.

A hollow chill seeped into my bones.

For these people, I had hidden my true lineage as a descendant of the great Prince Valerius.

I had given up the riches and glory of my family to fight in the mud for them like any common advisor.

I took a deep breath and let my gaze fall on the man in the center seat.

Joseph Nightwood.

The Earl of the Nightwood Clan, and the man I had loved without reservation for a century.

For a hundred years, I stood by his side as he built this clan. We weren't just allies; we were unspoken lovers, on the verge of becoming mates.

And he knew exactly where it all came from. The clan's vaults were nearly empty, and I was the one who offered up my own.

He looked at me then, so grateful, and said, "I will never forget what you've done for me and for Clan Nightwood."

His signature was on every single request form to withdraw resources from the treasury.

All he had to do was speak up. Just one word—"I knew"—and Julia's entire charade would collapse.

But he disappointed me.

Joseph was looking at me with a detached, appraising stare. His eyes held nothing but cold calculation.

"Julia has records of you stealing clan resources. What do you have to say for yourself?"