Choonloy

London, 1820
A kingdom shrouded in darkness. A bloodline cursed by power. A legacy of silver and shadows.

Centuries ago, a king's insatiable thirst for power turned him into a monster—a vampire. His dark transformation left a curse upon his descendants: the Silver Blood, a gift and a torment. Silver Blood turns any weapon they wield into a force capable of slaying vampires—and according to ancient legend, holds the power to restore vampires to humanity. But no one knows if this power is salvation… or damnation.

Maverick Crus Beecham, or Marx, is no stranger to the shadows. As the most skilled of the kingdom’s Special Soldier Night Guards, Marx has dedicated his life to protecting the realm. Yet when his stern uncle, Lawrence Beecham, unexpectedly sends him away for three months to inherit his title as Earl, Marx’s world takes an unforeseen turn.

Enter Cherie, a mysterious and charismatic nobleman who exudes charm as easily as breathing. Their fateful meeting throws Marx into a whirlwind of intrigue, danger, and unspoken secrets. Despite their clashing personalities—Marx’s stoic discipline against Cherie’s playful magnetism—they are drawn together by a shared purpose, an enigmatic mission, and Cherie’s declaration of a "date" that feels more like destiny.

“We should go through all of the ups and down, for better, for worse, until we are part by death”

A tale of cursed bloodlines, enduring secrets, and unexpected romance, Sovereign of Silver Blood is a gothic adventure romance.

Sovereign Of Silver Blood

Russell approached the halted carriage, the sound of his horse's hooves slowing to a rhythmic clatter against the gravel. Once near, he dismounted in a single fluid motion and strode to the door.

Russell knocked twice before he opened it and called out, "Is everything all right, Your Highness?"

What greeted him inside made him freeze mid-step. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the sight before him: a long silver sword embedded in the seat's backrest, its blade precariously close to Maverick's head.

Abigail's polished leather boot rested firmly on the seat between Maverick's legs, her posture calm and composed.

Maverick, despite the situation, maintained an air of forced composure. Arms crossed and chin tilted, he gulped almost imperceptibly.

Russell's voice cracked as he stammered, "Princess Abigail… please… Please don't kill the captain. Prince Julius will…" He trailed off, visibly struggling to form coherent words.

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