Chapter 4

The candlelight flickered across the long oak table, casting distorted shadows on the walls. The manor's drawing room had never felt this cold, despite the summer air outside.

They were all here.

The steward. The kitchen staff. The guards. Selma.

And at the head of it all sat my father, Duke Edric Aldercrest—his sharp jaw set, his fingers laced tightly beneath his chin. Mother stood beside him, tense but silent.

And me?

I stood at the far end, a six-year-old in formal silk, with a folder of documents in my hands and a storm behind my eyes.

"Thank you all for coming," I began softly, my voice steady. "Tonight, I want to tell you a story."

Some of them blinked. Some scoffed quietly. The steward even smirked.

A child's bedtime tale? They had no idea.

I placed the first page on the table. Recreated from memory. It looked innocent—just a piece of parchment with numbers and notes.

"A few moons ago, House Aldercrest borrowed two hundred and fifty gold sovereigns from a merchant named Halvek."

Eyes flicked toward the steward. He remained still.

"The terms were… unusual. Fifteen percent interest. Per moon. Compounded."

I saw the first signs of unease—small shifts in posture. Avoided eye contact.

I continued. "At that rate, after seven months, the debt becomes more than four hundred and seventy gold. More than double the original."

Gasps.

"That's not just bad luck. That's a trap. One we walked straight into."

Now the room was silent.

I laid down the second page. The forged one. "And yet, Halvek knew exactly when to strike. He knew the harvest failed in the southern fields—before even our house did."

I turned.

"Selma."

She flinched at the sound of her name. Her hands clenched at her apron.

"Your name was in his ledger. 'S — Kitchen.' That's you, isn't it?"

"I—I don't know what you're talking about, young master," she stammered.

I nodded, as if expecting that answer.

So I motioned toward the guards outside the room.

A moment later, a man entered and dropped a heavy coin pouch onto the table. The seal was unmistakable.

Halvek's crest. Stamped into every coin.

"We found this in your quarters. Two sovereigns. Freshly minted. Halvek's mark."

She crumbled.

"I—he said it was harmless! Just numbers! He said your father would never be hurt!"

I looked toward my father.

He said nothing.

I stepped forward. "Selma is just one thread. The web goes deeper."

I turned my gaze to the steward, who was already going pale.

"You were the one who recommended Halvek to my father. You arranged the loan. You vouched for the man's honesty."

He opened his mouth—but I was faster.

"Did you also think I wouldn't find the original contract?" I lifted the final page—the one I had stolen from Halvek's caravan with my own two hands.

Everyone leaned forward.

The steward froze as I read aloud.

"…interest compounded monthly… client remains unaware… pressure applied via S."

No more denials. No more lies.

The room exploded into whispers.

"She's a spy—""The steward too—""Gods… what would've happened if—?"

I stepped back, letting the panic bloom.

And then, silence returned as I addressed the head of the table.

"My lord father," I said, formally now, "you entrusted this house to men who wore masks. I've removed them."

I met his eyes.

"What justice shall we deliver?"

Duke Edric stared at me for a long, breathless moment.

Then he stood.

"Guards," he said, voice like iron, "remove Selma and the steward. I want them interrogated. Quietly. No rumors."

They struggled, screamed. It didn't matter.

Justice had been spoken.

Later, as the room emptied, my mother approached me in the flickering candlelight. Her hand brushed my cheek, trembling slightly.

"My little genius," she whispered. "How did you…?"

But she never finished the question. I simply hugged her and didn't answer.

My father remained behind, eyes shadowed.

"You… kept this all to yourself," he said. "You could've told me."

"I couldn't," I replied. "If I did… they would've hidden the proof. Lied. Escaped."

He nodded, slowly.

"You're not a child," he said at last. "Not anymore."

That night, as I sat by my window, the stars above Veyradis felt brighter than usual. But my heart was cold.

This was just the beginning.

They had tried to bleed House Aldercrest dry.Now it was my turn.

And I would bleed them back.

Let the game begin.

The great drawing room had emptied, but the moment lingered like incense in the air.

I stood by the window, the flickering lantern casting golden lines across my face. In the glass, I caught my reflection—and for the first time in this new life, I studied it like an outsider might.

My hair was dark chestnut, smooth and long enough to be tied behind my neck, as was tradition for noble sons. My eyes, however, betrayed the blood I carried—silver, like moonlight caught in water. My mother's gift.

The high cheekbones, narrow jawline, and long lashes—hers.

The calm, hawkish gaze, the subtle arch in my brow when I calculated too quickly—my father's.

I was beautiful in a way that unsettled people. Too composed for a child. Too precise. I knew it. I used it.

It made them underestimate me, like they had tonight.

But behind those silver eyes was a soul twice lived—and a fire that would not die again.