BLOOD FOR BLOOD: The Return of Elior Crestfall

Chapter One: The Poisoned Wine

“I, Elior Crestfall, hereby vow…"

His voice rang out, steady, and unwavering. “To live the rest of my life with you. No matter what happens after today... I am yours, Liliane. In heart, name, and soul.”

A thousand golden lights sparkled across the Crestfall ancestral manor, casting a warm glow over the hushed, breathless hall.

He slid the golden ring onto her finger.

Liliane Whitmore—radiant in her ivory gown—let out a soft, tearful laugh and threw her arms around him.

“I love you, Elior,” she whispered against his shoulder. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this day…”

A soft murmur rippled through the crowd. Then a gentle applause and a few warm chuckles.

Elior Crestfall—the revered heir of the legendary aristocratic Crestfall dynasty was finally home. For ten years, he'd been the unseen spearhead behind the family's expansion abroad. It was his brilliance, not just blood, that raised the Crestfall armies and built empires across borders.

Tonight, the prodigal heir had returned. Not for war or wealth, but for love.

Across the aisle, Patriarch Godwin Crestfall—the godfather of the Crestfall dynasty sat tall in his throne-like chair, pride flickering in his aging eyes, watching closely.

Beside him sat Lord Aldric Whitmore, Liliane’s stoic, and unreadable grandfather, the head of the Whitmore banking empire.

This wasn’t just a marriage. It was more like an alliance of titans. But Elior wasn’t thinking of power. Not tonight.

He leaned in close, voice low, just for her. “You waited a whole decade, when you didn’t have to. That is what kept me alive out there, Liliane. I only held on… because of you.”

Her lips quivered. Tears welled behind her veil. Then Elior gently lifted it, brushing her cheek with his thumb then kissed her softly, to the thunderous sound of clapping, cheers, and a few misty-eyed sighs from the guests.

Ceremonial servants approached the high table, offering aged wine to the elders of both families.

Lord Whitmore swirled his glass and grumbled under his breath. “So this is your chosen heir, Patriarch Godwin? I didn’t expect the future of Crestfall to be quite so… soft and sentimental, he's nothing like you.”

Patriarch Godwin gave a dry chuckle. “And I didn’t expect your granddaughter to have such adequate patience to wait for him for ten years. Who knows what she's really after. hmm.”

Their sharp, calculating eyes locked—a silent reminder that no union, no matter how grand, could erase old rivalries.

The officiant, trying to steer the moment back to joy, gave a warm smile. “By the blessings of both houses…”

At that exact moment, Patriarch Godwin Crestfall raised his ceremonial wine glass to his lips.

“...and the ancestors who watch from above… I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

“You may—” BOOM!

The massive oak doors crashed open with a thunderous crack, halting the officiant’s words and freezing Patriarch Godwin mid-sip.

Gasps cut through the silence. Heads turned toward the entrance.

In strode Darian Crestfall, Elior’s cousin, flanked by six armed family guards in black Crestfall regalia. His stride was slow and commanding. His smug expression barely covered the smirk in his face.

“Darian?” Elior muttered, brows furrowed.

Without a pause, Darian barked, “SEIZE HIM!”

The guards surged forward towards Elior, but froze midway under the deadly coldness of his glare.

Every inch of his posture screamed control and battle-hardened authority. The guards hesitated, swallowing hard. Their feet didn’t dare take another step.

Patriarch Godwin rose furiously from his chair, the wine in his hand trembling slightly before he set it down.

“Explain yourself, Darian! Why did you dare barge in here with armed guards even though I asked you to stay at home, to protect the Central Base?”

Darian bowed deeply, voice smooth and soaked in false humility.

“Forgive my intrusion, Lord Crestfall. I disobeyed your command to remain at Central Base… because I received disturbing intelligence that you might be in danger. So I rushed here to protect you.”

The entire hall tensed.

“Protect me?” Patriarch Godwin’s voice turned icy. “From whom, exactly? Who would dare hurt me?”

Darian hesitated. His eyes slowly shifted to Elior. 

“I asked you a question. Who would dare plot against ME?”

A ripple of panic rolled through the guests. The room was silent.

Then came Darian’s venom-laced accusation, “I fear… Elior had your wine laced with poison, my lord!”

The words landed like a dagger. Chairs creaked. A few glasses clinked hastily as hands trembled.

“What the fuck are you saying, dude?” The crowd murmured.

Even Lord Whitmore and other elders at the high table instinctively dropped their drinks and shifted ever so slightly away from the table while maintaining composure, but clearly rattled.

“What the hell did you just say?” Elior’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“You're accusing me of trying to poison Lord Crestfall? My own grandfather?”

Darian smirked, pointing his finger towards him. “You really disappointed me Elior, as it turns out you don't have any conscience. I have always respected and regarded you with honor. It turns out you're just a wild animal that'd hurt and kill any other just to satisfy his own stomach.”

“What!” Elior and Liliane echoed in unison.

Patriarch Godwin glared at the wine on the table. “Why do you believe Elior poisoned my drink?”

Darian bowed his head, feigning grief. “Two hours ago, I received an urgent message from one of the manor’s lower servants. I thought it was a ruse. But I investigated… and the trail led back to Elior.”

Patriarch Godwin’s jaw clenched. “Elior has always been loyal to this family. I named him heir because of his long years of devotion and sacrifice.” He asserted.

“Exactly, my lord,” Darian replied. “He played the long game. He worked hard to gain your trust, only to strike when your guard was down. He knew the title was his… all he needed was to remove you.”

“Bastard!” Elior roared, storming forward and grabbing Darian by the collar.

“How dare you?! You want to soil my name in front of my wife, in front of everyone, after everything I’ve sacrificed?!”

The crowd gasped. The guards moved but froze again as Elior’s grip tightened.

“Turns out.. he's not that soft” Lord Whitmore muttered under his breath.

“Since my parents died in an accident when I was just eight, I left the comfort of this manor and gave my entire youth to this family! I’ve bled for it! Starved for it! Built it when no one else would lift a finger. And where were you, Darian?! Hiding in the city, sipping wine and enjoying all the comfort!” Elior continued.

Darian choked, struggling under Elior’s grip, but his smirk never fully disappeared.

Patriarch Godwin grabbed the wine and stepped down from the high table, his mini staff held by the other hand tapping hard against the marble floor. He handed the staff to one of the guards and gently but firmly pried Elior’s hands from Darian’s collar.

“That’s enough,” he said, voice low but heavy.

“Darian…” Patriarch Godwin turned sharply, “You’ve made a grave accusation. So now, I ask you for the last time—where is your proof? Or I pour this drink into your mouth now to see if you're telling the truth!”