The nights grew restless in the castle after Magnus was accepted as Bellatrix's slave. She gave him endless, merciless work—hauling stones, cleaning halls until his hands bled, polishing her throne until he could see his reflection in its golden edges.
Magnus endured every humiliation, but hatred was slowly carving its way into his heart. One day, he told himself, this woman will kneel before me. Until then, I must smile and serve.
Bellatrix, though outwardly cruel, was watching him closely. The first time she had seen Magnus, she had felt it—a strange, dark aura clinging to his body like a shadow that wasn't his. That was why she kept him here, chained not with iron, but with her eyes.
Mephisto, however, was restless. Perched on the arm of Bellatrix's throne, his feathers ruffled whenever Magnus entered the chamber. His crimson eyes burned with unease. Finally, he spoke.
"Your Majesty," he said in a low voice, "there is something… wrong with that man. I can feel it in my bones. He reeks of danger. Why keep him here? Why not send him to another castle, let him rot in some corner far from us?"
Bellatrix's lips curved into a sharp smile. "Ooo, you poor crow. So slow, so worried. Do you really think I did not notice? From the very first moment, I knew."
Mephisto tilted his head, shocked. "You knew? And yet you—"
"I keep my enemies close," she interrupted coldly. "If Magnus is plotting, I would rather watch him here than wonder what he does in the shadows."
"But what if something goes wrong? What if he harms you?" Mephisto pressed. His tone was sharp with desperation.
Bellatrix's eyes turned to ice. "He is a piece of cake compared to me. It is he who should fear me, not the other way around."
Mephisto lowered his gaze, wings trembling. "Perhaps it was foolish of me to speak. You never listen anyway."
But Magnus was not idle. Patiently, he began weaving his trap. He needed proof—evidence that Bellatrix was indeed a vampire. He tested her in small ways, watching her avoid sunlight, studying her movements at night. Yet he needed more. Something undeniable.
One evening, he approached Mephisto with a sly smile.
"Tell me, crow… can Her Majesty dance?"
Mephisto turned his crimson eyes on him, deadly sharp. "Her Majesty, not Bellatrix. Show some respect."
Magnus bowed mockingly. "Ah, forgive me. Then—can Her Majesty the Queen dance?"
"Of course she can!" Mephisto snapped. "She is queen of this empire. She can do everything." His voice faltered, the word vampire almost slipping from his tongue.
Magnus smirked. "Yes, but even queens are not gods. Surely she is not perfect. I would wager I dance better than her."
The crow's wings bristled, fury sparking. "How dare you compare yourself to her! Insolent fool. Wait—I'll bring her here at once!"
Moments later, Mephisto stormed into the throne room, feathers still ruffled. "Majesty! That insolent wretch dares to say he can dance better than you! He mocks you!"
Bellatrix raised a brow, her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the candlelight. Instead of anger, she chuckled softly. "And you, poor crow, flew straight into his trap."
Mephisto froze. "Trap…?"
"He wants me to dance," she said coldly. "To lure me into sunlight, to see if I burn. How simple. How foolish."
"But why play these games?" Mephisto demanded. "Why does he want to fool us like this?"
Bellatrix's smirk widened. "Because he seeks to know if I am vampire or human. But his tricks are weak, his snares thin. Nothing he does can reveal me."
What Bellatrix did not know, however, was that Magnus had planned far beyond a mere dance. The suggestion was only bait, a game within a game. Behind his obedient bow and soft-spoken words, he whispered to himself in silence:
Dance, my queen. Dance, and let the sun kiss your skin. Soon, your secret will be mine.
And in the corridors of the castle, the trap began to tighten.