The castle still slept beneath a heavy veil of mist when Mephisto perched beside Bellatrix's throne, feathers trembling.
"Do you really intend to dance with him, my Queen?" he croaked. "Please tell me this is a joke."
Bellatrix sat in silence, her crimson eyes fixed on the pale fire burning in the hearth. For a long moment, she didn't answer. Then her lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"Do you think I would ever follow your foolish advice, Mephisto?"
The crow blinked. "So… you'll refuse?"
Bellatrix turned her head slowly. "No, you fool. I said I will dance with him."
Mephisto flapped his wings in disbelief. "That's too risky! He's not what he seems—"
Bellatrix rose, her gown whispering like smoke across the marble floor. "So what? I've played games with monsters far worse than him. It's been centuries since I've had a little fun." Her eyes glinted like two red rubies under moonlight. "He started the game. I'll finish it."
Mephisto muttered to himself, "I thought my Queen was cold… but she's completely insane. May the gods save this beautiful psychopath."
"I can hear you," Bellatrix said dryly. "Now go tell our little mouse that I've agreed to his game."
---
Magnus had already prepared everything. When Mephisto arrived with the message, the man smiled darkly.
"I knew she'd say yes," he whispered close to the crow's ear, his breath cold. "This night will reveal everything."
But Mephisto, unsettled by the confidence in his tone, flew back uneasy.
---
The Morning of the Dance
Dawn crept into the sky like a blade of gold, slicing through the last traces of night. The ballroom glittered under chandeliers and black candles. Velvet curtains, embroidered with crimson thread, drowned the room in a Gothic splendor.
The people of the kingdom filled the edges of the hall, whispering about the queen's rare appearance.
Then the doors opened—
And Bellatrix descended the stairs like a living eclipse.
Her black gown shimmered with scarlet designs that looked like veins of fresh blood. A silver crown rested upon her midnight hair. Each step she took silenced the whispers, turned every eye into a gaze of worship and fear.
Magnus waited below in a white suit, his gloved hands trembling—not from fear, but something else he refused to name. When Bellatrix reached him, her scent—dark roses and smoke—wrapped around him like a curse.
He bowed slightly. "Your Majesty."
"Are you falling for me already?" Bellatrix asked coolly, her smile sharp enough to cut through air.
Magnus forced a smirk. "Of course not. I'm your loyal servant."
"Then," she whispered, extending her hand, "let's dance, my servant."
---
The Dance Begins
Music swelled—haunting violins and deep drums. Magnus's hand slipped around her waist, pulling her close. Their movements were flawless, each step a balance of challenge and seduction.
"You've gathered quite an audience," Bellatrix murmured, eyes locked on his.
"Why the crowd, Magnus? Are you that desperate for attention?"
"Oh, come now, Your Majesty," he replied, smiling like sin. "I only wanted your people to see how radiant their queen looks in motion."
"Lies." Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You're playing a trick."
"Perhaps," he said, spinning her under the light. "Or perhaps I simply wanted to see if the sun would bless your beauty."
Her eyes narrowed. "The sun?"
Magnus twirled her gracefully, edging her toward the tall windows. The curtains fluttered; sunlight crept closer, hungry and merciless. Bellatrix felt the heat prick her skin—a warning.
"Enough," she hissed, halting the dance. The room went silent. Her crimson gaze pierced him, unreadable. "You wished to play, Magnus. I hope you enjoyed it."
Without another word, she turned and vanished up the stairs. The air left with her, leaving only the echoes of music and confusion.
Magnus stood still, pretending anger, smashing a glass goblet against the wall. "Who dared close the curtains?" he barked. But when no one answered, he smiled to himself, cold and victorious.
"Fools," he muttered. "That wasn't even my real plan."
---
The Hidden Truth
His true plan had already taken root.
He didn't need the sun to expose her.
He only needed her emotions.
Because when a vampire's heart burns with anger, fear, or desire—
Their mask begins to crumble.
But to his surprise, Bellatrix didn't rage. She didn't lash out.
In her chambers, Bellatrix stood alone, trembling. For centuries she had felt nothing. But as she danced with Magnus, her heart had recognized something old, something once loved.
That heartbeat… that gaze… that voice…
It was too familiar. Too painful.
She touched her chest, whispering, "No… it can't be. Yet why do you feel so much like him?"
Tears threatened, but she forced them back. "No weakness. Not now. I'll find out who you truly are, Magnus."
---
In the shadows, Mephisto watched from the balcony, sorrow clouding his eyes.
"She's carried this pain for so long… hasn't fate tortured her enough?" he whispered.
He didn't notice Magnus hidden nearby, listening to every word.
For the first time, something inside Magnus twisted. Sympathy—or maybe something far more dangerous.
He clenched his fists. "No. Focus, Magnus. Don't let her break you."
But deep inside, he knew—
the hunt was changing.
The predator was falling for his prey.