A Pact with the Demon’s Bride

Sitting in a velvet throne-like chair in the great hall of the vampire lord's manor, the monarch watched with boredom as long, undulating shadows danced in the dim light of the flickering candles.

"There's no room for more fiends."

He glanced at the statues wrapped around the Gothic arches and the chandeliers adorned with teardrop crystals that illuminated them. Then his gaze shifted to the owner of the approaching footsteps.

Heise stopped in front of King Seneca, his presence a striking contrast to the gothic grandeur of the vampire lord's manor. This time, he was adorned in a flowing water-green hanfu, the delicate fabric shimmering like the surface of a tranquil lake under moonlight. The high collar framed his sharp jawline, and the sash around his waist was tied with an intricate knot, accentuating his slender figure. His long, dark hair was loosely tied back, a few strands escaping to frame his face, which was as pale and flawless as porcelain.

As he leaned forward slightly, his hanfu waved gently, as if stirred by an unseen breeze. A mischievous light was shining in his eyes filled with water drops. "How was your date?" he asked with a smile, his tone pleasant.

The monarch, a towering figure even while seated, leaned back in the armchair, his expression unreadable. His pale skin seemed almost translucent in the dim light, and his eyes glowed faintly, like embers smoldering in the dark. "It was filled with bows, ribbons, and flowers," he replied, his voice carrying a note of disdain.

Heise's lips twitched into a sly grin. "You didn't burn him, I hope..." he said, his tone teasing but edged with caution.

The monarch's eyes narrowed, his fiery gaze locking onto Heise. His presence seemed to grow larger, more imposing, as if the shadows in the room were bending to his will. "Do I look like a psychopath? Or some kind of pervert?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Heise took a subtle step back, though his grin remained. "What led you to that conclusion, Your Majesty?"

"Your way of presenting it to me," the monarch said, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving Heise's. "As if I would take pleasure in such... theatrics."

Heise's grin faltered for a moment, and he slowly opened an ornate silk fan, using it to shield the lower half of his face. "Ah, I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it."

"I didn't," the monarch replied, his tone dismissive as he leaned back again, his gaze drifting to the shadows that clung to the corners of the room.

Heise lowered the silk fan slightly, his eyes peeking over its edge. "Perhaps you'd like to have another date?"

The monarch's expression darkened. "Right now, even my presence is dangerous for the clone," he said, his voice tinged with something almost like regret. "That's why I've decided to wait for the game."

Heise nodded, his fan snapping shut with a soft click. "As you wish, Your Excellency," he said, bowing his head slightly.

The monarch's gaze drifted to the floor, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "I have no wish but for you to take good care of the clone," he murmured, his voice distant. After a moment, he waved a hand dismissively. "You may leave."

Heise performed an exaggerated bow, then turned with deliberate slowness. He quietly exited the hall and proceeded down the hallway. He paused just before rounding the corner. He glanced back at the door as it slowly creaked open behind him.

Anaxarete stood in the doorway, her figure silhouetted by the warm glow of the room behind her. She leaned seductively against the doorframe, her crimson gown clinging to her curves, the fabric shimmering like liquid fire in the candlelight.

"Hey there, handsome," she purred, her voice dripping with both allure and mischief.

Heise paused, his expression unreadable as he turned toward her. "What's up, sweetie?" he replied, his tone casual but laced with a hint of wariness. He knew Anaxarete well enough to recognize when she was up to something.

She beckoned him with a slender finger, her movements slow and deliberate, as if casting a spell. Heise hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the room, his sharp eyes scanning the space.

The room featured velvet curtains, sophisticated furniture, and a chandelier that cast refracted light onto the walls. Heise couldn't help but think that because of Dekaris's style, each room has the same boring vibe.

He thought that the witch had hidden her old chest in a corner of the room without opening it.

Anaxarete quickly glanced down the hallway before shutting the door with a soft click.

Heise raised an eyebrow as he looked around. "Bored, huh?"

Anaxarete ignored his jab, gliding across the room with feline grace. She gestured to a sofa upholstered. "Come sit, sweetie," she said, her tone both commanding and inviting. "Let's talk a little."

Heise crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. "I don't have time for that."

"You have time for this." Anaxarete moved to a small table where a decanter of dark liquor sat. She poured two glasses, the liquid catching the light like molten amber. Handing one to Heise, she leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. "About the genie."

Heise's eyes narrowed, but he took the glass, his fingers brushing against hers. He moved to the sofa, the edges of his hanfu spreading like a folding fan as he sat. "I'm listening," he said, raising his glass to her.

Anaxarete smiled and sat beside him, her movements slow and deliberate, her gown rustling softly. "It seems you didn't manage to seize the sigil," she said, her tone teasing. She crossed her legs, the slit in her gown revealing a flash of pale skin. "Whereas I've managed to bring the sultan to you."

Heise's eyes narrowed further, his suspicion growing. He asked in a low, measured voice, "You said the police officer turned to ash?"

Anaxarete took a sip of her drink. "Yes, he did."

Heise leaned forward slightly, his gaze intense. "And?" he pressed.

Anaxarete shifted her position, her movements languid and deliberate. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Here's the thing," she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I managed to fix him." She paused, letting the words hang in the air before adding, "Partially."

“Partially?” Heise repeated, leaning back slightly, the flowing sleeves of his water-green hanfu draping elegantly over the arm of the sofa. “What does that mean, exactly? Is he functional? Or is he just a walking corpse with half a soul?”

Anaxarete’s crimson lips curving like a predator savoring its prey. “Functional enough,” she said, her tone teasing. “He’s not quite the sultan he used to be, but he’s... useful."

Heise’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze piercing through her playful demeanor. “Useful how?” he pressed. “And why are you telling me this now? What’s your game, Anaxarete?”

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, the glass of liquor cradled in her hands. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, and for a moment, she looked almost like a cat toying with a mouse. “My game?” she echoed, her voice a purr. “Sweetie, my game is the same as it’s always been. Survival. Power. And you, my dear, are a key player in that game.”

Heise's eyebrow twitched. He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. The taste was rich and smoky, with a hint of something sweet—like burnt sugar and spices.

“You’re being cryptic,” he said at last, setting the glass down on the table with a soft clink. “If you’ve brought the sultan back, even partially, then you’ve got a plan. And if you’re involving me, it’s because you need something."

"You're right, honey." Anaxarete’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes darkened slightly. “The sultan's memory is fragmented, and his powers are unpredictable,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Yet he can still participate in the game, but...” She paused.

Heise’s eyes narrowed, his expression guarded. "I'm curious, and I'm listening."

Anaxarete’s smile widened, and she set her glass down on the table. “As you know, I am a witch,” she began, her voice smooth and measured. “And witches... well, we have our own ways of securing power. My condition is simple: I require something from the monarch. Something only he can provide.”

Heise’s brow furrowed slightly. “And what, exactly, do you require from His Majesty?”

Anaxarete leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. “A binding,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “A ritual bond between the monarch and myself. Not just any bond, mind you—a demonic pact, one that will grant me access to his power and ensure our... mutual cooperation.”

Heise’s eyes widened slightly, though he quickly masked his surprise. “A demonic pact?” he repeated, his tone carefully neutral. “You’re asking for a great deal, Anaxarete."

"Yes, I know," Anaxarete replied, leaning back, her smile returning, though it was colder now, more dangerous. "But remember, I am a witch. If you give me his blood, nails or hair, I can even marry him."

Heise raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “And why would I do that? What’s in it for me?”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “You’re not the only one with secrets. I know about your little... arrangement with the monarch and... you made an agreement with your lord too... So, you’re not as loyal as you pretend to be. Help me, and I’ll make sure your secrets stay buried."

Heise’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes flashed with a flicker of anger. He leaned forward. “You’re playing a dangerous game, witch."

Anaxarete met his gaze without flinching, her smile never wavering. “Oh, danger captivates me."

Heise studied her for a long moment, his mind racing as he weighed his options. Finally, he leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Alright,” he said, his tone light but with an edge of menace. “I’m in. But remember this, Anaxarete—if you double-cross me..."

“Oh, my sweetie. I am aware." As Anaxarete lifted her glass to Heise, her smile became wider. "Cin-cin!"