CHAPTER 20: The Masquerade of Knives

The Queen's Ball was announced three days after the second priest was found dead. 

It was an odd decision — almost absurd — but the royal court insisted it would continue as planned. "A show of strength," they called it. "A statement that Aurelia stands unafraid." 

To Bell, it sounded like a mistake. 

"Hosting a masquerade while the city bleeds?" he muttered. "It's bait." 

"Or a trap," Seria said, watching the sky from the tower. "But maybe it's a chance. If they show their faces, we'll be ready." 

Bell nodded grimly. "Then we'll attend." 

That night, beneath the Guild tower, the figure in shadows stood before a long mirror, adjusting a mask of deepest obsidian. 

It wasn't made of metal. 

It was made of bone.

Thin, beautiful, ancient — etched with forgotten runes that hummed when touched. 

Behind him, Vyrniss slithered slowly across the blackstone floor, her serpentine form gleaming in the candlelight. She rose behind him like smoke and coiled around his chest, waist, then shoulders — her tail looping possessively around his thigh. 

"You wear it well," she whispered against his neck, tongue flicking the edge of his jaw. "You always did." 

He didn't flinch. Her breath was cold, but familiar. 

"I need a message," he said. "One that rattles even the King." 

Vyrniss tightened, pulling herself flush against him. Her pale skin shimmered where it merged into scale. Her lips brushed his ear. 

"Then let me dance tonight, beloved," she hissed. "Let me remind them what the Serpent Queen tastes like." 

He said nothing, only placed a hand over her coils, feeling the power that rippled through her body like a storm kept barely in check. 

"Not yet," he murmured. 

She bit his collarbone — not hard, but enough to mark. 

"Then don't wait too long," she growled. "Or I might get bored... and tear the wrong neck open." 

The Grand Ballroom of Aurelia was a cathedral of color and gold. 

Lanterns floated mid-air. Gilded masks glimmered on every face. Laughter, music, wine — all of it dulled the fear that had been sinking into the city like slow poison. 

Bell stood tall in a royal-blue cloak, his gold-threaded mask shaped like a lion. He hated the thing. 

Seria stood beside him in a forest-green gown, her mask shaped like ivy. She whispered to him, "You think they'll strike here?" 

He nodded. "They'd be fools not to. Everyone worth killing is in one room." 

She smirked. "Including us." 

From across the room, a masked woman danced alone. 

Her mask was shaped like a cobra. 

Her steps were slow. 

Measured. 

She moved through the crowd like a silk thread through flesh — unnoticed, but always cutting. 

Bell watched her and frowned. "That woman. She's not from court." 

Seria followed his gaze. "No records of her. No escort. And that mask... not court fashion." 

"Keep your eyes on her." 

Up in the rafters, the figure in shadows crouched, hidden behind illusion. Watching the dancers like a god surveying worshippers. 

Vyrniss coiled around the beams beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, hissing softly in delight. 

"So many hearts beating. So many throats to taste," she whispered. 

He reached into his coat, withdrawing a glass vial filled with crimson ink. 

"The Queen will speak tonight," he said. 

"And what of your cousin?" she purred, tongue teasing the edge of his glove. "Still dancing? Still blind?" 

The figure's eyes never moved from Bell. 

"Let him dance," he said. "He'll bleed better that way." 

At the heart of the ballroom, the music stopped. 

A single violin screeched to silence. 

Then — a scream. 

A noble collapsed. Blood streaming from his mouth. Dozens turned in confusion — and panic. 

Bell surged forward, drawing his blade. "Guards! To me!" 

But then came the second scream — from the rafters. 

A servant fell from above, convulsing, mouth sewn shut with golden thread. His body struck the marble like a dropped sack of bones. 

Panic. 

Screams. 

The ballroom erupted into chaos. 

Bell fought through the crowd, trying to find the source. But his eyes couldn't keep up — the cobra-masked woman was gone. 

Seria shielded nobles with magic, forming barriers from the chandeliers' falling glass. 

A shadow darted across the ceiling. 

Cid appeared beside them — face pale, holding a wounded scribe. "He fell from the sky," he said, almost breathless. "His heart… it's gone." 

Bell narrowed his eyes. 

"Not gone," he said. "Taken."

"i'll go and try to help others" Cid said as he ran towards the stairs

Later above it all, the figure in shadows rose silently. 

Vyrniss purred against his neck. "You could end it now." 

"No," he whispered. "Not yet." 

Below, Bell looked up — but saw only flickering light.