Mirror in the Monster

I. The Shape of Her Shadow

"Your Grace," the bird-eyed attendant appears from behind the throne to tweet in his thrice-pierced ear, "General Zhang is returned...with a guest, it would appear."

Nestled in his seat of steel like the rubies that bedeck its horned backrest, Baekhyun lets out a languid sigh and still more languorously blinks. The servant nods and briskly disappears into the purplish-blue shadows cast by the tanzanite lights that halo the hexagonal hall.

Seconds later, its double doors groan open to reveal the disgruntled figure of the head of his army, his chief adviser and boyhood friend, Zhang Yixing. To his left stands a woman of approximately twenty-five years, taller by a head than the moderately statured legionary, her form and features both as finely-wrought as any the young king has ever seen. Highborn, to be sure, from one of the northern realms perhaps. Her garb is that of a warrior of high rank. Baekhyun cannot identify the source of the design, nor the cradle of the crest, yet he is certain of the quality of the materials that comprise it and of the cost  – a captain's monthly wages.

Yixing darts her a prodding glare and the pair set about their progress: he a picture of antagonism, she of self-possession. The discrepancy somehow amuses Baekhyun where he watches their advance. Seldom has he seen his general quite so agitated.

Did she refuse you, Xing-ge? Is that why we're so sullen?  A subtle smirk marks his mien as he reflects and is momentarily mirrored in that of the woman. Indiscernibly it causes him to gasp; this most mundane of gestures, performed by her, holds a staggering effect.

"Beautiful," Do Kyungsoo, the sixth amongst his eight Iron Roses – his trustiest and truest-born knights – whispers the impressions of the six who sit beside him, a tier below Baekhyun, their expressions a progressive portrait of immersion where they study the uncommonly crafted female.

Even their notoriously unimpressionable makane, Oh Sehun, cannot conceal his captivation with the similarly cat-eyed creature.

Now that would make a pretty pair, Baekhyun asserts internally, his blue-rimmed pupils ping-ponging between the young lady and the two years younger lord.

At length, they reach the levels that lead to the throne. Signalling the woman to follow suit, Yixing bows before his ruler, yet she does not. Instead, she drops, then raises her gaze alone. As her irises meet with the heliotrope illumination of the hall, the seven seated Roses inhale in harmonised awe. Her eyes are garnet inlaid with gold, a hue so rare, Baekhyun is certain he has seen its equal in no living form.

"Your Grace," Yixing addresses him at last, "I return from the eastern border bearing gifts: the head of the traitor, Huang Zitao; the contents of your armoury in Songtae he had been smuggling gun-by-bullet over the past eighteen months; the files containing the preparation of the poison he had been feeding you these four years; and the one who knows how to reverse its effect, being as she is its brewer. Bow down to your king, woman," he hisses at her, nostrils flaring in distaste.

Gelidly the lady stares at him and smiles. It sends a pleasant shiver down Baekhyun's spine. "I shall make much of you yet, little soldier," she avows, her low tenor a melody of menace. "As for your king..." she sets her right foot forward as she says. No sooner does it touch upon the steps, than Yixing grips the leather whip that hangs about his waist and coils it around her collar, yanking at the handle until it cuts into her flesh. The woman jars and glowers at him, pain flashing mutely through her purple eyes.

"General!" Kim Junmyeon, the second eldest of his high-lords, by nature a gentle man, averse to thoughtless violence, bellows in dismay. "Even to one's adversaries, one must show decorum. She is not a commoner, the lowliest of fools could tell as much by the shape of her shadow alone. Release her."