"This kingdom lived before you, Madame. And if I have to die in the attempt, I will not let you kill it."
Byun Baekhyun, the young ruler of a futuristic kingdom situated where once was the Korean Peninsula, is unexpectedly faced with a foe more form...
"The Council cries, my king: 'Kill the Monster!'" Kim Heechul murmurs in his ear as he breakfasts the next morning.
The fare repulses him, the stale and sapless smell of rice and greens, broths and relishes, eggs and fish, their odour turns the stomach it used to tame. Baekhyun wants none of it. Meat. I want meat. Rare. As rare as they can make it. Synchronically he swallows back his appetite and scowls at its suppressants, pushing away his untouched plate as he orders his informant, "Spare me the embellishments and speak."
Ever wary of his master's moods, the servant nods as he narrates, "As expected, the news has by now travelled far and wide. The populace – in panic. Our allies – inquisitive alarm. Our enemies – sneering scepticism. Your ministers – all the above. There's much too much of mystery surrounding this monster, Your Grace: her origin, her arrival, her abilities, her intent, her involvement in the traitor's plot and the extent of its effect on your person. They want to know, Your Grace, the whats, the whens, the whys. Above all, they want her dead to ensure their staying alive."
Cats and magpies, coins and curiosity. Simple, scheming minds. You were right, Madame. You were right.
"And you, Heechul, what do you want?" Baekhyun chases with a slanted stare at his spy, which the latter repays with one of equal obliqueness where he declares:
"A statement. Sensible, straightforward, satisfactory. Silence, Your Grace," he sighs with all the overemphasis of the deprived, "that is what I want."
"But could you bear such noise, old friend?" Baekhyun returns with a bend in his brow, carved and curved by fifteen years of unofficial comradeship and formal servitude. "Mouths may be silenced, but minds know no master. They will speak of their own accord...especially yours and mine."
A clever little creature, is she not? The elder conveys with a crooking of his mouth, ever eager to remind Baekhyun of his supreme sapience where all matters palatial are concerned.
"Very well," the king concedes with a smile. "You'll have your statement in an hour's time. Sensible. Straightforward. Satisfactory."
Sensibly and straightforwardly satisfied, Heechul bows and begs his leave of Baekhyun.
He leans back in his chair, metrically tapping his chiselled ivory chopsticks against the table as he mulls over the mission at hand. The whats, the whens, the whys, they all want to know: populous, ministers, enemies, allies – cats and magpies. And what of the monarch? He'd like to know too...but how? Statement...statement...state...steak. Steak. "Lee Minhyung!"
"Y-Your Grace," the scatterbrain servant stutters where he peeps past the screen which separates the serving station from the dining area reserved for the king and his closest circle.
"Meat."
"Rare?"the boy confirms, and something in the arcing of his naturally arched brows causes a pitch in Baekhyun's.
Clever little creature, he muses contently, I shall make much of you yet. "As rare as you can make it."
The younger examines him a moment, more closely perhaps than protocol would sanction, and raptly blurts, "Bluer than Your Grace's eyes." Dumbfounded at his own daring, he bends and bounds out of the hall before Baekhyun can either smile or scold him for his words.
He takes the unsoiled silver spoon from the table and holds it to his ill-rested eyes. Rare or raw, Lee Minhyung, which blue am I?
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