The inherent cruelty of a mirror is that it never tells a lie.
Manami sat still as the maids buzzed around her, their hands deft and their voices low as they applied powder to her cheeks, set jade combs in her hair, and draped heavy silk over shoulders that seemed too frail to bear such a burden.
Though the maids moved with practiced grace, Manami's gaze was locked on the mirror. The reflection staring back at her resembled not a royal figure but a porcelain doll prepared for her own funeral.
The question of why her father had chosen her gnawed at her mind each night since the decree was read in the grand hall. It turned over and over, cutting deeper, yet the answer remained unchanged: he had better options.
Her eldest sister was born for leadership, possessing a mind sharp enough to slice through courtly deceit and a beauty that left poets at a loss for words. Her second sister could hit a flying sparrow with an arrow from a hundred paces and still have breath left to laugh.
In contrast, Manami felt like a mere blemish on silk. She had no notable talents, no gifts the kingdom could boast of. She possessed only a quiet voice and clumsy hands that seemed to apologize for their existence.
When the maids finally stepped back to admire their handiwork, one offered a small, encouraging smile, telling her she looked perfect. But as Manami studied the painted lips and the golden crown weighing down her hair, which refused to curl, she wondered what exactly she was perfect for.
It seemed she was perfect only to be thrown to the wolves, scrutinized by a court that despised her, destined to die without knowing who wielded the dagger. The mirror simply reflected the truth she had always known: she was the weakest of them all, and the weakest are always the first to be sacrificed.
"It is time," announced the eunuch from the doorway.
His voice cut through the silence with a sharp edge. Manami rose, her knees trembling, but she locked them into place, relying on the one skill the weak need to survive in the palace: acting. She swept out of her chambers, the long train of her crimson coronation robes hissing over the cold stone like a serpent trailing behind her.
She walked between the columns of guards, forcing herself to meet eyes she usually avoided, only to find her fears confirmed by eyes that silently agreed: the King had made a grave mistake.
She entered the main hall, feeling the weight of the court pressing against her skin. To her left, the nobles looked through her as if she were mist. To her right, the Generals smiled without visible contempt, yet their loyalties were split between the King and the weak girl he intended to crown.
Only her father radiated warmth, a feeling entirely out of place in this cold room. His judgment was blinded by pride, making him the only soul truly at ease within these walls.
She knelt before the throne, the rhythm of the Emperor's approaching footsteps pounding in her chest. The moment that would define her life was becoming a reality.
But before the crown could touch her head, that reality shattered.
A collective gasp swept through the room as every eye turned upward to the glass dome. Spiderwebs of white cracks spread agonizingly slowly.
Manami saw the Generals' hands drift toward their hilts, but the warning came too late.
CRASH.
The great windows shattered inward, raining shards like diamond hail. Men in black masks dropped from the ceiling, gravity driving their blades toward her neck.
"Protect the King!" the Generals roared.
"Guards, protect the Princess!" her father screamed.
Panic seized the hall as nobles scrambled for the exits in a stampede of silk and fear. Guards surged forward to intercept, but they were too slow. The steel was already descending.
Her instincts screamed to retreat, yet her mind accepted the outcome with grim satisfaction: she would not live to disappoint her father, and the kingdom would be spared an incompetent ruler. She closed her eyes and waited for the end.
The blow she expected never came. Instead, a massive shockwave shuddered through the stone floor beneath her knees, nearly throwing her sideways. The air filled not with the ring of steel, but with the sickening crunch of snapping bone and the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground.
Manami opened her eyes to find a stranger kneeling before her, a man she had never seen. The nobles and generals remained frozen in shock. Silence gripped the hall as their gazes followed hers to the floor, where the assassins lay broken and lifeless in a pool of blood that encircled her knees.
"A thousand apologies for staining your coronation with this...unseemly red, your Highness," the man said, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers.
He didn't wait for a response or for the Emperor to find his voice. Instead, he stood and wiped his blade on the velvet carpet with a casual disrespect that sent a fresh wave of horror through the court.
"This silence will not last," he stated, his voice a cold shard of iron in the rising murmur. "Move."
Before she could protest, he grabbed her wrist, a breach of protocol so severe it bordered on treason.
"Who are you—"
He did not allow the King to complete his question. Swiftly, he hoisted Manami to her feet and dashed out of the coronation hall, leaving the guards frozen in place.
Their escape became a whirlwind of crimson robes and shadows, with Manami's focus shrinking to the sight of the assassin's black cloak and the unyielding hold that remained secure until they found a safe haven.
The moment the heavy oak doors thudded shut and the guards' footsteps faded down the corridor, the man who had just slaughtered six assassins in front of the entire court underwent a startling transformation.
The graceful bow, the respectful kneel, and the murmured "Your Highness" vanished like smoke in a gale.
In their place stood something wild. A rogue in black with boots still slick with fresh blood and eyes bright with amusement. Before Manami could even form a reprimand, he vaulted onto her royal bed as casually as if it were a tavern bench.
"Remove yourself at once!" she shrieked, lunging forward to shove him off.
She might as well have tried to move a mountain. Her palms slammed against a shoulder as solid as castle stone. He didn't budge an inch.
"Nice quarters," he mused, ignoring her assault to sniff the air. "Smells better than the brothels."
Manami froze, unable to believe he had just compared her private quarters to a brothel. Her blood began to boil, urging her to lash out, but a cold realization forced a deep, trembling breath.
This man had just saved her life. Judging by the carnage in the hall, he was more than just a pervert with a sword; he was a necessary monster. She needed allies, not enemies, no matter how insolent they were.
"Hmm," he hummed.
When she looked up, he had vanished from the bed to appear across the room in a blink. Her shock quickly turned to mortification as he turned her personal items over in his hands, examining them like priceless merchandise he intended to sell at an auction.
"You uncivilized cur!" Manami screamed, logic snapping under the weight of embarrassment. "I will end you!"
She chased him through the chambers clad in twelve layers of ceremonial silk, her phoenix crown long discarded and hairpins scattering like startled birds. Around the bed, over the chaise, and behind the lacquered screen, he moved like the wind. Always half a step ahead. Never letting her land a single blow.
Whether it was a matter of minutes or hours, she eventually collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her lungs burning and her chest rising and falling heavily. He settled beside her, as light as a feather, not even slightly out of breath.
"Feeling better?" he inquired, his voice shifting to a calm, serious tone.
The anger drained from Manami so swiftly that it left her dizzy. She stared at him, words caught in her throat, knowing that responding would mean admitting the assassination attempt had truly occurred.
"Do you want to know who tried to kill you?" he asked softly.
Manami nodded, clutching the silk sheets and leaning in closer, convinced he held the answers she sought.
"You've been given a second chance," he said with a casual shrug, leaning back on his hands. "I'm sure you're capable enough to figure it out on your own."
Her fists clenched as doubt overshadowed her earlier judgment; she had thought he was merely being irritating to distract her from the horror of the attack. Now she realized she had been naive, for he had clearly saved her life only to relish tormenting her.
"Am I to understand you lack the culprit's identity?"
"Oh, I know."
She looked up at him, bewildered, only to be greeted by a sharp, mocking grin.
At that moment, something within Manami snapped. She reached for the dagger hidden beneath her pillow, deciding that tonight, one of them would face death once more.