In a study on the other side of the palace, the emperor was being treated by his physician.
Cecil Britney had been Ottol's doctor long enough to have learned when not to ask questions, and this morning he was being given a great many reasons to ask them. On the desk between them sat an open case of jewels — a set of them, deep and brilliant blue, the sort of stones that arrived in the empire perhaps twice in a decade.
Cecil assumed they were for Lady Evelyn. He said so.
Ottol corrected him without looking up. They were for the empress. The gems matched her eyes exactly, he added, as though that were an ordinary observation for a man to make about a wife he had spoken eleven words to.
Then, dressing, he gave Cecil two orders. The first was to deliver the gift. The second — and this one he delivered with more weight than the first — was to find out precisely what incense or perfume she used.
In the empress's chambers, Vishi was finishing Flora's hair, and Flora was still somewhere else entirely, turning last night over and over and finding new reasons to be mortified by it.
Then she caught her own reflection in the glass and stopped breathing for a second, because she barely recognised the woman looking back.
Vishi read the expression as disapproval and immediately offered to take it all down and start again.
"No," Flora said quickly. "No, it's wonderful. I've never — you're extraordinarily good at this."
Vishi lit up. She caught both of Flora's hands in hers and vowed, with tremendous seriousness, that she would always make sure the empress's beauty was shown to its best advantage.
That plain, uncomplicated kindness made the secret sit very heavily in Flora's chest. She imagined Vishi finding out one day that the woman she was fussing over was no princess at all, and the picture of that disappointment was so vivid that her smile faded into something sad.
Vishi noticed nothing. She only said, sincerely, that she hoped they might be friends, and that she wished the empress every happiness in this palace.
Touched, Flora confessed the thing she had been holding. She had fainted last night, she said. From fear. The moment she saw the emperor's face. He must hate her now.
Vishi's eyes widened, and it dawned on her that the empress knew nothing at all about Ottol's condition — and she hurried to fill the silence with something else. His Majesty was not easily angered, she said. Truly. His fearsome reputation was a strength for the empire, and it was meant for its enemies, not for his own household. And besides, plenty of people had fainted merely from being looked at by him. The empress was in very large company.
Flora felt a little better. Vishi went off to fetch jewellery to match the gown, and Flora sat alone with the thought that no one, surely, enjoys being feared.
Everyone simply wants to be loved.
She could see it without being told: a boy alone in these corridors, and the voices that would have followed him along them. That one is a monster. Don't look at him. Don't go near him.
She understood that better than she wished to. She recognised her own past in his isolation.
Vishi came back apologising — she had not been able to find the jewellery she wanted — and their conversation was interrupted by a man at the door.
He introduced himself as Cecil. He explained, calmly and courteously, that the emperor had sent him to perform a checkup on Her Majesty after last night's incident, and that he had also been asked to present a gift.
He set a lavish box on the table and opened it, and inside lay a jewellery set with brilliant blue gems that took the morning light and threw it back around the room.
Flora was speechless. She asked whether such a lavish present could really be meant for her.
Vishi, less inhibited, pointed out excitedly that the stones matched today's gown perfectly, as though the emperor had somehow known.
Still blushing, Flora asked timidly whether His Majesty had said anything else.
Cecil smiled, and relayed the message warmly and word for word. He hoped she would like them. They were the same beautiful colour as her eyes.
The relief that went through her was so complete that she had to sit down with it. He was not angry with her. After everything — after the fainting, after the wrecked study — he was not angry.
Cecil made his bows and left, and got no more than thirty paces down the corridor before he was intercepted.
Lady Evelyn wanted to know what business had taken the imperial physician into the empress's chambers, and she observed, with a smile that did not go anywhere near her eyes, that His Majesty seemed rather concerned about his new wife.
It was a routine checkup, Cecil assured her. A formality of the alliance, nothing more.
She appeared satisfied. She thanked him for his hard work and let him pass.
Later, Cecil delivered his report to the emperor, and it was a strange one to have to say out loud. Her Majesty wore no incense. She used no perfume. Nothing whatsoever.
The realisation arrived in the room between them. That soothing, impossible scent was entirely natural to her.
The news visibly startled Ottol, who was already remembering the fragrance from the night before, the way it had reached him through the noise.
Cecil went on. The empress had requested an audience.
Ottol was sceptical. Yesterday the woman had fainted dead away from the sight of him; today she was asking to be brought before him.
Then the physician revealed her purpose, which was somehow more improbable than the request itself. She wished to return a gift.
Growing serious, Cecil offered a warning. Whatever else she was, Flora remained a princess of an enemy nation, and she was a potential threat to His Majesty's safety, and it would cost nothing to be cautious.
Ottol was entirely unmoved. A smirk played at his mouth as he turned it over. If she had schemes, he said, that would only make the arrangement more interesting.
And what, exactly, did Cecil imagine a woman that frail could do to him?
In her chambers, Flora was being dressed for the audience.
Vishi presented the gown — a deep, gorgeous blue — and gushed over how beautiful she looked in it, turning her by the shoulders to catch the light.
Flora felt swallowed by it. She said the dress was far too fancy for a simple meeting.
Vishi insisted it was exactly right, and reminded her, with enormous satisfaction, that she was not going to a simple meeting. She was having lunch with the emperor.
Still, Flora was anxious, and she said so. She was surprised he had agreed to see her at all, and so quickly, after she had collapsed in front of him.
Seeing her worried face, Vishi asked gently whether she was still afraid of him.
It was not fear, Flora explained. It was that he had given her something worth more than anything she had ever owned, and she had nothing of equal value to give back.
To settle her, Vishi produced a small box and opened it. Inside was the handkerchief Flora had sewn herself, every stitch of it her own. What mattered, the maid said firmly, was the sincerity of the gesture, and nothing else.
Flora held it and turned it over and wondered whether a handmade thing was simply too plain to offer an emperor.
Then Vishi had an idea. Her whole face changed with it, and she leaned in and whispered it into Flora's ear.
Flora's face lit up — and clouded again just as fast. It would make them late, she said. It would delay lunch, and he would be angry.
Not at all, Vishi assured her, waving the objection away. His Majesty was a hopeless workaholic who skipped meals as a matter of routine. A slight delay would not trouble him in the least.