Later, out in the palace garden, Vishi celebrated the healed leg by walking three circuits of the rose beds beside her lady just to prove it worked.
Flora thanked her for all the care she had taken.
Vishi shook her head. It was not the empress who owed thanks, she said. Everyone in the palace was grateful to her. Because of her, the emperor had changed.
Flora stopped walking. She had no idea what the girl could possibly mean.
Vishi confirmed it eagerly. There was a look on His Majesty's face these days that she had never seen there before, not once in all her years of service. He seemed completely drawn to the empress. Everyone said so.
Flustered by the compliment, Flora laughed it off as a ridiculous joke — and inside, panic took hold of her.
If Ottol ever discovered that she was a body double, an orphan dressed in a princess's name, he would end her life without a second thought. Winning his heart was a luxury she could not afford to want.
Seeing the distress on her face, Vishi's tone turned serious. Had the empress been listening to bad rumours about the emperor?
She waved both hands frantically, insisting that the rumours were all lies.
But Flora could only remember what she had been told at home: that Emperor Ottol was a ruthless tyrant. The stories of his cruelty were practically legend in Pedania. Some of them whispered that he had removed his own brother in order to seize the throne.
Vishi denied it firmly. His Majesty looked intimidating, she granted that. But he had never once been harsh with the servants — not one of them, not ever. If he were the monster everyone claimed, then people like her would have found themselves in very serious trouble a long time ago.
She admitted he could be frightening. She remembered the wedding night, and how frightening he had seemed to everyone in the palace then.
And yet, once you came to know him, she said, there was a surprisingly gentle side to the man. Even the emperor himself had been trembling that night, caught somewhere between his own fear and his own anxiety.
Later that evening, Vishi told Flora not to bother changing her clothes, and announced that His Majesty would be returning shortly.
Flora was stunned. That meant he intended to spend the night.
With a determined grin, Vishi rushed to the closet and pulled out a special nightgown, insisting they absolutely could not let him leave again.
She presented it with great ceremony: delicate and lacy and almost nothing at all.
Flora stared at it and questioned, flustered, whether something that revealing could be classified as clothing.
Unfazed, Vishi insisted that it could, and pushed her lady along, teasing that the emperor would be there at any moment.
Once dressed in the surprisingly bold thing, Flora clutched at the fabric nervously and looked at her reflection with a mix of hope and anxiety, wondering whether this gesture alone would be enough to make Ottol stay the night with her.
She asked, anxiously, whether it was really all right.
Vishi beamed and insisted it looked even better than she had imagined. Then the clever maid produced a matching cape and draped it over Flora's shoulders with a strategic instruction: she was to remove it only when the mood was perfect.
Confused, Flora asked what that meant.
Vishi cleared her throat and explained that the perfect moment would be when she and the emperor were at their very closest.
Blushing, Flora realised that her maid was a considerable expert in matters of romance.
And just when she thought things could not become more intense, Vishi produced her secret weapon.
It was a book. The title on the cover said Love Manual, and Vishi called it a trendy guide that would make the emperor swoon. Its advice, she insisted, had brought happiness to everyone she knew.
Curious, Flora opened it — and her face flushed scarlet at the contents.
Vishi simply encouraged her to put her newfound knowledge to use.
Flora was still standing there flustered when steady footsteps came down the corridor and stopped at the door.
Ottol had arrived.
He stepped into the room, and Flora rose from her chair to greet him. Seeing her in the delicate nightgown, he seemed taken aback, and asked whether he had kept her waiting.
Blushing, she assured him that he had not, and shyly asked what had brought him to her chambers.
He had something to give her, he said.
At his command, a line of maids filed in, each carrying a tray piled high with cakes and sweets of every description, and Flora was left completely surprised by the sheer scale of the gesture.
Then he revealed the second gift.
He had seen the blisters on her feet the other day, he said. He had therefore instructed the palace officials to craft new shoes for her in the latest fashion.
Flora was stunned to learn that still more were on the way, and stammered that it was far too many.
Ottol simply told her that this was what a princess deserved.
Ignoring her protests, he pulled her down to sit beside him and told her firmly not to move. Then he knelt and placed the delicate shoes on her feet himself.
With them fastened, he told her softly to stand up.
She rose and marvelled at them: the perfect fit, the beautiful design, a material softer than anything she had ever touched in her life. She turned back to the emperor and asked shyly whether he approved of how they looked.
A gentle smile crossed Ottol's face. They suited her perfectly, he said.
And that simple kindness sent her spiralling straight into a memory: a cruel maid throwing a pair of horrid, hard-heeled shoes down at her feet and ordering her to be grateful for them.
Overwhelmed, Flora began to cry, and the tears fell and splashed onto the beautiful new shoes.
Ottol was completely stunned. He demanded to know why she was crying.
He got no answer, and he panicked. Did she dislike them? Did they not fit properly? He caught her by the shoulders, desperate for an explanation.
Flora could only apologise. She could not control her emotions and could not understand why she was unable to stop.
Seeing her turmoil, he softened, and asked her gently what he could do to make it better.
Gathering her courage, she made a hesitant request.
Would he hold her?
Ottol froze — and his mind went straight to the love manual he had been studying in private. This was exactly, word for word, what the book had advised him to do.
As Flora began to worry about the silence, he acted. He pulled her into a firm, gentle embrace and held her close.
And as he did, he noticed that her scent had changed along with her emotions, precisely as his physician had predicted. It had grown stronger, and more calming, than it had ever been before.
Holding her, Ottol told himself that he was only investigating the phenomenon. He could not, however, deny that the manual was working wonders.
Flora looked up at him, blushing, and began to thank him. "Your Majesty —"
He stopped her gently. She was his wife, he said. She should use his name.
She whispered it shyly. "Ottol."
Hearing her say it for the first time seemed to be the final push he needed.
He leaned in, and their lips met, and something shifted between them that neither of them said out loud.
As the kiss ended, Ottol's mind raced, trying to recall what the manual advised next. He pulled back, his voice low, and told her that she only had to say the word if she wanted him to stop.
Flora, blushing, gave a small shake of her head.
She did not want the moment to end.
Understanding her silent answer, he guided her gently down onto the bed. Whatever came next, their marriage had just crossed a line — from a political arrangement into something else entirely.
And then a voice came through the door.
"Lady Evelyn is here to see the emperor."
Ottol, clearly annoyed, wondered aloud what she could possibly want at this hour. He turned back to Flora and noticed that she was trembling, and asked whether she was afraid.
Then, abruptly, he pulled away.
He was frustrated with himself for having been so completely overwhelmed by her. He apologised and told her to rest, and left her lying there entirely confused.
Hurt, Flora asked why he was sorry — and arrived, in the silence after the door closed, at the only conclusion that seemed to fit.
The one he truly loved was Evelyn.