Flora spent the next hour frantically trying to clear up the misunderstanding, insisting that nothing whatsoever had happened between her and the emperor.
Vishi remained sceptical, and, being a thorough sort of person, consulted her romance manual on the matter.
According to the book, what the imperial couple required was not mere proximity. What they required was a resonance of souls. And the best way to achieve a resonance of souls, the book said, was to create romantic memories together.
Vishi's new plan followed logically from this. The empress would invite the emperor to do something he was extremely good at.
The next day, she buttoned Flora into a riding habit and sent her off to put the master plan into motion.
Flora approached Ottol at the stables wearing a riding habit for the first time in her life. She apologised nervously for being late, and then delivered the compliment she had rehearsed all morning.
It was an honour, she said, to be permitted to witness his renowned horsemanship.
Ottol leaned in slightly and observed that, as a princess, she must have watched countless riding demonstrations in her time.
Then he dismissed the entire premise. Watching, he said, was boring.
He took the reins of a white horse and insisted that she should experience the thrill of riding for herself. He would support her, he said. She had only to try.
Which forced Flora to confess a shocking secret.
She did not know how.
The emperor was visibly stunned that a princess had reached adulthood unable to ride a horse.
Gathering her courage, Flora clarified what she had actually meant, which was that she had wanted to ride with him.
Ottol interpreted this romantic gesture as a request for instruction. To Flora's horror, he declared that in that case, he would teach her.
Seeing the panic on her face, he asked whether she disliked the idea.
She denied it quickly, and by then the lesson was already beginning.
He announced that her first lesson had commenced, and instructed her to watch closely. Then he demonstrated how to properly mount a horse, with a precision that left nothing out, and swung himself up into the saddle.
Flora was taken aback. She had not expected him to be such a patient, thorough teacher.
His movements were fluid and confident in the bright sunlight as he guided the horse in a slow circle around her, and when he pulled the reins and brought the animal to a perfect stop, she found she was watching him with a soft, appreciative smile — seeing yet another side of the fearsome ruler.
Ottol leaned down from the saddle and offered her a gloved hand.
It was all right, he told her. He was with her.
Hesitantly, she took it. In one smooth motion he pulled her up and settled her securely in the saddle in front of him.
They rode out through the open field, and Flora kept her eyes squeezed shut the entire way, trusting him completely.
When the horse finally stopped, his voice at her ear told her to open them.
She looked up at a breathtaking sunset spread over an endless field of golden flowers.
Flora said that it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and asked whether he thought so too.
Ottol agreed that it was truly beautiful — and as he said it, a fleeting memory of a red-haired woman crossed his mind.
He suddenly pulled Flora closer and claimed that it was her beauty that had captivated him.
Flustered, she waved off the apology that followed.
Unfazed, Ottol leaned in until his face was right beside her neck. Flora froze, her mind reeling from the closeness of him, barely able to hold on to his name as he held her against him on the horse.
Later, as her maid brushed out her hair, Flora was still blushing from the whole day.
Vishi asked excitedly about the ride, and Flora explained that Ottol had taken her to a stunning field of flowers.
Prodding for details, Vishi eventually got to what had happened after the emperor leaned in so close.
Instead of what the maid had been imagining, he had simply given her a gentle kiss on the forehead.
It was a reward, he had told her, for her courage.
Flora was still stunned by the tenderness of it. Vishi squealed with delight and declared that the emperor was far more romantic than anyone in the empire had ever imagined.
Then the maid stifled a giggle and revealed a secret.
Ottol had planted that flower field himself. And he had never once shown it to anybody.
Surprised, Flora asked whether that included Lady Evelyn.
The maid confirmed that it did. Lady Evelyn had practically begged to be taken there, more than once, and the emperor had always refused. Since he had taken the empress, Vishi insisted, it could only mean that she had become someone special to him.
The idea left Flora stunned — and then her hopeful expression faded, because she had remembered something.
For a split second out on that field, something had felt wrong.
Despite everything, she kept returning to the deep sadness she had seen in Ottol's eyes there, and wondering why he had looked so pained.
Vishi was far too excited to notice her lady's concern, and gushed on about how wonderful his behaviour had been and how surely, surely the empress would capture his heart.
Feeling hopeful, Flora shared her other piece of news. Ottol had promised to teach her swordsmanship, and she was thrilled at the thought of spending more time with him.
Vishi's excitement vanished instantly and was replaced by sheer panic.
She knew a dark truth about His Majesty's training, and she could not bring herself to say it out loud.
The ominous warning she gave instead left Flora entirely confused: if the training became too much, the maid said, it was perfectly all right to cry — but please, please, she should not overdo it.
At the training grounds, Flora stood ready with a wooden sword held in both hands.
Ottol's method was brutal. He struck with precision and bested her almost before she had finished bracing, and he stood over her afterward and informed her coldly that she had died again.
In that moment of exhaustion and shock, Flora finally understood her maid's terror. This was not a gentle lesson. It had never been going to be a gentle lesson.
Then, as she lay defeated on the ground, Ottol surprised her with a compliment.
She had passed, he said.
She could hardly believe it. He explained that the first step in learning the sword was to face the fear of being struck, and that she had just accomplished exactly that.
Flora knew the truth, though. She had not been brave. She had been frozen with terror and unable to move at all.
The fear of his disappointment sent her spiralling into a dark memory: a cruel voice calling her a useless girl, and something shattering on a stone floor, and a time when failure was met with punishment.
She was a young girl again, kneeling in the middle of shattered glass with her tutor looming over her.
The woman called her an idiot. She warned that this incompetence would one day expose her for what she really was — a substitute princess, a stand-in, a fraud. She grabbed Flora by the arm and accused her of failing on purpose, of manufacturing embarrassments to be displayed in front of the queen.
When Flora timidly asked whether she might see the demonstration one more time, the tutor snapped. She ordered the girl to practise without rest, a punishment harsh enough that Flora finally understood something about her situation.
She had never been meant to succeed.
Her tutor had decided long before that she was a hopeless person, and no matter how hard she worked, the woman would always find something to pick apart.
But Ottol was different.
He was strict — brutally strict — and yet he taught her responsibly and carefully, and told her to continue, and told her to try again. Not once had he used words that attacked her character.
The realisation filled Flora with a new resolve. She could not let him down.
She looked up at him with determination and asked for more training. She wanted, she said, to learn how to dodge his sword.
Ottol was taken aback. He admitted that he had fully expected her to quit. Impressed by her spirit, he complimented her grit and promised that the training would continue.
Later, while Vishi treated the bruises blooming along her arms, the maid wondered aloud why her lady was pushing herself so hard.
She had heard, she said, that His Majesty had declared the empress dead twenty-six times in a single session.
Flora admitted that this was true. And then she beamed with such joy that the maid stopped mid-sentence.
Because the emperor had also praised her persistence, and that one moment of recognition from him meant more to Flora than every bruise put together.