A carriage took her home, and as she stepped out Hamid emerged from the shadows. She let the hem of her dress fall to the ground and stood, confused, before him.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice broke with emotion.

The ride home in the rocking, swaying carriage, had calmed her. She'd grown almost serene. In her heart, she knew that she'd not only walked out of the engagement party, she had left William for good. People would shun her, would shun her shop. Jane would make sure of it, and William too. He was not a forgiving man. But there was no turning back. It felt as if she had jumped off a cliff, and now hung, suspended in the air for a moment, before the inevitable fall. She had thought she could control events, that in life, one thing happens after another in a neat order, but life wasn't like that. Sometimes things just happen, unpredictably, and it didn't scare her anymore. If her world was to crumble, then so be it; she would rise again, out of the ashes, as she had done before. In Paris, she had felt robbed of a life she thought was hers, and it had left her bitter and vengeful. But riding home from the Seagrave ball she felt grateful at the unexpected good fortune which had saved her from a future debased by the repetition of domestic rituals in William's home, and in his bed.

Seeing Hamid and realising that he'd followed her home stirred up new turbulent feelings. The sudden joy of seeing him again was clouded by apprehension that she was like a toy to him, to play with as he wanted, and nothing more. While they'd waltzed in William's ballroom she had been too stunned to comprehend fully who he was. In fact, she still was. An heir to the Ottoman throne. Why hadn't he told her the truth? And how was she meant to behave? How was she supposed to speak with him now?

"I saw you leave...I worried..." he said.

A wave of powerful emotion washed over her, and as it broke, like an explosion in her chest, it drowned out everything else. "It doesn't matter." She meant it. Nothing mattered anymore.

His brown eyes were deep and sparkling. She could see the small scar on the right side of his forehead; she wondered how he'd got it, and ceded to an urge to put her hand on his soft, olive-coloured cheek.

There was no way of knowing who was to blame. She thought maybe it was her who first put her lips on his, or maybe it just happened simultaneously. If it was him who kissed her, she didn't push him away. The embrace was rushed and frantic and bewildering. Her hands buried themselves in his hair. He gave her small kisses all over her face, her neck; he drank from her open mouth and she from his. She moaned. Or was it him?

When they came up for air, Flora was flushed and breathless, her heart fluttering in her chest. She thought his glowing eyes must mirror her own. His skin glistened from sweat and she noticed her own damp skin under the dress, as well as mutinous curls that stuck to her forehead and neck. A softly vibrating feeling spread like a ray of sun from her heart through her body – this was new to her, yet she didn't doubt what it was. The two of them right here, in the street, together, seemed in perfect harmony with the natural order of things.

She pulled him close, intertwined her fingers with his. Nothing could touch her now, strong and fearless in his arms, her limbs light as feathers. He touched her hair slightly, sliding the reddish strands between his fingers. He caressed her face, traced the curve of her ears and down over her breasts. She shivered with pleasure, and ran a hand gently down his chest, feeling him tremble too. He took her hand in his again, holding it tight as if he feared to let her go. What they were doing here, with the unimaginable, impossible consequences of it, should make her suffer, but it did not.

They stood there, catching their breath, their foreheads touching as they savoured the closeness.

"What are we to do," she whispered. Despite the darkness, she could read in his eyes that her words stirred something in him.

He broke away from her, lit a cigarette, and the flame illuminated his face. In quick nervous smiles, his teeth flashed white. He lit another cigarette, which he handed to her, and they smoked in silence, hand in hand and standing so close that their shoulders touched.

For a second, she feared her neighbours might be watching them. And yet, she realised, she wished them to see her. No more lies, no more games. Let them brand her a loose woman, if that's what she was.

"I never meant to lie," he began slowly. "It just happened that night, and then, when we met again, I was too afraid that if you knew the truth, you would want nothing to do with me. There was no plan. I never imagined...I never hoped for this."

"You were probably right, I wouldn't have. I'll admit that I don't understand any of this either." She smiled. "But if I had told you I was about to become engaged, would you have had anything to do with me?"

He smiled and shook his head. Together, they stood in silence. She looked at him, but he kept his gaze low. "There's more you should know," he said to the ground.

Then he told her about the meeting he had attended in William's library, about the mad Sultan and about the Russians who wanted war. He told her about a coup which would take place on Tuesday at dawn, and about the urgent need for him to return to the palace through water conduits to help his brother prepare for the throne. Nothing he said made any sense to her. He seemed to live in an another universe where other rules applied. Patiently, he answered her questions until finally, despondent, he told her there was nothing more he could tell her, only that there was no way of knowing how it would all end.

There was a long silence.

"Soldiers loyal to the Sultan will defend him," he said quietly, looking into the darkness. "It's possible that the Tsar sends troops. There could be violence in the streets."

"Here?" She shuddered.

"I don't know. Maybe."

Swiftly, he turned towards her, grabbed her shoulders and made her face him. "Promise to remain indoors until you hear a series of cannon shots. Don't go out, no matter what. It will be a signal that a new Sultan has ascended the throne. That all is well and that calm will be restored."

She nodded as confusion and horror overcame her, and her limbs grew cold. "What if there are no cannon shots," was all she could think of asking.

"Then the coup has failed."

"What then?" she whispered.

Beneath his soft smile, she thought she discerned a tremble.

"Don't do it," she said. "Don't return to the palace, let them do all this without you."

The surprise on his face told her he had never considered the possibility of not returning. As if all other ways were closed to him. She felt a pang of rage as her mind scrambled for options.

"We could board a ship, sail away somewhere." But the way her voice faltered undercut the strength of the words. And he seemed bewildered, groping for a reply that did not come – thinking her foolish, probably. His eyes swept back and forth to avoid her gaze.

Her breath came faster. "And if all goes well?"

"Then I can leave the palace. Murad is my brother, he is young, he will have a long reign, inshallah."

"And war will be avoided?"

"I don't know."

A coup d'état? She knew the meaning of the word, but nothing about what it entailed. Perhaps to convince herself that all would go well, she expressed no more doubts. It was all within himself, she said. Just like when he'd saved Reza, he would know how to survive. He would minimise the risks and control his fear, he would come back to her.

_____________________

Author's note

This chapter is all about love, all except the embedded image from 1880, Girl reciting the Quran by Osman Hamdi Bey. 

Prior to the nineteenth century, there did not exist any formal public education for Ottoman women. Young girls were taught through harem education; skills such as sewing, embroidery, playing the harp, singing, and memorising customs and ceremonies.

The political reforms of the 19th century brought significant changes to women's education. Elementary education became mandatory, then middle-level schools were established in the 1860s, followed by teacher training colleges, and industrial schools for girls. The aim was to shape women into better wives and mothers with refined social graces.