Do I need to flesh this out further? How can I do so? And how can I take this forward?
Come and see, the young prince had said. He took her hand and led her outside, where the servants and villagers stood arrayed in two loose rows.
"What is this, sweetheart?" she whispered. The illness had left her desperately short of breath. The crisp autumn air here had not done her any good.
My army, he said proudly. He gestured at the assembled men with a jewelled hand and smiled.
He looks so much like his father, she thought. His father's way of believing completely in whatever he said.
The golden glow of the afternoon slowly turned into darkness, and the last thing she saw was the grand prince's face.
He tried to remember as much as he could.
There were a lot of men, and a lot of cloth. Reds, blues, whites, but above all, the golds had caught his eye. Not all of them wore the golds.
Only those who did had spoken to him. They talked to him the way mother had spoken to his baby brother. He could not understand most of it. Their lips moved, but they made strange sounds, like they were gargling milk.
Mother would scold him if he did that. But the strange men who gargled milk when they spoke did not have his mother.
Il semble indifferent a la mort de sa mere, the Grand Duke had remarked. Quels sont nos projets pour lui?
Nous le ramenerons au palais apres cela. Il a un tuteur, the lady in black replied. The lady in black had smiled at him, but he did not smile back. There was nothing in her eyes that followed the smile.
At night, he allowed himself to cry.
The lady in black did not give her name, and he did not ask for it. People were supposed to introduce themselves to him, mother had said. Never speak first.
So he had remained silent.
She spoke first. Who are these people, your highness? she asked.
She sounded like she was gargling milk and talking at the same time. He fought back the temptation to ask how such a thing was possible. Vanya, mother would say. No.
"My army," he replied. He tried to keep his voice steady.
The lady in black frowned, but said nothing further. His baby brother laughed and smiled in her arms. Behind the carriage, his army sang, you must take care! If I don't die, I will return in three years' time.
He turned 12 in the fall. Degingande, the lady in black had remarked. He had tripped over his feet at that and sent a manservant and his carafe flying.
Maladroit, she added, after a pause.
He had learned enough by now to understand what the gargling meant. But he never let anyone know that he knew. It was his secret. Mother had told him to keep secrets, and keep them well. His honour as a gentleman and a prince depended on keeping secrets.
Now, he knew that mother had meant other people's secrets. They never told him.
But he knew. He knew that the gamekeeper took an extra pheasant when he thought no one was looking. He knew that the maidservants took turns going into a certain room at night. He knew that the number of candles in the basement remained the same despite him getting a new one every evening.
And he knew that no one else would keep his secrets for him.
His army had grown. Now he had more men. Some of these men rode on horses. The horses were very beautiful, as were the men who rode on them, and at night he dreamed strange dreams about these men that left him more tired than when he had gone to bed.
He had uniforms made for these men. Dark green on white, with red sashes, and sometimes he overheard the maidservants talk about them with words that he never knew existed before. He wondered who he could ask.
Not the lady in black - he knew. Vulgaire et malseante, she would say. Perhaps she was right.
At 13, he fell off a horse and broke his arm. The riding master had begged to be punished. He had held out his arm and said, an arm for an arm. Mine cannot replace that of his highness', so I shall cut it off. They had to stop him when he seized an axe and tried to make good his words.
At 14, he kissed a maidservant. He did not like it, and he told her so. There were tears in her eyes at that. He could not understand why. He never saw her again, but he never forgot the taste of the buttermilk on her lips and tongue.
At 15, he went to war. The tents were cold. Sometimes they leaked when it rained. He was surrounded at all times by other men, who were either very old, or very young. There were horses too - more than he had ever seen in the palace. They were a lot bigger, as were the men who rode on them.
In the evenings, there were fewer men gathered around the fires than when the day had begun. C'est la guerre, votre altesse, one of the old men had remarked. There was a sadness to his voice that he could not place.
When he returned, he asked for bigger men and bigger horses. The uniforms had become more splendid. There was gold and silver trim, and belts and buckles to go with black boots. The maidservants were nowhere to be found when he needed one.
At 16, he became emperor. The maidservants became manservants. The lady in black had become more tiresome than incomprehensible, but he could do nothing about that. She began every sentence with vous etes l'empereur, votre majeste imperiale. He had come to understand that it was a lot of words to refer to him, even if he did not know what each of them meant.
And at night, to the young corporal of horse who knocked on his door after the candles were out, it was just you - and me.