Ruthe studied her pupil from head to toe while he was pouring himself a glass of water, after their dance lesson.
She thought that the young Emperor had grown into a fine young man. Ruthe had been training him ever since he had been a teenager.
He was not her first pupil, of course.
Ruthe's mother had been a background dancer in the imperial menagerie, and that very nearly would have become her own fate as well. But Ruthe had worked very hard, starting at the tender age of twelve, quickly becoming the best dancer in the house. She could have become the star of the show. While she had not been the most beautiful girl in the menagerie, her technique was sublime, and her training relentless.
Ironically, it were her skill and her ambition that ultimately got in her way.
The more powerful and sophisticated she became, the more she noticed the flaws and mistakes of other people.
At first, she was giving unsolicited advice. Then came the mockery. Not just towards other dancers and performers - the showmasters themselves were not safe from her insights.
Ruthe never once raised her voice or used gross insults. And yet, when she wanted to, she found she could discipline or even humiliate people without mercy.
Finally, she tried taking control of the whole operation. One fateful night, during the opera festival, she criticized the showmaster in front of the entire cast. She made him cry and retreat into his chambers. Satisfied, Ruthe appointed herself substitute showmaster, and ran the show by herself.
No one else dared to challenge her.
The show was a great success, but Ruthe was not able to enjoy her glory for long. As it turned out, as skillful as she was, nobody really liked her anymore, at that point.
The showmasters and the other performers banded together behind her back to have her kicked out of the menagerie.
That would have been Ruthe's end, thrown out into the streets. But as much as they hated her, the leader of the menagerie decided that wasting Ruthe's knowledge and skill would have been even more distasteful. She put in a good word for young Ruthe, pulled some strings.
And thus, Ruthe became a dance instructor.
It was a big change for her, but after her intial anger subsided, Ruthe quickly found that she enjoyed her new job even more. She had always been more interested in perfecting the art itself than being on stage, anyway. Rather than being stared at by aristocrats who dressed in silk but drooled like pigs over her skimpy outfits, she could kick their bratty children around. Polish them until they were able to move their inbred highborn flesh with a minimum of grace.
With her relentless perfectionism, Ruthe could turn hopeless cases into adequate dancers, and talented kids into shining stars.
On top of the dance lessons, Ruthe expanded over the years into teaching etiquette, poetry and classic literature. Rounding out a perfect education for the purposes of high society.
Word quickly spread, and Ruthe became rich and famous.
Even the menagerie, which had once kicked her out in shame, soon decided to swallow their pride and let her train their young dancers. A mission which she accepted with grace... And impish glee.
It was only a matter of time until she caught the attention of the Empress herself.
Still in her twenties, Ruth moved into her own spacious apartment in the imperial palace.
Even after all of this hardship and triumph, though, training the heir to the throne was a bit intimidating at first. Ruthe was painfully aware that even with her fame and wealth, she was still a commoner. That imperial caterpillar could have her executed at the drop of a hat, if her teaching methods displeased him. Still, Ruthe decided that she would work on him as mercilessly as she had on all of her other students, and if that got her killed, she would die as a martyr.
Luckily for her, the heir to the Empire was a mild-mannered and well-behaved kid. He had absolutely no talent whatsoever, however, a typical case of two left feet. Physically, he was what you might call a perfect specimen - lean, physically strong, naturally good posture. It were his nerves and sense of balance that seemed to be the issue. Ruthe liked to think that he had the body of a giant ballet dancer... And the soul of a three-legged turtle perpetually lost in city traffic. The guy had a very hard time staying focused, and no coordination whatsoever. When Ruthe felt especially evil, she wondered if that was the incest shining through, having blissfully spared her protégé in every other regard.
But he looked up to her, respected her authority, listened to her every harsh criticism without protest.
Even if with a head as red as a beet.
Over time, against all odds, they came to genuinely like one another. She even got him to push back against her irreverent bullying, from time to time, nurturing his budding sarcasm.
He remained, it must be said, one of her worst students. Even after years of training, she never made a great dancer out of him. But she did turn him into a presentable one. Ultimately, he was able to dance with foreign princesses at the ball without hurting them, and bring honour to his house. Not only that, but he was able to impress his guests by reciting poetry in three different languages.
No longer stuttering, like when Ruthe had first met him. The Empress was delighted.
Now, the boy had come of age. First, as an adult. But two years after that, another metamorphosis was waiting for him. On his upcoming birthday, he would be officially crowned Emperor.
His time with Ruthe would finally come to an end.
They had been seeing each other less and less frequently, anyway. His military and political training had to take priority. The transition of power was in full swing.
Still, leading up to the ceremony, the Imperial family had asked Ruthe to give him one last refresher course.
Ruthe looked at her pupil with a wistful smile. A handsome young man, now. And yet, in many ways, still the clumsy, lanky, dreamy kid she had first met all these years ago.
Though still a reasonably young woman herself, Ruthe had discovered the first wrinkles in her face, and strands of grey hair on her head. Some of those hairs, she liked to attribute to the two left feet of her protégé.
Time was merciless. And Ruthe had always hated saying goodbye.
"Your majesty?" Ruthe asked, surprised at how uncharacteristically timid her voice sounded, and quickly bringing it under control again.
"Yes, master?" the boy replied. Even though he had always been considerably taller than her, even as a teenager, he had that weird skill of looking up to her as if she was a giantess. It had always annoyed her, sometimes to the point of irreverently slapping his royal butt. But admittedly, it also amused her.
She walked towards him and put a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you join me in my apartment. Let's have some tea."
He nodded, with a sheepish smile. This was not unusual. Sometimes, they would sit together for hours, talking or reading books together. Over the years, after some especially rough days, she had even let him massage her shoulders and feet, or help her unzip her dresses.
She took his hand and gave him an impish grin. "Thank you kindly, your majesty. After all, this might be one of the last occasions to have tea with the Emperor himself."
She waved his protests away. No use denying the obvious. His life was about to become very, very busy. Too busy for spending time with his poor old dance master.
Soon, they found themselves sitting side by side on Ruthe's bed. They were sipping tea which the young Emperor-to-be had once brought back as a gift from a faraway land.
