father’s death—he simply refused to choose between them, no matter how much members of his court wished to see him produce an heir. He determined not to marry a woman he did not love. And so his life might have been spent—in endless battles—but for an accidental visit he made to the royal gardens.
Now, it’s often said by the most scurrilous of folk that we foxes are only out to trick humans. Not so! I tell you. We kitsunes are the victims of jealousy and bad publicity. It’s not our fault that we are handsome creatures, and that humans who fall in love with us fall very hard. It’s not as if we do anything to cause it.
So was the case here. There was a kitsune who worked as a royal gardener. She lived alone in the woods beyond the fortress, but she liked the company of people, and so every morning she assumed human form and came to work in the gardens. In this way she was part of the populace but outside and away from prying eyes, which suited her very well.
And then one morning while she knelt at her task, she sensed someone observing her, and turned to discover the emperor standing there. Recognizing him, she could not move, didn’t even dare to breathe. Dirt and sweat covered her, but the emperor saw only a beautiful maiden. Even beneath the dirt, her fox-magic shone.
The emperor knelt beside her in the black dirt. So close, he became transfixed by the beads of perspiration upon her lip, and by the scent of her body. “I’ve watched you,” he told her, “as you wiped your brow, as you dug a hole for this flower and placed it, filled it in. You were so intent upon your work that you didn’t even hear me.” Then he leaned forward and began to dig the next hole for the next plant, beside her. She sat stupefied. Here was her emperor ruining his silk robes as he clawed in the dirt with her. He held up his hands, admiring the moist dirt attached to them, and began to laugh.
“I did not know,” she said, “that our great lord enjoyed gardening.”
He sat back on his haunches and replied, “Neither did I. But that was because I didn’t realize what a radiant blossom I would find here.”
She blushed and lowered her face, but he put a finger to her chin and lifted her head until her eyes met his again. “Never bow to me,” he said.
“But, my emperor—”
“No, no. Not emperor. Husband, rather, if you would allow it.”
She stared at this handsome man, saw in his eyes the love he had for her, and fell in love with him in return there and then. She replied, lowering her head, “I would.”
Because he was the emperor and she was his choice, they were married, and his advisers, as they wished to keep their heads, kept their opinions to themselves. But soon enough it became obvious to them that this was no ordinary affection. The daily reports delivered to the emperor went unread. When someone tried to read one of them aloud, the emperor, lying on a divan beside his bride, waved him to silence and ordered that those he’d put in charge should solve these matters, not bother him with them. The daily reports ceased, and soon only the chambermaids saw the emperor and his bride. They reported back to the advisers that he and his bride saw only each other, utterly moonstruck in their affection.
Now, among his advisers lurked two spies from the neighboring province of Maitake. They had infiltrated the court long before in order to look for opportunities for invasion. Delighted by the news that the emperor was completely lost in the fox-woman’s charms, they’d no idea that she was a kitsune just as she had no idea that her love could doom a kingdom or rob her lover of his martial skills. The beauty of the situation was that, should anyone suspect them of plotting, they could blame the woman, even accuse her of being the real spy. The attack would appear to coincide with his bewitchment, and the minds of the men would forge the links to her.
When the weather turned warm, and the emperor and his court moved to his summer tower, far from the border with Maitake, the two spies sent word to their king that he must strike fast and furious. The emperor knew nothing of the attack when