Hmm.

She busks on a daily basis but at different times, and takes walks past the palace every day, at different times.

The Emperor is, variously: out, napping, napping, torturing someone, out, out, descending from the sky on huge grey owl's wings and landing on a balcony as she watches (and then taking a nap), torturing someone again, and in the public section of the palace having a conversation with some sort of bureaucrat.

"I don't see why you want me involved."

  "I thought you might like a chance to comment, all things considered."

"He annoys me. I don't have people executed for annoying me."

  "...well..."

"'Well' what? That incorrigible pest from a few years ago? I threw him off a roof; the law of the empire did not at any point get involved."

  "...fair enough."

"I have no idea whether Lord Estulas defrauded all those merchants and no particular urge to find out. Leave me out of it."

  "Very well. And I assume you're equally uninterested in looking over the proposed changes to tax law—"

"Tax law does much better without my input. I'm going to go redesign my bedroom or something. Send for me if you think of anything that could actually benefit from my attention."

And then he does in fact go back to his wing of the palace and reshape a sizeable chunk of it into a new but equally beautiful form.

She sings, and reads books about everything especially magic, and walks past the palace.

And, having seen him land on his balcony that one time, she'll probably recognize him despite the lack of wings when he comes by to listen to her sing.

Nobody else seems to catch on; he doesn't attract any more attention than any other listener approximately that well-dressed. After a few songs, he comes up and drops some very high-denomination coins in her basket.

"Thank you."

"Welcome. Where'd you get a voice like that?"

"It's nothing special where I'm from."

"Oh? And where's that?"

"It's called Valinor. I can't get home; I arrived here by accident."

"Sorry to hear it. You must really be fed up with our idea of music by now."

"It's stylistically novel and some of your people are skilled."

He giggles. "Is that like telling your neighbour that the lime-green curtains have character, or do you actually see some merit in it?"

"It's more like telling a child they have promise. It can be sincere without measuring absolutely."

"Fair enough. I'd better quit taking up your time, people are starting to be annoyed with me."

He tosses another coin in her basket and walks away.

And she sings another song, and walks by the palace.

Torturing somebody again.

Mm-hm.

She waits to see if he comes back the next day.

No, but he's back the day after that. With money again, even.

"Hello again."

"Was I that memorable?"

"I have a very good memory."

"Well, fair enough. What's your name?"

"Mirelótë Ambela."

"That's pretty."

"Thank you."