We make another circuit of the lake in silence. From their secretive glances and worried expressions, I suspect that Zofia and Henryka are slightly frightened of me. Slightly more than they were before, anyway. My young cousins back in Rothalia were always afraid of me too. But back then, I used to lose my temper more often, to snap and shout when they were too bothersome or loud. And I enjoyed seeing them afraid of me. I enjoyed seeing Florian afraid of me.

But then, he deserved it.

The thought brings on an uncomfortable feeling, and I quicken my pace and cast memory aside to rid myself of it.

When we reach the palace side of the lake again, we find Dowager Duchess Maria's secretary waiting for us. The high arch of her brows is as contemptuous and unsurprised as ever. In her perfect French, she informs us that Duchess Maria wishes to speak with me. Zofia and Henryka are not required.

"I told you he would complain," Zofia says as I leave. "He always complains."

Despite her warning, until I enter Duchess Maria's sitting room, I believe I am being called for something else. Only when I see Florian weeping on Duchess Maria's lap with Mariusz standing behind her chair looking annoyed do I realize Zofia was right.

Lord Tarnuv is here also, a stack of newspapers and a cup of tea resting on the table beside him. Either he and Duchess Maria were involved in a tête-à-tête or she was hosting a tea party and sent her other guests away to speak to me. I scan the room but see no cups other than the two besides Duchess Maria and Tarnuv, not even a biscuit plate. A tête-à-tête then.

"My mother tells me you tried to throw Florian in the lake," Mariusz says in Rothalian. "I told them it wasn't true. Is it true?"

"I threatened to. I wasn't going to actually do it."

Mariusz sighs.

Tarnuv says something to the dowager in Selician, I think a translation of what Mariusz and I have just said. The thin line between her brows deepens, but she does not pat or cuddle Florian. He sits in her lap and cries against her chest, but her hands lie uncomforting by her thighs.

"Florian was being very naughty," I say in French. "Very bad. He drowned a mouse, which..." I struggle to come up with the correct French and switch to Rothalian. "...Which Dominik had found. He drowned the mouse because it amused him to see Dominik cry. He pushed Dominik to the ground and threw the mouse in the lake. The maid with them was useless. She dared not speak up. So I intervened."

Tarnuv begins to translate this for Duchess Maria, but Mariusz interrupts him to take over. She presses her lips tightly together and speaks to Florian. He answers her through tears, shaking his head. I know by the artistry with which his sobs punctuate his speech that he is lying.

"He says it was a dirty rat," Mariusz translates.

"It was a dormouse."

"He says he was afraid of it."

"It was afraid of him."

"He says Dominik fell over."

"He would not have fallen if he was not pushed."

"He says you hurt his ear."

"Maybe a little." It does look red. "But I would not have drowned him."

Mariusz looks at Tarnuv. "What do you think?"

He says it in Selician, and I am pleased that I understand that much, even if I cannot grasp a word of Tarnuv's reply. While they talk, Duchess Maria speaks firmly to Florian. She seems to be scolding him. Florian makes noises of assent between tears, but there is a smugness to the curve of his mouth which he cannot quite hide.

"Princess Alexandra." Tarnuv catches my attention, speaking Rothalian again. "I understand your reasons, but I must warn you."

"Warn me against what?"

"He means caution you," Mariusz says. "We have been discussing the unfortunate appearance of this episode, were it to get out amongst the general public."

"Your reputation already is violent," Tarnuv adds. "If the public hear of this, it will be very bad."

"Will they hear of it?"

"They will not," Tarnuv admits. "The palace will keep it secret."

He speaks as if he is part of the palace, though he is the prime minister and not a member of court at all. I wonder again about the absence of a biscuit plate. Does the lack of hospitality signify that he is on closer terms than a common guest, or is it a subtle sign that the dowager does not really want him visiting?

"Why do you worry about the public if they will not hear of this?" I ask.

"Because he is ignorant of the Rothalian subjunctive," Mariusz says impatiently. "No harm will come of this incident, but you should be careful are no more incidents like it. You have a history of violence. The people of Selica perceive you as a threat, both for your connection to King Edmund and your past. Were they to hear of what you did today, the papers would be full of gossip. It would take on a life of its own. Tarnuv is saying you should be careful not to do things that risk that kind of gossip."

"Yes," Tarnuv says. "Prince Mariusz says it better than I can. We think you should give an apology to Florian."

"What?" I laugh. "And what of Dominik? Will he receive an apology from Florian? What of the mouse, which is probably dead by now?"

Mariusz speaks quickly to his mother, who responds with something approaching heat in her cool voice.

"She says it is the place of a mother to look after her son," he says.

"She was not there to look after him."

"She knows. Do not think she will do nothing, Alexandra. After you leave the room, there will be a little family disagreement. But, for now, apologizing to Florian would not hurt."

"I will not apologize. He is the one who has done wrong, even if he is seven."

Tarnuv fixes me with a displeased stare. "We cannot measure wrong in... in black and white. He has not wronged you. You have wronged him. Therefore, an apology is correct."

"That sounds quite black and white to me," I argue.

"You are testing the limits of Tarnuv's Rothalian if you wish to discuss ethics," Mariusz says. "He is correct in saying that you have wronged Florian, even if Florian did greater wrongs to others."

"I cannot say— I will not say what I do not believe to be true."

Duchess Maria's gaze follows our conversation, though she cannot understand what we are saying. Perhaps, however, she is reading our expressions.

"Princess Alexandra," she says in French. "Remember what I told you about the crown. It must come first."

"Before Mariusz and I?"

"Before you and your pride."

The first few days after I tried to kill King Edmund, I was placed under constant guard in a room in the palace. Every morning and every evening, he would come to my room to beg me to apologize, to relinquish my vow to kill him, to say that I had been overcome by grief and not in my right mind. The guards would hold me by my arms so I could not hurt him. They held so tight that afterwards I would be left with bruises outlining the shape of their fingers all down my wrists and elbows and shoulders, like bracelets of fat black pearls. If I would just say the right words, it could all be put in the past, my uncle said. I could be forgiven.

Every morning, and every evening, I refused to say them. I hated him all over again just for asking. But sometimes, in my loneliest moments in the tower, when I was at my most desperate to be free, I wished I had just said what he wanted and thrown myself on his mercy. And hated myself for wishing it.

"I cannot say what is not true," I repeat. "If that is all you want, for me to lie to your faces, then I have no more to say at all." I give the briefest of curtsies to the dowager and Tarnuv. "Good day."

I cross the room and leave. Behind me, Florian sobs louder. When I am halfway down the hallway outside, Mariusz catches up to me.

"Alexandra." He takes my arm where the soldiers used to hold me.

I shake him off. "I can't say it—"

"I'm not asking you to. To be honest, I wish you had pushed the little pig in." There is something almost sympathetic about his smile. "Florian is a... a slimak. I am just asking you, please, don't make trouble for me. Tarnuv is right when he says that the newspapers would be unforgiving if they heard of this. Public opinion is already set against you. Don't do anything that could make it worse. Be careful."

That, I can say. "I will be."

"Good. I will see you at dinner."

He turns and goes back to his mother's suite. I rub my arm where he grabbed me. His touch will not leave bruises like fat black pearls. It won't leave a mark at all.

But it feels the same way now as it did back then, and I have to make three fast circuits of the lake with Henryka and Zofia trotting along behind me before I feel freed of the memory.

__

2024-07-21: After this scene, I feel I should underline that this story is more a drama with an eventual love story subplot than a romance.