I wake late the next morning to find myself alone in the bed. Mariusz did not return last night. No doubt he is in a drunken stupor now, on a sofa somewhere in the palace, or perhaps on the floor, his stupid, drunk friends with him.

I get dressed, drink tea and eat breakfast. My eyes are red-rimmed and swollen from the tears I cried last night, and I spend some time pressing cold towels to my cheeks before I feel ready to go down to my lesson with Prince Konrad.

"Today we learn adjectives," he says in Rothalian once we have finished our usual greetings. "On jest vysoky. He is tall. Ona jest nizka. She is short. The adjective declines in gender and number, and takes the same case as the noun it modifies. Kniga vysokogo muža. The tall man's book. Koš nizkoj ženy. The short woman's basket. Am I confusing you? You look confused."

"Yes, a little." I try to puzzle out what he has said, but my mind was only half on it. "Nizka becomes nizkoj?"

"In the genitive feminine singular. You remember the genitive singular for nouns?"

"Yes... but I don't know what nizka means."

"Short. I told you that." He looks concerned. "Are you unwell?"

"I'm a little tired today. That's all." Tired of heart, if not of body.

"Then we'll do something easier. We will keep it in all in the nominative. Jesm ustaly. It means I'm tired, but for a woman...?"

"Jesm ustala?"

"Exactly." He smiles at me. "Jesi ustala."

I frown, puzzling out his grammar. "Aren't you supposed to use the third person singular?"

"Only in formal speech. Are we being so reserved? We are cousins. We are family. We can use the informal you, surely?"

"I suppose. Give me some more adjectives. I will try to remember them. What is... what is unfortunate?"

"Neščestlivy."

It takes me several attempts before I can repeat that one. Konrad supplies me with another dozen or so adjectives. He gives me some time to write them down and commit them to memory, then tests me verbally.

"The window is tall?" he says in Selician.

"The window is tall," I respond in Rothalian.

"The weather is unfortunate?"

"The weather is unfortunate."

"You are tired."

"I'm tired."

"You are pretty. When you are tired."

I pause for a moment before answering. "I am not pretty when I am tired."

"But you are." He leans closer over the table between us. "It makes your cheeks pale and your eyes dark," he says in Rothalian. "You are very pretty when you are tired."

"I understand. Next sentence."

He looks smilingly at me. "You are intelligent, and good, and very pretty."

It could just be an attempt to make me feel better. He must see that I am sad, for all I have tried to disguise it. All the same, I don't like it. His smile has the same flavour as Celina's when she gave Mariusz her stocking. Is this what they are like in Selica? Are they all like this?

My mouth tastes bitter. "I am too tired to learn more today, Prince Konrad. I will go and rest now."

I stand up, gather my books, and head to the door. Prince Konrad stands and bows slightly.

"Rest well. We will meet again tomorrow, your highness."

I go back to my apartment, my heart pounding with uncertainty. Perhaps I am being unreasonable. Perhaps that is what they are like here, and they do not mean anything by it. The French, I have heard, can be very complimentary in their language. Perhaps Selicians are the same.

When I open the door to the apartment, I stop short. Mariusz is back. He sits in an armchair by the fire, facing away from the door. Celina is in another opposite him. Today, she is pale, almost sickly looking. The set of her shoulders makes it look as though she is hunching against some pain. Perhaps she is hungover. She stops speaking abruptly as I enter and darts a wounded glare in my direction.

Mariusz looks over his shoulder at me. "Aren't you meant to be at your lesson?" He speaks too quickly, almost snaps.

"It finished."

I want to ask what he and Celina are doing alone in a closed room, but I do not dare. Mariusz is wearing the same clothes as last night, now rumpled and wrinkled. I wonder where he slept — if he slept. He does not sound hungover, just tired. But I can't ask that now. Not in front of Celina. Not when his tone is so short. He must still be angry with me.

"I'll come back later," I say, and drop my books on a chair.

I turn around and leave. It is raining again today, so I cannot go to the garden. Nor do I wish for the company of Henryka and Zofia. Nor the distraction of billiards. I want to be — most thoroughly — alone. I don't want anyone to see me right now.

I wander the palace, seeking empty rooms and finding none. Everyone, it seems, has come indoors away from the rain today. Even the servants are at indoor tasks, waxing floors and dusting ornaments and scrubbing windows.

At last, without quite intending to, I end up in the throne room. It is so quiet that at first I think it is empty. I look around, recalling my wedding day. The carpets and flowers are all gone now, and the room is cold and feels abandoned.

Someone stands up from the throne and I jump.

"I'm so sorry," Irena blurts. "It's the only place to sit in here, apart from the floor."

I stare at her. She had been hidden in the shadows, so motionless I had not noticed her. "What are you doing here?"

She holds up a book, looking guilty. "It is a novel. I adore novels, but the rain makes Florian... um..."

"Difficult?"

"I don't mean that. He is bored, poor child." The poor child is not very convincing. "I just wanted to finish my novel. And no one ever comes in here really."

"Then finish it. I will not stop you. Go ahead. Read."

Irena looks uncertain, then settles herself back down on the edge of the throne and begins to read. I go to a window and look out over the rainy lawn. There is no sound but the patter of rain and the occasional swish of a turning page. Then that sounds stops and there is nothing but the sound of rain.

I turn to Irena. "Did you finish?"

She nods, her eyes bright. "They both die in the end. I hate it when books do that."

"On a day like today, it seems fitting."

She gets up from the throne, trying to smile. "I suppose. Thank you for letting me read here. I know I'm not supposed to. It is very... sitting in the prince's chair. Very..." She clearly lacks the French for the word.

"Uncomfortable?"

She laughs awkwardly, half-embarrassed. "It is not so bad. A little hard, perhaps."

"Mariusz certainly seems to think it so." I turn away from her again, suddenly afraid last night's tears will show in my eyes. "Don't let them catch you in here. I think even I should not be here."

"There are so few quiet places in the palace." Irena comes over to the window and stands next to me. "In better weather, I spend much time outdoors."

"So do I." I think more closely on her words. "It is not peaceful in your apartment with Konrad?"

She shakes her head. "It is just that Florian can be... he needs a lot of attention. Konrad never gives me any trouble."

"Never? No arguments?"

"Oh never!" She looks horrified. "We never argue."

I stare out into the rain again. "I argued with Mariusz last night."

Irena blushes for me and maintains a respectful silence.

"I don't know what to do now," I say. "What do you do when you have spoken harsh words to your husband?"

"I don't know," Irena says softly. "I never do."

"Never? Not ever in all your marriage?"

She shakes her head. "Not ever. He has never given me cause to."

There is perfect, innocent conviction in her voice. I recall Konrad's smile as he called me pretty and shudder to myself.

But perhaps I am the one who is wrong. Perhaps it was only innocent flattery.

__

2024-09-08: Hm. What were Celina and Mariusz talking about I wonder? Well, I know, but you guys don't ;p