The fuss of unpacking and arranging and organizing for our new suite of apartments prevents me for several days from attending my language lessons in the library. Our new rooms are at the end of the south wing of the palace. Here, I have my own dressing room, bathroom, and bedroom, connected by a single door to Mariusz's bedroom. Both of our rooms open onto a sitting room, which further opens onto a small dining room. It is comfortable to have my own private space again, without Mariusz's scent on my pillows, without wondering if he notices my naked shadow on the dressing screen, without having my evening baths interrupted by his apologetic knock on the door. At night, though, with all the doors shut and the darkness of the room pressing in, I find it too silent and too lonesome. I creep to the door between our bedrooms and open it just wide enough for the sound of Mariusz's breathing to pass through. Some mornings, if Mariusz wakes first, the click of the door shutting wakes me, but he never makes any comment upon my opening it, so I don't think he minds.

In fact, he rarely makes even the most cursory conversation with me at all. After my rejection of his advances, he retreats to a fastidiously polite, embarrassed distance. No more am I subject to rude remarks or insults. Every morning at the breakfast table, he is perfectly well-mannered in asking me if I would like sugar for my tea or jam for my bread. Every evening at the dining table, at which his mother and siblings are now frequent guests, he speaks in French so that I can understand what he is saying, though he never speaks to me. I gain a vast knowledge of Dominik's progress in mathematics and history, his opinions on the respective merits of Pushkin and the Brothers Grimm, and his preference for backgammon over chess. Sometimes, we all play cards after dinner, and he is not unwilling to teach me the rules of the games, most of which are new to me, and puts up with my mistakes with more patience than Zofia. If we dine alone, he reads a book or a newspaper throughout the meal, but responds to any question I might have about its topic or any request I might have to pass the bread or wine, so I know he is not completely ignoring me.

I don't know if I truly prefer this new Mariusz or not, but it certainly makes my life easier.

One morning, about five days after our move, as we are having breakfast in the sitting room a maidservant comes with a message from Konrad. Since the maidservant does not speak French or Rothalian, Mariusz translates for us.

"Konrad wants to know if you are coming to your language lesson today, or if you will miss it again," he says.

Perhaps I imagine the shade of disapproval in his voice.

"I've been so busy with moving," I say. "I still have, um, my shoes to organize."

"Your shoes?" His eyebrows rise a fraction, an echo of his old scorn. "That cannot take you all day, surely?"

I don't want to go down and spend the morning with Konrad. Perhaps I was wrong about his intentions. Perhaps he was not flirting. Perhaps he was only trying to flatter me. All the same, I feel guilty and afraid. It is better not to see him.

"You know... you could teach me."

Mariusz shakes his head. "I told you, I don't have the patience. Nor the time." He frowns. "I did not like this arrangement at first, but it is convenient. You are learning, at least."

"Not very fast. I'm not sure he's a very good teacher really. We could hire a tutor."

"If we must, but you have learned some, no? And it is a difficult language. It will take time, at least a year, I think. This morning might as well be part of that year as not."

"I don't want to learn from him for a year." I realize too late that I have revealed my feelings for Konrad, but Mariusz only laughs.

"I won't make you learn with him all year," he says. "I think in the spring, I will find a university graduate to teach you. But right now, they are all preparing for their examinations, and only the very stupidest would take the job."

Spring. It is mid-November now. I might not have a tutor for six months.

"Even a very stupid tutor might be better than Konrad," I say, half to myself, knowing Mariusz has made his mind up already.

"His poetry is very bad, but he is not stupid. Go to your lesson this morning. He might as well be useful for once."

Mariusz seems to think the conversation at an end, because he turns to the maid and tells her what I can just parse as confirmation that I will attend. Afterwards, he returns his attention to the letter he received this morning. It is the second time he has read it, and from the frown on his face its contents trouble him.

I tear up the bread on my plate into little pieces and wonder if I should tell Mariusz I think Konrad was flirting with me. How would he react? I can't quite imagine him being angry about it. I don't think he cares enough about me to be angry if other men flirt with me. If it even was flirting. Perhaps he would only be angry with my suspicions, or annoyed. Perhaps he would think I was being over-particular or making excuses. Yes, I can see that happening. If I speak up now, he will think I am making excuses. And I still can't be sure myself. Irena was so certain of Konrad's goodness. And what did he say, really? Nothing more than a few simple compliments.

Nothing to make me feel guilty and afraid. Nothing even to make him feel guilty, perhaps.

I will have to go to my lesson. I get up to get dressed. When I am at the door, Mariusz looks up from his letter.

"Sasha?" he says.

"Yes?"

"Are you unhappy here? In our new rooms, in the palace, in Selica. Compared to your home."

"It's not my home anymore." There is relief in saying those words. "I could never be happy there, not anything close to happiness. I would rather die than return."

An emotion flickers across his face, too quick for me to catch it. "But here? Are you unhappy here?"

"Why are you asking, all of a sudden?" I look around our sitting room, at its pale mint walls with deep emerald trim, at its comfortable velvet sofas and the bearhide rug in front of the flickering fireplace. At the windows, with their view of the grey, sleety sky outside, and the trees stretching away to where the spire of the royal chapel can be seen in the distance. At the man within it, frowning at me, his forelock falling lopsidedly over his brow, shadowing his grey eyes, his dressing gown open to his chest, his letter held against his heart, like a secret.

"What's in that letter?" I ask. "Does someone want to send me back?"

"It's nothing." He folds it up and slides it under his breakfast plate. "I wouldn't let them anyway." A crooked smile presses against his lips. "My separating from you would be even more unpopular than my marrying you was."

"I wouldn't go." I lean against the doorway and watch him, suspicious, though I know not what of. "Who's the letter from?"

"It doesn't matter. You never gave me an answer. Are you unhappy here?"

"Only when you keep secrets."

"Be honest with me. I want to know if it is better for you here than it was in Rothalia."

"Better? Yes. Undoubtedly. In every way." That, I can answer without thinking.

"But you're still unhappy, aren't you?"

"I don't know. Does it matter? You're not happy either." As I say it, I understand how true it is. "I think I made you unhappy by marrying you. I'm sorry. But even if I could take it back, I would not. You see, it made me less... unhappy. That's what I am. I'm less unhappy. Less angry. Less alone."

"It's not you," Mariusz says vaguely. "And anyway..." His frown twists, as though surprised by his own thoughts. "Anyway, you should go to your lesson. I will look for a tutor for you soon."

I wonder what he was thinking, but I know if I ask he will only pretend it was nothing at all, so I go into my bedroom and call the maids to get dressed.

When I am ready, I go downstairs to the library as before. As before, Konrad is waiting for me at the desk. He stands up and bows when I enter.

"I was beginning to think you had given up," he says.

"No. I was just busy with moving."

"Ah, yes." He sits back down again. "Perhaps we can begin there. How would you describe your new quarters? In Selician, please. Do you recall your adjectives?"

"Yes... the room is gre... grand?" I say in Selician.

"Good," he says, nodding. "And comfortable, too, no?"

"Yes. Comfortable." I practice the pronunciation of that word a few times. "It has green walls."

Konrad shakes his head. "It must take the accusative plural, not the nominative," he says in Rothalian. "You recall?"

"Right. Of course." I try to remember the declension and try again. "Better?"

"Better. You have memorized the pattern now. You just have to practice it until it becomes second nature."

He looks earnest and encouraging. I try to recall his exact words from last week. He called me pretty. Was he only being polite? If he was being more than polite, he would surely look guilty now, or at least self-conscious, but his cheeks are as unblushing as ever and his eyes entirely innocent.

He taps his fingers on the table. "What about furniture? Do you know the words for furniture? It seems the next logical step. How many chairs and tables?"

I must have been wrong. I must have seen something was not there.

"Eight chairs," I say, half-distracted.

"And tables?"

"One. And a... a little one. One big table. One little table."

"And where are they?" He adds something else I do not catch.

"Wait a moment." I try to puzzle out what he is saying. "You're going too fast."

"I will slow down." He repeats himself, but still I do not understand, which exposes another gap in my knowledge — the names of different rooms of the house. For the rest of the morning, we drill household vocabulary in the locative and accusative cases. By the end, I am fatigued and my head is ringing with new words.

"It gets worse when we move onto prepositions," Konrad says. "They take completely unpredictable cases. You have to memorize each of them individually."

"No more today. I need to remember what I just learned before I move on to more."

"Undoubtedly. We have time." Konrad smiles at me, the usual polite smile. "Go and rest. I will see you tomorrow."

I must have imagined it last week. Or mistranslated it.

All the same, as soon as I am out of his eyesight I feel relieved, and I hope Mariusz finds me a tutor soon.

__

2024-09-24: Mariusz shows faint improvement... But distant and polite is still not hero worthy yet.