The Paper Crown

4. A Royal Insult

King Edmund says something in Selician, and Duchess Maria responds, the worry flickering in her eyes. She moves aside, and the eldest of the children, a girl of about fifteen, comes down the steps behind her. She extends a trembling curtsy.

"Princess Henryka, my sister."

I curtsy back, relieved there is to be no more kissing. After Princess Henryka comes the next sister, who is introduced as Zofia, and after her, the little boy, Dominik.

"You must be tired after your journey," Mariusz says when it is finished. "My sister will take you to rest."

"I'm not tired." I want to speak with Mariusz. I have still not managed to catch his eye. He always seems to be looking at someone else. "In fact, I would like to walk a little around the garden."

"That can be arranged," Mariusz says. "Henuszka!" He speaks to his sister rapidly in his own language and she comes forward.

Henryka says something in heavily accented, incomprehensible syllables. I frown.

"You speak French?" she says in the language, and I recognise it now.

"But yes. A little." I strain my memory. "Ça longtemps. Pas bien."

She risks a tentative smile. "Suffisant. Come to see the garden?"

I look to Mariusz, but he has turned away and is talking with my uncle in Selician. King Edmund sees me looking.

"Go with her," he says. "We have time before dinner for you to see a little of the gardens."

There is nothing I can do but go with her, though I know I am being gotten rid of. She takes me up the steps and through the palace doors, where the hall is all white marble and gilt. The rooms beyond, however, are honey-coloured parquetry and panelling. We pass quickly through and out onto a terrace on which lies an ornate knot garden scattered with white marble statues.

"In winter it is pretty here," Henryka says. "Some gardens are not pretty in winter."

"It is autumn now."

She blushes scarlet and gives no reply.

I walk down the paths between the box hedges. It is a pretty garden, and I can see more pretty gardens beyond the terrace wall. I itch to explore them, but not with this girl watching.

It ought to be Mariusz with me.

Anger makes my heart beat faster. How can he not be curious about the woman he is to marry?

But perhaps he is shy.

Henryka comes up behind me. "Does the garden please you?"

"What is your brother like?" I ask. "Is he..." I can't think of the word for shy in French. "Ah! What is he like? Tell me!"

She looks confused. "Mariusz? He is... my brother."

"Yes, I understand. But what is he like?" I translate the phrase word-by-word in my head to check my French, but I am sure it is correct. Still, Henryka looks confused. "He is..." Few French adjectives come to mind. "...good?"

Relief floods her face. "Yes, he is in very good health."

My French is clearly worse than I thought, or Henryka is abominably stupid. I curse in my own language and Henryka flinches, though she cannot possibly understand what I have said.

I point to the palace. "Dormir. Ah, no. Rest. Rest. What is rest? Oh, for God's sake, let's go inside and find someone who can understand me."

Perhaps she understands my pointing. Perhaps she only wants to get away from me. She leads me back inside. I hope that she will take me to wherever Mariusz has gone, but instead she takes me upstairs to a private apartment consisting of a sitting room and a bedroom, partitioned by a set of pocket doors.

"Your room," Henryka says. She points to a further, closed door in the bedroom wall. "Your bathroom." She asks a question, which I cannot translate, and when I do not respond, rephrases herself, "Do I wait with you?"

"No." She has not been unkind to me, despite our language difficulties. "No, thank you."

"Very good." She curtsies. "Until dinner."

Dinner. On the train, my uncle told me that we would have dinner with the most intimate members of the Selician court, the people who were friends as well as allies to the ducal family. He said I should try to make a good first impression, but the only one I care to impress is Mariusz, who will not look me in the eye. Besides, if no one speaks my language, I will only be able to impress them with my looks.

To that end, I ring the bell for the servants, and with a mix of mime and broken French manage to get myself adequately costumed in a coppery silk dress with indigo ribbon trimming and little puff sleeves halfway down my shoulders. The last month in Rothalia, while I waited to leave for this place, I had my entire wardrobe made new. There was nothing of what I wore in the tower that I wanted to ever wear again, and my old bedroom had been made over to one of my cousins long ago and all my old things disappeared somewhere in the palace, perhaps given away, perhaps stored out of sight, perhaps destroyed. I did not care to look for them. There is nothing of the past I want to keep with me.

It is dark outside when my uncle knocks at the door to escort me to dinner. He takes me through the hallways of the palace in silence until we emerge into a small salon. People stand around in groups talking, though the sound dies away when we enter. My uncle bows and I curtsy, conscious of all eyes upon me. A man approaches us, and my uncle introduces him as Lord Tarnuv, the prime minister. From there, I am introduced to every person in the room in turn, some dozen foreign faces and foreign names in syllables I cannot even pronounce. Mariusz is not here. He arrives only when the introductions are finished and we are making our way into the dining room.

I hope we will be seated together, but I am given pride of place at the head of the table, and Mariusz is at the tail. I am at a good distance to look at him, however, and I like what what I see. Occasionally I catch his gaze flitting in my direction, and knowing how I have dressed, trust that he cannot be displeased with my appearance either.

After three elegant courses, Dowager Duchess Maria stands up and gives a short speech in Selician. There are smiles, some polite clapping, nods, and at the end a toast, for which a footman refills my champagne glass.

Several more speeches follow as we nibble at cheeses and cakes. Prince Konrad gives one, which is brief but encourages an agreeing murmur from most of the table. Lord Tarnuv gives another, not so brief, and not so encouraging of murmurs. One young man, fortified by champagne, lets out a snore, and the woman next to him hides a giggle. Nevertheless, at the end of his speech, we all clap and have another toast, though I have no idea what I am toasting to. Then my uncle stands up to speak, like the others, in Selician. A silence, a stillness, comes over the table. The woman who giggled before is now glaring. The man next to her stops smiling for the first time all evening.

When his speech is over, there is silence for quite some time before Dowager Duchess Maria begins to clap, and then so do the others. It does not last long before the table falls into silence again. I think the speeches are over, but the young man who pretended to snore raps on the table and calls Mariusz's name. The young woman next to him repeats his call.

Mariusz remains in his chair, smiling but shaking his head. However the younger people here, who must be his personal friends, continue to call for a speech and finally he laughs and stands up. He raises his glass and a footman steps forward to fill it. Other footmen see to ours and we all raise our glasses in readiness. Mariusz waits until the room is very quiet and still.

Across the table, looking down at me, he at last meets my eyes.

They are grey eyes, very cold, very angry, incongruous above the faint smile hovering on his delicate lips. He keeps my gaze long enough for his faint smile to fade.

Finally, when a pin drop might be heard, he says a single harsh word in Selician. It needs no translation.

He downs his toast amidst gales of laughter and gasps of shock.

I set my toast down, undrunk.

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2024-04-06: Mariusz is perhaps not very nice.