When I return to my room, Mariusz is gone and the bed has been made with new sheets. I ring the servants for a bath, and when it is ready lock the door and strip myself of my clothes. The water is hot and lavender scented, and washes away the last vestiges of my hangover. I linger there until the water is cool and I begin to shiver, then I crawl into the clean silk of the bed and fall asleep.
I wake to Mariusz shaking my shoulder. When I realise it is him, I pull the sheets higher over my body.
"What are you doing here? I locked the door!"
"I have a key. It is my room too." Mariusz stands back. He is dressed in a silk kimono, the deep neck of which exposes the light down of hair over his chest. "Supper is ready in the next room. We dine alone tonight."
He leaves again. I wrap the sheets around myself and crawl out of bed. The pounding in my head has stopped, and I am hungry. Through the open doors, I see that a tray has been put on the table. Dining alone seems to mean excluding even servants, because Mariusz is helping himself to a creamy beef and mushroom dish. I slip behind my screen and wrap myself in a dressing gown. When I come back, Mariusz is halfway through a plate of beef and potatoes, though he has left the bottle of wine on the table unopened. We eat in silence, not touching the wine. Before I am finished, Mariusz leaves the table, takes a book from the shelves, and settles down in an armchair with it. At least he isn't trying to escape anymore.
I finish eating and move to the armchair opposite him. He does not look up.
"How is your hand?" I ask when he turns another page.
He lifts one hand from his book and shows me his palm. A strip of gauze has been wrapped around it, tinged brown with dried blood.
"Did anyone notice?"
He shakes his head. "I wore gloves."
"You didn't have to do it."
He turns another page of his book as though I have not spoken.
"At the very least, they owe us time. They should not expect us to take immediately."
He looks up at last. "You saw their display of... of gilded prostitution. If they think we are not consummated, they will try all manner of ridiculous methods to bring us to it. So I engage in a little deception to bring myself peace. Does that bother you? It should not. It is your peace too."
He turns his gaze back to his book and I sit in silence while he reads. There is something strange in being with him like this. He is so combative, yet he makes me a colluder in his plots so easily, so confidently. It was the same at the wedding when we sat and pretended to talk. He never doubts that I will spoil his little deceptions. At the same time, he does his best to offend me.
"What would you do if I told them we hadn't consummated our marriage?" I ask.
He looks up again, curious more than concerned. "Are you going to?"
"I don't know. I might enjoy disturbing your peace."
He smiles — not a pleasant smile, an amused, contemptuous smile — and returns his attention to his book.
"The ruder you are to me, the more appealing the idea becomes," I add. "I've no reason to dislike you but the reasons your conduct has given me. And my conduct so far cannot have given you any reason to dislike me, but it seems you do. It provokes me to earn the dislike."
"I do not dislike you. I resent you. I have reasons to resent you."
"And what are they?"
"Surely you can imagine for yourself?" He lets the books slide shut to his lap. "Can you not?"
"I can't. I've done nothing to offend you."
"Hah. You were in that tower too long. It is not what you've done. It is who you are. What you are. You are the woman I was forced to marry. Of course I resent you."
"I was forced to marry you and I bear you no resentment for it."
"But why should you? You have gained freedom through marrying me. On the other hand, I have lost my freedom through marrying you."
"Were you a profligate bachelor then?"
He squints at me. "Prof...ill get?"
"Profligate. Libertine, um, drinking too much, gambling too much, with too many women friends."
He raises his eyebrows. "Profligate. I like that word. I think I was, perhaps I still am. Certainly, my mother always says I drink too much. But..." He falls silent. "It doesn't matter. I have lost in marrying you, and you have gained in marrying me. I have reason to be resentful."
"Well, it's not my fault. I didn't ask to marry you. I was looking forward to being executed. King Edmund took that from me."
He laughs. "Took that from you? He saved your life."
"I didn't want it saved."
"You don't mean that."
"I do. I knew what I was doing when I tried to kill him. I knew it would cost my life. I had accepted it."
He watches me through narrow eyes. "It doesn't make sense."
"Have you never hated anyone?"
"Not you. You are simple. You are..." He taps his temple. "It is King Edmund who is not making sense. He has the right to choose the woman I marry, so, naturally, he would choose one he trusts because he does not trust me. That woman, naturally, I could never trust, because I do not trust him. But he sends you, the one woman the whole world knows he can never trust. Perhaps, then, I can trust you, but how does that serve him? It does not. In fact, it makes things more dangerous. So why would he send you to marry me?"
"Perhaps he had someone else he wanted to put in the tower?"
He laughs again, and this time I take some pleasure in it, even if he does think I'm insane.
"You won't tell me then?" he says. "You must have some idea."
"He believes the people of Selica will accept me more readily than another bride."
"Is that true?"
"It is what he told me. He often lies."
He thinks about it for a moment, frowning. "That could be only be true if he does not understand us, and I think he does. To be sure, most of Selica hates King Edmund, but to send his own eldest daughter to marry me would have been a mark of respect for our people. You, on the other hand, are an insult. For that reason, the people of Selica will never accept you. They are too proud to reconcile themselves to an insult."
"And what about you? Will you ever accept me? You do not seem too proud."
His cool grey eyes meet mine speculatively, then he shakes his head. "It must depend what you mean by accept. I would say, by marrying you, I already have. But I think that is not what you mean."
"If you resent me, you have not accepted me."
"Perhaps I am struggling with the precise meaning of words in your language, but I believe that I can accept you and still resent you. To resent is a feeling. To accept is an action. I have accepted you by marrying you. In public, I will act the part of husband. But in private, where there is no audience, I will not pretend not to feel what I do not. I will not lie to you or myself. I don't love you."
"I said nothing about love. But we should be kind to each other. We could be friends."
"I told you. I won't lie to you or to myself. My feelings for you are not kind. And I do not wish to be your friend."
He is smiling again, a cold but polite smile. It makes it impossible to respond, and so I look away and say nothing. After a little while, Mariusz resumes his book, and I call for a dressing maid to braid my hair. By the time she is finished, Mariusz is splayed face-down on the bed, the book open on the sheets next to him, his kimono riding up over the back of his thighs. He does not seem to be wearing anything underneath it.
I debate with myself for a moment, then tug one of the blankets out from beneath him and head, once more, to sleep alone on the chaise.
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2024-04-23: Mariusz is like the kid in kindergarten when you go up to them and say, "let's be friends!" and they just say, "no, I don't want to be." Like, way to crush a girl's heart.