The Paper Crown

10. A Truthful Conversation

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?"