Page 28 of Yellow Belly

“I haven’t had one of those in a decade. But I bid you a good evening.”

“Good night, sir.” Ebuka bowed again and left.

For several minutes, the room was quiet. Verzant sipped at his wine, refilled the glass, and leaned back in his chair with eyes closed. He was older than Stefano’s father, with thick silver hair and a clean-shaven face. The rich reds and golds of his clothing nicely complemented his dark complexion. He resembled his daughter quite closely, Stefano thought, although unlike her youthful shoulders, his showed that he bore the weight of a kingdom. He’d likely been very handsome in his youth but now seemed worn and exhausted.

Finally, he sighed heavily and opened his eyes. “Whoever or whatever is skulking, you might as well show yourself now, while I’m still awake.”

After a brief hesitation, Stefano hopped out of his hiding place, although he remained well out of the king’s reach.

Verzant’s thick eyebrows shot up. “This is unexpected.” He seemed neither alarmed nor angry, and he didn’t call out for his guards.

Stefano wanted to pour forth his tale, but all he could manage was a single mangled word that he hoped would explain much: “Cursed.”

Visibly startled to hear a frog speak, Verzant set down his wineglass and leaned forward. “Pardon me? Did you just say cursed?”

Stefano croaked softly and nodded his head.

“Well. Well.” Verzant shook his head, apparently at a loss for words. He gave his wineglass a considering look before shaking his head again. “Well. Are you… usually… a human?”

Vigorous nodding. It was an enormous relief to be communicating, even if awkwardly.

“I see. I’ve heard of these things, of course, but I’ve never seen— Shall I presume that your presence is in some way related to today’s events concerning my daughter?”

The king appeared neither slow-witted nor hasty in actions, which was a gift from the gods. Stefano nodded again.

“Then I shall ask you, sir or madam—I apologize, but I am uncertain which term you prefer—whether you mean her any harm. I expect you to be honorable and truthful, and I will endeavor to be the same.”

Stefano said, “No harm.” Or something that he hoped was close enough to that for Verzant’s comprehension.

“Hmm. Do you wish to ask something of her?”

“Kiss.”

There went the eyebrows again. “That’s quite….”

“She. Promised.” Stefano put as much emphasis as possible on the second word.

“I see. Well, in fact I do not see, not at all. But perhaps she can help enlighten me. Just a moment, please.” Verzant stood, crossed the room, and opened the door, where he had a brief conversation with someone outside. Then he closed the door before retaking his chair. “Today has been a long and trying day for me, so please excuse me if I am rather deficient in my responses. I imagine your day has been even more trying. A frog. I think if I were to become an animal, I’d prefer some type of bird. Or perhaps a cat who gets to nap in the sun all day. I have a favorite cat who wakes up only to eat and occasionally chase an insect. Yesterday she caught and ate a fly that had been bothering me for hours, so I suppose she earned her keep.”

Under other circumstances, Stefano might have enjoyed chatting with this man, who seemed interesting and entertaining and was nothing at all like his own father. He very much doubted that King Verzant would make use of whipping boys, even if he had recalcitrant children.

Stefano was considering whether to hop closer when the door burst open with a bang and Princess Dianora hurtled inside, wearing what appeared to be nightclothes and a robe. “Father! He said it’s urgent! Are you all right?” She flew to his side and probably would have landed in his arms if he hadn’t put up a hand to stop her.

“I’m fine,” he assured her as he stood. “And I believe I’ve met an acquaintance of yours.” He gestured at Stefano.

She turned to look, scanning the room and frowning with confusion until she dropped her gaze to the floor and caught sight of Stefano squatting there. “Oh! That.”

“So the two of you have met.”

“It came up to me when I was in the gardens this afternoon. And it spoke! Not very well—except I suppose it spoke very well for a frog.” She laughed.

Verzant settled a hand lightly on her shoulder. “My dear, don’t you think that perhaps a talking frog is the sort of thing you ought to have mentioned to me?” There was just a hint of sternness in his voice.

She looked a bit abashed. “I guess so. But I was running late for my lessons, you see, and today we were discussing Iyangura’s treatises on epistemology, and Father, her work is so brilliant, and… and I forgot about the frog.”

This was insulting; in Stefano’s opinion, Iyangura was longwinded and boring. He croaked his disapproval.

“It’s a pity you weren’t studying ethics today,” said Verzant. “Did you make this frog a promise of some sort?”