Page 31 of Yellow Belly

“You didn’t deal with it very well yesterday.”

It was an interesting exchange. The king’s rebuke was mild, but Ebuka looked genuinely wounded, and the third man failed to hide his smugness.

Now the king turned his full attention to Stefano and the man beside him. “Anything more to tell me, Jusufi?”

“No, Your Majesty. I brought him here immediately. The guards report that he’s been quite… compliant. I can affirm this.”

Well, at least Jusufi didn’t seem intent on making Stefano appear dangerous or evil.

Stefano stood under the king’s scrutiny, heart pounding but legs steady and chin up.

“Just to confirm,” Verzant said finally. “You are Stefano, son of Cyrus of Thanytsia?”

“I am, Your Majesty.”

“I believe I recall seeing you when I went there, but I don’t remember you speaking.” He pursed his lips. “You resemble your father quite closely.”

“Only my face, sir. Not my temperament.”

Jusufi snorted, possibly too quietly for Verzant to hear. The king walked to one of the chairs and sat heavily onto it. He massaged one of his knees but glared when Ebuka seemed about to do something to help him.

“All right, then.” Verzant shifted his leg. “Explain yourself, prince of Thanytsia.”

For a terrible moment, Stefano’s mind went blank, entirely bereft of a single explanation that would extricate Henry from this mess. Then he ended up taking the simplest route: for the second time this morning, he fell to his knees. “Sir, my own weakness and poor decisions have brought me here, but I swear that I have never wished ill on you or Her Highness. And I beg you to show mercy to my Henry, whose only motive was his love for me.”

“Who’s Henry?”

Everybody turned their heads to see Princess Dianora enter the room. She marched over to Stefano, and when Jusufi tried to place himself between them, she huffed and moved around him. “You’re much better-looking as a man than as a frog,” she announced. Then she repeated, “Who’s Henry?”

“The man I love.”

“Is he a prince too?”

Stefano shook his head. “Someone much more notable than that, Your Highness. He’s strong and brave and kind and funny and….” His voice caught. “And I need for him to be safe.”

The king, Ebuka, and Jusufi all started speaking at the same time, and for once they seemed to agree with one another: Dianora ought to leave.

She stood close to Stefano with her arms crossed. “This has to do with me,” she said loudly. “And my country. I’m not going anywhere.”

To Stefano’s considerable surprise, that worked. The king quieted the other men, Dianora smiled at him, and she pointed at Stefano, still kneeling. “Jusufi, for the gods’ sake, unchain him. And give him a chair. In the unlikely event he jumps up and tries to murder me, I’m sure you’ll stop him.”

Although Jusufi grumbled, the king made an assenting gesture, and within moments Stefano was free of the manacles and sitting across from Verzant and Dianora. He resisted the urge to rub his sore wrists. “Thank you, Your Highness. And I apologize for… gods, for my wretched father and my machinating brother and especially for myself. I’ll be happy to tell you anything, everything. But please, if you could first assure me that Henry is safe.”

Dianora put her hand on the king’s arm. “Papa? I think we should bring this Henry here too.”

Stefano held his breath as he waited for the king’s reply.

Chapter Sixteen

Henry had slept very poorly. For one thing, his entire body hurt. It seemed as if every one of his whipping scars had opened anew—and he felt as if he deserved that because he’d failed Stefano. When it came down to it, he’d done nothing to protect his prince. Every time Henry closed his eyes, he pictured all of the terrible things that could happen to one small frog.

When the guards wordlessly brought him breakfast, they refused to respond when he begged to speak to someone about Stefano. He didn’t touch the food.

Time was odd. He’d spent countless hours of his life doing not much at all while Stefano was conducting his studies. Sometimes Henry would do some tidying up, which always felt satisfying, or he might poke around in Stefano’s books or exercise or play a solo card game… or sometimes simply watch his lover. Sometimes Stefano would glance up and smile so sweetly that Henry’s heart would be recaptured, and he’d been perfectly content.

Now, though, each minute dragged by like a century. He could almost feel himself aging, withering like a vine deprived of water. The bands in his chest tightened more with every breath.

When he heard the bar outside his door begin to slide, he leapt to his feet. “Please,” he said before the door was fully open. “Please, can you⁠—”