Page 5 of Yellow Belly

Henry tugged a lock of Stefano’s hair. “Nonetheless.” His expression turned serious. “We could leave together.”

Stefano blinked at him. “I can’t go.”

“Why not? The king’s edict has confined you to these rooms, but only for a few days. Surely you could move freely after that. You’ve never much fancied this palace anyway, nor your role as prince. You could take enough money for us to get by for a while.” Henry shrugged. “Or don’t. We’re both strong and well-educated. We can find a way to earn a bed and our daily bread. In fact, what about those university people you correspond with in Ostrela? I’d wager they’d be delighted to have you lecture about birds and bugs and the like.”

For a few heartbreaking moments Stefano could picture this very clearly: wearing black robes, surrounded by books and papers and eager students. Henry would enjoy accompanying him as they explored the city or immersed themselves in nature, and he’d have the opportunity to pursue his own interests as well. Tied less formally than a servant to a prince, Henry could have time to discover who he was, independent of his role.

But what if the king, furious, demanded Stefano’s return? The Ostrelan ruler was not a particularly strong man—Stefano had met him a few times—and would not dare to defy the king’s demands. If he did, it might even cause a war. Or perhaps the king would take a quieter, more direct approach, and send people to kidnap Stefano and drag him back. What would happen to Henry then?

Or… what if the king would be relieved to be rid of his troublesome youngest son? Then it would be Stefano’s responsibility to support himself and Henry. He’d never worked for a wage, never handled his own affairs. He didn’t even know how to cook or clean up after himself. He might fail terribly, and then Henry would suffer.

“I’m afraid,” he admitted.

Henry’s shoulders drooped slightly and he dismounted, but only to lie snuggled up against Stefano’s side. “It would change your life completely,” he said softly. “That is a terrifying notion.”

“I’m not like you. I’m not brave.”

“You’ve been cowed and constrained since birth, but somewhere inside you is a strong man, a man with the will to shape his own destiny.” Henry settled a palm over Stefano’s chest. “You will find a way to set that man free.”

That man is withered, Stefano thought. He’s nothing but a dried husk, and soon he’ll crumble to dust. But instead of saying those things aloud, he kissed Henry’s forehead.

Chapter Three

Henry was tired. A whipping followed by several days of lying in bed could do that to a person. And although he’d never admit it to Stefano, his back still hurt whenever he moved.

But Stefano was beside him on the mattress again, their bodies pressed close, and even the scent of him was enough to help revive Henry. They used the same soaps and ate the same foods, but Stefano nevertheless carried his own personal aroma. He smelled of flowers and fresh grass, of a sweet summer breeze and of piney woods. It didn’t matter that he’d spent days confined to his chambers, nursing Henry back to health; Stefano smelled of places wilder and freer than the royal palace.

“Did I hurt you, Henry?” After a single kiss to Henry’s forehead, Stefano had gone still.

“You did not.”

“But you groaned.”

Henry grinned at him. “The sound I made did not indicate pain.”

Stefano, who seemed charmingly innocent sometimes despite his age and experiences, blinked in confusion for a moment before comprehension dawned. Then his eyes widened, the gray irises heating like ashes revealing hidden embers. “You’re injured,” he protested. But he didn’t move away.

“My back is injured. The rest of me is quite well.” To emphasize his point, Henry moved Stefano’s hand to his groin where the linen of Henry’s nightshirt did little to block the delicious pressure and warmth.

It was Stefano’s turn to groan. But then he shook his head. “We shouldn’t. You’re still⁠—”

“Please, Stef.” This was playing dirty because Henry knew that Stefano could never resist his pleas. But Henry had used this tactic before—including the very first time he seduced his prince, when they were barely into their teens—and he was willing to use it again. He also did his best to look both imploring and sexy, which wasn’t an easy combination.

He didn’t feel guilty about this little ploy. He wanted Stefano very badly. Even more important, however, he knew that Stef wanted him. His prince hungered for touch more than for food, perhaps because as a young child he’d received sufficient of the latter but very little of the former. Feeding this appetite was one of Henry’s favorite duties. And it was a duty he hadn’t been able to fulfill for days.

As Henry had hoped and expected, his strategy worked. Stefano rolled onto his side, so close that their noses almost touched and each breathed the other’s air. That alone was enough to make Henry hard: the knowledge that some part of Stefano was being consumed by his own body.

Stefano threaded fingers through Henry’s hair. “I don’t want to hurt you. Not any more than I have already.”

“I told you. You have never hurt me.”

The answering smile held more sadness than joy, and Stefano sighed deeply before touching his lips to Henry’s. Just barely, a ghost of a kiss really, but it was enough to fully awaken Henry’s senses like a flower freshly bloomed. “Take off our clothing,” he commanded.

Looking happier now, Stefano obeyed. First he knelt so he could draw his own nightshirt over his head, throwing the shirt carelessly aside. Then he worked Henry’s shirt above his hips and, with infinite gentleness, up his torso and past his head and arms. Even though the new wounds stung a bit with the jostling, it was a minor thing, far outweighed by the delight that his prince so dutifully followed Henry’s commands.

“You winced,” Stefano accused as he settled back beside him. “I saw.”

“Perhaps, but did you see this as well?” Henry returned Stefano’s hand to his groin, but this time there was no intervening fabric, and this time Henry’s cock was stiff and eager.