Page 7 of Yellow Belly

Henry knew all of this already. Stefano had spent most of the past month digging through dusty tomes in the library and corresponding with scholars at several universities. He’d tried to explain his findings, but Henry had no head for such things and hadn’t truly understood. “They wouldn’t listen to you?” he asked gently.

“They hardly let me get a word out. Father has plans, you see. He laid them out while Philip mumbled words of agreement and Louis reacted like a piece of statuary.” He crossed over to the trunk just so he could kick it again. He was going to break a toe if he kept it up.

Although Henry yearned to take him into his arms, he continued to sweep the already-clean floor. There was such a thing as giving too much comfort. “What are the plans?”

Another kick, even harder than the previous two. “Innisbar is no longer enough to satisfy my father’s unending greed. Now he wants to control all of Fraysia. He claims—without merit—that it is rightfully his.”

“Will he annex it, as he did Innisbar?”

“No.” Stefano muttered a string of expletives. “The King of Fraysia put up little resistance to losing Innisbar because he had no choice. There was no sensible way for him to defend it, and trying would have cost him far more than that region was worth. But he won’t simply hand over his entire kingdom without a struggle. He can’t.”

“I see.” Which was a slight misstatement. Henry had lived most of his life among royalty but he hadn’t begun to understand them. Their motives and methods were so opaque to him that they might as well have been a different species. Except Stefano, of course. He was entirely human, which perhaps explained why he got along so poorly with his family. “So will your father go to war?”

“He might.” When Stefano turned, his beautiful face was etched with deep anguish. “How many people would die in that war? So much needless destruction. And I’d wager he’d send me to fight his battles.”

Henry’s stomach clenched at the notion. “You’re no soldier. And you haven’t any training.”

“Do you think any of that matters to him? He would need to include one of his sons as a sign of his commitment to the cause. He wouldn’t send his heir. Nor Louis, whose magic is too valuable to the crown. I, on the other hand, am expendable. I daresay he’d be pleased to be rid of me. And I’m certain he’d send you with me so we can both die.” He drew back his foot for another kick but stopped, slowly put his foot down, and sank to the floor instead. He sat cross-legged on the hard tile, hands covering his face.

Unable to stay away any longer, Henry dropped the broom with a clatter and raced over to sit across from him. Only their knees touched, but that was enough for now. “We can leave together.”

“That won’t stop the war. Do I flee far away and hear about the devastation, knowing I could have prevented it?”

Confused, Henry blinked a few times. “Prevented it how?”

Stefano dropped his hands and stared bleakly at Henry. “He’s offered an alternative. The Fraysian king has only one child, Princess Dianora, and she is not yet wed. If I marry her, Fraysia would become a protectorate of our kingdom. Their king would remain its ruler, but only nominally, and when he dies, we would fully devour them.”

“Oh.” Henry didn’t know what else to say. He’d been aware that something like this was bound to happen. Royal progeny were often used as tools to forge political connections. Philip had been married off at a young age to Isra, a princess from one of their major trade partners; they now had two children and a third on the way. Louis’s status as wizard gave him immunity from such pedestrian matters.

Stefano—Henry’s own prince—had no such immunity.

“Then you must marry her.” The words were painful, as if composed of knife blades. But they were true; because in the end, Henry was nothing but a servant.

“I won’t!” Stefano shot to his feet and within a heartbeat had shoved open one of the glass doors and flung himself out into the garden. It was raining, he wore no coat, and his boots and fine court clothes weren’t suitable for the weather. But he ran off into the trees, where Henry could no longer see him. He might roam there until he calmed down, or he might shelter himself in the ruins of a small folly that some distant royal ancestor had ordered built.

Heartsick and unable to craft a solution to this terrible dilemma, Henry itemized the current practicalities. He would call for the bathtub to be filled, and he’d light the fire beneath it to warm the water. He would prepare the teapot. And then he’d wait by the open window with a large, fluffy towel. Ready to serve his prince as soon as he returned.

* * *

“You can marry her, you know.”

Stefano pushed a lock of hair away from Henry’s sweaty brow, kissed his forehead, and fell heavily into his own pillow. “I cannot.”

At least he was willing to discuss the matter, which hadn’t been true all afternoon and evening. He’d picked at his dinner, replying in monosyllables whenever Henry had attempted conversation, and then dove into his pile of books. But now that they’d completed a romp in bed, he seemed a bit more amenable.

“It’s not a fate worse than death, to marry a princess,” Henry pointed out. “And if the idea is for you to live with her in Fraysia, that’s not so bad either. It would get you out from under your father’s roof.”

“Except the Fraysian palace would essentially be my father’s as well, wouldn’t it? At any rate, I can’t do it. I’ve never met the woman, and even if she’s wonderful, I could never love her.”

“It’s too bad the Fraysian king doesn’t have a son for you to marry. Then you could⁠—”

“I couldn’t love a son either!” Stefano made a face and continued more quietly. “The problem isn’t her gender, Henry. The problem is that she isn’t you. I love you.”

Henry might not understand royalty, but he was quite familiar with their customs. He poked Stefano’s shoulder. “You don’t have to love her. The marriage would be… a transaction. It happens all the time among your sort. We both know that Prince Philip and Princess Isra loathe each other, but their union benefited both families.”

They were quiet for a moment as they exchanged helpless looks. Princess Isra was a kind woman who was clearly much smarter than her husband—and who took great pains to hide that fact. She avoided public appearances unless they were necessary, in which case she remained nearly silent, smiling and nodding like an agreeable puppet. But they’d both encountered her many times in the library, where she would question Stefano intently about his work with animals or give them an impromptu lecture on architectural styles or farming practices. How she’d endured procreating with Philip was, to Henry, a great mystery.

“I don’t want the Fraysian princess to be like poor Isra,” Stefano finally said.