Page 13 of Yellow Belly

Panicked, Stefano leapt into the water with a splash and swam away fast. After only a few seconds he’d reached the opposite side of the small pond—without, unfortunately, escaping his troubles. The fact that he was a frog didn’t bother him at all, really. But he knew he was also a human who had been transformed, and therefore nothing was right in his world.

And gods, what had Louis done to Henry?

Stefano swam in circles, fear gripping him like a tight fist and blocking all his thoughts. Then he heard a voice calling his name. The voice sounded different than he was accustomed to—all noises sounded different in his frog form—but he recognized it nonetheless. And when he paid attention to what was happening outside the pond, he had no trouble spying Henry, who was pacing back and forth while peering at the water.

Overcome with relief, Stefano suddenly wavered. He could ignore Henry. Of course Stefano would miss him desperately, but would it be easier for Henry if Stefano was no longer in his life? No more whippings. No ominous threats.

“It’s not safe for me to stay here,” Henry called. “But I won’t leave you. If you ever cared for me at all, please make yourself known.” He sounded calmer than Stefano would have expected under the circumstances, but Henry was capable of great stoicism.

And he was right, Stefano realized. If the king believed that Stefano had absconded, he would undoubtedly unloose his rage on Henry.

Spurred by images of Henry being brutalized, Stefano hopped onto the bank and over to Henry. He stopped at Henry’s feet and croaked loudly.

Henry quickly scooped him into his hands, then peered closely at him. “It truly is you. Can you understand me, my prince?”

Stefano opened his mouth and attempted to answer. His jaw and tongue were the wrong shape for human speech, his lips less agile, and although he had teeth, they were proportionately much smaller than a human’s. He did his best anyway, and managed something adjacent to a yes.

“Well, that makes things a good deal easier. We need to leave immediately.”

Instead of verbally protesting, Stefano tried to leap away. But Henry gripped him firmly and marched back into their palace chambers. It took little time for him to find one of the small cages that Stefano used for collecting live specimens: a cube of polished metal with a mesh window that allowed both air circulation and Stefano’s observations of his small captives. With no ceremony, Henry locked him inside. Now Stefano, experiencing captivity, felt bad for having imprisoned creatures, even if he’d never kept them for long.

“I’m sorry for the indignity, Your Highness,” Henry said, “but there’s no time to chase you through the garden.”

Free me, Stefano tried to say. But because he couldn’t manage the sounds, it came out as a croak, which Henry ignored.

From atop a small table, Stefano watched through the box’s mesh window while Henry gathered a few items—including a change of clothes, several small knickknacks, and some pieces of jewelry—and shoved them into a leather bag. Then Henry changed out of his court livery and into plain trousers and a linen shirt, well-made but not flashy, the sort of thing a modestly successful merchant might wear. It was an outfit he’d worn on their rare forays into town, when neither of them wanted to be recognized.

Henry hefted a large, fairly gaudy necklace that had been a gift from the king when Stefano came of age. It wasn’t so much a gift as a mark of his father’s ownership. As Stefano had confided to Henry, it made him feel like a collared pet. He wore it on state occasions only because he was expected to, but he hated it.

“This is too distinctive and will be hard to sell.” Henry set the thing down and furrowed his brow. “It would be much easier if you had coins, but I suppose nobility are above using money. Well, I’ve a few coins of my own. Those should suffice for now.”

Without any further conversation, he shoved Stefano’s cage into the bag as well.

Not only was Stefano furious about being captured and helpless, but it was damned annoying to not see what was happening. He had to guess based on movement and sounds as Henry hurried through the palace. Nobody stopped him; that was an advantage of being a servant, Stefano thought. Nobody noticed you unless they needed you for something.

After what felt like a very long time, Henry slowed his movements although he continued to walk. He must have slung the bag’s strap over one shoulder, because Stefano swayed with every step. Surprisingly, it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. It made him sleepy, though, as did the warmth in his confined space, and eventually he drifted off. He dreamed of swimming.

* * *

“Are you all right?”

The whispered voice startled Stefano awake. And when he opened his eyes and saw an enormous face looming over him, that startled him as well. He leapt backward, banging painfully against the metal wall of his cage.

Henry frowned. “Well, at least you’re awake. How do you feel?”

Like a frog, Stefano wanted to say, but it would have taken too much effort, and would likely have been unintelligible anyway. “Dry,” he said instead. Or something like it. His body ached, especially his skin, and although his lungs worked fine, breathing felt difficult.

“I thought you might be,” said Henry. “I’ve water here, but you must first promise that you won’t hop away. It wouldn’t be safe for you.”

After considering for a moment, Stefano nodded. He was still displeased about having been removed from the palace pond and stuffed into a cage, but he trusted Henry to have his best interests at heart. Gods, poor Henry, whose life had just been summarily disrupted again because of Stefano.

Of course, expressing these thoughts was far beyond Stefano’s abilities right now, which was as annoying as the cage. He remained silent as Henry opened the damned thing and then gently cradled Stefano in his palms. Those hands had touched Stefano so many times over the years, sometimes soothingly, sometimes as a tease, often in such a way as to make Stefano feel as if he might die from pleasure. Now they supported and dwarfed him.

Henry set Stefano into a shallow bowl filled with tepid water. The bowl was terra-cotta, with two small chips at the rim. Stefano fit inside it with room to spare. He paused with eyes closed, savoring the sensation of moisture seeping back into his body, as if he were a sponge. Then, somewhat fortified, he looked around.

His bowl perched atop a small table inside a space roughly the size of his dressing room, although the walls here were bare of shelves and racks of clothing. The timbered ceiling was quite low and the plasterwork poorly done. The walls were clean, however, and appeared recently whitewashed. One of them held a slightly askew framed painting of a field of flowers, clearly not created by a master artist. Aside from his table, the room contained two plain wooden chairs, a bed with a colorful coverlet, and a washbasin. There was also a window, but heavy curtains obscured the view.

Henry sat in one of the chairs and faced Stefano. There was an unusual stillness to his face that frightened Stefano more than his own transformation. “We’re at an inn.” Henry spoke very quietly. “A nice one, although hardly up to royal standards. We’re just outside the old city walls, not far from that pub we once visited.”