Page 16 of Yellow Belly

Henry lifted a lantern from the bedside table and set it on the sill next to Stefano. His prince had always been a little vain. Only a little, though, and it had always amused Henry. Stefano would spend hours caught up in his studies, then suddenly realize that his hair had become tangled with bits of leaves and dustings of spider webs, or disarrayed due to running his fingers through it. He would comb it carefully and straighten out his clothing, sneaking glances at Henry to see whether he’d noticed. It was endearing. And anyway, Henry found him beautiful even when he was a mess.

Now, however… he was a frog. With pebbly damp skin and protuberant eyes, with a mouth that stretched over halfway around his head, a squat body, and widespread fingers.

There was still beauty to him, however, even if it was a very different kind. His belly was patterned in yellow as bright as spring flowers. His gray eyes were speckled with tiny gold flecks and resembled rare jewels. He had a clever tongue and could leap to impossible heights. As a thing of nature, as a frog, he was quite handsome.

“You don’t disgust me,” said Henry. Then he dampened a small silk cloth he’d purchased that day, set it on one of the two pillows, and deposited an unresisting Stefano. “Rest well, Your Highness.”

Stefano gazed at him, unblinking, before sighing and closing his eyes.

Chapter Eight

As he slept, Stefano dreamed of swimming through endless ponds where tiny fish darted among waving plant fronds like birds playing in the treetops. He dreamed of climbing onto a floating lily pad, the sun warm on his back and insects buzzing all around him. He was content in this dream. He had a full belly, a comfortable spot to doze, and minimal risk of predators. Really, a frog wants little else. A frog rarely thinks of the future and never of the past, and a frog carries no responsibilities except for his own well-being.

It was, all things considered, not a terrible existence.

But a frog also has little curiosity about the world. A frog’s days flow by, each one very much like the one before. It learns little beyond what is needed for survival and feels no pressure to contribute something notable to the world. A frog might seek to mate during a particular season, but beyond that it cares little about companionship and nothing about love.

In the dream, there was movement on the bank of the pond. Stefano dove off the lily pad and swam over to investigate. When he arrived near the grassy edge, he found a human standing there, gazing at him. A male human, naked, face tight with sadness.

“Even in my dreams you’ve transformed,” said the man.

Stefano recognized him then and hopped out of the water. He landed on the grass on two feet rather than four, stood tall, and felt his human heart warm inside his human chest. He brushed wet hair away from his face. “But this is my dream,” Stefano said.

They stared at each other until Stefano, fearing that he would wake soon, grabbed Henry’s hands. “I am so sorry for causing this catastrophe. Please forgive me.”

Henry shook his head. “I will be happiest if I never again hear you apologize to me. There is nothing to forgive. Except, perhaps, my failure to protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from my family. Nobody can.”

“But I can ensure that you remain safe now. And I will.”

There was nothing dreamlike about this Henry: he looked and moved exactly as he did in real life, and his voice had the same tone and timbre. His body, as familiar to Stefano as his own, had the same landmarks, the same scars. No dream had ever been this detailed.

The only thing new about Henry was something in his eyes. It was as if curtains had come down, obscuring Henry’s usual cavalcade of emotions. But then, those curtains had likely been there since Louis enacted the curse, although Stefano had noticed them only after he’d regained some of the equilibrium that the curse had stolen from him.

“What did my brother do to you?” he asked, reaching for Henry’s cheek.

Henry jerked back, just out of reach. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. You matter.”

“I won’t waste my dreamtime arguing about things that cannot be changed. Gods, I miss you already, Stef.”

That last statement came with a brief lifting of the curtains, a hint of the usual spark in Henry’s gaze, so Stefano moved forward and wrapped his arms around him. Henry made a soft sound—somewhere between a sigh and a sob—and held him tight.

Stefano had spent nearly his entire life surrounded by people. That was a consequence of being a prince and living in a palace. Despite the fact that he was rarely alone, Stefano had always felt alone until Henry came into his life. In Henry he had found first a friend, then a lover: someone with whom he felt a true emotional connection. That connection had grown stronger over the years, until sometimes Stefano felt as if he could never be complete without Henry.

He felt that way now, in a dream. “I don’t want to wake up,” he growled against Henry’s neck.

Henry pushed him away slightly so he could look into Stefano’s eyes. “Are you real? Or simply desperation invading my sleep? Gods, I barely feel the bands now.” He rubbed at his chest.

Although Stefano didn’t understand this last part, he didn’t ask for clarification. “I’m real. And you are as well. This must be a side effect of Louis’s enchantment. I don’t know if it was intentional. I can’t think why he’d allow us this mercy.”

“He cares for you, you know. In his own way.”

That made Stefano scoff. “He cursed me.”

With a sigh, Henry drew him close again. “Let’s not waste time trying to puzzle this out. We might not have very long.”