Page 3 of Yellow Belly

In the chair beside the bed, Stefano tried not to look nervous. “Are you certain you’re ready for that?”

“If I have to spend another day doing nothing but lolling in bed, I will lose my mind.”

“You could walk to our sitting room and back,” Stefano grudgingly allowed.

“I’d like to go farther than that.”

“But if you did, I could not accompany you. Father has confined me here for a week.”

Henry’s handsome face twisted. “He already punished you.”

“He punished you.”

“I suspect you’ve suffered more than I. At any rate, why must he treat you like a child? Has he forgotten that you’re twenty-five?”

Stefano hadn’t wanted the conversation to take this turn. “I can have some of the guards accompany you on a walk.”

“No.” Henry huffed impatiently. “If you’re to be a prisoner, then so will I. Are you allowed in the garden at least?”

“He… didn’t specifically forbid it. But he also didn’t specifically permit it, and I won’t risk another whipping.”

“He wouldn’t even know.”

This argument could wait until morning. “Can I get you more tea? Something else to eat?”

“I’ve done nothing today but eat and sleep, and I feel like an animal being fattened for market. You, on the other hand, have eaten almost nothing. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I’m not hungry.” Stefano forestalled more discussion by stomping into the dressing room, where he donned his nightclothes. They felt odd against his skin because he rarely wore anything to bed, even in winter—although he had dressed for the past three nights.

By the time Stefano returned to the bedroom, Henry appeared to be asleep. Even once the candles were doused, the room wasn’t completely dark. The open curtains allowed in bright moonlight through the glass. Sometimes he enjoyed going outdoors to listen to the night creatures scurry. In the spring, frogs sang a chorus from the pond. Tonight he left nature to its own devices and started to turn back the blankets on the cot.

“Come to bed with me, Stef.” Henry’s sleepy voice was a warm caress.

“I don’t want to jostle you.”

“I could do with a jostle. Come on. Please?”

Although Stefano yearned for his embrace, he remained by the cot. “You’re injured.”

“I’ve been hurt worse than this sparring with the guards.” Henry’s tone grew sharper. “No need to flagellate yourself when I’ve already been whipped in your stead. Come into your own bed, Your Royal Highness.”

Somehow the mocking made it easier to obey. Stefano crossed the room and climbed onto the high mattress, but he did so slowly, carefully—until Henry grabbed his upper arm and hauled him aboard.

“Ow.” Stefano rubbed his arm, wondering if it would bruise. Hoping it would. Then he lay down, flat on his back like a corpse and with an acre of land between their bodies.

Henry, who couldn’t yet lie on his back, was instead on his side, facing Stefano. “Come closer. I’m cold.”

“No, you’re not.” It had been a warm day—Stefano had felt the sunshine through the window glass—and the room was almost balmy.

“Perhaps I should go sleep on the cot. It is my proper bed, after all.”

“This is your bed,” Stefano replied with a sigh. Henry could be incredibly obstinate, and the beating hadn’t changed that. “But I don’t see how you can stand to be near me.”

Henry paused for a moment, clearly choosing his words carefully. “What made the king so unhappy with you?”

Stefano didn’t want to discuss this, but he supposed that he owed Henry an explanation. “The High Council was discussing plans for Innisbar.”

“What’s tha— Oh. The region he annexed last year?”