Page 33 of Yellow Belly

And he told the entire story: his father’s intentions to swallow Fraysia, Louis’s suggestion that both King Cyrus’s and Prince Philip’s days might be numbered, and the subsequent curse. Sometimes Henry added more information, especially about his interaction with Louis right after Stefano became a frog. Their audience of four listened closely, occasionally asking questions. They were solemn but seemed inclined to believe the tale, and Stefano understood that these were not evil people. They simply worried about the welfare of their country and of the people they cared about.

He was surprised at Dianora, however. His previous impressions were that she was flighty and impetuous, a spoiled child who was concerned only about her whims and playthings. He’d been wrong. Now she was focused, her questions as searching and pertinent as anyone else’s. True, she did tend to be somewhat more fervent than her father or his men, but she was young. Honestly, Stefano admired her zealousness and envied her freedom to express it.

He also came to realize something else: Verzant loved his daughter very much. He seemed to be balancing his need to protect her with a wish to help guide her into skills she’d need someday to rule the kingdom. Stefano envied that as well.

When everything was told, the room remained silent for several minutes, until Stefano’s stomach growled loudly. Dianora failed to hide a grin. “Papa, I think we could all use some refreshments while we consider what we’ve been told.”

Stefano wished very much that he could have a few private moments with Henry, but he’d take whatever time together he could get. One of the guards scurried away, and very shortly afterward servants brought in a few small tables and an assortment of fruit juices and savory pastries. Everything was probably very tasty, but Stefano was too anxious to notice.

Finally, the king set down his glass with a clatter and used a napkin to wipe his mouth. “I understand the difficult situation you were placed in, Your Highness. Our station comes with immense privileges, but also with immense responsibilities.” He cast a significant look his daughter’s way before continuing. “Tell me. What was your next intention, assuming you were successful in breaking the curse? Your physical form may be restored, but it seems you remain in an impossible situation.”

“Not impossible, sir. Just not what I would want.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I think that, for me, the transformation to frog was easier than to responsible adult. What I want to do is run away, drag Henry with me, and let everyone else deal with politics. But that would make me nothing better than a cowardly boy.”

Dianora gave a soft laugh. “It would be like breaking a promise to a cursed frog so you can run off with your friends and your shiny toy.”

“But considerably worse, I think. The fate of more than one stupid prince is at stake.”

Stefano still wanted to run away. He wished with every fiber of his being that he could hole up with Henry somewhere, spend his days studying nature and his nights romping in bed. But it also felt good to be… well, brave, he supposed. To consider something larger than his own welfare.

He stood and bowed to the king and princess. “You, of course, may wish to confine or execute me. I hope not, but if so, I will accept it.”

“No!” Henry whispered.

Stefano gave him a grateful smile before continuing. “If you choose to let me live free, I will not run off. I also will not simply stand by while my father wages war with you. If it comes to it, I will return to Thanytsia and beg him not take this action. If he doesn’t listen, I’ll do everything I can to rally the council and the people against him.”

“Treason?” Verzant asked, eyebrows raised.

“Actions in the best interests of my country—and of yours—are not treason.”

Perhaps Verzant was impressed with this; he gave a regal nod. “There is another option, you know. You could wed my daughter.”

“Sir, I could never be the husband she deserves. And I doubt very much that I’m the husband she wants.”

“Again, our station comes with responsibilities. Often, one of these is a marriage that would not be our choosing.”

True enough. Philip’s unfortunate wife was an example of this. For that matter, so was Stefano’s mother, who, according to palace rumors, had clearly both feared and loathed Cyrus, and who’d seemed almost relieved when a fever helped her slip away from life when Stefano was very young.

Dianora, who could have justifiably chafed at being treated more like a prize than a person, had maintained a neutral expression. “Prince Stefano, if I were willing to marry you in order to save my country and avert war, would you agree to it?”

First giving Henry an apologetic look, Stefano bowed. “I would, Your Highness. I would pledge never to do anything to dishonor you or impinge on your freedoms. But I couldn’t⁠—”

“Oh, I know,” she interrupted, waving her hand. “You couldn’t love me like you love Henry. I think we could be friends, though. It could be like having a brother, even. I always wished—” She froze, mouth open.

The king leaned toward her, face tight with concern, and both Jusufi and Ebuka reached for the daggers at their waists. But she waved them all back, and when Stefano could see her face again, it bore a wide grin. She shot to her feet and grabbed her father’s hand. “Papa, come with me. I need to discuss something with you.”

Stefano and Henry, left alone with the guards, blinked at each other in puzzlement.

Chapter Eighteen

Henry didn’t care whether there were guards watching. He jumped up, grabbed Stefano, and kissed him until neither of them had any breath left. He’d thought he’d never get to hold Stefano again—and still wasn’t sure that this might not be the final time—so he refused to let go. The two of them stood there, embracing, eyes closed. The lingering aches from the previous day’s torture ebbed away.

“I won’t leave you,” Henry said eventually. “If she marries you, even if we can’t be lovers, I won’t leave you.”

“But you deserve⁠—”

“Shut up, Stef.”

Stefano made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, but he didn’t argue.