Page 8 of Yellow Belly

“She won’t. You are not Philip. Besides, you needn’t spend much time together. Create an heir and a spare and you can each go your own way.” Henry pretended that the idea of his Stefano sleeping with anyone else—even out of necessity—didn’t make him seethe with jealousy.

Stefano rubbed a thumb along Henry’s cheek. “But I love you. Always and only you.”

“Take me with you, then. You’ll need a valet.”

“I don’t want a valet!” Stefano growled. “I want a lover, a partner. And I don’t want either of us to spend our lives pretending to be something other than who we are. Nor do I want a wife who has to play at having a faithful husband even though everyone knows he’s fucking his valet. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us.”

Fair. It was endearing, really, that Stefano still expected the world to be fair. Endearing but frustrating.

Softening his tone, Stefano spoke again. “What do you want, Henry? Nobody ever asks you.”

“If they did, the answer would always be the same. I want to serve you, my love, in whatever ways you need and desire.”

Stefano stared up at the bed canopy for a long time, as if answers might be found there. Then, a tiny smile playing at his lips, he returned his gaze to Henry. “Will you serve me now?”

“With great pleasure.” And Henry reached for him.

Chapter Five

They had slept with the curtains and a few windows open, and they were awakened early by bright sun and chirping birds. Stefano generally had a weak appetite in the morning and planned to skip breakfast, but Henry bullied him into accepting a small meal of fresh berries, boiled egg, and tea. Stefano hand-fed him most of the berries, popping them into Henry’s mouth and grinning as Henry licked Stefano’s fingers clean.

By the time they were washed and dressed, it was no longer very early.

“I believe I hear an aquatic warbler,” said Stefano, cocking his head toward a window. “They’re quite rare.”

Henry smiled fondly at him. “I suppose you want to tromp around in the mud in hopes of finding it.”

“Naturally. You don’t have to join me if you’d rather not.”

“I’ll come along. Some time outdoors sounds nice.”

Henry hoped they’d find a hundred rare birds, enough to keep Stefano distracted from his problems. When Stefano grew excited over this sort of thing, he almost looked like a boy again, his eyes sparkling and face glowing, his body vibrating with energy. One of the many things that Henry loved about him was how animated he could become over a busy spider or a tiny flower.

Henry had heard people around the palace whisper that Stefano wasn’t handsome, which was a lie. Although Stefano’s looks were maybe more interesting than traditionally beautiful. He had wiry muscles and tanned skin, straight dark hair that tended to look like it hadn’t met with a comb in ages, and large bright gray eyes in a somewhat triangular face. When he was out in the garden, his casual clothes streaked and spotted with mud and debris, he resembled an untamed fae trying to pass as human. But when he grew excited about something and when he smiled, his splendor surpassed anyone else’s.

Today the air outside smelled of damp earth and growing things. There were a lot of birds hopping and flapping from here to there, and a few yellow butterflies fluttered by as bees hummed happily over their labors. The temperature was balmy and the sky a pure blue with no sign of clouds. A perfect day.

Stefano paused, bending over a small shrub and peering at the underside of some leaves. Then, realizing that this afforded Henry a very nice view of his backside, he shot a grin over his shoulder and wiggled a bit. “We could swim in the pond this afternoon.”

“You know that I don’t know how,” Henry replied.

“Wade, then. Or I can teach you—it’s well past time you learned.”

Henry glanced at the pond in question. Water plants floated peacefully on the surface while hundreds of insects swarmed. “It’s… murky.”

Stefano laughed. “Snob. Mud washes off.” He waggled his eyebrows. “It will be fun.”

“Well, in that case….” Henry reached for Stefano, who grinned and danced away.

“This afternoon. Right now I’m in search of that aquatic warbler, remember?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Henry executed one of the deep bows he’d been taught when he first arrived at the palace but rarely used except in jest.

Pointedly ignoring him, Stefano walked over to the nearby bench at the edge of the pond and, after sitting down with his back to the palace, opened his sketchbook.

For a long while, Henry stayed in the shadow of the palace, watching him—and remembering.

When Henry—at age nine or ten—had first been brought to the palace, he’d been relieved and delighted to be plucked from the cold misery of the poorhouse and deposited amid more luxury than he’d ever dreamed of. To have access to ample delicious foods and high-quality clothing, to be able to wash himself daily and sleep warm and safe in a soft bed: it was as if he’d landed in heaven. He hadn’t at all minded his regular chores of looking after young Prince Stefano.