Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Henry had slept very poorly. For one thing, his entire body hurt.
It seemed as if every one of his whipping scars had opened anew—and he felt as if he deserved that because he’d failed Stefano.
When it came down to it, he’d done nothing to protect his prince.
Every time Henry closed his eyes, he pictured all of the terrible things that could happen to one small frog.
When the guards wordlessly brought him breakfast, they refused to respond when he begged to speak to someone about Stefano. He didn’t touch the food.
Time was odd. He’d spent countless hours of his life doing not much at all while Stefano was conducting his studies.
Sometimes Henry would do some tidying up, which always felt satisfying, or he might poke around in Stefano’s books or exercise or play a solo card game…
or sometimes simply watch his lover. Sometimes Stefano would glance up and smile so sweetly that Henry’s heart would be recaptured, and he’d been perfectly content.
Now, though, each minute dragged by like a century. He could almost feel himself aging, withering like a vine deprived of water. The bands in his chest tightened more with every breath.
When he heard the bar outside his door begin to slide, he leapt to his feet. “Please,” he said before the door was fully open. “Please, can you—”
“His Majesty wishes to see you.” It was the man who’d overseen the torture session the previous day, and today he looked seriously put out.
He handed over Henry’s clothing—somewhat worse for wear but better than nothing—locked his wrists behind his back, and led him through the palace.
Three times Henry tried to talk to him about Stefano, but the man refused to answer, and Henry gave up.
They twisted and turned through palace corridors that would have been interesting under other circumstances.
Had Henry ever given the matter thought, he would have assumed that all palaces were like King Cyrus’s, and he would have been wrong.
He liked this one much better. Or would have, if he wasn’t a prisoner and worried sick over Stefano.
He wondered what it would have been like for his prince to grow up in a place like this.
But if he had, it was unlikely that Stefano would have been given a whipping boy, and then Henry would never have met him, and that was too horrible to contemplate.
They reached a tall, narrow door tucked into an unobtrusive corner. The man rapped once, loudly, before opening it and pushing Henry inside.
Whereupon he was attacked so fiercely that he lost his footing and fell backward. Before he could panic, however, he recognized the person now holding him in a crushing embrace. “Stef!”
Merciful gods, this was his prince, fully restored to his human form and sobbing so loudly into his neck that Henry barely heard the other raised voices in the room. They didn’t matter anyway. Not now.
And the iron bands that had crushed his heart broke free, shot through his chest like tiny daggers, and clattered onto the floor.
He screamed with mingled pain and relief. Stefano held him even more tightly and yelled his name. Everyone else in the room was also yelling. Henry, tugging frantically against the manacles that still bound him, cried over and over, “Stef, Stef, I love you, Stef.”