Royally Screwed - Lynn Van Dorn Page 0,82

Germany had discovered in the late eighteen hundreds. The key was phosphorus.

“Your parents wanted to pull out of the betrothal when I was born and turned out to be male. Your father said some things that angered my father, and he refused to honor the phosphorus trade deal unless your country abided by the betrothal. My country got oil, chocolate, and a shit ton of emeralds. Your country got meat and grain and that bloody phosphorus. They were playing a sort of diplomatic trade chicken with each other, waiting to see which country would back out of the betrothal first. My parents must have been ecstatic when I turned out gay.”

“Fuck,” Angelo said. It was hard to wrap his head around. The betrothal itself had always been strange, but this was worse, knowing their parents had used their children in such a way.

“Precisely,” Yuri agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“None of this is your fault.”

Yuri looked up, his face anguished. “But my family is the reason your whole life has never been under your own control. Everything would’ve been so different for you. In another life, you wouldn’t be with me.“ He whispered the last sentence but Angelo heard it.

“I probably wouldn’t have met you. Not until we were adults, perhaps, and you were making some sort of diplomatic circuit.”

“Exactly!” Yuri cried out.

“But what about that train accident that killed me?”

Yuri blinked at him. “What?” he asked in a flat tone.

“In that other life. Different doesn’t mean better. It’s just unknowably different. I don’t want that life. I want this one. Even if I am absolutely livid with our parents right now.”

“You want this life?” Yuri asked, his voice almost a squeak.

“I want you. I want whatever life gives me you.”

“But—”

“Hush, Yuri, and come here.”

Yuri shuffled closer to the hospital bed.

“Look at me. Look at my eyes.”

Yuri raised hopeful eyes to Angelo’s face.

“Nothing matters but now. No what-ifs. No alternate paths that didn’t happen. This is our life and we can live it however we choose. I choose you. Even with no betrothal between us. You’re mine. Stupid schemes our parents hatched when we were infants don’t change that. Homicidal dickheads don’t change that. Biology and gender don’t get a say. You are who I want.” Angelo reached out for Yuri’s hand. “Prince or princess, I don’t care. I just want you.”

“Is it okay for me to outrage the entire world by crawling into your hospital bed again?” Yuri bit his lip. “Well, until the doctors come and chase me out.”

Angelo squeezed Yuri’s fingers. “Get your arse in this bed and be with me before the authorities come and yell at both of us.”

Like before, Yuri carefully made his way onto the bed, trying to take up as little space as possible. He laid his head on Angelo’s shoulder.

“I love you,” Angelo whispered, then kissed Yuri’s forehead.

“I love you, too,” Yuri said, but he sounded far more frightened than happy about it.

29

Yuri’s Father Is Not Pleased

Yuri’s mobile woke him from a sound sleep. He was in the chair in Angelo’s room, however, not his bed. It was just as well. He’d need to take the call in the corridor so he wouldn’t wake Angelo.

It was from his father. “Yes?” Yuri stretched and felt bones in his spine realign.

“I need an explanation for these pictures.” The king sounded odd to Yuri. Not at all like his normal self. “Right this second.”

Unable to stop it, Yuri yawned. “I didn’t expect you to be upset. As far as these things go, the pictures are fairly innocent.”

“Are you mad? This is beyond the pale, Euripides. You will come home this instant. Do you understand me?”

The combined pain and rage in his father’s voice stopped Yuri in his tracks. He leaned against the corridor wall. “No, I don’t. Angelo and I have grown closer over the past few months. We’ve kept it quiet, but he’s been hurt and I don’t care who sees us—”

“Look at what I’ve emailed you and then call me back immediately,” the king ordered, then disconnected.

“Right, Dad. Whatever,” Yuri muttered. He opened his email and then downloaded the photo files his father had sent. When the first one came up on the screen, he nearly dropped his phone from shock. “Oh, Jesus.”

These weren’t pictures of him curled up next to Angelo in a hospital bed. They were photos of him, tied and naked and beaten until there was more bruised skin than not. In the next picture, he was crouched down but looking up.