“N-nothing.”
“That's not what I heard. You said the F-word. Someone should spank you, brat.”
A look passed over Yuri’s face that Angelo didn’t understand. Scared and something else. It was like when they watched a scary movie. Yuri would hide behind a pillow half the time, the big baby, but he wouldn’t stop watching the movie, and when it was over, he’d be excited as hell and want to watch another. It didn’t make any sense to Angelo, but that was Yuri for you.
“Not you,” Yuri spat back, color high in his cheeks.
“Someone should,” Angelo growled, and his hand itched to teach Yuri a lesson. “But if you keep your mouth shut about me, I'll keep my mouth shut about you, and no one gets punished. Deal?”
Reluctantly, Yuri nodded, so Angelo rolled off him. “Great. Then get out of my room and don't come back! No one put you in charge of me!”
Yuri stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Not even a minute later, his door opened again, admitting a very angry Philippe with a struggling Yuri in tow.
“Boys! This is quite enough. Sound carries in a castle, for your information. Now. Is this how we behave? I am ashamed of you.”
Angelo stuck out his lower lip, not that he was pouting. Pouting was what Yuri did. Besides, pouting did no good with the valet. Philippe had been with Yuri practically since birth, and Angelo felt a little bit sorry for the valet, although at the moment he wasn’t feeling particularly happy with Philippe, either.
“Yuri started it,” he said sullenly.
“Well, you’re both going to finish it. Come here, your highness. I want the two of you to apologize and shake hands.”
Angelo made a face but obeyed. It was hard not to obey him.
Years ago, Philippe had come to Tanzhir with Angelo’s mother as part of her court when she’d married Angelo’s father, Aryan, the king of Tanzhir. Years later, Queen Gabriella gifted the infant Yuri with one of her most trusted and loyal servants: Philippe. He’d been more footman than valet, but he had years to grow into his new position as his prince aged.
Because he'd known both boys since birth, not only did Philippe feel it was his duty to rein in Yuri, but he also thought he had the right to boss Angelo around, and that wasn’t fair. The thing was, though, that if Angelo complained about Philippe to his mother, she would side with the servant. She’d known Philippe her entire life, and to Angelo, more than three decades seemed to be an unimaginably long time.
“Fine.” Angelo got out of bed and stalked over to Philippe and Yuri. He stared at Yuri, willing him to go first. Yuri glared back.
“Angelo, you’re the eldest here. You start.”
He transferred his stare to Philippe. “By only fifteen days!” he protested.
Philippe frowned at Angelo, who sighed, defeated, and held his hand out to Yuri. “I’m sorry I called you a cry baby.” Even though he wasn’t.
Yuri looked briefly mutinous, then took Angelo’s hand. “I’m sorry I called you a dickweed. That was not at all nice of me and I hope you’ll forgive me. I’ll be so sad if you don’t.” Then the little jack hole put on his most innocent expression. “I mean, since we’re going to be together. Forever. And ever. And—”
“That’s quite enough,” Philippe admonished, but fondly. “Now, boys, shake.”
They shook hands, then Angelo snatched his back. “Good night.”
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Yuri sang out. “And then we can be together all day tomorrow. Won’t that be fun?” He smiled an evil grin at Angelo, just daring him to object.
Angelo ignored him. “Good night, Philippe.”
“Good night, your highness.” Philippe steered Yuri out of the room and presumably down the hall to his own bedroom.
Of all the sodding princes in the world, why did Angelo have to get stuck with the worst one in existence?
It was absolutely no fair.
2
Yuri Is Thirsty
Sixteen-year-old Yuri leaned against the wall in the dining hall at his boarding school and sulked. The darkly paneled hall had been turned into an egregiously twee silver and gold fairyland for the school's winter ball. It was all very Goblet of Fire, minus the actual magic, but with much better outfits. Unlike Harry Potter, Yuri had no date for the ball, and that was because unlike Harry Potter, Yuri had a fiancé. Or a betrothed. Whatever. He'd been betrothed to Prince Angelo of Tanzhir for their entire lives. The problem was that Angelo had a date to the ball and that person was not, needless to say, Yuri.
Yuri had never known a time in his life without Angelo. He wasn't always around, but his existence was always felt. Theirs would be a marriage of convenience, diplomacy, and trade. Love factored nowhere near it. Not that Yuri was particularly interested in love. That was for girls and romantic idiots. Love wasn't the point.
The point was that Angelo was his, by right and birth and royal decree and probably other things Yuri couldn't think of at the moment. He shouldn't have taken a not-Yuri date to anything. Especially not a school ball, where everyone could see, much to Yuri's humiliation. Angelo sure as fuck shouldn't have a girlfriend, either. Yet there they were, dancing terribly, hands all over each other, practically kissing in front of everyone.
It was disgusting and infuriating and made Yuri want to hit something.
“You should stop staring at them,” advised Jacki. “It's totally creepy.”
Jacki was one of the few students at Meadow Chase who was, to be blunt, of common birth. Her father was some sort of American tech billionaire and her mother was an Italian fashion designer. Neither one had the time to stay at home with a child, so they'd sent her off to an exclusive and expensive boarding school in Europe. “Like they were kenneling an inconvenient dog,” Jacki had told Yuri shortly after they'd first met. Her parents were
