“In light of the Lord Dickface issue, I wasn’t about to have Yuri go back on his own, on the train.”
“I did have Tony with me,” Yuri reminded Angelo.
Angelo snorted and ignored him. “Yuri has something to ask you. Meanwhile, I think I’ll go take a walk.”
Yuri turned back to Angelo and glared at him. “You’re leaving me?” It came out as an undignified squawk.
Angelo, that bastard, chucked Yuri under the chin. “I’ll be gone fifteen minutes, max. You’ll be fine.”
“Traitor,” Yuri hissed. He couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of his eye that Philippe flinched.
Angelo chuckled in response and turned to leave the house.
“Sir?” Philippe asked.
Yuri turned back to the man that had practically raised him. Punished him when he’d needed it, bandaged his scrapes and bruises, and praised him for good marks in school. Then, later, he’d talked to Yuri about sex and then shown him how to put a condom on a courgette. Philippe had been the first person Yuri had come out to. Philippe was, when you got down to it, the father Yuri’s dad hadn’t had the time to be.
Yuri remembered the joke he’d shared with Philippe just before he’d left for London. He’d asked Philippe where his loyalties lay, and his response had been…
“Just who exactly do you serve, Philippe?” Yuri asked, heart in his throat.
A pained look flitted across Philippe’s features then was gone. “When I first came to your country, I served Prince Angelo’s parents.”
Yuri’s eyes stung with tears he refused to shed. “What about now? Who do you serve now?”
Philippe’s lips twitched slightly in what might have been a smile or a grimace. “A servant always serves the one who pays his salary.”
“And who is that?” Yuri demanded. “Angelo’s parents? Mine? Someone else altogether?”
Again, Philippe’s mouth twisted, then he stood. Even though Philippe was taller than him, Yuri refused to be cowed. And Angelo wouldn’t have left him if he was in danger. Probably.
“Do you remember a certain temper tantrum that occurred when you were about to be sent to school, sir?”
Yuri flushed. He’d forgotten about that entirely until now. He’d remember screaming at his parents and refusing to eat. He’d just read about Gandhi and wanted to try his hand at a hunger strike.
“And it was about?” Philippe pressed.
“Mum and Dad were going to send you back to Tanzhir. They said I didn’t need a nanny if I was going to be at boarding school. And I told them no. That you weren't a nanny, you were a valet, and had to stay. I think I remember becoming quite hysterical at the time. You must have been so gratified.”
“A little, perhaps,” Philippe said with a smile. “You told your parents you didn’t care what you had to give up, but you were keeping me. It was quite touching. And in the circumstances, possibly stupid, but you were a child.”
Yuri’s heart dropped. “I thought you lo—that you cared for me. I was a naive child.”
“Perhaps,” Philippe acknowledged with a slight dip of his head. “Your parents asked you if you’d be willing to give up your own money to pay my salary. You asked, rather adorably, if it was more than five Euros, because that’s how much you had saved up. Your father said it would be quite a bit more than that.”
“And I said that I didn’t care,” Yuri said, everything coming back to him clear as day. “That they could take all my allowance but I wanted you to stay. I do remember that.”
Philippe gave Yuri a quizzical look. “Do you never look at your finances, your highness?”
Yuri shook his head. “Economics is Angelo’s thing, not mine. I don’t spend much, especially compared with Archie. I’m not worried my trust will run out.”
That made Philippe let out a very un-Philippe-like burst of laughter. “I thought you knew,” he said, when he recovered himself enough to speak.
Yuri crossed his arms over his chest. “Knew what?”
And of course the timer chose right then to bleat at them.
“Just a moment, your highness.” Philippe went to the oven, grabbed an oven mitt, and carefully took out the lemon loaf he had in there. He placed it on a cooling rack, turned off the heat, hung up the mitt, then turned to Yuri. “You pay my wages, sir. You have since that day. Or, rather, your trust does, as I understand it. I work for you. I’ve worked for you this past decade and more. My loyalty is with the one I serve.”
Yuri sat down hard on one of the kitchen chairs. “Oh,” he said in a soft voice.
“I report to no one, sir. Not to Tanzhir and not to Mirea. Not even to Angelo’s mother, who has been a good friend for most of my life. I tell your secrets to no one. Not even to Angelo, although I daresay he already knows nearly all of them. My loyalty, first and last, is with you.”
“Oh,” Yuri said again. “I… see.” He swiped at his burning eyes. “I… that’s good, Philippe. Good. I—”
Yuri was interrupted by noise at the front door. He stood and both he and Philippe went to look. They saw Roger supporting a somewhat sagging Angelo, who was trying to brush him off. “I’m fine,” Angelo insisted. “Let go.”
“No,” Roger said firmly. “Just so everyone knows, I’ve rung for an ambulance.”
“What?” Yuri asked faintly.
“Roger, what’s happened to the prince?” Philippe demanded to know.
“It’s nothing serious. Just a scratch.” Angelo kept trying, unsuccessfully, to pull out of Roger’s grasp.
Roger was having none of it. “Nothing serious, he says. Yes, sir. You were only stabbed by a lunatic. Nothing serious about that. Only a small stabbing. Nothing at all to worry about.”
Yuri felt the world around him start to gray at the edges. He
