Page 10 of The Broken Dawn

"My Yasha is a student here," Sarah said proudly, starting on the third jacket. "First child of a staff member who has been allowed to study at the academy, as long as he helps occasionally. Though if more of these fine young gentlemen knew how to properly care for their clothing, perhaps I wouldn't need quite so much help."

"Mama." But Jakob was smiling slightly. "I'm sure His Highness doesn't need to hear about Colonel Alberg's attempts at ironing."

"That boy." Sarah shook her head. "Three ruined jackets before he admitted defeat. And now look at him—a whole colonel, and he still sends his uniforms back when he visits. Says no one else gets the creases quite right."

There was pride in her voice, and something else—a quiet dignity that had nothing to do with rank or station. Harald found himself wondering what it would be like, to be so certain of your place in the world.

"Fourth jacket," Sarah announced. "Though we're running low on thread. Yasha⁠—"

"Top shelf, behind the extra buttons." Jakob was already moving. "I restocked it this morning."

Harald watched as he got up and fetched the thread for his mother, and as she wound it carefully through the arcane-looking bits of her sewing machine. His tea was finished. Harald checked his watch, trying to be subtle about it. Jakob noticed anyway.

"Don't worry, Your Highness. We'll have you properly attired well before Christian can write you up." His tone was light, but there was an edge to it.

"Fifth jacket," Sarah announced, and Harald looked back, startled. Jakob's hand dropped away from where it had been edging close to his own, but that almost-smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Yasha." Sarah's tone held warning. "The linens for the faculty dining room?"

"Already sorted, Mama." Jakob moved away from the pressing machine, taking his warmth with him. "And the formal tablecloths are ready for tonight's dinner."

"Good boy." She tied off her thread, examining the fifth patch with critical eyes. "Though I don't know why they insist on such heavy starch. Makes the napkins like cardboard."

"Tradition," Jakob said, with just enough irony to make Hal bite back a smile. "Everything here is about tradition."

"Tradition is no excuse for poor laundering." Sarah started on the final jacket. "Your Highness, come here a moment. You should know how to check if these are secured properly."

Harald approached her workstation, grateful for the distraction. She showed him the neat stitches, the way the thread caught just so, explaining each step with the same quiet authority she used with everything else.

"There." She held up the last jacket. "All done, and with time to spare." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Though you might want to hurry. That cousin of yours seems the type to start formation early, just to catch people out."

"He is," Harald said before he could stop himself. Then, realizing: "I mean⁠—"

"We all know what you mean, Your Highness." She began gathering his jackets. "Yasha, help His Highness carry these up. And mind you don't wrinkle them."

"Yes, Mama." Jakob collected the jackets with careful hands. "This way, Your Highness. Unless you'd like a lesson in proper pressing technique?"

Heat crawled up Harald's neck. "I... thank you, Mrs. Eliasberg. For everything."

"Any time, Your Highness." She was already turning back to her work. "Though next time, perhaps we'll teach you about collar stays. Seems you could use the help."

Harald followed Jakob toward the stairs, arms full of clean and pressed uniforms, wondering how it was possible to feel both seen and protected at the same time.

The stairwell was narrower than Harald remembered, forcing them to walk close together. Each step took them further from the warm sanctuary below, back toward the cold, controlled atmosphere of the Academy. Harald couldn't think of anywhere he'd less like to be, although it felt less frightening with Jakob by his side.

"Your mother..." Harald adjusted his grip on the jackets. "She's not what I expected."

"No?" Jakob's voice echoed slightly in the confined space. "What did you expect from the woman who keeps this entire academy in clean linens and properly pressed uniforms?"

"I didn't..." Harald stumbled, both over the words and a slightly uneven step. Jakob's hand shot out, steadying him without dropping a single jacket. "I mean, she's very..."

"Competent? Efficient? Slightly terrifying?" That almost-smile again, visible even in the dim light. "That's my mama. She's had colonels and counts' sons through her laundry. Even a few princes, though you're the first who's bothered to stay for tea."

They reached the top of the stairs. Harald could hear boots on stone, commands carrying through the halls. The real world, waiting to reclaim him.

"I should..." He gestured vaguely with his armful of jackets.

"Can't keep Christian waiting." Jakob's tone was neutral, but there was something soft in his eyes. "Though if you need help with those collar stays again..."