Page 14 of The Broken Dawn

He started to turn away, and Harald felt something crack inside his chest. The thought of Jakob leaving—not just this office, but Riddarhuset entirely—made it hard to breathe.

"Wait!" Harald took a step forward before remembering himself. "I wanted to say—about class⁠—"

"Your Highness," Lindquist cut in smoothly, "we needn't trouble Cadet Eliasberg with this matter now. I'm sure you understand the delicacy of maintaining proper distance from certain elements. As we were discussing regarding your royal responsibilities."

Jakob looked back, just for a moment. Something flickered in his eyes—hope, maybe, or resignation. Then his expression smoothed over, turning to ice as he glanced between Harald and the Commandant.

"No need, Your Highness." His bow was exactly as deep as protocol required. Not an inch more. "I understand perfectly."

The words were polite, but the chill in them made Harald flinch. Jakob thought he was agreeing with Lindquist—thought he was dismissing him as a "certain element" to keep distance from.

He walked away, spine straight, steps measured. Harald watched until he disappeared around the corner, suddenly aware that he'd broken military bearing again, turning to watch him go.

"Well," Lindquist said quietly, satisfaction evident in his tone. "I trust that settles the matter? Some boundaries are necessary, Your Highness, even if they seem harsh in the moment."

Harald turned back to the Commandant, to the portraits of stern officers watching from the walls, to the gleaming medals that spoke of battles long past. He thought of Jakob's words about moral responsibility, about every soldier's duty to judge the justice of his cause.

"Actually, sir," he heard himself say, "I don't believe it does." His heart hammered in his chest, but his voice remained steady. "I find Cadet Eliasberg's contributions to class discussion invaluable. His perspective challenges us all to think more deeply about our responsibilities as future officers."

Lindquist's face darkened. "Your Highness⁠—"

"Furthermore," Harald continued, finding strength in each word, "I believe removing him from advanced courses would be a disservice to Riddarhuset's reputation for academic excellence. Unless there's some regulation I'm unaware of that prohibits our charity students from excelling?"

The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire.

"Very well." Lindquist's voice was cold. "I'll make note of your... preference in this matter. Though I must say, your cousin will be disappointed."

"My cousin doesn't speak for me," Harald said quietly. "And neither does anyone else."

It was only when he left the office that Harald realized the damage was already done. Jakob had heard just enough to misunderstand completely. And somehow, Harald would have to find a way to fix it—without revealing why it mattered so much to him in the first place.

The library's high ceiling trapped the afternoon's heat, making the air thick and close. Jakob had claimed the farthest corner table hours ago, barricading himself behind stacks of military theory texts and political treatises. He'd been there since... well, since overhearing himself discussed like a problematic piece of furniture in the Commandant's office.

Prince Harald's quiet voice carried across the room, making Jakob's pen pause mid-sentence. He didn't stand or look up as protocol demanded. From his shadowed corner, he couldn't see the prince directly, just the way other cadets straightened at his approach, their faces brightening with that particular eagerness reserved for royal attention.

"Has anyone seen Cadet Eliasberg?" The prince's voice was controlled, formal, but with an undercurrent of something Jakob couldn't identify.

Jakob pressed his pen harder against the paper, watching ink bleed into the margins of his notes. The memory of the prince's conversation with Lindquist sat in his chest like a stone—heavy and cold and impossible to dislodge.

"...maintaining proper distance from certain elements."

He'd spent years building armor against such dismissals—the sideways glances at his surname on the class roster, the whispers about charity students, the pointed comments about his father's politics and his mother's accent. He'd learned to counter prejudice with excellence, to answer every slight by being just a little bit better, just a little bit more disciplined than any other cadet.

But something about hearing it from the Prince had cut deeper.

For one foolish moment in that classroom, when the prince had seemed interested in his perspective on Plato, Jakob had allowed himself to hope. Perhaps this royal was different—someone who valued ideas over bloodlines, who might see Jakob as more than his background.

Naive. Dangerous. Exactly the kind of thinking that got people like him into trouble.

Jakob traced the diagram he'd been working on—calculating ideal artillery positioning in various terrain situations. He'd always found comfort in the clean equations and logical progressions of artillery. On paper, battles could be won through intelligence and planning, not privilege and connections.

"I heard he's hiding in the library again," someone answered the prince. "Back corner, probably. Where else would Eliasberg be?"

The comment carried a sneer. Jakob's fingers tightened around his pen.

What did Prince Harald Edvard want with him anyway? To explain that while he found Jakob intellectually stimulating, proper distance must be maintained? To clarify that while he'd defended Jakob's place in the class, he shouldn't mistake that for anything approaching friendship, or even respect?

Or perhaps—and this thought twisted something painful in Jakob's chest—perhaps the prince simply wanted to ensure Jakob understood his place in the hierarchy. A reminder that challenging Christian Vasa, even in academic debate, carried consequences.