Page 21 of The Broken Dawn

The servers moved with military precision, ladling soup in synchronization like a strange form of dance. Christian made a show of examining his portion, his silver spoon poised with aristocratic delicacy.

"One would think," he murmured, pitched for the senior table's ears alone, "that the academy might serve something more... refined. After all, we're training officers, not common soldiers."

Harald focused on his own soup, the rich aroma of salt pork and thyme filling his nose. The ärtsoppa was perfectly good – probably better than what was served at most military academies – but Christian had always preferred foreign dishes to traditional Swedish fare.

"The German military academies," Christian continued, accepting a piece of crisp bread from the basket with obvious reluctance, "understand the importance of maintaining proper standards. Freddie and I met the most fascinating people in Stockholm last weekend – the Baroness von Schröder and her daughter. Such charming company." His smile sharpened. "You should have joined us, Hal. Though you don't seem to be up for much fun these days."

"I've never been up for much of that kind of fun…" Harald said, offhandedly. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement at the lower table – Jakob sat straight-backed and proper, every inch the model cadet despite his position. The contrast between Jakob's too- proper posture and the way Christian lounged in his chair made Harald's chest swell with something like pride.

"Speaking of training," Christian said as the soup bowls were cleared with military efficiency, "I've been reviewing the tactical exercise assignments for this afternoon."

Harald's spine stiffened. He hadn't known Christian had that authority.

"Major Bergström asked for my input, given my... experience." Christian's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Freddie and I ran similar exercises last term. Such valuable lessons about chain of command, wouldn't you agree?"

The main course arrived – köttbullar with lingonberry sauce, the meatballs arranged on gleaming plates. Christian tsked softly.

"More traditional fare. Though I suppose some of our lower class students find it... comforting." He cut into a meatball with surgical precision. "I've suggested mixing the groups today. Breaking down those little cliques that form. After all, a proper officer must be able to command anyone, regardless of their... background."

Senior Cadet Eriksson leaned forward. "Will you be leading a group then, Christian?"

"Naturally. And I thought it would be educational to have our prince work with some of our less experienced cadets." Christian's tone was perfectly pleasant. "Unless you object, Harald? I know how much you value your study time."

Harald set his fork down carefully, conscious of every eye at the senior table. "Not at all," he managed, voice steady despite his racing heart. "I look forward to it."

"Excellent." Christian dabbed his lips with his napkin. "I'm sure Cadet Eliasberg will find it... instructive."

Harald concentrated on his plate, cutting each meatball into quarters. The lingonberry sauce made red circles on the white china, like drops of blood on snow. From across the hall, he could almost feel Jakob's attention, though neither of them dared look directly at the other.

"Of course," Christian continued, accepting the gravy boat with elegant ease, "proper training requires clear objectives. I thought we might focus on defensive positions. The sort of tactical decisions that separate true leaders from..." He paused delicately. "Well."

Harald found himself gripping his fork too tightly at the clearly implied criticism, forcing his fingers to relax before anyone noticed.

"Cadet Lieutenant Vasa, Major Bergström particularly praised your analysis of mountain warfare this morning," Senior Cadet Eriksson offered, clearly trying to ease the tension. "The bit about supply lines⁠—"

"Yes," Christian cut in smoothly. "Though some of us have practical experience beyond theoretical study. Freddie and I spent last summer with the Alpine Corps, didn't we mention?" He turned to Harald with brotherly concern. "You really should join us next time. All that reading is no substitute for actual field work."

The great clock above the dining hall doors chimed the quarter hour. Harald had never been so grateful for the strict timing of meals at Riddarhuset. Soon they would stand, bow to the senior officers, and file out in formation. He just had to maintain his composure until⁠—

"Oh, and Harald?" Christian's voice dropped to a murmur. "Do wear your field boots for the exercise. The lower training ground gets quite... muddy. We wouldn't want anyone to feel out of their depth."

At the Commandant's signal, chairs scraped back in unison. Harald rose smoothly, years of training carrying him through the motions despite his churning stomach. The first year's table stood a half-second later, maintaining the strict hierarchy even in this small thing.

"Formation, atten-TION!"

Through the departing ranks, Harald caught a flash of Jakob's profile as the first-years filed past—jaw set, eyes forward, every inch the exemplary cadet. Only someone who knew him well would see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides.

Christian grabbed his shoulder as they filed out of the dining hall, his grip a subtle reminder of position and power. "I do hope you've been keeping up with your physical conditioning, Harald. Tactical exercises require a certain stamina." His smile sharpened. "Especially for those taking leadership positions."

Harald's collar felt too tight underneath his tie. Through the tall windows, he could see cadets already forming up on the muddy field below, their breath visible in the autumn air.

"After all," Christian murmured as they reached the door, his tone perfectly pleasant and utterly threatening, "a prince should be prepared to get his hands dirty. Shouldn't he?"

The heavy oak door swung open, and the cold bite of October wind cut through Harald's uniform like a promise of what was to come.

August 29, 1939

The morning air bit cold against Harald's cheeks as the cadets assembled in the courtyard. Christian stood before them, clipboard in hand, his lieutenant's insignia catching the weak autumn sunlight. The smirk playing at the corner of his mouth made Harald's teeth clench.