Page 38 of The Broken Dawn

"Is that a threat?"

"Just a historical observation. The Germans understand something we've forgotten—that there are natural and immutable hierarchies that must be maintained." Christian straightened his already immaculate uniform. "Your kind learned that lesson in Russia, didn't they? Yet here you are, making the same mistakes."

Before Jakob could respond, a familiar voice called from down the hall.

"Eliasberg! There you are."

Erik Stensson approached, his expression unreadable. "Lieutenant Colonel Holm is looking for you. Something about the library committee."

Christian's eyes narrowed slightly at the interruption, but he merely nodded to Erik. "We'll continue this discussion another time, Eliasberg." He turned and walked away, shoulders straight, every inch the aristocrat.

"There's no library committee," Jakob said once Christian was out of earshot.

Erik shrugged. "No, but he doesn't know that." He studied Jakob for a moment. "You know, what you said in there—about tactics and consequences—it wasn't entirely wrong."

Jakob blinked in surprise. Erik Stensson, of all people, agreeing with him?

"My father fought in the Great War," Erik continued, almost reluctantly. "He doesn't talk about it much, but when he does... well, it doesn't sound like the glorious adventure Christian makes it out to be."

Jakob nodded slowly. "Thank you. For the interruption."

"Don't mention it." Erik's expression closed again. "Seriously, don't. I have to live with those people." He hesitated. "Any word on when Prince Harald will return?"

"No." The admission stung more than it should have. "Nothing."

Erik nodded as if confirming something to himself. "Well, until he does—watch your back, Eliasberg. Christian's been different since the news from Poland. Like he's... excited."

The word hung between them, its implications chilling. Jakob thought of the empty seat beside him in class, of Harald somewhere in the palace, perhaps reading the same reports of villages burning and civilians fleeing.

"I always watch my back," Jakob said quietly. "But thanks for the warning."

As Erik walked away, Jakob stood alone in the corridor, the weight of absence heavy on his shoulders. He'd built his place at Riddarhuset carefully, brick by brick—his grades, his tactical insights, his determination to be twice as good as any aristocrat. But without Harald, those bricks felt suddenly fragile, as if the whole structure might collapse with a single push.

And Christian, it seemed, was more than ready to push.

The royal map room smelled of leather, pipe tobacco, and the faint metallic tang of ink. Maps covered every surface—the massive oak desk, the side tables, even parts of the floor—their corners weighted down with brass paperweights shaped like Swedish lions. Diplomatic cables and intelligence reports formed neat stacks, each marked with colored tabs in Gustav's elegant handwriting.

Harald stood at the large central table, tracing the German advance with his finger. Five days. It had taken them just five days to drive deep into Polish territory, their armored columns slicing through defenses like a hot knife through butter.

"The Poles never had a chance," Freddie said, pacing by the windows. Unlike Hal, who had shed his jacket hours ago and rolled up his sleeves, the Crown Prince remained immaculate in his formal uniform. "Their cavalry against German tanks? It's medieval thinking in a modern war."

"It's not that simple," Hal murmured, studying the map. "The Polish forces actually performed well when they managed to engage on favorable terrain. It's the speed and coordination that overwhelmed them."

"Which is exactly my point," Freddie said. "Overwhelming force, decisively applied. The German approach is textbook perfection."

Hal frowned. "Except for the deliberate targeting of Polish civilians."

"Unfortunate collateral damage," Freddie said with a dismissive wave. "But strategically sound. Breaking civilian morale accelerates capitulation."

"That's not collateral damage. That's the point." Hal picked up a cable from the stack. "They're burning entire villages, Freddie. Executing people in market squares. This report says German planes circled back to strafe civilians fleeing from a burning town."

Freddie's expression tightened. "War is ugly, Hal. Always has been."

"This is different⁠—"

The door opened, and both princes straightened as King Gustav entered, followed by a secretary carrying more dispatches. Gustav looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than they had been even a week ago, but his gaze was exacting as it swept over the maps.

"The British War Cabinet has concluded their first meeting," he said without preamble. "They're predicting a three-year conflict, minimum."