Page 45 of The Broken Dawn

"The gate at the end of the north road." Jakob studied him, looking for any sign of princely reluctance. Instead, Harald was practically vibrating with barely contained eagerness. "It's filthy, muddy, dirty work."

"I can get dirty," Harald said.

"I mean it, Hal. It's not just dirt. It's manure and mud and hay that gets everywhere. And Anskie—she's our most enthusiastic milker—loves to swat people with her tail. Right in the face, usually."

Harald's lips twitched. "Are you trying to scare me off?"

"Is it working?"

"Not even slightly." Harald leaned forward, close enough that Jakob could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. "In fact, I think I'd like to meet this Anskie of yours."

Don't look at his mouth, Jakob told himself firmly. Don't remember how soft those lips were. "Your funeral, Your Highness."

"You can't call me that if I'm going to be your farmhand." Something playful crept into Harald's expression, chasing away some of the exhaustion. "It would ruin the illusion of my daring escape."

"Fine. But don't expect me to go easy on you just because you're..." Jakob gestured vaguely at all of Harald, encompassing his entire princeliness.

"I wouldn't dream of it." Harald's knee brushed his under the table, and neither of them moved away. "Though I do have one question."

"Just one?"

"For now." Harald's smile turned slightly wicked. "What exactly does one wear to milk a cow?"

"Definitely not whatever you're wearing now," Jakob said, eyeing Harald's uniform. The way it fit his shoulders was frankly unfair. "Something sturdy. Old. The kind of clothes you'd wear to..." He trailed off, realizing Harald probably had never done anything that required work clothes.

"To...?" Harald prompted, clearly enjoying Jakob's dilemma.

"To roll around in the dirt," Jakob finished, then immediately regretted his word choice as Harald's eyes darkened with memory. The hayloft. The kiss. The way Harald had pressed against him, warm and willing...

Jakob cleared his throat. "Just... wear something you don't mind ruining."

"I'll find something suitable." Harald's voice had gone slightly rough. "Though I admit, I'm having trouble picturing you in anything but your school uniform."

"Oh, you'll see plenty of me in my work clothes," Jakob said without thinking, then wanted to bite his tongue at Harald's quick intake of breath. "I mean⁠—"

"I look forward to it." Harald's knee pressed more firmly against his under the table. "Very much."

The library suddenly felt too warm, too small. Jakob started gathering his untouched mathematics texts. "I should go. Chores to do, cows to prepare for their royal visitor."

"Jakob." Harald caught his wrist as he stood, his touch feather-light. "Thank you. For the food, and for... for offering this."

The genuine gratitude in his voice made Jakob's chest ache. "Don't thank me yet. Wait until you've met Anskie."

Harald's thumb brushed over his pulse point before letting go. "Until tomorrow morning, then."

"Don't be late," Jakob managed, already backing away. "The cows won't wait, even for royalty."

He could feel Harald's eyes on him all the way to the door, and his wrist tingled where those elegant fingers had touched him. What had he just gotten himself into?

But he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not when offering Harald a glimpse of his world had chased some of that bone-deep exhaustion from his face. Not when it meant he might get to see Harald smile like that again.

Even if it was going to make staying away from him absolutely impossible.

Chapter 8

September 17, 1939

Jakob stamped his feet against the frozen ground, watching his breath cloud in the pre-dawn darkness. His father's old pea coat hung loose around his shoulders, the sleeves falling past his fingertips. He'd layered two sweaters underneath, but the cold still bit through.