Page 47 of The Broken Dawn

Jakob squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe. "Father's old work clothes." The words came out strangled. "From his last summer's haying."

More rustling, then the soft sound of wool sliding over skin. "You can turn around now."

Jakob turned, expecting relief. Instead, the sight of Harald in his father's old clothes knocked the air from his lungs. The sweater hung loose on his frame, the sleeves pushed up to reveal pale forearms. The worn fabric softened him, made him look touchable and approachable in a way his formal clothes never did. But more than that—he looked like he belonged here, in Jakob's world, wearing Jakob's father's clothes, standing in the quiet morning light of Jakob's home.

Jakob grabbed the milk pail, harder than necessary. "Come on." His voice came out rough. "The cows won't wait."

The pre-dawn air hit them like a slap, but it did nothing to cool the heat burning under Jakob's skin. Harald followed close behind him across the frozen yard, his borrowed boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. The sound was too loud in the quiet morning, like everything else about Harald's presence here—too real, too close, too much.

"Watch your step," Jakob warned, more gruffly than he meant to. "Ground's slippery this time of morning."

As if proving his point, Harald's foot slipped. His hand shot out, grabbing Jakob's shoulder for balance. The touch burned through layers of wool, and Jakob froze, hyper aware of Harald's fingers curled into his coat.

"Sorry," Harald murmured, but he didn't move his hand immediately. "Not used to real ground. Palace paths are always perfectly maintained."

Something about the way he said it—like he was admitting a fault rather than pointing out a privilege—made Jakob's chest tight. He reached back without thinking, steadying Harald with a hand on his arm. The wool of his father's sweater was soft under his palm.

"Just follow my steps," Jakob said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. "I know where the ice hides."

They made their way to the barn like that, connected by Harald's grip on Jakob's shoulder, moving in an awkward dance across the frozen yard. The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten, painting everything in shades of gray and blue. Harald's breath clouded in the air, mixing with Jakob's own.

Jakob yanked the barn door open harder than necessary, breathing in the warmth and scent of hay. The cows shifted in their stalls, their low moos echoing off the wooden walls. It should have felt normal. Routine. But nothing felt routine with Harald standing there in borrowed clothes, looking around the barn with that same quiet wonder he'd shown in the house.

"Morning, ladies," Jakob managed, forcing himself to focus on the familiar task ahead. He led Harald to Anskie's stall, where the brown-and-white cow greeted them with a gentle head butt against Jakob's shoulder. "This is Anskie. Watch out for her, she's… enthusiastic. And sometimes cranky."

Harald stepped forward, and something in Jakob's chest caught at how carefully he approached the cow, how gently he reached out to let her sniff his hand.

"Hello, beautiful," Harald murmured, and Anskie pushed her nose into his palm like she'd known him all her life.

Jakob looked away, his throat suddenly tight. Because this was his world—his barn, his animals, his morning routine—and Harald was stepping into it as naturally as if he belonged here. As if he'd always belonged here.

"Right," Jakob said roughly, grabbing the milk pail. "Let's see if she likes you as much once you start trying to milk her."

Jakob led Anskie to the milking stall, his movements automatic after years of practice. He positioned the stool and pail, then glanced at Harald hovering uncertainly nearby. The prince was watching his every move with an intensity that made Jakob's skin prickle.

"First thing—always wash the udder. Clean hands, clean udder, clean milk."

He demonstrated with practiced efficiency, aware of Harald's eyes following his every motion. The routine that usually calmed him now felt charged, electric.

"Here." Jakob shifted on the stool, making room. "Try it yourself."

Their shoulders brushed as Harald settled beside him. The borrowed sweater was soft against Jakob's arm, and this close, he could smell his father's soap on Harald's skin mixed with something distinctly palace-bred — some subtle cologne that probably cost more than his mother's monthly wage. The combination made his head spin.

Harald reached for the udder, his hands hesitant. Anskie shifted, restless at his tentative touch.

"Like this." Without thinking, Jakob covered Harald's hands with his own. The contrast was stark — his dusty fingers against Harald's smooth skin. He could feel the prince's pulse jumping beneath his palm, quick and unsteady. "Firm, but gentle. Find the rhythm."

"I don't want to hurt her," Harald murmured, his voice low and uncertain. He was looking down at their joined hands, cheeks flushed pink in the early morning light.

"You won't." Jakob's voice came out rougher than he meant it to. He guided Harald's fingers, showing him the motion. "She's tougher than she looks. You just need to..." He swallowed hard. "To know how to touch her."

Harald's breath hitched. Jakob could feel the tension in the prince's shoulders, see how his lower lip was caught between his teeth in concentration. Or something else entirely. The barn suddenly felt too warm, despite the pre-dawn chill.

"There," Jakob managed, as milk finally hit the pail in a steady stream. "You've got it."

He should move away. He should definitely stop touching Harald's hands. But Harald's fingers flexed under his, and the small movement sent heat crawling up Jakob's spine.

"Jakob?" Harald's voice was barely a whisper.