Page 5 of The Broken Dawn

"Writing letters?" Christian settled into the chair across from Harald's desk without invitation. "How industrious of you. Though I suppose you have a few bridges to burn, don't you?"

"It's nothing important," Harald said quietly.

"Oh, I doubt that." Christian leaned forward, his eyes bright with curiosity. "Let me guess—Oxford? Explaining why Prince Harald Edvard Vasa has decided that military service is more suited to his temperament?"

Harald felt heat rise in his cheeks. "It's personal correspondence."

"Of course it is." Christian's smile was all understanding. "And such a difficult letter to write, I imagine. How does one explain that one's family has... different priorities? That you've belatedly discovered that perhaps some dreams are more appropriate than others?"

Harald stared at the paper in front of him, the words blurring slightly. "I just need to decline politely."

"Decline politely?" Christian repeated, as if tasting the words. "You're not declining a dinner invitation. You're explaining why a Swedish prince has chosen practical service over... what did your mother call it? Theoretical nonsense?"

The casual cruelty of it made Harald's chest tight. "The dean and the Professor were legitimately interested in my ideas. They thought that my particular background could contribute to scholarship and literary analysis."

"I'm sure they did." Christian's voice was silk over steel. "A professor who writes fairy tales about dragons, interested in a prince's essay on — what was it? Brotherly affection? How very specialized of him."

Harald's hands clenched involuntarily. "It's not like that."

"Wasn't it?" Christian tilted his head with false innocence. "Then perhaps you should be more careful about how you express yourself. At Riddarhuset, for instance. The other cadets might misunderstand such soft and feminine interests."

Something cold settled in Harald's stomach. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing dramatic." Christian waved a hand dismissively. "It's just that military academies have their own culture, you understand. Very traditional. Masculine. Boys who seem too bookish, too sensitive, sometimes find the adjustment painful."

"I'm not afraid of hard work⁠—"

"Of course not." Christian's smile widened. "But there's hard work, and then there's, well, fitting in. Making the right impression. Avoiding the sort of attention that can make one's life unpleasant."

Harald stared at his cousin, finally understanding the game being played. "Are you threatening me, cousin?"

"Threatening?" Christian looked genuinely shocked. "Harald, no. Of course not. I'm trying to help you. I've been at Riddarhuset for three years—I know how things work. I know which instructors appreciate proper attitude, which cadets are worth befriending, which behaviors are best avoided."

He leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual authority. "For instance, there was a cadet named Aaberg in my year who fancied himself quite the intellectual. Always quoting poetry, discussing literature. The other boys found it tiresome. When he pressed on, there were… altercations. In the end, he had to leave the institution and transfer to a more suitable school."

"I see," he said quietly.

"I knew you would." Christian's voice warmed with false affection. "You're very smart, Harald. Much smarter than people give you credit for. That's why I know you'll do wonderfully at the academy—as long as you remember that intelligence comes in many forms. Practical intelligence, for instance. Social intelligence."

Harald looked down at his letter, the carefully chosen words suddenly seeming naive. How did one explain to the Professor that medieval literature had become too dangerous to study? That brotherly bonds in ancient texts might make him a target among future officers who were supposed to be forging those same bonds?

"Here," Christian said, reaching across the desk. "Let me help you with that letter."

Before Harald could protest, Christian had pulled the paper toward him, reading the opening lines with obvious amusement.

"'I regret to inform you that circumstances beyond my control...' Oh, Harald, that's far too apologetic. And 'circumstances beyond my control' makes it sound like you're a victim. Much better to frame it as a choice—a mature decision to embrace duty over personal preference."

Christian pulled out his own fountain pen, making quick notes in the margins. "Something like: 'After careful consideration of my responsibilities as a member of the Swedish Royal Family, I have decided to pursue military education rather than academic study. While I appreciate your interest in my work, I believe that practical service to my country must take precedence over scholarly pursuits.'"

Each word felt like a nail being driven into a coffin. Harald watched his cousin reshape the narrative with surgical precision, turning Harald's destruction into Harald's wisdom.

"There," Christian said with satisfaction, sliding the paper back across the desk. "Much more appropriate, don't you think? Shows proper priorities, proper understanding of duty. Professor Tolkien will respect that—if he's any sort of gentleman."

Harald stared at the revised letter, recognizing the truth of it even as he hated it. This was how it would be recorded in history—Prince Harald's mature choice to serve Sweden rather than pursue personal interests.

"You'll find," Christian continued, settling back in his chair, "that Riddarhuset appreciates that sort of clarity. Boys who understand their place, their purpose. Boys who don't complicate things with unnecessary... complications."

He stood gracefully, moving toward the door with the same easy confidence he'd entered with. "I'm quite looking forward to having family at the academy, Harald. It will be lovely to keep an eye on you. Make sure you're... adjusting properly."