Page 56 of The Broken Dawn

Harald stared down at the portfolio in his hands, feeling the weight of it—not just the physical weight, but the terrible knowledge it contained. Thousands of Polish soldiers were fighting and dying, believing that allies were coming to their aid. Thousands of civilians were enduring bombing raids, thinking that British and French planes would soon arrive to challenge German air superiority.

But no one was coming.

"There's something else," Sigrid said, her voice even softer now. "Father asked specifically about your friend."

"My friend?" Harald's head snapped up.

"The Jewish boy. Eliasberg." Sigrid's eyes were grave. "Father's been receiving reports about what's happening to Jews in occupied territories. He's... concerned."

Harald felt his chest constrict. "Jakob is Swedish. He was born in Russia, but he's been here since he was a child."

"That may not matter if things continue this way." Sigrid glanced toward the library where they'd left Jakob "Father wanted me to tell you to be careful. Not just about your... friendship, but about being seen to take too much interest in his welfare. Christian has been making comments."

Harald's jaw tightened. "Of course he has."

"Just be careful." Sigrid touched his cheek gently. "I've never seen you as fascinated with anyone as you are with that boy,. But these are dangerous times, and Christian is looking for any advantage he can find."

Harald nodded, unable to deny what his sister had clearly observed. "I'll be careful. But I won't desert him."

"I wouldn't expect you to." Sigrid smiled sadly. "You've always had more courage than the rest of us combined." She glanced at her watch. "I should go. Mother will be suspicious if I'm gone too long."

"Thank you for bringing these," Harald said, holding up the portfolio. "And for the warning."

Sigrid embraced him briefly. "Just remember, little brother — being happy is a way to resist all the horror. Don't let them take that from you." She pulled back, her expression suddenly lighter. "Now, go back to your handsome friend and finish saving Karl XII's army from the snow. At least that disaster is safely in the past."

Harald watched as his sister's car pulled away, the diplomatic portfolio heavy in his hands. The weight of the world seemed to press down on him—his father's illness, his mother's ambitions, Christian's scheming, and now the betrayal of Poland by nations that had sworn to protect her.

He took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air, trying to steady himself before returning to the library. Jakob would notice something was wrong; he always did. And Harald wasn't sure he could explain the cold dread that had settled in his stomach—the fear that what was happening to Poland now was just the beginning, and that the ripples would eventually reach Swedish shores.

With a final glance at the retreating car, Harald turned and walked back toward the library, his mind already forming the careful words he would use to explain his troubled expression when Jakob inevitably asked what was wrong.

When Harald reentered the library, Jakob was still bent over their maps, but he looked up immediately, his expression shifting from concentration to concern.

"What's wrong?" he asked, straightening. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Harald hesitated, the portfolio clutched in his hand. There were protocols about sharing diplomatic information, even with someone he trusted. But the weight of carrying this knowledge alone seemed suddenly unbearable.

"It's Poland," he said finally, his voice low despite the empty library. "Britain and France are abandoning them. No air support, no ground forces. Nothing."

Jakobs face darkened. "But they promised⁠—"

"I know." Harald set the portfolio on the table, careful to keep the papers inside hidden. "They're going to let Poland fall."

Jakob was silent for a moment, his jaw working as he processed this. "Those bastards," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "All those people..."

Harald sank into a chair, suddenly exhausted. "I keep thinking about what we just discussed— all those soldiers who died because their commanders made bad decisions. Only now it's happening again, only worse, because they know exactly what they're doing."

Jakob moved to stand beside him, close enough that Harald could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Is there anything Sweden can do?"

"We're neutral," Harald said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "We can't intervene without violating our own policies. And we're too small to make a difference anyway."

"So we just watch."

"We just watch." Harald looked up at Jakob, seeing the same helpless anger in his eyes that Harald felt churning in his own chest. "Sometimes I hate being right about things. I told Freddie weeks ago that the western powers wouldn't follow through."

Jakob placed a hand on Harald's shoulder, a brief touch that nevertheless sent warmth through him. "You need to get away from all this for a while," he said quietly. "Come to the farm this weekend. We can walk by the lake, clear your head."

Harald knew exactly what "walking by the lake" meant—the sun-warmed rock, Jakob's skin against his, the momentary freedom from all the weight he carried. The memory of their last visit sent heat through his body, temporarily displacing the cold dread that had settled there.