Page 57 of The Broken Dawn

"I can't just ignore what's happening," he said, though without much conviction.

"You can't change it either, not right now," Jakob countered. "But you can take a few hours to remember what you're fighting for." His voice dropped lower. "What's the point of all this if we never get to live?"

Harald looked up at him, struck by the simple wisdom in those words. What was the point of fighting for a better world if you never allowed yourself to experience any of its joys?

"Saturday," he said finally. "I can come Saturday morning."

Jakob's smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. "Good. I'll tell my mother to expect you for breakfast." His expression grew more serious. "And Hal... we'll figure this out. All of it. Together."

Harald nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Together. Such a simple word, and yet it carried so much—promise, comfort, and a defiance against the darkening world around them.

Jakob squeezed his shoulder once more before returning to their maps. "Now, let's finish saving Karl XII's army. Maybe we can learn something that will help with the current mess."

Harald took a deep breath, allowing himself to be pulled back into their tactical exercise. The world was unraveling, yes, but here in this quiet corner of the library, with Jakob's steady presence beside him, he could almost believe they might find a way through the coming storm.

And on Saturday, after chores and alone by the lake, he would allow himself to forget, just for a little while, that he was a prince in a world at war. For a few precious hours, he would simply be a young man in love, stealing moments of joy in defiance of all that sought to destroy it.

Chapter 10

October 22, 1939

The Military History Society's annual lecture was the most prestigious academic event at Riddarhuset, transforming the austere academy into something that felt almost civilized.

Harald adjusted his dress uniform—worn with his actual medals rather than his cadet insignia, which made him feel like a child dressed in his parents' clothing —and surveyed the grand hall where Swedish officers, academics, and nobility mingled with the Riddarhuset cadets beneath crystal chandeliers.

"Three weeks ago, I was milking cows for the first time," Harald murmured to himself, the memory of all the times that he'd seen dawn at the Eliasberg farm since that first one warming him despite the formal chill of the gathering.

The past weeks had settled into a rhythm: classes growing increasingly focused on modern warfare as Poland's resistance crumbled, secret dawn visits to help Jakob with chores, and diplomatic dispatches arriving with increasing urgency from Stockholm. The war was no longer theoretical—it was reshaping Europe while they discussed its tactics in classrooms.

Harald spotted Christian across the room, holding court with several senior officers, his golden head bent in conspiratorial conversation. Since the news from Poland, Christian had grown more vocal about his admiration for German efficiency. Something had changed in his cousin—a hardening, a certainty that made Harald uneasy.

The doors at the back of the hall opened, and Harald's breath caught as Jakob entered. Unlike the other students who looked uncomfortable in their formal attire, Jakob seemed comfortable in his — like it had grown on him. But something was wrong—Jakob's face was pale, his normally confident stride hesitant.

Their eyes met across the crowded room, and Jakob gave a small shake of his head before being pulled into conversation with their literature professor and two other cadets.

The lecture began—something about the strategic failures of the Maginot Line—but Harald couldn't focus on it. He didn't care about the Maginot Line, and kept watching Jakob sitting rigidly at attention, his eyes fixed forward but seeing nothing. Whatever had happened, it was serious enough to shake Jakob's composure.

As the lecture concluded and the mingling resumed, Harald found himself cornered by the German military attaché to Sweden, forced to make diplomatic small talk while Jakob slipped away without speaking to him.

"Your Highness," Christian's voice came from behind, smooth as silk. "A word in private?" His cousin had that predatory look Harald remembered from childhood games - the one that meant someone was about to get hurt. Harald followed Christian into a small alcove, away from the crowd. Christian's smile was icy and cutting.

"I've been meaning to speak with you about your... relationship with that Jewish boy," Christian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "It's become quite the spectacle for those of us who have been paying attention these last few months."

Harald's mouth went dry. "Eliasberg is a brilliant tactician and will be a brilliant officer. He'll be a credit to our military and I'm not the only person who has noticed that."

"Oh, but I think people noticed far more than that." Christian's eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction. "Did you think no one saw you sneaking off to his family's little farm? Or how you disappeared together after the homecoming ball?" His lip curled in disgust. "How the mighty Vasa house has fallen—a prince rutting in the fields with a dirty Jew."

Harald's fists clenched at his sides. "You know nothing about—" his voice broke off, unsure how he was going to finish that sentence. Christian knew nothing about so many things; the responsibilities of royalty. Loyalty. Love.

"I know everything, cousin." Christian's voice was silky with triumph. "I know about every pre-dawn visit, every lingering glance between you, every time you've touched him when you thought no one was looking." He leaned closer, his breath hot against Harald's ear. "Your mother asked me to watch you when term started. She was... concerned about your development. Worried you might be too soft, too bookish."

The blood drained from Harald's face. "You've been spying on me? For her?"

"Of course." Christian's smile was knife-sharp. "Who do you think suggested I mentor you here at Riddarhuset? Who do you think receives my weekly reports about your progress? About your... associations?"

Harald's stomach dropped. "You wouldn't," he whispered and even he could hear the fear in his voice. If his mother knew about Jakob, Hal couldn't keep him safe from whatever she might do.

"Wouldn't I?" Christian laughed softly. "Aunt Margreta and I have always understood each other in a way that you haven't. She knows what's best for Sweden, for the monarchy." He straightened Harald's medal with fingers that lingered a moment too long. "And a young prince who prefers the company of Jewish peasant boys to the young ladies of the nobility is definitely not what's best."