Page 64 of The Broken Dawn

"I am sure that His Majesty will be especially interested to hear how his nephew has brought shame upon the Royal Family."

Christian's laugh turned even colder. "Come now, sir. What kind of loving brother would allow his precious little sister anywhere near someone like me?" His eyes glittered with malice as he twisted the knife. "Unless, of course, Cadet Eliasberg orchestrated this himself. A clever way to compromise a member of the royal family, wouldn't you say?"

Hal's stomach churned. Rachel stood frozen, the sheet slipping further as tears tracked down her cheeks. Behind other doors, he could hear the rustle of awakening cadets, drawn by the commotion.

The Commandant's face darkened to a dangerous purple. "You dare suggest that one of our most promising cadets would use his own sister in such a manner?" His knuckles whitened on his sword hilt. "Your attempts to deflect responsibility only compound your disgrace, Cadet Lieutenant."

More doors creaked open along the hallway. Rachel tried to wrap the sheet tighter, but it had become tangled around her feet. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as she stood exposed before the growing crowd, Christian's cruel words still hanging in the air.

Hal couldn't bear it anymore. He stepped into the hallway, keeping his voice steady despite the rage coursing through him. "Sir, permission to assist the young lady?" Without waiting for an answer, he shrugged off his own dressing gown and held it out to her.

"Granted," the Commandant barked, turning his glare back to Christian. "And you will remain at attention until I decide what to do with you."

Rachel clutched Hal's robe like a lifeline, her fingers trembling as she wrapped it around herself. Hal placed himself between her and the growing crowd of spectators. "Miss Eliasberg, please allow me to escort you to my quarters where you can dress properly."

Christian's mouth twisted. "How gallant of you, cousin. Taking up where your friend left off?"

The Commandant's hand cracked across Christian's face before Hal could respond. "One more word, Cadet Lieutenant, and you'll be in the stockade before sunrise."

Hal guided Rachel to his room, careful not to touch her beyond offering his steady arm. Once inside, he immediately went to his trunk and pulled out the grey wool sweater he'd borrowed from Jakob for farm chores weeks ago. The fabric felt rough against his fingers, carrying memories of mud and honest labor that seemed a world away from the crisis unfolding in his dormitory.

"Here," he said softly, turning his back to give her privacy. "It was your father's, I think." Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric and a choked sob as Rachel recognized the sweater, and his heart ached for both siblings caught in Christian's cruel game. The wood creaked beneath his feet as he crossed to the small washstand. The crystal water pitcher—a gift from his mother—caught the early morning light as he poured a glass and handed it to Rachel without looking at her directly.

"Did he hurt you?" The question scraped from his throat, raw and urgent. "Because if he did⁠—"

"No." Rachel's voice cracked as she clutched the glass with both hands. The water trembled, catching the light. "He was always such a gentleman. He brought me flowers and told me I was beautiful and—" A sob tore through her words. "How could he say those things about me? About Jakob?" She gulped the water, shoulders shaking beneath the too-large sweater. "Last night he said that he loved me."

Hal perched awkwardly on the edge of his desk, giving her space while keeping his gaze steady on the floor between them. The weight of responsibility pressed down on his shoulders. This wasn't just about Rachel or Christian anymore—this was about Jakob too, about the twisted game his cousin was playing with all of them.

"Christian has always been..." Hal chose his words carefully, remembering the poisonous whispers in the palace hallways, the calculated cruelty masked by charm. "He's not what he seems, Rachel. He shows people what they want to see." He risked a glance at her tear-stained face. "I'm sorry he hurt you."

Rachel wiped her nose with her sleeve—her father's sleeve—in a gesture so reminiscent of her brother that Hal's heart twisted painfully in his chest. "I thought I could handle him," she whispered. "I'm not stupid, you know. I knew he liked me because I was Jakob's sister. I thought... I thought I could change his mind." A bitter laugh escaped her. "I told myself I was being clever, but he was playing me the whole time."

The confession sat between them, raw and painful. Hal wanted to tell her that he understood, that he too had been drawn in by the possibility of connection, of being seen. But the words stuck in his throat, too personal, too revealing. Instead, he offered her his handkerchief, the embroidered royal crest a stark reminder of the world that separated them.

A knock at the door made them both jump. He opened the door a cautious few inches to find Stensson standing in the hallway, his usually relaxed expression replaced by tight-lipped concern.

"The Commandant wants you in his office immediately, Your Highness," Stensson said, his eyes flicking past Hal to Rachel's huddled form. "He said it's urgent."

Hal nodded, turning back to Rachel. "Will you be all right until I can send someone for Jakob and your mother?" He kept his voice gentle, as though speaking to a wounded animal. "I'll make sure they come quickly."

Rachel pulled the sweater tighter around her shoulders, her fingers twisting in the fabric. She looked impossibly young and fragile amid his sparse military furnishings. Her dark curls fell across her face as she nodded, a last tear tracking down her cheek. "I'll be fine," she sniffled, lifting her chin in a gesture so like her brother's that Hal's chest ached. "Just... just tell Yasha I'm so sorry."

The Commandant's office had never felt so cold, despite the fire crackling in the corner grate. Hal stood at attention, his spine rigid as steel, gaze fixed at a point just above the older man's left shoulder. Commandant Lindquist's face remained impassive as he gestured for Hal to sit in the wooden chair opposite his massive oak desk.

"Your Highness, I need you to tell me exactly what you witnessed this morning," Commandant Lindquist said, steepling his fingers. His carefully neutral expression couldn't entirely mask the disgust lingering beneath. "And everything you know about Cadet Lieutenant Vasa's interactions with the Eliasberg family. Leave nothing out."

Hal's mouth dried. The weight of what he knew—all the things he couldn't say—pressed against his ribs like a physical force. Christian's threats against Jakob, the sensation of Jakob's hands mapping his body the night before—all of it swirled in his mind, demanding voice. But only certain truths could be spoken here. "Cadet Lieutenant Vasa has repeatedly expressed... disdain for Cadet Eliasberg, sir. He's made remarks about Eliasberg's heritage and finances that violated the academy's code of conduct."

The Commandant's pen scratched against paper as Hal continued, carefully stepping around the landmine of his own relationship with Jakob. He described Christian's thinly veiled threats during tactical exercises, the pointed comments about "proper Swedes" over mess hall dinners, the way he'd deliberately targeted Jakob during drills. Each word felt like threading a needle in darkness—revealing enough truth to be honest without exposing the deeper, more dangerous secret that bound them all together.

"And Miss Eliasberg's involvement?" The Commandant's keen eyes narrowed as he set down his quill. "When did you first notice her... relationship with Cadet Lieutenant Vasa?"

Hal swallowed hard, choosing his words with surgical precision. "I became aware that Christian had approached Rachel Eliasberg several weeks ago, sir. He mentioned—" Hal's hand tightened imperceptibly on the arm of the chair, "—that he found her 'charming' and 'useful'. I cautioned him about the impropriety but..." He let his voice trail off, the implication clear. Each carefully chosen detail formed a mosaic of truth that concealed the central image. "This morning was the first I realized how far the relationship had progressed."

When the Commandant finally dismissed him with orders to collect Rachel's belongings from Christian's quarters, Hal's uniform shirt was damp with sweat beneath his jacket. The walk through the dormitory corridor felt endless, every pair of eyes tracking his progress, whispers dying as he passed.

Hal pushed open his own door, wanting to check on Rachel before facing Christian's room, the sight that greeted him made his heart ache. Rachel sat curled against Jakob's chest on the edge of Hal's bed, her face buried in her brother's shoulder as he stroked her hair. Jakob looked up, his eyes meeting Hal's with a silent heartbreak that transcended words. Exhaustion lined his face, but his jaw remained set, defiant even in grief. The siblings made a tableau of quiet suffering—Rachel's fingers clutching Jakob's shirt, his hand steady against her back, both of them wounded by the same betrayal.