Page 67 of The Broken Dawn

The words hit Hal like physical blows. "Mrs. Eliasberg⁠—"

"And he was right, wasn't he?" Her voice remained terrifyingly calm. "Because here I stand, dismissed from my position. Here my daughter sits, her reputation in tatters. And there you sit, thinking you can fix it all with a word to your father or a handful of krona." She shook her head. "You are very like your cousin in some ways, Your Highness. You both think you understand power."

"I'm nothing like Christian," Hal protested, but the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

"No?" Sarah's eyes were keen. "Then tell me, when you look at my son, do you see him? Or do you see someone who makes you feel like more than just the spare prince?"

The door opened before Hal could respond, admitting Jakob and Rachel. Jakob carried Rachel's neatly folded dress, his face tight with barely contained fury. Rachel had changed into her own clothes, though she still clutched Jakob's robe like a shield.

"The car is waiting, Mama," Jakob said quietly. His eyes met Hal's for a moment, and Hal saw his own helplessness reflected there.

Sarah nodded once, gathering her dignity around her like a cloak. "Come, Rachel." She paused at the door, looking back at Hal. "Your Highness. I trust you'll remember what I said about bowing."

Chapter 12

October 30, 1939

The school was in an uproar for the rest of the week after what had happened to Christian, and despite their best efforts both Hal and Jakob were being watched far too closely to sneak away, especially together. By the time things had calmed, Hal was more than a little desperate to speak to Jakob, to see him and touch him and reassure himself that despite the chaos surrounding them, things between the two of them were still good.

It was with only a little trepidation that Hal slipped through the heavy door of the armory, grateful for the familiar smell of gun oil and leather after the biting cold outside. Jakob had asked to meet him here, volunteering for the evening inventory duty. It was a good choice - private enough for the conversation he knew that they needed to have, but innocent-looking enough that no one would question them for being alone in the same place.

Jakob sat at the worn wooden table, methodically checking practice grenades against an inventory list. His fingers moved with practiced efficiency, lifting each metal shell, confirming the blue band that marked it as inert, and setting it carefully in a wooden crate. The repetitive motion seemed to calm him, though his expression remained troubled in a way that had nothing to do with his mother's cutting observations from earlier.

"I need to tell you something," Jakob said as Hal approached, his voice scraped raw. He didn't look up from the grenade in his hand, turning it over and over like he could somehow find an answer in its cold metal surface.

Hal's chest tightened at Jakob's tone. He crossed to the table, letting his fingers brush Jakob's shoulder. "You know you can tell me anything."

Jakob set down the practice grenade with deliberate care, aligning it perfectly with the others in the crate. When he finally looked up, his eyes held a devastation that made Hal's breath catch. "Christian is gone and Rachel is safe from him. But my mother is still losing her position here." His voice cracked slightly. "Which means we lose the cottage. Mama and Rachel have to find somewhere else to live."

Hal felt like he wanted to cry. The cottage. Their cottage, where they'd stolen hours together, where Jakob had taught him to milk cows and Hal had learned what it meant to belong somewhere that wasn't a palace.

"The Isaacsons—they've agreed to take Rachel in so she can finish her schooling in the village." Jakob continued, his fingers trembling as he reached for another grenade. "But there's no room for me. And without Mama working here..." His voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I can't stay at Riddarhuset. I was only ever given a place here as a courtesy to her. Charity for the laundress's son."

Hal's hands shook as the implications sank in. "But… that's not fair. You're the top tactical student in our year. The academy needs you. Sweden needs you." I need you, Hal thought desperately.

"The academy will survive without one poor cadet here on sufferance," Jakob said, his voice bitter. He pulled the pin from a practice grenade, then slid it back in with a metallic click that punctuated his words. "And Sweden isn't exactly without good tactical minds."

Hal paced the length of the armory, Swedish curses falling from his lips. "There has to be something we can do. I could speak to the Commandant⁠—"

"Yes, yes, you're going to fix all my problems with money and royal privilege." Jakob caught his wrist as he passed, thumb pressing against Hal's racing pulse. The practice grenade rolled from his other hand, coming to rest against a stack of cleaning rags. "Stop it. We need to think."

Hal stared down at where Jakob's fingers circled his wrist, at the contrast between their skin tones in the lamplight. "Think? What is there to think about? You can't leave—" me, he thought. You can't leave me. The fight suddenly drained from him, leaving only the cold weight of fear. "Maybe... maybe it's for the best. Maybe we should⁠—"

"What? No. Absolutely not." Jakob's grip tightened. "Hal, where is this coming from? Yesterday you were ready to fight Christian over Rachel, and now you're giving up?"

Hal couldn't meet his eyes. "Your mother... she asked if when I look at you, I really see you. Or if I just see someone who makes me feel like more than the spare prince." His voice cracked. "And she's right, Jakob. You do make me feel that way. Like I'm more than just Freddie's replacement, waiting in the wings. But what if that means I'm not really seeing you at all?"

"Oh, Hal." Jakob's voice was impossibly gentle. He cupped Hal's face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "You think I don't feel the same way? That you don't make me feel like more than just the charity case, the farmer's son? We see each other better because of how we make each other feel, not worse."

He pressed their foreheads together. "My mother worries because that's what mothers do. But she doesn't see how you look at me when I'm arguing in class. How you listen to what I say, not just what you want to hear. She doesn't know how you help with the farm chores not because you have to, but because you want us to have more time to be together, and don't care if shoveling shit is the price of it."

"You want to know how I know you see me?" Jakob's hands slid down to grip Hal's shoulders. "When Christian threatened to have me expelled, you didn't try to solve it with royal privilege. You helped me prove myself instead. When I told you about leaving Russia, you asked about what I remembered, and you've never once asked about my parents or their jobs or families or what political connections they might have had. You just wanted to know me."

Hal's breath hitched. "But your mother⁠—"

"My mother," Jakob said firmly, "doesn't know you. She doesn't know that you sneak me extra black bread from the kitchens because it's my favorite. Or that you're the only person who's ever asked me if I actually want to be a soldier, rather than assuming I'm just here because it's the best chance I have to make something of myself."

He pulled Hal closer, voice dropping to that low, intense tone that always made Hal's knees weak. "And she definitely doesn't know that I have no intention of letting you push me away because you think too much. I don't care what your mother or my mother or the whole damn royal family thinks. I'm not leaving you, Hal. Not for anything."