Page 77 of The Broken Dawn

"Shit," Jakob breathed, already scrambling off the bed, fingers working frantically at his buttons. "Shit, shit, shit."

Hal sat up, smoothing his hair, tucking in his shirt with trembling hands. "Just a moment!" he called, voice cracking.

Christian knocked again. "It's urgent, Harald. Open the door."

Hal glanced at Jakob, who had managed to make himself somewhat presentable, though his hair was a wild tangle of curls and his lips were swollen from kissing. There was no hiding what they'd been doing, not really.

"Under the bed," Hal whispered desperately.

Jakob shook his head, something fierce and protective flashing in his eyes. "No. I'm not hiding like some⁠—"

"Please," Hal begged. "Christian will⁠—"

"Let him," Jakob said, chin lifting in defiance. "I'm not ashamed of this. Of us." His voice dropped lower. "If this is our last night, I won't spend it hiding under your bed like a dirty secret."

The door handle rattled. "Harald, if you don't open this door immediately, I'll have to fetch the Commandant."

Hal closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and crossed to the door. He opened it just enough to see Christian's face, hoping to block the view of Jakob behind him.

Christian's eyes were red-rimmed, his face ashen in the dim corridor light. Something in his expression made Hal's stomach drop.

"What is it?" Hal asked, fear creeping up his spine.

Christian's gaze shifted past him, catching on Jakob who stood in the center of the room, disheveled but defiant. A flicker of bitter recognition crossed Christian's face, followed by something darker.

"Well," Christian said, his voice strangely hollow. "I see you're busy."

"Christian," Hal said, warning in his tone. "What do you want?"

Christian's jaw tightened. "The commandant sent me to find you. There's been..." He faltered, something raw and vulnerable breaking through his usual composure. "There's been an accident, Harald."

The way he said it—the careful, measured words, the use of his full name—made Hal's blood run cold. "What kind of accident?"

Christian's eyes flicked to Jakob again, then back to Hal. "It's Freddie."

The world tilted beneath Hal's feet. He gripped the doorframe to steady himself. "What about him?"

"You need to come with me," Christian said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Now. The commandant is waiting."

Hal turned to look at Jakob, who had gone very still, his face a careful mask. Their eyes met across the room, and Hal saw understanding dawn there—whatever was happening, whatever Christian had come to tell him, it was bad. Catastrophically bad.

"Go," Jakob said softly. "I'll be right behind."

Hal nodded, unable to speak past the knot in his throat. He grabbed his uniform jacket from the chair, shrugging it on with numb fingers.

Christian watched this exchange with an unreadable expression. When Hal joined him in the corridor, he leaned in close. "So that's how it is with you two," he murmured, low enough that only Hal could hear. "Interesting."

"Not now, Christian," Hal said, his voice cracking. "Just tell me what happened to my brother."

Christian's face softened, genuine grief replacing the bitter edge of his earlier expression. "Come on," he said, placing a hand on Hal's shoulder. The walk to the commandant's office was the longest of Hal's life. Each step echoed against the polished stone floors, the sound unnaturally loud in the hushed corridor. Christian walked beside him, his usual swagger gone, replaced by a stiff, mechanical gait.

"Christian," Hal tried again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

Christian shook his head, just once. "I can't." The words were clipped, formal—nothing like his cousin's usual drawl. It terrified Hal more than anything else.

The commandant's secretary jumped to attention when they entered the antechamber, her eyes widening as she took in their expressions. "They're waiting for you, Your Royal Highness," she said, gesturing to the heavy oak door.

It was the 'Your Royal Highness' that broke him. Hal's stomach twisted as Christian pushed the door open. The commandant stood by the window, his back ramrod straight, hands clasped behind him. But it was the other figure that made Hal's breath catch—Klas Eklund, the Royal Chamberlain, immaculate in his dark suit despite what must have been a rushed journey from Stockholm.