Page 79 of The Broken Dawn

Jakob's expression was unreadable, a careful mask sliding into place. But his hand reached out, fingers brushing against Hal's for the briefest moment. "I'll be here," he said quietly. "Go. Your family needs you."

"Your Royal Highness," Eklund's voice cut through the moment. "We must depart."

Hal nodded, unable to tear his eyes from Jakob's face. He wanted to memorize every detail—the stubborn curl that fell across his forehead, the slight cleft in his chin, the way his eyes caught the light.

"Crown Prince," Eklund said, more insistently.

The title fell between them like a physical barrier. Jakob's expression shifted, something resigned and sad settling over his features. He stepped back, squaring his shoulders, and gave a small, formal bow.

"Your Royal Highness," he said, the formal address a knife between Hal's ribs.

Hal opened his mouth to protest, to say something—anything—that might bridge the sudden chasm between them. But Christian was at his elbow, guiding him away with surprising gentleness.

"Come," Christian murmured. "There will be time later."

But as they walked away, Hal knew with cold certainty that there wouldn't be. Time had run out the moment Freddie's boat capsized in the churning waters. Whatever might have been between him and Jakob now felt as impossible as bringing his brother back from the depths of the sea.

Chapter 14

November 20, 1939

The palace car's radio kept repeating the news of his brother's death, each announcement more formal than the last. Harald made it through three repetitions before the words "Deceased Crown Prince Karl Fredrick" stopped making sense entirely. He gestured for the driver to turn it off, and they made the rest of the journey to Stockholm in the silence and the dark, Hal crying quietly in the back ad the driver and his cousin politely pretended to neither hear or see his grief. as the twilight turned to evening and his new Crown Prince went completely to pieces.

Even Hal wasn't sure what he was crying about. His mind was blank, cycling between two poles of grief and horror — his brother, beloved and golden and perfect, was dead. He'd never see him or hear his voice again. And, the opposite pole, that he was now trapped by the pressure of a title and crown that he had never, ever wanted.

As they came into Stockholm, Hal took a moment to try and collect himself, sipping water and using a handkerchief to clean his face and dry his eyes. The streets of the old city were wrong. The usual bustle of Gamla Stan had gone quiet, as if the whole city was holding its breath. Black banners hung limp in the early winter air, and the palace guards were already holding back a growing crowd of mourners in dark clothes. White flowers appeared like stars against the sea of black.

"Crown Prince!" someone called. "Prince Harald!"

He turned, expecting to see Freddie beside him. The empty space where his brother should have been made it all feel horrifically real. There was no shadow to hide in anymore, no broad shoulders to deflect attention. Just Hal, alone on the palace steps, while the crowd's calls echoed wrong against the ancient stones.

"Your Royal Highness," they said, and each word felt like a lie.

A woman in the front row pressed forward, a single white lily trembling in her outstretched hand. The guard moved to stop her, but Hal waved him back. Something in her face - the raw grief there, the desperate need to acknowledge this shared loss - drew him down the steps toward her.

"For our Crown Prince," she whispered, and Hal wasn't sure if she meant Freddie or himself. The lily was still wet with dew, its petals perfect and unblemished. Like Freddie had been perfect. Like Hal would never be.

He accepted it carefully, aware of how many eyes were on him, how this moment would be remembered. The sweet fragrance cut through the autumn air, through the fog of unreality that had surrounded him since that terrible moment at Riddarhuset. The woman's eyes met his, full of tears, and suddenly he could feel his own grief crack open inside his chest.

These people had loved Freddie too, had placed their hopes in him as their future king. But mixed with their mourning was something else - a tentative offering of support, of acceptance. They weren't looking at him as Freddie's replacement, but as their prince who was suffering the same loss they were.

Looking up, out at the people gathered in the dark in the rotunda of the castle, crowd's quiet murmur changed becoming something warmer, protective almost. They weren't just mourning Freddie anymore - they were also welcoming Hal, accepting him as their own. He looked down at the lily in his hand, at the droplets of water still clinging to its petals, and realized this was his last moment as just Harald. Just Hal. The newspapers would capture this image - the new Crown Prince accepting his first tribute - but they wouldn't see how his fingers trembled, how close he was to falling apart.

Hal took a deep breath, allowing him a moment to borrow their strength, and then let the guard open the door for him to go inside.

"Your Royal Highness." He said quietly, as Hal entered. "The family is gathered in the Red Salon, upstairs."

The palace halls stretched vast and empty, the usual bustle of courtiers and servants muted to whispers behind closed doors. The lily trembled in his hand as his footsteps echoed against marble floors that suddenly felt foreign, like walking through a dream of his own home.

Everything was different.

The guards didn't nod familiarly as he passed - they snapped to rigid attention, eyes forward, faces carefully blank. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch him with new intensity, their painted eyes following his progress through halls that had never felt so long before. Even the air felt different, heavy with the sweet-sick scent of funeral flowers already appearing in every corner.

More than anything in the world he wanted to talk to his brother. His feet almost turned toward Freddie's apartments - how many times had he sought his brother's counsel there? But those rooms would be sealed now, Freddie's personal effects catalogued and stored away as if he'd never existed. As if he hadn't been here just yesterday, laughing about some joke over breakfast, his presence filling these halls that now felt so empty.

Hal's legs felt like lead as he climbed the familiar stairs. Each step brought him closer to a reality he wasn't ready to face - a world without Freddie. And, at the same time, a world where he had to be the Crown Prince. Where he was going to be the King.

When he reached the Red Room, the guards opened the doors without announcement, breaking centuries of protocol in deference to grief.