Chapter 4 #5
The milk splashed again. Jakob swore, readjusting his grip.
This was ridiculous. He was supposed to be a serious person.
A charity student at Riddarhuset. He had responsibilities.
He absolutely should not be thinking about how he had looked reading in the library last week, or how he got excited about obscure military histories, or how he'd spent twenty minutes at breakfast explaining Baltic naval tactics while gesturing so enthusiastically he'd knocked over his coffee.
Except he was thinking about all of it. About how Harald somehow managed to be both perfectly princely and a complete disaster, usually within the same hour.
How he'd probably never done a farm chore in his life but would absolutely try if someone asked him, just like he'd thrown himself into their mud pit strategy with total commitment.
How he was brilliant and capable and also regularly forgot his hat and got lost in books and—
"Oh no," Jakob whispered, as realization hit him like a cavalry charge.
Anskie turned her head to give him a look that clearly said 'Finally figured it out, did you?'
"Shut up," he told her, face burning. "This isn't— I'm not— He's a member of the Royal Family!"
Except that wasn't true, was it? Because Jakob wasn't interested in the Prince at all.
He was falling for Harald, who got mud in his hair and laughed about it.
Who took suggestions from a laundress's son and defended them to his cousin.
Who looked at Jakob like his ideas mattered, who trusted his judgment, who'd stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the tactical exercise like they'd been working together for years instead of weeks.
The bucket wobbled again as Jakob remembered how Harald's hand had felt on his arm, how his voice had dropped when he'd said 'brilliant idea about friction'—
"No," Jakob said firmly, both to himself and the cow.
"Absolutely not. I am not thinking about friction.
Or resistance. Or any other military concepts that could possibly be used as racy metaphors.
I am going to finish milking you, and then I am going to do my other chores, and I am not going to think about how he looks when he's concentrating on something, or how his uniform trousers cling when they're wet, or—"
The bucket tipped.
Jakob caught it before it could spill completely, but not before a good splash hit the barn floor.
He stared at the puddle of milk, mortified.
This was absurd. He wasn't some blushing virgin who'd never looked at another boy before.
He'd known he preferred men since he was fourteen and caught himself watching Sven Andersson strip off his shirt at the lake.
Had even done something about it a few times – stolen kisses behind the raspberry patches, quick fumbling touches in the forest. Nothing to get worked up about.
This felt different.
This wasn't just noticing that someone was handsome, or wanting to touch them. This was noticing everything. The way the prince's eyes crinkled when he smiled. How he always had ink stains on his fingers from taking notes. The angle of his shoulders when he settled into a proper shooting stance.
"I'm in trouble," Jakob told Anskie, who was watching him with what he chose to interpret as sympathy.
"This isn't like Johan Pettersson or Sven Andersson.
This is..." He trailed off, remembering how it had felt to see Harald's whole face light up at their victory.
How his heart had stuttered when the prince had grabbed his arm in excitement.
The cow lowed softly.
"I know," Jakob sighed. "But have you seen how he gets when he's explaining military tactics? Or how he actually listens when people talk? Or how he..." He caught himself. "Of course you haven't, you're a cow. Clearly I've lost my mind completely."
Anskie butted her head against his shoulder.
"You're right. You're absolutely right. I need to focus on milking and stop thinking about how his voice gets all warm when he's excited about something, or how he looks when he's been running drills, or—" The bucket wobbled again. "Oh, hell."
"Yasha?" Rachel's voice came from the barn door. "Mama says you're taking forever and— why is there milk on the floor?"
Jakob jerked upright, nearly knocking over the bucket again. "Nothing! I mean. I just. The cow moved."
Rachel's eyes narrowed. She looked from the milk puddle to Jakob's flushed face to Anskie, who was standing perfectly still and radiating innocence. "The cow moved," she repeated slowly. "You haven't spilled milk since you were twelve, but suddenly the cow moved."
"Yes."
"And this has nothing to do with why you're talking to Anskie about Prince Harald?"
Jakob felt his face heat. "I wasn't—"
"I heard you from outside," Rachel said, her voice careful but knowing. "Something about military tactics?"
"I hate you."
"No you don't." She paused in the barn door. "You should finish up. Mama's waiting."
Jakob turned back to Anskie, grateful Rachel hadn't pressed further. But he could feel her knowing look all the way across the barn.
"Not one word from you, either." he told the cow.