Chapter 5
The stiff collar of his dress uniform chafed against Harald's neck like a polished shackle.
He tugged slightly at it, careful not to disturb the regimented perfection of his appearance while standing in the receiving line.
The blue sash of the Order of the Seraphim cut diagonally across his chest, the silver star pinned precisely over his heart—ornaments that only emphasized his otherness in this room.
The rest of the cadets had long settled into the ball, but due to his station he was stuck standing here, shaking the hands of the great and good of the region while his year-mates had fun.
"Your Royal Highness, what an honor," an older gentleman murmured, bowing his head slightly. Harald nodded, his practiced smile fixed in place as he scanned the grand ballroom from his position beside Commandant Lindquist, whose medals clinked softly whenever he shifted his considerable bulk.
The ballroom of Riddarhuset gleamed under the light of crystal chandeliers, the polished floor reflecting the dress uniforms of cadets and the gowns of the few women in attendance—mostly officers' wives and daughters.
The musicians in the corner played a waltz that somehow managed to sound both festive and funereal to his ears.
"Remember, Your Highness, these connections will serve you well in your future command," Commandant Lindquist whispered between introductions.
Harald nodded mechanically, wondering if he realized how hollow those words sounded.
The thought of commanding men in battle made his stomach clench, yet here he stood, adorned like a military doll in his ornate uniform with its silver braiding and ceremonial sword that hung awkwardly at his hip.
The orchestra's final note hung in the air as the receiving line finally dissolved. Harald accepted a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, rolling his shoulders discreetly to ease the stiffness from standing at attention for so long. The first sip tasted like freedom—bitter, but welcome.
"Your Highness survived admirably," Commandant Lindquist said, clapping Harald's shoulder with a meaty hand that nearly sloshed the champagne over the rim. "Now you can enjoy the festivities."
Privately, Harald was rather hoping that if he stood very still and spoke to no one, he might escape back to his room in under an hour. He had left Bilbo and his dwarves in the clutches of some very non-mythological trolls, and honestly, he'd rather face them than another minute of this party.
Harald's practiced smile remained fixed as he scanned the ballroom.
His eyes found Jakob almost immediately—a talent he'd developed over the past weeks without meaning to.
He hadn't been sure that the cadet would come, seeing as he didn't reside at Riddarhuset and was bound to chores and farm work.
Still, Jakob stood near one of the tall windows, his uniform blending in with the other cadets and dignitaries, unremarkable to the untrained eye.
Jakob caught his gaze across the room, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that half-smile that made Harald's heart beat faster. He lifted his glass slightly in Harald's direction, a subtle acknowledgment that would go unnoticed by anyone else.
That's when the main doors swung open.
Christian stood in the doorway, resplendent in his dress uniform with every medal and honor precisely placed. But it wasn't his cousin that made Hal's breath catch—it was the young woman on Christian's arm.
The young woman — who could only be Jakob's sister, Rachel — wore a modest dress of deep green wool, carefully pressed and altered to approximate the current fashion.
The neckline had been modestly lowered and the sleeves reshaped—evidence of her own skilled needlework.
Her dark curls had been arranged in an elegant style that emphasized the delicate line of her neck, the brightness of her eyes and her pale skin shining.
She looked beautiful—the kind of beauty that comes from youth and excitement rather than expensive fabrics.
But she still looked completely out of place among the silk and satin gowns surrounding her, which was likely exactly what his cousin had intended.
The room didn't quite fall silent, but the change was palpable. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Heads turned. The orchestra faltered for just a moment before continuing with renewed vigor, as if to cover the collective intake of breath.
Harald's eyes darted back to Jakob. The half-smile had vanished, replaced by a tightness around his mouth that Harald recognized as carefully controlled fury. The glass in Jakob's hand tilted dangerously, and for a moment Harald thought it might shatter in his grip.
Christian guided Rachel into the ballroom with practiced ease, his hand at the small of her back possessive and deliberate.
He leaned down to whisper something in her ear that made her laugh—a bright, nervous sound that carried across the room.
As they passed, Christian's eyes met Harald's, and the smile he offered was razor-sharp with triumph.
"My, my," Major Bergstrom muttered beside him. "That's the Eliasberg girl, isn't it? The laundress's daughter?"
"Yes," Harald said tightly. "And Cadet Eliasberg's sister."
"Bold move," the Major said, his tone suggesting he found it distasteful but wasn't surprised. "Your cousin has always had... unconventional tastes."
Harald didn't respond. He was watching Jakob, who had set down his glass and was now moving purposefully toward his sister and Christian.
The carefully orchestrated waltz of the ballroom was about to collide with something far more volatile, and Harald could only watch as the fuse Christian had lit began to burn.
Jakob moved with deliberate control through the crowd, his face a mask of military composure that only Harald could read as barely contained fury.
He approached Christian and Rachel with the practiced formality of a cadet addressing a superior officer - a small, cutting reminder that Christian was still his senior in rank, if nothing else.
"Cadet Lieutenant Vasa," Jakob said, his voice perfectly modulated. "Might I have a word with my sister?"
Christian's smile was silk over steel. "Of course, Cadet Eliasberg. When the dance is finished."
Harald found himself drifting toward Jakob, pulled by some invisible thread of concern. He positioned himself beside his friend, careful to maintain the proper distance that their respective ranks demanded in such a public setting.
"Your sister looks lovely," Harald offered quietly, watching as Christian whispered something in Rachel's ear that made her laugh.
"She does," Jakob agreed, his voice tight. "Too lovely for common sense, apparently."
The music swelled toward its conclusion, and Harald could see Jakob's hands flexing at his sides. Without thinking, he murmured, "Whatever you're planning, remember where we are."
Jakob's eyes flicked to him briefly. "I'm well aware of my place, Your Highness." The formality stood as a clear warning - Jakob was in no mood to be calmed or quieted by Harald.
As the final notes faded, Christian escorted Rachel directly to where Jakob and Harald stood. His timing was impeccable - ensuring that whatever conversation followed would happen under the watchful eyes of the highest-ranking officers in the room.
"Your sister is a delightful dancer, Eliasberg," Christian said, his voice carrying just far enough to draw attention. "A natural talent. One wonders where she learned."
Rachel's smile faltered slightly at the undercurrent in Christian's tone. She looked between her brother and Christian, suddenly aware she was standing in the middle of something far more complex than a dance.
"Rachel," Jakob said evenly, "might I speak with you? Privately?"
"I was just about to fetch Miss Eliasberg some punch," Christian interjected smoothly. "Perhaps after?"
Rachel's chin lifted slightly. "I'm quite thirsty, Jakob. We can talk later."
The look that passed between the siblings spoke volumes - challenge met with frustration. As Christian led Rachel away, he paused beside Harald.
"Cousin," he said quietly, "you might want to remind your friend about the importance of decorum. Scenes at official functions reflect poorly on everyone involved."
Jakob watched them go, a muscle working in his jaw. Without a word to Harald, he turned sharply and headed for the terrace doors. The rigid line of his shoulders warned away anyone who might consider following.
Harald hesitated only a moment before moving after him. He nodded politely to the officers he passed, maintaining the facade of royal composure while his heart raced with concern.
The terrace doors had just swung shut behind Jakob when Harald felt a hand on his arm, stopping him with just enough pressure to be proper yet unmistakably firm. Christian stood beside him, fingers gripping Harald's uniform sleeve with practiced casualness that nonetheless conveyed clear intent.
"Cousin," Christian murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only Harald could hear. "Perhaps not the wisest moment for a royal pursuit. Half the faculty is watching."
Harald glanced around, suddenly aware of the eyes tracking his movements across the room.
Commandant Lindquist and Major Bergstrom were engaged in what appeared to be casual conversation, but their attention was clearly fixed on him.
Several senior cadets had also paused their discussions, watching with poorly disguised interest.
Harald's eyes narrowed. "What are you playing at, Christian?"
"Playing?" Christian's laugh was soft. "I'm merely looking out for the family's interests. As I always do." He moved closer, lowering his voice. "Speaking of which, cousin - your friendship with young Eliasberg is becoming quite the topic of conversation."
Harald's blood ran cold. "He's a study partner. Nothing more."