Chapter 6
Hal blinked against the dim morning light shining through the slats of the stable roof.
His head throbbed, though whether from the champagne or lack of sleep, he couldn't tell.
The straw around him still held traces of warmth, but the space beside him was empty.
His fingers brushed over the indentation in the hay where Jakob had lain, and his chest tightened at the memory of how they'd huddled close against the autumn chill, sharing warmth and whispered confessions.
The quiet intimacy of it all - the brush of shoulders, the way Jakob's voice had softened when speaking about his father, how their breath had mingled in the cold air between them.
The ghost of their kisses lingered on his lips, and he could still feel every detail - the softness of Jakob's mouth against his, the warmth of his skin in contrast to the crisp night air, the way Jakob's entire body had seemed to curve toward him like a flower seeking sun.
He remembered the slight roughness of Jakob's evening stubble against his palm when he'd reached up to touch his face, the way Jakob had made this small, quiet sound in the back of his throat that Hal wanted to hear again and again.
He could still feel the phantom pressure of Jakob's fingers in his hair, how they'd stayed tangled there even after the kiss ended, neither of them willing to put any distance between them.
Even the hay scratching at his neck through his collar hadn't mattered, not with Jakob's solid warmth pressed against him, their legs intertwined as they'd talked through the night.
The memory of Jakob's laugh - quiet and private, meant just for him - sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the morning chill.
Never in his life had he felt as if someone had seen inside of him, to who he really was — beyond his history or his title.
Their conversation had flowed like water, natural and unstoppable, ranging from philosophy to personal secrets.
For those precious hours, he hadn't been Prince Harald, heir to the Swedish throne - he'd just been Hal, a boy sharing secrets in the dark with someone who saw into his heart and for some mysterious reason accepted and even wanted what he saw there.
He hardly wanted to get up, as much as his stomach growled and his bladder ached, afraid that moving would break the last gossamer strands of last night's magic.
Still, biology left him no choice, so after a long moment of trying to memorize every sensation - the lingering warmth, the remembered pressure of Jakob's hand against his waist, the echo of shared whispers - he climbed clumsily down from the piled straw and brushed as much of the grass and dirt from his hair as he could.
He shook at least some of the bits of hay from his slacks and his jacket, though the wool seemed determined to hold onto every piece of straw.
His clothes still held traces of Jakob's scent - soap and hair cream mingled with hay and night air - and he found himself reluctant to go home and change clothes despite the disheveled state of his appearance.
The walk was cold and quiet, the fog of the night still burning off of the fields under the bright but cold sun.
Each step felt like moving further away from that perfect moment in the dark, and he had to resist the urge to turn back to the hayrick, as if Jakob might somehow still be there.
He was most of the way back to the school before he encountered Erik with a bag of rugby gear over his shoulder.
"Harald. You look like shit. Where have you been?" Erik asked, his raised eyebrow suggesting he had several theories of his own.
"What do you mean?" Harald said, reflexively reaching up to his hair where even a quick brush of his fingers found more bits of straw. His heart quickened - how obvious was it, what he'd been doing? Could Erik somehow read it on his face, see how thoroughly kissed his lips still felt?
"The Commandant is looking for you."
"Shit." Harald said. His mother wouldn't be calling about the party, would she? Sigrid had cautioned him about discretion and fitting in, but he hadn't really done anything that would break their tentative agreement or draw her ire. Well, nothing she knew about, at least.
"Indeed." Erik said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You'd better go get cleaned up, though. I'm certainly not going to ask exactly what you were doing last night that got you looking like that, but I'm sure the Commandant would."
"Thanks." Harald said, turning on his heel and heading back to the dormitory as fast as he could.
He slipped in through the back staircase, unlocking his door quickly and stepping inside before stripping himself to his underwear.
He hesitated for a moment, not wanting to lose the last echoes of Jakob on his skin.
Then, practical necessity won out and he cleaned himself quickly with a cloth and cold water from the sink, redressing and neatening his hair.
He was just tucking in his shirt when a loud knock came on the door.
"Prince Harald." The housemaster's voice rang out, shattering the last remnants of his peaceful morning. "You must open the door."
Harald did, so quickly that he was nearly punched in the face as the man reached up to knock again. The housemaster's stern expression made his stomach drop - somehow the man's formality felt more ominous than anger would have.
"Where have you been?" He asked, pointedly, and then clearly flustered said "Never mind that. The palace has been ringing every fifteen minutes since the break of dawn."
Harald's blood ran cold, freezing the warmth of last night's memories. He grabbed his jacket and followed the housemaster. The Commandant was in his office, looking stern and speaking on the phone, his tight grip on the receiver betraying his tension.
"Yes." He said, breaking into what sounded to Harald like a rather intense bollocking by the royal court. "He's here now. Let me pass the phone to His Highness." He nodded at Harald, who stepped on numb legs around to the side of the desk and took the phone in his hand.
"This is His Highness, Prince Harald Edvard." He said, his title catching in his throat. After hours of being just Hal, just himself, the weight of his position settled back onto his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
"Thank god." The voice on the other end was Linnea, his mother's Public Relations attaché. "We've been trying to reach you since this morning, your Highness. You're needed in Stockholm right away. A situation has developed."
"A situation?" Harald asked, his mind jumping to his father's cough, to Freddie's warnings. "Is my father alright? My brother?"
"Yes, yes." Linnea said, and Harald could picture her in his mind's eye, her prim little mou of disapproval. "Your family is fine. The situation is geopolitical. You'd best go turn on the radio."
"Yes." Harald said, reflexively. "I mean, I will. Of course. Do you need me to find Christian?"
"That won't be necessary, your Highness. Only the direct royal family have been requested."
"Of course." Harald said, feeling the last traces of Hal, the boy who'd shared kisses in a hayrick, slip away beneath the weight of duty.
"Excellent." Linnea said. "The car is on its way and should reach you in less than an hour. Please be ready, your Highness." The phone went dead in his hand.
Harald gently placed the receiver back in its cradle and turned to the two men, who were trying and failing to not look expectantly at the Prince. "I've been told to go and turn on the radio." Harald said, and then bowing politely, made his way out of the office.
He walked back to his dormitory in a daze, the bright sun making him squint his eyes and turning the world around him into something unreal, white and clear and not quite there.
Just hours ago he'd been wrapped in darkness and warmth, sharing whispered dreams with Jakob.
Now each step felt like walking through deep water, dragging him toward something he couldn't quite comprehend but knew would change everything.
The darkness inside the building was a relief, as he walked through the halls and toward the large rosewood cabinet of the house's radio set.
Phillip and Erik had a record playing on the Victrola in the corner, some cheerful jazz tune that felt obscene against the weight in his chest. Harald didn't stop to pause the music, walking over and flipping the switch on, turning up the volume so that the pop and stretched fizz and flicker of the channels as he dialed in AB Radiotj?nst filled the room.
"Turn that off..." He could hear Erik's annoyed voice from behind him, and then the voice was cut off by the radio announcer's confident tone.
"This is AB Radiotj?nst. We are announcing that as of early this morning The German army has invaded Poland and has bombed many towns.
General mobilization has been ordered in Britain and France.
The King has summoned the Riksdag for a meeting at six o'clock this evening, and is currently meeting with the government at Kungliga Slottet... "
The tenor of the conversation behind him shifted, but it felt distant, unreal, like voices underwater.
Between trying to catch and understand every word coming through the wireless, Harald could hear bits of what his classmates were saying — Fredrick and Erik brushing everything off, telling him that none of this was going to matter to them and that Harald's stupid radio was getting in the way of their music and wouldn't he just come and play chess?