Chapter 6 #4
"Just the palace kitchen." Sigrid curled up in his reading chair, tucking her feet under her in a way that would have horrified their mother. "Though you should hear what they're saying in Stockholm. The market ladies think Hitler's going to march straight through Poland and into Sweden."
"That's ridiculous." Hal said around a mouthful of pastry. "They're not even contiguous, and the terrain alone—"
"Since when do you care about terrain?" Sigrid raised an eyebrow.
Hal felt his face warm. "We did an exercise last week.
Had to defend this boggy patch of ground near the lake.
Christian's team was supposed to take our position, but...
" He couldn't help grinning at the memory.
"Jakob - he's one of the other cadets at school - he noticed how the ground was softer in some places.
Made us map all the proper firm spots, then let Christian's team get halfway across before we started picking them off. "
The memory of Jakob stretched out over their makeshift map, pointing out vulnerable positions, his voice low and certain as he outlined the strategy... Hal took another bite of pastry to hide his sudden flush.
"Christian lost a boot in the mud," he added. "You should have seen his face."
"I can imagine." Sigrid's eyes sparkled. "This Jakob sounds clever."
"He is." Hal tried to keep his voice neutral, but he could hear the warmth creeping in.
"He sees things differently. Questions everything.
During the exercise, he had us all lying in the mud for hours, waiting for the right moment, and nobody complained because...
" He trailed off, remembering how Jakob had looked in the dawn light, mud streaked across his cheek, eyes bright with satisfaction as their strategy worked perfectly.
"Because?" Sigrid prompted, her smile knowing.
"Because he was right," Hal managed. "About everything. The timing, the positions, how Christian would react... he understood exactly how it would play out."
"Mmm." Sigrid broke off a piece of cardamom bread. "And does he understand other things as well as he understands tactics?"
Hal's face burned. "Sisi..."
"You're practically glowing, little brother." Her voice was gentle. "I haven't seen you like this in... well, ever."
Hal picked at his pastry, unable to meet her eyes. "He sees me," he said finally. "Not as prince or the spare heir. Just as... me. And he seems to like me anyway."
"Good." Sigrid's voice was fierce. "Hold onto that, Hal. Whatever's making you smile like that? You're going to need something to hold onto in the days ahead."
After Sigrid left, Hal changed for bed, but sleep was impossible.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jakob bent over their makeshift map, shoulders set with quiet authority as he outlined their strategy.
The memory of his voice, low and certain, explaining exactly how the attack would play out, sent unfamiliar heat coursing through his body.
God, the way Jakob's hands had moved over the terrain, confident and sure - Hal had never seen anything so compelling in his life.
He rolled onto his side, punching his pillow.
But that only brought back the image of Jakob in the pre-dawn light, mud streaked across one cheekbone, explaining his ideas in that calm, commanding tone that made everyone listen, even Erik.
So different from the soft tone he'd used with Hal in the hayloft while the moonlight touched his eyelashes with silver and his rough, capable fingers traced paths down Hal's throat that had made him desperate for things he'd never let himself name before.
Hal's hand slid down his chest before he could stop himself.
This was madness. He never did this - or, if not exactly never, then only very rarely.
Only when the clamor of his body begging for release became impossible to ignore.
And never in his life while thinking of anything but anonymous hands and lips and touches.
But God, the way Jakob had kissed him - not awkward or hesitant like Hal's childhood attempts with girls, but slow and careful, like he knew exactly what he wanted. The memory of Jakob's mouth against his neck made Hal's hips buck helplessly against nothing.
His hand slipped lower, and Hal bit his lip to keep quiet. He'd done this before, of course, but never... never with the ghost of actual kisses on his lips, the memory of real hands on his skin. Never while imagining someone's specific voice, someone's actual touch...
The first stroke made him gasp into his pillow.
Even his own hand felt different with these memories burning through him - Jakob's hands on his jaw, the solid heat of his body pressed close in the hayloft.
His hips jerked helplessly as he imagined those smaller, rougher hands replacing his own, imagined that voice whispering for him to be quiet.
The thought of Jakob watching, touching, seeing exactly how to make him fall apart...
Hal bit down hard on his lip, his whole body trembling as pleasure built low in his belly.
He shouldn't want this so badly, shouldn't be desperate for someone to take him apart like this, but he couldn't stop thinking about how Jakob would do it - methodically, thoroughly, with that same brilliance he brought to everything else.
Would he be gentle? Or would he use that commanding tone, tell Hal exactly how to move, exactly when he could...
When he came, shuddering and guilty and desperate for more, Hal turned his head and half-pressed his face into the pillow to muffle any sound.
In the quiet aftermath, his breath still shaky, he realized with a mix of terror and exhilaration that he'd never be able to look at tactical maps the same way again.
And soon... soon he'd have to sit in class and look at Jakob's hands moving over terrain models, listen to that soft commanding voice explaining strategy, and somehow keep his face from showing exactly what he'd done while thinking about those hands, that voice...
Hal groaned and pulled his pillow over his face. He was absolutely, thoroughly doomed.