Chapter 10
The Military History Society's annual lecture was the most prestigious academic event at Riddarhuset, transforming the austere academy into something that felt almost civilized.
Harald adjusted his dress uniform—worn with his actual medals rather than his cadet insignia, which made him feel like a child dressed in his parents' clothing —and surveyed the grand hall where Swedish officers, academics, and nobility mingled with the Riddarhuset cadets beneath crystal chandeliers.
"Three weeks ago, I was milking cows for the first time," Harald murmured to himself, the memory of all the times that he'd seen dawn at the Eliasberg farm since that first one warming him despite the formal chill of the gathering.
The past weeks had settled into a rhythm: classes growing increasingly focused on modern warfare as Poland's resistance crumbled, secret dawn visits to help Jakob with chores, and diplomatic dispatches arriving with increasing urgency from Stockholm.
The war was no longer theoretical—it was reshaping Europe while they discussed its tactics in classrooms.
Harald spotted Christian across the room, holding court with several senior officers, his golden head bent in conspiratorial conversation.
Since the news from Poland, Christian had grown more vocal about his admiration for German efficiency.
Something had changed in his cousin—a hardening, a certainty that made Harald uneasy.
The doors at the back of the hall opened, and Harald's breath caught as Jakob entered.
Unlike the other students who looked uncomfortable in their formal attire, Jakob seemed comfortable in his — like it had grown on him.
But something was wrong—Jakob's face was pale, his normally confident stride hesitant.
Their eyes met across the crowded room, and Jakob gave a small shake of his head before being pulled into conversation with their literature professor and two other cadets.
The lecture began—something about the strategic failures of the Maginot Line—but Harald couldn't focus on it.
He didn't care about the Maginot Line, and kept watching Jakob sitting rigidly at attention, his eyes fixed forward but seeing nothing.
Whatever had happened, it was serious enough to shake Jakob's composure.
As the lecture concluded and the mingling resumed, Harald found himself cornered by the German military attaché to Sweden, forced to make diplomatic small talk while Jakob slipped away without speaking to him.
"Your Highness," Christian's voice came from behind, smooth as silk.
"A word in private?" His cousin had that predatory look Harald remembered from childhood games - the one that meant someone was about to get hurt.
Harald followed Christian into a small alcove, away from the crowd. Christian's smile was icy and cutting.
"I've been meaning to speak with you about your... relationship with that Jewish boy," Christian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "It's become quite the spectacle for those of us who have been paying attention these last few months."
Harald's mouth went dry. "Eliasberg is a brilliant tactician and will be a brilliant officer. He'll be a credit to our military and I'm not the only person who has noticed that."
"Oh, but I think people noticed far more than that.
" Christian's eyes gleamed with cold satisfaction.
"Did you think no one saw you sneaking off to his family's little farm?
Or how you disappeared together after the homecoming ball?
" His lip curled in disgust. "How the mighty Vasa house has fallen—a prince rutting in the fields with a dirty Jew. "
Harald's fists clenched at his sides. "You know nothing about—" his voice broke off, unsure how he was going to finish that sentence. Christian knew nothing about so many things; the responsibilities of royalty. Loyalty. Love.
"I know everything, cousin." Christian's voice was silky with triumph.
"I know about every pre-dawn visit, every lingering glance between you, every time you've touched him when you thought no one was looking.
" He leaned closer, his breath hot against Harald's ear.
"Your mother asked me to watch you when term started.
She was... concerned about your development.
Worried you might be too soft, too bookish. "
The blood drained from Harald's face. "You've been spying on me? For her?"
"Of course." Christian's smile was knife-sharp. "Who do you think suggested I mentor you here at Riddarhuset? Who do you think receives my weekly reports about your progress? About your... associations?"
Harald's stomach dropped. "You wouldn't," he whispered and even he could hear the fear in his voice. If his mother knew about Jakob, Hal couldn't keep him safe from whatever she might do.
"Wouldn't I?" Christian laughed softly. "Aunt Margreta and I have always understood each other in a way that you haven't.
She knows what's best for Sweden, for the monarchy.
" He straightened Harald's medal with fingers that lingered a moment too long.
"And a young prince who prefers the company of Jewish peasant boys to the young ladies of the nobility is definitely not what's best."
"I'm just the spare," Harald said, his voice tight. "Freddie is—"
"I know." Something dark flashed across Christian's face. "But we both know Uncle Gustav is failing. And Freddie is both single and reckless." He shrugged. "The line of succession is fragile."
Harald's hands trembled slightly before he clenched them into fists. "Are you threatening my brother?"
"I'm stating facts." Christian's eyes were merciless. "Your mother already suspects something isn't right with you. She's commented on your... delicate nature. Your lack of interest in the girls she's introduced you to." He smirked. "What do you think she'll do when I tell her exactly why?"
"You have no proof," Harald challenged, though fear clawed at his throat.
"I don't need proof." Christian's voice hardened.
"Just the right words in the right ear. Your mother once had a lady-in-waiting who caught your father's eye.
Pretty thing. Dark hair, clever tongue. No one's seen her in, what, fifteen years?
" He shrugged. "The Queen protects what's hers. The monarchy. The bloodline."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.
"She'll destroy him, Harald. She will make him disappear so thoroughly you'll never find him again.
His whole family will vanish—his whore of a sister, his peasant mother.
All of them, gone." He pulled back, studying Harald's face with cold satisfaction.
"Unless, of course, you end it. Now. Tonight. "
Harald's throat constricted, making it difficult to breathe. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" Christian's smile was almost gentle. "Ask yourself this: is he worth risking everything? Is he worth his family's lives?" He straightened his uniform. "You're just the spare, Harald. Replaceable. But even spares have their uses—if they know their place."
As Christian turned to leave, he paused, adding casually over his shoulder, "Oh, and don't think about running to your father.
The King is too weak to stand against her now, and the sooner you realize who will hold power, the better for us all.
" He stepped back, his public smile returning as if it had never left.
"Enjoy the rest of the evening, Your Highness.
I believe they're serving that champagne you're so fond of. "
As Christian melted back into the crowd, Harald remained frozen, the alcove suddenly feeling like a trap rather than a refuge. He needed to find Jakob — now — but as he stepped back into the hall, a line of dignitaries formed to speak with him. He straightened his collar and stepped into his role.
"Your Royal Highness." Colonel Bjornsson clasped Harald's hand. "Fascinating lecture, though I wonder if Sweden's neutrality will hold as firmly as our pike walls once did."
"We maintain hope for peace," Harald replied, the diplomatic answer sent over from the court coming automatically to his tongue. Across the room, Christian worked through his own circle of admirers, his head tilted in calculated charm while his eyes tracked both Harald and Jakob.
Jakob remained pressed against the far wall, his face unreadable.
Whatever had upset him before the lecture clearly hadn't passed.
Harald ached to cross the room, to pull him aside and discover what was wrong.
But duty anchored him in place as more officials approached, eager for a moment with the young prince.
Harald nodded through another naval officer's concerns about Baltic shipping routes while tracking Jakob's movement toward the door. His chest tightened as Jakob disappeared into the hallway without a backward glance.
"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," Harald said, cutting off a professor mid-sentence about artillery ranges. "There's an urgent matter I must attend to."
He didn't wait for their response, moving with the purposeful stride that parted crowds even in the most crowded royal functions. Christian's eyes narrowed from across the room, but Harald didn't care. Let his cousin watch. Let him know that his threats wouldn't work.
The hallway was empty when Harald reached it, the polished floors reflecting the dim evening light. He listened for footsteps, heard nothing but the muffled sounds of the reception behind him.
"Jakob?" he called, his voice echoing slightly in the corridor.
No response.
Harald moved faster, checking side rooms and alcoves. The academy was a maze of corridors and hidden spaces—places where cadets could disappear when they needed to. Where would Jakob go?
He rounded a corner and nearly collided with a figure leaning against the wall, head bowed.
"Jakob" Harald breathed, relief washing over him. "What's happened? You looked—"
"Not here." Jakob interrupted, his voice tight.