Chapter 12 #3
Eklund bowed again. "Of course, Your Highness. Though one must note that time is of some essence." He backed out with practiced grace, closing the door behind him.
As soon as they were alone, Sarah crossed to Jakob, gripping his arm. "What have you done?" she whispered, her dark eyes searching his face.
"Nothing, Mama. I swear it." Jakob covered her hand with his own. "Maybe it's about my future assignment."
Sarah's fingers tightened. "The Royal Chamberlain doesn't deliver messages about cadet assignments, Yasha."
The fear in her voice made his chest ache. "Whatever it is, I'll handle it," he promised, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
Sarah reached up to touch his face, her palm rough against his cheek. "The last time men like that came for someone I loved, we had to flee the country."
"This isn't Russia," Jakob said softly. "And I'm not Papa."
Hal approached cautiously. "Mrs. Eliasberg, I'm sure it's nothing serious," he offered, though his eyes told a different story.
Sarah turned to him, her gaze troubled. "You don't believe that any more than I do."
Hal swallowed hard. "If... if it's what we fear, I'll speak to my mother."
"No," Jakob said firmly. "That would only make things worse." He met Hal's eyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Queen Margreta had made her move.
"I need to change," Jakob said, already moving toward his room. "I can't show up in work clothes."
In his small corner of the room, Jakob pulled his uniform from the hook on the wall, his movements quick and calm. Hal followed him, out of sight of Jakob's mother and Rachel.
"This is my fault," Hal whispered, watching as Jakob stripped off his work shirt. "Christian must have told her."
"We don't know that," Jakob replied, though they both knew it was the most likely explanation. He pulled on his uniform shirt, fingers working the buttons with practiced efficiency.
Hal stepped closer, brushing Jakob's hands aside to fix his collar. "What are we going to do?"
"We stick to the plan," Jakob said quietly. "No matter what happens in there, we stick to the plan."
Hal nodded, his throat working. "Be careful what you say to her. My mother... she twists words."
When they emerged, Sarah was waiting with a small bundle wrapped in a cloth napkin. "You haven't eaten yet," she said, pressing it into his hands.
"I'll be back for dinner, Mama," Jakob promised, tucking the bundle into his pocket. He bent to kiss her cheek, inhaling the familiar scent of bread and lavender soap.
"Be careful," she whispered against his ear. "Remember who you are."
Chamberlain Eklund was standing by the car when Jakob stepped through the door, Hal close behind him. The older man's eyes narrowed slightly at their proximity, his gaze lingering on the way Hal's hand almost—but didn't quite—touch Jakob's back.
"I'm ready, sir," Jakob said, straightening his shoulders.
Eklund nodded, opening the car door with white-gloved hands. "This way, Cadet." His tone made it clear that Hal was not invited to join them.
Jakob turned back for one last look. Hal and Sarah stood framed in the doorway, an unlikely pair united by their concern for him. The sight made his chest ache.
"I'll be back soon," he called, trying to sound confident.
As he slid into the car, he heard his mother's voice, low but clear in the still air.
"If anything happens to my son..."
And Hal's quiet response: "I won't let it."
Jakob kept his back straight and his eyes forward as the car pulled away, Eklund sitting opposite him in silent observation. He wondered if either Hal or his mother really had the power to keep that promise against the forces now clearly aligning against them.
Jakob felt every eye on him as he crossed the academy's main quadrangle, accompanied by the Royal Chamberlain.
Cadets froze mid-conversation, their heads turning to track his progress.
Even the instructors paused, watching him with expressions ranging from curiosity to pity.
Word had clearly spread about his summons.
"Eliasberg," Stensson hissed as Jakob passed, grabbing his sleeve. "Is it true? There's a car with royal plates and flags parked by the Commandant's office!"
Jakob shook his head slightly, unable to confirm what he could scarcely believe himself.
The note had been terse—report immediately to the Commandant's office—but the fact that they'd sent the Chamberlain of the Royal Court, and how he'd reacted to Hal's presence in his home told him this was no ordinary disciplinary matter.
The administrative building loomed ahead, its stone facade more forbidding than ever.
At the entrance, two palace guards stood at attention, their ceremonial uniforms and rifles marking them as distinctly separate from the academy's usual security.
Jakob's stomach clenched as he approached, but they merely nodded him through, clearly expecting him.
The hallway to the Commandant's office had never seemed so long. Each step echoed against the polished floors, announcing his approach. When he finally reached the heavy oak door, Jakob paused, took a deep breath, and knocked firmly.
"Enter," came the Commandant's voice, higher-pitched than usual.
Jakob stepped inside to find Commandant Lindquist standing awkwardly beside his own desk, his usual commanding presence diminished. Behind the desk, in the Commandant's own chair, sat Queen Margreta Eleonore of Sweden.
Her dark blonde hair was swept into an immaculate chignon, not a strand out of place.
She wore a simple navy blue dress, which managed to look elegant and expensive even to Jakob, who neither knew nor cared about women's fashion.
No crown, no formal regalia—she didn't need them.
Power radiated from her like cold light from a distant star.
"Your Majesty," the Commandant said, his voice strained with deference, "May I present Cadet Jakob Eliasberg as requested."
Jakob snapped to rigid attention, his spine so straight it ached. He kept his eyes fixed on a point just above the Queen's left shoulder, not daring to meet her gaze directly.
"Give us the room, please, Commandant," the Queen said, her Swedish crisp and aristocratic. The Commandant practically stumbled over himself in his haste to obey, closing the door with a soft click that sounded like a prison gate to Jakob's ears.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and deliberate. Jakob felt sweat gathering under his collar despite the chill in the room. The Queen was studying him, he knew, though he didn't dare look directly at her. Assessing him like a scientist might examine a particularly unwelcome specimen.
"Cadet Eliasberg." Her voice was cool, each syllable carefully measured. "Do you know why you're here?"
Jakob swallowed hard. "No, Your Majesty."
"Don't you?" A hint of amusement colored her tone. "How disappointing. I was led to believe you were intelligent."
Her gloved hands rested in her lap, perfectly still. Then, with deliberate slowness, she began removing them, one finger at a time. The soft leather slid away to reveal elegant hands with perfectly manicured nails.
"You're from Russia originally, I understand?" She set the gloves aside with mathematical precision. "Leningrad?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." Jakob kept his voice steady through sheer force of will.
"A beautiful city. I visited often as a girl." Her accent shifted slightly, revealing her Prussian origins. "My cousin Nicholas was Tsar then. Before all the... unpleasantness."
The casual reference to the revolution that had killed the cousin she referred to so cavalierly made Jakob's stomach clench. This wasn't idle conversation—it was a reminder that she knew exactly who he was, where he came from, and how precarious his position was.
"Your Swedish is remarkably good," she continued. "Almost no accent at all. And your academic record is... impressive. For someone of your background."
The slight pause before "background" carried everything she wasn't saying explicitly—Jewish, refugee, charity student. Outsider.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," Jakob said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
She rose from the chair with fluid grace, moving to the window.
Her reflection in the glass was ghostly, superimposed over the academy grounds beyond.
"I have been given to understand that you're close to my younger son, Prince Harald Edvard.
He has always been a sensitive boy. Impressionable.
Too quick to form attachments to those who might not have his best interests at heart. "
Jakob's heart hammered against his ribs. She knows. The certainty of it crashed over him like ice water.
"I don't—" he began, but she cut him off with a small gesture.
"Please, Cadet. Let's not insult each other's intelligence.
" She turned from the window, her eyes meeting his directly for the first time.
They were the same hazel as Hal's, but where his were warm and expressive, hers were cold as Baltic ice.
"My son is a Prince of Sweden. The spare, yes, but now that they are older and Prince Karl Fredrick remains unmarried, Harald's position becomes more significant. He cannot afford distractions."
The word hung in the air between them, heavy with implication.
"With respect, Your Majesty," Jakob said carefully, "His Highness and I are friends. Fellow cadets."
A cold smile touched her lips. "Are you?
How fortunate for you to have such a... devoted friend.
One who sleeps in your bed and shares your chores.
It must truly be a special friendship." Jakob's blood ran cold.
The Queen moved closer, her perfume—something expensive and subtle—filling his nostrils.
"Tell me, Cadet Eliasberg, what are your ambitions? "
The sudden change of direction caught him off-guard. "My ambitions, Your Majesty?"
"Yes. Surely a young man of your talents has plans beyond attending a military academy?"