Chapter 13 #3
"Christian," Hal said, warning in his tone. "What do you want?"
Christian's jaw tightened. "The commandant sent me to find you. There's been..." He faltered, something raw and vulnerable breaking through his usual composure. "There's been an accident, Harald."
The way he said it—the careful, measured words, the use of his full name—made Hal's blood run cold. "What kind of accident?"
Christian's eyes flicked to Jakob again, then back to Hal. "It's Freddie."
The world tilted beneath Hal's feet. He gripped the doorframe to steady himself. "What about him?"
"You need to come with me," Christian said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Now. The commandant is waiting."
Hal turned to look at Jakob, who had gone very still, his face a careful mask. Their eyes met across the room, and Hal saw understanding dawn there—whatever was happening, whatever Christian had come to tell him, it was bad. Catastrophically bad.
"Go," Jakob said softly. "I'll be right behind."
Hal nodded, unable to speak past the knot in his throat. He grabbed his uniform jacket from the chair, shrugging it on with numb fingers.
Christian watched this exchange with an unreadable expression. When Hal joined him in the corridor, he leaned in close. "So that's how it is with you two," he murmured, low enough that only Hal could hear. "Interesting."
"Not now, Christian," Hal said, his voice cracking. "Just tell me what happened to my brother."
Christian's face softened, genuine grief replacing the bitter edge of his earlier expression.
"Come on," he said, placing a hand on Hal's shoulder.
The walk to the commandant's office was the longest of Hal's life.
Each step echoed against the polished stone floors, the sound unnaturally loud in the hushed corridor.
Christian walked beside him, his usual swagger gone, replaced by a stiff, mechanical gait.
"Christian," Hal tried again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please."
Christian shook his head, just once. "I can't." The words were clipped, formal—nothing like his cousin's usual drawl. It terrified Hal more than anything else.
The commandant's secretary jumped to attention when they entered the antechamber, her eyes widening as she took in their expressions. "They're waiting for you, Your Royal Highness," she said, gesturing to the heavy oak door.
It was the 'Your Royal Highness' that broke him.
Hal's stomach twisted as Christian pushed the door open.
The commandant stood by the window, his back ramrod straight, hands clasped behind him.
But it was the other figure that made Hal's breath catch—Klas Eklund, the Royal Chamberlain, immaculate in his dark suit despite what must have been a rushed journey from Stockholm.
"Your Royal Highness," Eklund said again, bowing deeply this time. His voice was hollow, stripped of its usual precise formality. When he straightened, his pale eyes were red-rimmed. "I regret that I come bearing the gravest news."
The commandant stepped forward. "Please, sit down, Your Royal Highness."
Hal remained standing. "Tell me what happened to my brother." He knew, he'd known since the Chamberlain had addressed him — the style of Your Royal Highness was reserved only for the King, the Queen, and the Heir Presumptive.
Eklund and the commandant exchanged glances. Christian moved to stand beside Hal, their shoulders nearly touching—a gesture of solidarity that was welcome but surreal given their usual antagonism.
"There was an accident this morning," Eklund said, each word measured and heavy.
"Crown Prince Karl Frederick was sailing in the archipelago yesterday morning.
" What time? Hal wondered. Was he doing the milking when it happened?
Laughing as he and Jakob walked the grounds together?
Bending over a textbook in one of his interminable lectures as his brother had breathed his last?
"A sudden squall came through." The Chamberlain continued, unable to look Hal in the face. "There were high winds, driving rains. His boat capsized in the storm." He paused, swallowing visibly. "His Royal Highness was trapped beneath the hull. By the time the rescue party reached him..."
The words hung in the air, clinical and impossible.
"No," Hal said, the word escaping before he could stop it. "No, that's not—Freddie is a naval officer, an excellent sailor… excellent swimmer. He couldn't—"
"The weather turned with extraordinary speed," the commandant said quietly. "Even the most experienced sailors were caught off guard. There was nothing His Royal Highness could have done."
Hal felt Christian's hand on his arm, steadying him. The room seemed to tilt and spin, reality fracturing around the edges. Freddie in the water, Freddie trapped, Freddie struggling to breathe—the images crashed through his mind in horrifying succession.
"The King requires your immediate presence at the palace," Eklund continued, his voice softening slightly. "I have a car here for you. We must depart immediately
"The King," Hal repeated numbly. "My father—how is he?"
Something flickered across Eklund's face—concern, perhaps, or pity. "His Majesty is... bearing up. The Queen is with him."
Christian's grip on Hal's arm tightened fractionally. They both knew what that meant. Queen Margreta would be managing everything, as always—including the King's grief.
"I need to pack my things," Hal said, the words coming automatically. "And I need to—" He stopped, thinking of Jakob waiting in the corridor outside his room. Jakob, who had no idea that everything was about to change.
"There's no time," Eklund said. "The palace has sent appropriate attire. We must leave immediately."
"Mr. Vasa will accompany you, of course," the commandant added, nodding to Christian.
"Of course," Eklund agreed, though something in his tone suggested this was an inconvenience rather than a courtesy. "The car is waiting."
Hal felt as though he were moving underwater, every gesture requiring enormous effort. He nodded mechanically, unable to form words.
"May I have a moment?" he finally managed. "Just to... I need to tell someone I'm leaving."
Eklund's lips thinned. "Your Highness, I must insist—"
"One minute," Christian interrupted, surprising everyone. "Surely we can spare one minute for the Crown Prince to say his goodbyes."
The title hit Hal like a physical blow. Crown Prince. That was who he was now. Who he would be forever, until he became something even more impossible—King.
Eklund hesitated, then nodded curtly. "The car is waiting at the front entrance. Do not delay, Your Royal Highness."
They stepped out of the commandant's office into the anteroom, and Hal's heart lurched.
There, pacing the small space, was Jakob—his dark hair wild as though he'd been running his hands through it.
He looked up as they emerged, his expression shifting from worry to alarm as he took in their solemn faces.
"Hal?" he said, stepping forward. Then his eyes caught on Eklund, on the formal black suit and the grim expression, and understanding dawned. "Oh God. Freddie?"
Hal nodded, unable to speak. Behind him, he felt rather than saw Christian and Eklund retreat a few steps, the Chamberlain's impatience radiating like heat.
"I have to go to Stockholm," Hal said, his voice cracking. "Right now. I can't—there's no time.."
Jakob nodded, his blue eyes bright with unshed tears. "I understand." And Hal knew he did—understood not just about Freddie, but about what this meant for them, for whatever had been growing between them.
"I'll come back," Hal said, the words spilling out in a desperate rush. "As soon as I can. Please... wait for me? Don't go anywhere until I can say goodbye."
Jakob's expression was unreadable, a careful mask sliding into place. But his hand reached out, fingers brushing against Hal's for the briefest moment. "I'll be here," he said quietly. "Go. Your family needs you."
"Your Royal Highness," Eklund's voice cut through the moment. "We must depart."
Hal nodded, unable to tear his eyes from Jakob's face. He wanted to memorize every detail—the stubborn curl that fell across his forehead, the slight cleft in his chin, the way his eyes caught the light.
"Crown Prince," Eklund said, more insistently.
The title fell between them like a physical barrier. Jakob's expression shifted, something resigned and sad settling over his features. He stepped back, squaring his shoulders, and gave a small, formal bow.
"Your Royal Highness," he said, the formal address a knife between Hal's ribs.
Hal opened his mouth to protest, to say something—anything—that might bridge the sudden chasm between them. But Christian was at his elbow, guiding him away with surprising gentleness.
"Come," Christian murmured. "There will be time later."
But as they walked away, Hal knew with cold certainty that there wouldn't be. Time had run out the moment Freddie's boat capsized in the churning waters. Whatever might have been between him and Jakob now felt as impossible as bringing his brother back from the depths of the sea.