Chapter 14 #3
Three hours into his vigil, his legs ached and his eyes burned, but he welcomed the physical discomfort. It gave him something to focus on besides the crushing weight in his chest, the void where his brother should be.
His mind kept drifting to Jakob—to the warmth of his hands, the quiet strength in his voice when he'd promised to wait.
Hal had left him standing in that corridor at Riddarhuset, had driven away without a proper goodbye.
Now, surrounded by the trappings of royal mourning, that moment felt like it belonged to another life entirely.
I need you here, he thought desperately, as if Jakob might somehow hear him across the miles. I didn't know how lost I would feel without you.
The soft click of the chapel door broke the silence. Sigrid slipped in, her black dress making her seem like a shadow moving through the flickering light. She'd pulled her golden hair back in a severe knot, her face pale and drawn with exhaustion.
"You should be resting," Hal whispered, his voice sounding unnaturally loud after hours of silence.
Sigrid moved to stand opposite him, her hand resting lightly on the polished wood of the coffin. "So should you." Her fingers traced the edge of the Swedish flag draped across it. "But I couldn't sleep knowing he was here alone."
"He's not alone," Hal said automatically. "I'm here."
"I know." Sigrid's smile was sad. "You are always there, in the shadows. Even when the rest of us forget..." She trailed off, swallowing hard.
The unspoken truth hung between them. Even when Freddie had pulled away, drawn into Christian's orbit and then their mother's web of ambition and duty, Hal had remained steadfastly loyal. Had never stopped looking up to his golden brother, never stopped trying to make him proud.
"Do you remember when he carved his initials in the church pew?" Sigrid asked suddenly, her voice soft with memory.
Hal's lips curved despite himself. "Father was furious."
"But Mother smoothed it over," Sigrid finished. "Said it was Freddie showing confidence and ownership."
"He would have been a good king," Hal whispered, the words catching in his throat.
Sigrid's eyes, so like his own, studied him across the coffin. "And you? What kind of king will you be, Hal?"
The question was like a slap, waking him up.
He'd never gotten far enough, in his grief-dazed thoughts, to even consider kingship.
Hal's gaze dropped to the gleaming wood, unable to meet his sister's searching look.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know how to do any of this. Freddie made it look so easy."
"Freddie made everything look easy."
The candlelight caught the tears on Sigrid's cheeks. Hal pulled out his handkerchief and passed it to her, remembering how Freddie would always carry extras just for her.
"There's something else troubling you," Sigrid said, her voice gentle but knowing. "Something beyond the crown."
Hal's chest tightened. Here in the sacred quiet of the chapel, surrounded by centuries of royal tradition, the truth slipped out. "Jakob."
"Ah." Sigrid nodded, understanding immediately.
"Before, when I was just the spare, we'd thought maybe we'd enlist together.
But now…" His voice trailed off. It all seemed like a dream, slipping away in the harsh dawn light of his new responsibilities; quiet evenings in the townhouse, a life together built in the shadows where no one would look too closely.
"But now I'm expected to leave everything behind so that I can marry, produce heirs, be the Crown Prince." The words tasted bitter on his tongue. "And yet—" He broke off, struggling to articulate the feeling that had been growing inside him since he'd left Riddarhuset.
"And yet?" Sigrid prompted gently.
"I've found something at Riddarhuset. Someone who...
" He struggled for words that would convey everything without saying anything directly.
"I can't imagine my life without him in it, Sisi.
The thought of having to pretend he doesn't matter, of having to choose duty over—" He stopped, unable to finish.
Over love, his heart whispered. Over the only person who's ever made me feel whole.
The chapel door opened again, cutting off her words. Both siblings turned, expecting a palace guard or perhaps one of the clergy.
Instead, Christian stood in the doorway, his face a careful mask. He wore his formal uniform, every button gleaming, every detail exact. Only the shadows under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.
For a moment, no one moved. Christian remained frozen at the threshold, as if uncertain of his welcome. Sigrid glanced at Hal, then back at their cousin.
"Christian," she said finally, breaking the tense silence. "Come in."
Christian stepped into the chapel, the door closing behind him with a soft thud that seemed to echo in the stillness. He moved to the foot of the coffin, completing their triangle around Freddie's body.
"I didn't expect to find you both here," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
"He's our brother." Sigrid said, a flash of the old fire returning to her eyes.
Christian flinched slightly at the emphasis on our—the subtle reminder that he stood outside their circle of grief. But he nodded, his gaze dropping to the coffin.
"He was..." Christian began, then stopped, seeming to search for words. "He was the best of all of us. Of the whole family, really."
Hal studied his cousin's face, looking for the calculation, the angle, the hidden agenda that always seemed to lurk behind Christian's words. But all he saw was exhaustion and something that looked surprisingly like genuine grief.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them, years of anger, of unspoken resentments and rivalries making the air feel thick.
Hal found himself thinking of that summer when he was twelve, when Christian had first come to live with them after Uncle Georg's death.
How Freddie had suddenly seemed to grow up overnight, abandoning their childhood games to spend time with Christian instead.
How the door to Freddie's room, always open to Hal before, had started to close more often.
"I used to think you stole him from me," Hal said suddenly, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Christian's head snapped up, surprise flashing across his face. "What?"
"Freddie." Hal's throat felt tight. "When you came to live with us. Before that, we were always together, the three of us." He glanced at Sigrid. "Then suddenly it was you and him, and I was just the baby brother, too young to join in."
Christian's expression shifted, something almost vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "I didn't steal him," he said quietly. "I needed him."
The simple admission hung in the air between them. Hal felt something shift in his understanding of both his brother and his cousin.
"I was thirteen," Christian continued, his voice low. "My father was dead. My mother had remarried and abandoned me. I came here, to this palace full of strangers, and everyone expected me to just..." He made a vague gesture. "Fit in. Be grateful."
"Freddie didn't act like I should be thankful for every scrap of attention," Christian said. "He just... included me. Made space for me." His mouth twisted. "I know it hurt you when he pulled away. But I didn't have anyone else."
The words settled into Hal's chest, easing an ache he'd carried for years without fully understanding it.
It hadn't been about him. It hadn't been because he wasn't good enough, or interesting enough, or mature enough.
It had been about Christian, lost and alone, and Freddie seeing someone who needed him.
"He taught me to play chess," Christian said suddenly, a faint smile touching his lips. "Said you were hopeless at it, and he needed a worthy opponent."
Hal let out a startled laugh. "I only found out how terrible I was when I went to Riddarhuset. Turns out Freddie had been letting me win our entire childhood. I lost seventeen games in a row my first week there."
"That sounds like him," Christian said, his smile growing more genuine. "He could never bear to see anyone disappointed."
"He used to sneak me chocolates when Mother put me on those awful diets," Sigrid offered into the silence. "Said a princess should be substantial, not something that might blow away in a strong breeze."
The tension in the chapel had shifted, the air between them warming with shared memories. For a moment, they were just three people who had loved the same man, united in their loss.
"The Queen has plans," Christian said after a while, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "For the funeral. For... after."
And just like that, the moment of connection began to fade. The mention of Queen Margreta brought reality crashing back—the reality where Christian was her ally, her agent, while Hal and Sigrid stood as obstacles to her ambitions.
"She always has plans," Sigrid said, her voice cooling.
Christian looked up, meeting Hal's gaze across the coffin. Something complicated flickered in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or resignation. "She thinks you'll be easy to manage now," he said bluntly. "Without Freddie to shield you."
Hal stiffened. "And you? What do you think?"
Christian studied him for a long moment. "Freddie said you were stronger than anyone gave you credit for. Even yourself." His mouth twisted. "I never understood why he believed that so firmly."
The words struck Hal like a physical blow. Freddie had said that? About him? To Christian, of all people?
"He said I was too quick to dismiss you," Christian continued, his voice low. "That I saw what I wanted to see, not what was actually there." He looked away, his jaw tightening. "Perhaps he was right."
"What do you mean?" Hal asked, unable to keep the confusion from his voice.