Chapter 14 #5
“Mother…” Hal said, but stopped, unsure himself even how he would finish that sentence.
“Your mother has her ideas about what it means to be King. Remember that she is not one. You are the King. Therefore whatever you do - whether it’s right or wrong - is what is Kingly and proper.
You have to be your own check on your desires, your impulses.
No one else will do that for you.” His father said.
Jakob will. Hal thought, nearly bowled under by another wave of desperate longing. That’s why I need him so badly and why I can’t go forward without him.
“Sigrid will need to marry.” His father said. “As will you. And your mother has strong feelings about that as well. She’s already trying to re-route the women she’d hoped to direct toward Karl Fredrick to you.”
Hal must have made a face. Gustav laughed.
“My little Halle. Still thinking that girls are a bit icky, is that it? Well, you’ll grow out of it…
or you won’t, I suppose. Uncle Eugene never did, and he left you that lovely townhouse, didn’t he?
It’s no matter. As long as the succession is secured, both you and Sigrid should marry for love.
Ignore your mother’s attempts to treat you like a line of pure-bred horses; find someone who can stand beside you all of your days. ”
I found him, Hal wished he could say. He wished he could tell his father all about Jakob, about their connection and his brilliance and smile and heart.
Gustav's eyes grew distant, seeing past the study walls to memories of his own early days as king.
"When the Great War began, everyone thought it would be over by Christmas.
But I knew better. I'd watched the arms race, seen how the alliances were stacking up.
Sweden had to be strong enough that neither side could afford to make us an enemy.
" He coughed, a wet, rattling sound. "Neutrality isn't passive, you understand.
It requires constant strength. Vigilance. "
His fingers tightened on the chair arm. "And now it's happening again. But this time..." He trailed off, studying Hal's face.
Gustav leaned forward, his voice growing stronger despite his illness.
"But remember this, Hal. At the end of the day, after you've heard all the advice, all the arguments, all the threats and promises...
the final decision rests with you alone.
There will be moments when everyone – your advisors, the parliament, even your mother – will tell you one thing, but your conscience will tell you another.
" His golden eyes held Hal's gaze. "In those moments, you must have the courage to stand firm.
Because if you're wrong, all of Sweden will suffer.
And the weight of that decision falls on your shoulders alone.
But if you're right..." He smiled faintly.
"If you're right, you've done what a king must do: protect his people, even from themselves. "
A harsh, wet cough interrupted Gustav's words.
The sound tore through his father's chest like fabric ripping, each ragged breath worse than the last. Hal jumped up from his chair, hurrying to the crystal pitcher on the mahogany sideboard.
His hands shook as he poured, spilling drops of water onto the polished wood.
Behind him, Gustav's coughing grew more violent.
The sound echoed off the study's wood-paneled walls, each wracking spasm seeming to drain more life from the king's powerful frame.
Hal rushed back with the water, steadying his father's trembling hand as he lifted the glass to his lips.
The coughing continued, forcing Gustav to take small sips between gasps.
Finally, the fit subsided. Gustav slumped back in his chair, his face grey with exhaustion.
As he dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief, Hal noticed something that made his blood run cold – his father's usually pink lips had taken on a bluish tinge.
The same alarming color marked his fingernails where they gripped the glass. Not enough air.
His father's words about kingship still rang in his ears, mixing with his mother's commands and Freddie's old teasing about his serious nature.
Everyone had their own vision of what a king should be – strong like Gustav, commanding like Margreta, charismatic like Freddie.
But none of them seemed to fit Hal like his own skin did.
Perhaps that was what his father had been trying to tell him – that he would have to find his own way to wear the crown.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the study windows, catching the dust motes stirred up by their conversation.
Hal watched his father's labored breathing, each rise and fall of his chest a reminder that time was running out.
The crown would pass to him, along with all its impossible choices and lonely decisions.
But for now, he was still just Hal, watching his father struggle for breath and wishing desperately that he could somehow make it better.