Chapter 16
Later that afternoon, the palace car's wheels crunched over the gravel drive of Riddarhuset Academy.
Through the window, Hal caught glimpses of cadets freezing mid-stride, their faces shifting from curiosity to recognition as the royal standard fluttered from the hood.
The weight of the Order of the Seraphim in the breast pocket of his coat was a constant reminder of what he was about to do and why he was here.
He didn't wait for the driver to open his door.
"Your Royal Highness!" The Commandant burst from the front doors of the Academy, red-faced and fumbling with his uniform jacket, and then turning to hold them open for Hal to enter.
Behind him, staff members craned their necks to catch a glimpse of their newly-elevated former cadet.
The corridor seemed narrower than Hal remembered, though he'd walked it just days ago as one of them.
"Thank you, Commandant. I appreciate the welcome, but I'm afraid I have limited time." Hal kept his voice steady, channeling his father's quiet authority. "I need to speak with Cadet Eliasberg immediately."
The Commandant's face flickered with uncertainty. "Perhaps, Your Royal Highness, we could arrange a proper assembly? The entire cadet corps would be honored to pay their respects—"
"Some matters require discretion, Commandant." Hal met the older man's gaze, feeling the weight of his new position settle between them. "I trust you understand." The words carried the same tone his father used when ending discussions in the council – not unkind, but brooking no argument.
The Commandant's lips thinned. "Cadet Eliasberg is currently serving punishment detail in the armory, Your Royal Highness. He showed... disrespect during morning formation." The man's careful phrasing couldn't mask his disapproval. "Perhaps another cadet—"
Hal's boots echoed against the stone floor as he strode past the spluttering Commandant.
He pushed through the academy's double doors into the crisp autumn air, his protection officers falling into step behind him.
Cadets drilling on the parade ground froze mid-maneuver, their instructors faltering as the Crown Prince of Sweden crossed their path. Whispers trailed in his wake.
He ignored them all.
The weight of the last seventy-two hours pressed against his chest more heavily than any decorated order. Freddie's face, peaceful in death. His father's blue-tinged lips. His mother's calculating looks. Every royal duty that would now fall to him
But none of that mattered right now.
The armory stood across the quad, its weathered stone facade remained unchanged while everything else in Hal's world had shattered.
Two cadets nearly collided trying to salute him.
An instructor called out his new title. Hal barely registered them, his focus narrowed to the building ahead and the person inside.
The familiar smell of gun oil and powder hit him as he pulled open the heavy wooden door. Rows of rifles stood in silent formation, gleaming under Jakob's careful hands.
His rigid shoulders betrayed his anger before Hal even saw Jakob's face.
The broom swept across the stone floor with furious precision, each stroke a testament to his contained rage.
Dust motes danced in the shafts of weak winter sunlight that pierced the high windows, illuminating the countless weapons Jakob had already cleaned and the practice grenades meticulously arranged on their racks.
The sound of the door closing behind Hal echoed through the cavernous space. Jakob's head snapped up, the broom freezing mid-stroke. His eyes widened, disbelief washing over his features.
"Hal?" The word escaped as a whisper, as though speaking it too loudly might make Hal disappear. Jakob straightened, his knuckles white around the broom handle. "I thought—" He swallowed hard. "I assumed the royal court would keep you in Stockholm. I didn't think they would let you come back."
The distance between them was vast and insignificant. A week ago, they'd been cadets together. Now, Hal carried the weight of the royal family's future on his shoulders.
"They tried," Hal said, his voice echoing in the armory. Each step toward Jakob felt like crossing an invisible boundary, the world he'd left behind merging with the one he now inhabited.
Jakob remained frozen, uncertainty etched across his face.
Hal reached out, gently pushing the broom aside.
It clattered to the floor, the sound reverberating through the armory as he closed the final distance between them.
His arms encircled Jakob, pulling him close, breathing in the familiar scent of him, soap and skin and the warmth of his body, feeling how perfectly they fit together.
For a moment, Jakob remained stiff in his embrace, before his arms slowly came up to wrap around Hal's back, fingers clutching at the fine wool of his jacket.
"Nothing could keep me away from you," Hal murmured against Jakob's ear, feeling the tremor that ran through the other man's body. "I will always come back to you, Jakob. Always." He pulled back just enough to meet Jakob's eyes.
He saw desperation there, and doubt, before Jakob's mouth found his, and Hal melted into the kiss, letting everything else fall away as Jakob pulled him closer, and then even closer than that, until there was no space between their bodies.
"I didn't think you'd come back," Jakob whispered against his lips, wonder threading through his voice. "I thought... after the funeral, with everything you have to do now..."
"I left right after the funeral," Hal said, the words tumbling out as he buried his face against Jakob's neck. "Mother was furious." He pulled back to meet Jakob's eyes. "I had to see you. Before..."
"Before I leave." Jakob's voice was steady, but Hal could see the pain flickering in his blue eyes.
"I know you have to go." Hal's hands fisted in Jakob's shirt. "I know it's right, I know it's what you need, what we have to do. But I don't know if I'm strong enough to actually let you walk away from me."
Jakob's thumb traced along Hal's cheekbone. "My prince," he whispered, Hal's title an endearment in his softly accented voice. "You're stronger than you know."
"What if I'm not?" The words cracked as they left Hal's throat. "What if when the moment comes, I can't do it? What if I beg you to stay, or try to use my position to keep you here? What if I'm not the man you think I am?"
"Hal—"
"I made promises," Hal continued desperately.
"While I was standing vigil for my brother I made promises to myself, to his memory.
That even if I had to send you away, it would only be until I became strong enough to protect you.
That I would build something for us and for Sweden that can't be torn down.
But what if I send you away and something happens to you?
You're going to war, Jakob. Things happen in wars: bombs, guns, bullets.
" Bleeding, he thinks desperately. Dying. Alone in the cold and the snow.
"Stop it." Jakob's hands framed his face, forcing Hal to meet his gaze. "You came back for me. You left everything— your duties, your mother's scheming, the country that needs you — just to be here with me. You think that's weakness?"
"It feels like it," Hal whispered. "It feels like I should be stronger than this."
Jakob was quiet for a long moment, studying Hal's face in the dim light.
When he spoke, his voice was soft but certain.
"In all those stories you love—the knights, the oaths of fealty—they swore those oaths because it was necessary.
Because honor demanded it and they needed something sacred to bind them to one another and carry them through the impossible. "
Hal's breath caught. "Jakob..."
"Let me give you that," Jakob said, his hands sliding down to take Hal's. "Something that will make you strong enough to let me go. Something that will bind me to you no matter how much time or distance separates us."
Jakob's eyes swept across the armory table, past the neatly arranged cleaning supplies and practice equipment, until they found what he was looking for; Two brass circlets, worn smooth and golden by countless hands.
They were the ring pulls from the pins of grenades from the great war, their edges softened by two decades of nervous fingers.
He picked them up, the metal warm against his palm, and pressed one into Hal's hand.
The brass shone dully in the weak light.
"These come from weapons of war," Jakob said, his voice low and reverent.
"They're made to protected lives, kept men safe when everything around them was falling apart.
" He turned the brass ring over in his fingers, feeling the smooth metal.
"Hundreds of cadets have held these, polished them, trusted them.
All of them know what it means to serve something greater than yourself. "
Hal's fingers closed around the warm brass, understanding flooding through him even as his throat tightened.
The weight of it was nothing—a few grams of metal—but the meaning behind Jakob's gesture pressed against his chest with the weight of a mountain.
Around them, the armory held its breath, dusty in the slanted light, rifles standing at attention in their racks.
Without breaking eye contact, Jakob sank to his knees on the rough wooden floor.
The sight sent a jolt through Hal's chest—not of desire, though that was there too, but of something deeper.
Something that made his breath catch and his heart pound against his ribs.
Jakob's blue eyes never wavered from his face, steady and certain despite the tremor in his hands.