The Silver Throne

Deleted Scene I

This was an early alternate concept for the end of the book. I'd originally wanted to end it on a much more somber note, and leave things very unresolved between Hal and Jakob. I'm very much a discovery writer and as I got to know the characters better it became clear that Jakob was, quite frankly, just smarter than that. This bit changed about the same time as Jakob's line in the Armory where he tells Hal to shut up, because they need to think. (I love him so much.) PG, no warnings/triggers, mild spoilers.

- Aurora

The dining hall erupted into chaos around Jakob, but the voices blurred into white noise. His fingertips pressed against the wooden table, anchoring him as the world tilted sideways. Christian's voice cut through the din, sharp and insistent, but the words themselves were meaningless.

Karl Fredrick dead. Harald - his Hal - the Crown Prince.

His chest tightened, each breath shallow and quick. The familiar scents of coffee and bread turned sour in his nostrils.

Jakob pushed back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor. No one noticed as he stood. Christian held court at the center of a growing crowd, his hands cutting through the air as he spoke. The other students clustered around him, their faces flushed with excitement at the drama unfolding.

His feet carried him through the dining hall on instinct. Past the portraits of stern-faced alumni. Past the gleaming trophy cases. The click of his shoes against the marble floor echoed in his ears, too loud, too fast.

The corridor stretched endless before him. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck despite the autumn chill. He needed air. Space. Silence.

Karl Fredrick dead. Hal - Crown Prince.

The words repeated in his mind like a broken record. Each repetition carved deeper into his chest, hollowing him out. Everything they'd shared - the stolen moments, the whispered conversations, the tentative plans - crumbled to ash in his mouth.

The news echoed in his head: Crown Prince Harald. Three words that changed everything. Three words that made their love not just dangerous, but impossible. Crown Princes couldn't hide in haylofts with farm boys. They couldn't steal kisses in library corners or share dawn chores. They needed wives, needed heirs, needed futures that Jakob could never be part of.

Christian's threats had given him the push, but this - this would have ended them anyway. Sweden needed its future king whole, untainted by scandal. Needed him to marry some suitable princess, to produce golden-haired heirs with royal blood. To be everything Jakob could never let him be if they stayed together.

Because Jakob knew himself too well. Knew he could never stand in the shadows, watching Hal marry someone else, pretending their love had never existed. Knew he would burn them both down trying to keep what could never truly be his.

Jakob's feet carried him past the academy gates, through the town square, and onto the cobblestone streets leading toward the city center. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across his path as he walked, one foot in front of the other, no destination in mind.

His muscles ached from the endless motion, but he couldn't stop. If he stopped, he'd have to think. Have to feel.

The streets grew wider, buildings more imposing. A crisp breeze rustled the leaves of maple trees lining the avenue. Jakob looked up, finding himself before the stone facade of the military regiment headquarters. The Swedish flag snapped in the wind above, yellow cross stark against blue sky.

Beyond the iron gates, soldiers marched in formation across the parade ground. Their boots struck the packed earth in perfect rhythm, rifles gleaming on their shoulders. Officers barked commands, their voices carrying across the yard.

The scene jolted Jakob from his daze. Here was something real. Something solid. The military didn't care about titles or class or forbidden loves. They needed men who could fight, who could follow orders, who could serve.

He straightened his shoulders and walked through the gates. Inside, the building hummed with activity. Maps covered the walls, dotted with pins marking troop movements. Clerks hurried past with stacks of papers. The sharp smell of gun oil and leather polish filled the air.

At the recruitment desk, a sergeant looked up from his paperwork. "Can I help you?"

"Yes." Jakob's voice came out steady, certain. "I'm here to enlist."

The recruitment forms spread across the desk, each blank line demanding answers. Jakob gripped the pen tighter, willing his hand to stay steady as he wrote. His fingers left smudges on the crisp paper. Each empty blank demanded clarity where Jakob felt none. Next of kin: Sarah Eliasberg. Not Crown Prince Harald, though Hal's face flashed in his mind, golden and laughing in the morning light. Emergency contact: Rachel Eliasberg. Not the boy who'd read Tennyson to him in the library, voice soft and intimate as prayer. Each line he filled felt like another brick in the wall he was building between them, necessary and brutal all at once. This was how he would protect Hal - by becoming a stranger, by turning himself into just another soldier in Sweden's army. By making sure that when people spoke of Crown Prince Harald, they would never whisper Jakob Eliasberg's name in the same breath.

Jakob gripped the pen tighter, willing his hand to stay steady as he wrote. His fingers left smudges on the crisp paper, marking it like Christian's threats had marked their future. Each answer pulled him further from Riddarhuset, from Harald, from everything they'd dreamed of becoming together.

"Previous military experience?" the recruitment officer asked.

"None, sir." Just discussions of military theory in a warm library, Hal's shoulder pressed against his as they debated winter tactics. Just dreams of serving together in the Prince's Regiment, dreams that had died the moment Christian had laid those photographs on the library table.

The officer nodded, stamping another form. "Finnish Volunteer Corps is looking for men. Brutal conditions, but it's where you'll be most useful."

Jakob's heart clenched. Finland. About as far from Stockholm - from Hal - as he could get without leaving Sweden entirely. "Yes, sir. That would be suitable."

It would be more than suitable. It would be perfect. Christian had demanded he leave, had threatened to destroy everything if Jakob remained within reach of the new Crown Prince. Well, the Finnish front would put more than enough distance between them. And if Jakob didn't survive the winter... He pushed that thought away. He had to survive. Had to know that somewhere, Hal was safe, was becoming the king Sweden needed.

Even if that meant becoming exactly the kind of soldier Hal had begged him not to be.

A clerk directed him down a sterile hallway to the medical examination room. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned his nostrils. Inside, a military doctor waited, his white coat stark against the gray walls.

"Strip to your underclothes," the doctor ordered without looking up from his clipboard.

Jakob removed his jacket and shirt, folding them carefully on a wooden chair. The cold air raised goosebumps across his chest. He focused on the medical diagrams lining the walls as the doctor pressed a stethoscope against his back.

"Breathe deeply."

The metal disc moved across his skin. Jakob inhaled, held, exhaled. Again. Again. His heart pounded against his ribs, but he kept his face blank.

The doctor checked his reflexes, his eyes, his teeth. Measured his height and weight. Made notes on his clipboard. Each touch was impersonal, clinical. Jakob retreated inside himself, letting his body go through the motions while his mind stayed carefully blank.

"Any previous injuries or illnesses?"

"No, sir."

The doctor nodded, scribbling one final note. "You'll do. Get dressed and return to the recruitment office."

Jakob buttoned his shirt with trembling fingers as he waited for his assignment. The recruitment office buzzed with activity - phones ringing, typewriters clacking, boots clicking against wooden floors.

"Eliasberg." The officer's voice cut through the noise. "Your papers are ready."

Jakob approached the desk, standing at attention as he'd observed others doing. The officer handed him a thick manila envelope.

"You'll report to the Finnish Volunteer Corps training camp in four days. All necessary documentation and instructions are enclosed." The officer's pen scratched against paper. "Winter conditions up there are brutal. Make sure you're prepared."

Jakob's stomach clenched. He'd heard stories about the Finnish winter - temperatures dropping far below freezing, endless nights, winds that cut through flesh like knives. The farm had been cold enough in December. This would be something else entirely.

"Yes, sir." He tucked the envelope under his arm, careful not to crease it.

"Dismissed."

Outside the recruitment office, Jakob found a quiet corner in the building's courtyard. His hands shook slightly as he opened the envelope, scanning the forms inside. Training schedules, equipment lists, travel documents - each page made this more real.

He leaned against the cool stone wall, letting out a long breath. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the courtyard, but he barely noticed them. His mind was already racing ahead to frozen forests and military drills.

This was the right choice. The necessary choice. Every mile between him and Stockholm was another layer of protection for Harald. If Christian couldn't use their relationship as leverage, Harald would be safer. The crown prince needed to focus on his new responsibilities, not worry about a farm boy who'd dared to love him.

Jakob squared his shoulders, tucking the papers back into their envelope. Four days. He had four days to say goodbye to everything he knew.

At home in their cottage, Jakob took the first deep breath he'd had since he'd met with Christian in the library. It was done now, the die was cast and everything he'd put in motion was now beyond his control. All he had to do now was keep putting one foot in front of the other.

He'd been issued military kit already, his basic uniform and rucksack, boots and wool underthings. He'd get the rest, including his weapon, when he arrived back at the station for transport to training. Looking at these things now, spreading them out on his bed, he couldn't imagine that they'd be warm enough for a cold-snap in Mora, not to mention fighting in the winter.

The military-issued wool scratched against his skin, nothing like the fine fabrics Hal wore, nothing like the softness of Hal's hands against his face when they'd last kissed. Jakob folded each piece carefully, methodically, as if proper military precision could somehow make this betrayal hurt less. Because that's what this was - a betrayal of every promise they'd made, every future they'd imagined. Hal would hate him for this, for choosing this path after explicitly promising not to.

But Hal's hatred was a price Jakob would gladly pay. Better hatred than destruction. Better Hal alive and angry than ruined by Christian's machinations. Better a clean break now than watching their love tear apart everything Hal needed to become.

He went to the trunk at the foot of his mother's bed, the same one that he'd raided for clothes for Hal when they were doing chores together, and pulled out the gray wool sweater that had once been his father's. It smelt less of pipe smoke now and more of the ghost of fresh sweat and the faint citrus over-note of Hal's cologne. He brought it to his nose, seeking comfort, even knowing that there was none to be had. Still, folded carefully it went into the bottom of the rucksack along with extra woolen underwear, and every pair of clean warm socks he thought his mother could spare.

Sunlight streamed through his bedroom window, catching dust motes that danced in the air. From outside came the familiar sounds of the farm – chickens scratching, the distant low of cattle. The normalcy of it all felt like a mockery.

He still had the photograph, which he'd kept tucked inside of Hal's copy of "Idylls of the King", borrowed and never returned. Jakob picked it up, his thumb brushing over the gilt edges. He should return it. He should say a proper goodbye. He should tell Hal what he'd done.

But that would only make Hal fight harder to keep him safe and close. And Hal couldn't afford that now – not with a crown waiting for him, not with a kingdom's future in the balance.

He traced the gilt edges of "Idylls of the King," remembering how Hal's voice had softened on Lancelot's lines. Another story of impossible love destroying a kingdom. Well, Jakob wouldn't be Hal's Lancelot. Wouldn't let their love tear apart everything Hal was meant to become. Sweden needed its Crown Prince more than Jakob needed his heart to remain whole. Jakob tucked the book into his satchel. One small theft to remember him by. One piece of Hal he could take with him into whatever waited ahead.

Deleted Scene II

This is a miscellaneous love scene that I adored, but as the plot angst increased, this very sweet moment between our two boys didn't really find it's place in the book. Luckily, I can share it with you here and it doesn't have to stay on the cutting room floor. R-rated, no triggers, no spoilers. Enjoy!

- Aurora

Jakob's breath hitched. "Hal..."

"I know what I'm risking." Harald leaned in until their foreheads touched. "I know exactly what I could lose. And I don't care."

"You should care." But Jakob's hands were already sliding up Harald's chest, coming to rest over his heart. "This is about so much more than just you and I. You should care very much."

"About Christian's threats? About what people might say?" Harald shook his head slightly. "The only thing I care about right now is you. Right here. With me."

The kiss, when it came, held all the fear and fury of the evening. Jakob's mouth opened under his, desperate and demanding, and Harald responded in kind. Harald pressed them both backwards until Jakob was laying on the mattress, knocking books and papers and notes from the bedside table in his haste to get closer, to feel more of the heady feeling of Jakob underneath him.

"Sorry," Jakob gasped against Harald's mouth. "Your books—"

"Leave them." Harald pressed closer, pinning Jakob against the shelves. "God, I've wanted to touch you all evening."

"Someone could have seen." Something vulnerable flickered across Jakob's face. "I'm scared, Hal."

Harald pressed their foreheads together again, letting his hands slide down to rest low on Jakob' belly. "I know. So am I." He took a shaking breath. "It feels like the whole world is shaking apart around us. But I'm more scared of losing you than I am of anything else. No matter what Christian might do."

"Don't say his name." Jakob whispered. "He's got no place here, between you and I."

"No." Harald said, with a kiss that was softer, slower, but no less hungry. "There's no one here but you and me." Jakob opened his mouth again underneath him the kiss becoming hungrier, more desperate. Jakob's arms tightened around him, bringing them close and everything else fell away - the fear of discovery and the worry over consequences all disappeared. Here, in this moment, there was only this: Jakob's body strong and real underneath his hands and love so fierce it hurt.

The friction between their bodies was delicious and more than enough to bring him off, but Hal wanted more. He wanted — no, needed — for it to be his hands, his words, his will that made Jakob find his pleasure. To wrap the other man in his regard and make him feel loved, treasured, safe. Hal opened his eyes, meeting the dark blue of Jakob's own, before slipping his hand down into the heat between their bodies so that he could cup Jakob's erection firmly through fabric of his trousers.

Jakob gasped and moaned deliciously as his hips ground forward into Hal's hand. Hal could feel Jakob hard and damp beneath his hand as he stroked; slow and careful, building friction deliciously. Jakob bucked forward reflexively, his body begging for more. A gasp escaping from one or both of them, lost within heated kisses swallowing sound… "Hal," Jakob breathed out, his eyes closing as Harald's grip tightened just a fraction. "God, that feels..."

"Good?" Hal whispered. "I want to make you feel so good."

"You do." Jakob moaned, thrusting his hips, grinding his cock into Harald's hand. "Oh, Hal…"

Hal tightened his fingers and pressed with the heel of his hand, giving Jakob more friction. Jakob threw his head back, his breath coming in short pants and groans, his hips pushing up harder and harder, all but obliterating the space between them so that every movement he made pressed through Hal's hand, cupped tight around him, giving Hal the sweetest friction on his own cock, moaning with every thrust.

"Oh, Hal. Hal. Stop… please." Jakob stilled underneath him.

Hal pulled his hands away so quickly that he nearly scratched himself on his own zipper. He reached for Jakob's cheek, brushing away a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Jakob said quickly, and then covered his face with his hands. "God, no, Hal. I liked it. I liked it too much.”

“Too… Oh.” Hal said, understanding. “Jakob.”

“Sorry. I don’t want to… spend. Not so soon, when we finally have privacy." Harald’s fingers came to curl around his, pressing them away from his face where they were hiding his eyes from him.

“But I want you to." Hal said.

“What?” Jakob said, confused.

Hal's face was close to his again, sharing breath and peppering little kisses over Jakob’s cheeks as his arms curled around Jakob's neck, pressing his hips down against him. Hal couldn’t stifle a small, hungry noise in the back of his throat, but he wanted to make sure that Jakob could feel how much he was desired, how hungry Hal was for him.

"“I want to make you spend. I want to do that, to bring you to your peak, just my hands." Looking up, Hal could see Jakob’s eyes were all-pupil, black and heavy lidded with pleasure. "Let me? Please?" he asked, nearly begging. He buried his face in Jakob's neck, the racing pulse beneath distracting him from the idea that he, Royalty who had had never had to beg anyone for anything in his life, would gladly beg Jakob for this.

When Jakob arched into him and gasped out his consent – "Yes, Hal. God, yes. Please…" The heat that went through him at Jakob's words nearly made him lose control. His fingers shook as he worked to undo Jakob's trousers, desperate to feel the heat of his skin against him.

Harald kept his strokes deliberately slow at first, watching with fascination as Jakob bit down on his lower lip, fighting to stay quiet. The sight of him trying to maintain control, the way his body responded to every touch – it was better than any fantasy he'd ever allowed himself to indulge in.

"Good, sweetheart. That's good."

Jakob bit his lip, trying to hold back a moan as Harald's hand moved faster, more insistent now. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of the delicious friction. "Hal. Halle. I..."

"Shh," Harald soothed, leaning in to capture Jakob's lips in a searing kiss. His other hand continued squeezing and stroking in time with their heated kisses. "You're safe with me," he breathed against Jakob's ear before returning to his neck once more. "I've got you."

“Yes, like that…” Harald whispered, tightening his hands. "Does it feel good? My hands on you?" Jakob seemed as though he was nearly at the precipice already, snapping his hips up harder, faster, into Harald warm grip.

"So good." Jakob gasped, his cheeks and chest flushing red, embarrassed at how his body was moving, or the noise he was making, Hal wasn't sure.

"Yes, darling…" he murmured into Jakob's ear. “You're so beautiful, perfect like this. Yes, exactly. Move like that, however feels best.

"God, Hal... you feel so good," Jakob moaned, his fists clenching the sheets as pleasure coursed through him in waves. They'd found a rhythm now, Jakob's hips pressing up, fucking himself into Hal's fist, and Hal found himself closer than he'd ever been without a hand on his cock, just from the closeness of Jakob's body and the noises he was making.

"That's it," Harald encouraged, bending so that he could whisper endearments directly into Joss's ear. "My darling, my baby, älskade,…" his voice dark and sweet. "Let go for me, sweetheart. Give me what I want. Let me see you fall apart in my arms." His other hand slid up Jakob's chest to cup his heart, feeling its frantic beat beneath his palm. "You're safe with me," he repeated like a mantra. "I won't let anything happen to you. Come for me, precious. Let me have it."

The combination of Harald's possessive words and skilled touch was too much for Jakob to bear any longer. Harald could see the pleasure wash over Joss's body as he reached his peak, feel his body shake apart as his hand was soaked over and over with his release. A small twist, a hitch of his hips, and it only took a few strokes before Hal followed Jakob over the precipice, burying his face in the warm skin of Jakob's throat as he, too, made a disaster of their trousers.

Hal could feel Jakob's warmth beside him, their heartbeats slowing in tandem as they buried themselves in one another's arms, waiting to come back down to earth.