Crimson's Captivation (11 page)

After almost three full days of travel over
land, the sun came out. Winter had not yet bound the land in its
grip and they made it to the newly occupied Swedish fortified camp
outside of Narva. The Russian surrender was a decisive victory for
the king and Sweden. All of Tsar Peter’s cannons, muskets, and
military supplies were now the property of Sweden. The scribe
wasn’t a warrior, but even she felt a warrior’s pride in the
success of her king and her countrymen. Russia was a formidable
opponent and Sweden had easily won.

The camp’s walls were nine feet high, backed
to a six foot wide ditch, and practically impenetrable. The scribe
made her way to the entrance and attempted to push her away past
the king’s Drabants, but they halted her.

“I must speak with King Charles,” she
stated.

“And you are?” questioned an older gentleman
sporting a blue coat with yellow cuffs. His large brass buttons
showed little tarnish and he was far too clean to be on the
frontline. His black and gray beard was long, unkempt, and he
constantly tugged the stray ends of it, trying to corral them into
place.

“I, sir, if you must know, am Sierida, the
scribe of Princess Sophia. I have an urgent message for the king
and time is of the essence. The king’s great victory, while
impressive and pleasing to me, required that I travel several more
days than expected and I’m afraid that I am late.”

He looked in the direction of the king and
began shaking his head back and forth. “My lady, nations are at
war. A message from the princess cannot be of importance.” He
grabbed her by the elbow and said aloud so others nearby could
hear, “What? Is the princess out of tea?”

The nearby Drabants laughed and jeered at her
as the elder commander escorted Sierida toward the outer wall of
the camp.

Sierida pulled away from his grasp and deftly
pinned his thumbs to his wrists. The old statesman fell to his
knees, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He quietly begged for
mercy under his breath. She said loudly in return so that the
others could hear, “I assure you, this is not about tea! But that,
sir, is not your concern. All of you men are the same,” she said as
she eyed the growing crowd and let the old man twist at her feet.
“If it weren’t for women, none …! None of you would be here seeking
glory! None of you would have any enlightenment at all. You’d be
drunks and rapists instead of using your brains and hearts to win
your love, to find purpose. You’d still be barbarians. I’m afraid
that you all suffer from some form of self-statutory. But so be it
and it does serve a purpose for our homeland. But understand this.
I will conduct my business!”

She released his thumbs, took the scroll from
her pack and placed it under the old man’s chin. “I suspect you,
sir, haven’t been on your knees in front of a woman for quite some
time. What is your name?”

“Karl Rehnschiöld, my lady,” he answered as
he squirmed in the knee-deep snow. His thumbs were on fire from
having been pinned.

She crouched down so they were face to face,
so close that their noses almost touched, “Mr. Rehnschiöld, I must
speak with the king. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lady,” Karl whimpered.

“Very well, my apologies for my crudeness,
sir. The king, please.”

Karl stood, inspected his thumbs and brushed
the snow from his knees. “The king is busy at the moment. We’re
about to advance on Russia to the east and he is speaking with his
generals.”

Sierida sighed deeply with frustration. “The
king will want to speak to me.”

“Wait here.” Karl approached the king after
chastising the crowd of men and ordering them back to work. He
pulled the king to the side.

Sierida watched the conversation and marveled
at the king. He was as the rumors suggested, a reincarnation of
Alexander. The king had grown older since she saw him last. He was
a bit taller, his nose was longer and thinner, his hair had started
to recede, but she could tell he was a master on this occasion. It
was obvious that he was a man with a purpose. Everything about him
exuded confidence. She had kissed him once, back before the war and
still blushed when she saw him.

“My king, Sierida, the scribe of Princess
Sophia, seeks a moment of your time,” Karl said as he grabbed the
king’s arm.

“I haven’t the time, Karl. Send her
away.”

“Sir,” Karl pleaded, trembling at the thought
of delivering bad news to the scribe, “she’s rather insistent. Said
she traveled many days and the news is from Princess Sophia.”

The king pushed a bundle of maps into Karl’s
chest. “My sister? Very well, confirm our plans for our
advancement.” The king waved her over. “Quickly scribe, what news
do you have from my sister?”

Sierida didn’t speak, instead she handed him
the scroll.

The king broke the wax seal and unrolled the
document. After reading it, he pulled Sierida close to him, which
caught her off guard and she fell into him. He whispered, “Is this
true?”

Sierida blushed and stammered
unintentionally, “Sir, I, I haven’t read the document.”

“You are in the inner court of the princess,
correct?”

“Yes.”

“And we both know there are no such things as
secrets in her court. I will ask you once more and I expect an
honest answer. Is Crimson my sister, and has she been kidnapped by
the horrors as this document suggests?”

“Yes, my king. I believe that to be the
case.”

The king mulled over the news, trying to
picture Crimson, the little girl that was always underfoot and
always showing up at parties in the palace. The little girl, who
shadowed Sophia everywhere. She was his sister. He wondered how
long Sophia knew this secret. “And of Princess Sophia? What is your
impression?”

Sierida grasped the king’s arm and leaned in
to whisper. “Sir, she has sanctioned the young man of your court,
Viktor. She assigned two guards, funded and blessed his quest. He
is heading toward Pinsk after several days training near Nyberg.
We, the princess, fear there will be retaliation if the young man
succeeds in making it to Pinsk.”

A deep scowl furrowed the king’s forehead.
“What? Three men in hostile Polish territory. He’ll never make it.
Where is Viktor now?”

“I suspect he and his guards are crossing the
Baltic, that is, if a boat dare leave Stockholm in this
weather.”

The king stared at the scroll, contemplating.
“Wait here scribe.”

The king called his inner men to his side and
they huddled into a tight circle around him. “Men, I shall head
into Poland.”

His generals immediately balked at the king’s
statement and one spoke up. “Sir, Russia is wide open. She lays
before us a land to be conquered and captured. The Poles should not
be our objective.”

The eyes pierced into the souls of his men.
He knew his generals were correct. Russia was for the taking and
the capture of Narva was only the beginning. Snow flurries again
and everyone knew another blizzard would eventually come. This was
perfect weather to continue east into Russia while the Russians
were on their heels.

The king tapped the scroll in his left hand
for several minutes while considering his choices. Finally, he made
his decision. “My generals, you fight for honor of country. I must
fight for honor of country and family. How many men do we have
here?”

“Sir, ten thousand strong, but I must contend
the gods were on our side today. The blizzard was as much a force
as our men. On the other side of Narva lie forty thousand Russians
and they are waiting. They are preparing. To move south would leave
this front and Sweden wide open.”

“I shall only take one hundred, then. You
shall continue east with the remaining force.”

The generals were concerned, fearing the king
wasn’t thinking clearly. They knew their king was too offensive
minded and now he was splitting his army into two directions, two
battle fronts. “Sir, you mean to attack the Poles, to go on the
offensive with one hundred men?”

The king placed his hands on the shoulder of
the man to his left and right. “No. I mean to rescue my sister,
Crimson.”

Chapter II

~ Punishment ~

The patter of leather on the marble floor of
the palace announced the two guards’ arrival. They stopped in
unison at the doorway and awaited the countess’s orders.

Darya was insistent that nothing happen to
Sergen. She stepped between the guards and Sergen, trying her best
to protect him. “It’s not his fault, Mother. I ordered him and
Uric! I made them do it! Sergen is not to blame. Blame me … blame
me.”

The countess nodded. The guards pushed Darya
aside and each took one of Sergen’s arms at the bicep. They
forcefully escorted him from Darya’s room. Darya stomped away from
her mother and went to the far window where she showed her
disapproval by yelling and pleading as Sergen was taken away, “You
won’t harm him, will you? You had better not! You had better not
cut him!”

The countess refused to answer her daughter.
She was too angry for the ceremonious observances of which she
normally spoiled her. It took everything she had to not lash out
and berate her daughter’s actions in front of the palace
servants.

Uric didn’t say a word. He backed himself to
the far wall and silently watched as Darya screamed and pleaded
with her mother. He busied himself with a bathing gown that he
found. He covered himself with the gown, refused to make eye
contact with the countess or Draya, and wondered if he could sneak
out without being noticed. Darya’s pitch seemed to grow with each
plea, and he was sure she was about to lose control. All the while,
he hoped Darya wouldn’t mention his name.

Sergen heard Darya arguing from the hallway.
Her shouts leapt down the long corridor and swallowed the distance
between them. He trusted Darya would be able to convince her mother
to spare him. He didn’t want to go under the knife. But he also
knew something else, something that wasn’t spoken. He was enamored
with Darya. She was not like the others. The others wanted him for
pleasure. Darya wanted him for pleasure, as well, but she had
whispered to him—she had said she loved him. She was the first to
ever say it, and after all this time as a stud, after pleasing
woman after woman, after making them orgasm to the point of almost
vanishing from this world, after following carnal orders until he
exhausted himself without any real connection. He finally knew why
he was always left without hope. It was nice to hear that he was
loved. Even if Darya was young and didn’t understand what she had
said, he knew she felt it. Darya was sincere and it sparked a new
revelation in him, a new purpose, and for the first time he felt in
union with hope and his own body.

Sergen heard the door slam shut and the
mother scream back at Darya from the hallway. Her tone was full of
anger, “Darya! You are not to tell me my business! I run this
palace.” She spotted Sergen. “Guards, oil him and prepare him for a
lashing! And then take the other one back to his quarters.” Sergen
was far bigger and stronger than the guards. He easily pulled away
from them and knocked them to the ground. He rushed toward the
countess. The countess yelped, ran into Darya’s room and slammed
the door behind her. She leaned her weight against the door and
shouted, “You had better behave, Sergen! I warn you, my patience is
already thin!”

Sergen easily pushed the door open several
inches and could feel the countess push back. “My lady,” he said
through the opening, “it is not my intent to harm you. Do not blame
the young girl. It was my doing. I seduced her. If there is any
blame this night, it should fall on my shoulders.”

“Like her legs were moments ago when I
entered the room?” the countess countered. She pushed even harder
against the door. “Weren’t my orders clear, Sergen? She was not to
have you, right?”

“Yes, my lady, you were clear.”

She let Sergen push open the door as she
stepped toward the middle of the room. When the door was fully
open, the countess approached him, shaking her head back and forth
with displeasure. “I’m afraid I’ve been too lenient with you, all
of you! You all will be punished, am I understood.”

The guards’ approached Sergen from behind and
the largest guard swung a stick hard across the back of Sergen’s
legs. Sergen could’ve fought the guards and easily have won. He
could have turned, taken the stick from the guard, and run them
off, but he knew that any outburst would only makes things worse.
He fell to his knees and allowed the guards to detain him.

“You, stop whimpering,” the countess ordered
Darya, “you’re in trouble as well. I think a lash or two will
remind you of your position in this family. Guards, when you get to
the bathing room, send two female caretakers to prepare my daughter
for the lash.”

Darya crouched into the far corner of the
room and rested her head on her knees.

The countess approached Uric and tore away
the bathing robe with which he covered himself. Uric turned his
head away and covered his genitals with his hands. “And you, what
was your role here?” she asked mere inches from his face.

Uric stuttered, “I, I was ordered to watch,
my lady.”

“Watch?”

“Yes, watch and learn.”

“I see,” the countess said as she grabbed
Uric’s wrist and led him out of the room. “Darya, Uric is hereby
taken away from you. I will train him. And you are not to have any
interaction with Sergen, but not to worry. I think after a lashing,
you’ll understand. You will all understand that my orders are to be
followed!”

Darya stood. She protested by throwing
herself on the bed and watched her mother step into the hallway,
with Uric pulled behind her. Darya let out a scream of frustration
and buried her face into her pillow as she waited for the female
caretakers to arrive.