Crimson's Captivation by LLC Melange Books

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