Chapter II

~ The Pursuit Begins ~

Viktor, nephew of Christian Albrecht of Holstein-Gottorp, fled Germany at the age of fourteen and befriended Princess Sophia, the daughter of King Charles. He loved his homeland, but quickly grew tired of the infighting of the German Nobility. He knew at an early age he wanted to travel the nations of Europe and find himself. He spent most of his time at Karlberg or in the provinces nearby, hunting, fishing, and mastering close combat techniques. In most ways, he was privileged even though he never asked to be treated as a noble. He had access to Karlberg palace, the King and Princess Sophia.

In the court of King Charles, the young Viktor had first-hand observation of the partying that dominated the young king's days and nights before the great northern war. It was because of their shared existence and their closeness in age, that he and Crimson found a kinship and became lovers in their late teens.

Princess Sophia was a heroine of sorts among her countrywomen. With her refusal to accept an arranged marriage, she brought the concept of romantic-love to the surface, and this idea quickly spread to women in the nearby countryside. It raided their thoughts and desires. It left internal conflict and something new, something called idealism and enlightenment. It was also well known that the arranged marriage to the Crown Prince of Hanover was refused so that the princess could focus on her relationship with a young noble named Olof.

Secrets like these can’t be kept secret, especially if they involved royalty. Royalty and nobility were favorite subjects of gossip, and the rumor leaked. But as always, actions either proved or disproved any rumor. Her actions proved the rumor, and her fellow countrywomen were aghast and pleased at the same time. The combination of motive and bravery, the obvious rebellion by their princess, exploded on the tips of tongues of those in her court, and the secret tiptoed its way to the far reaches of the kingdom.

Idealism enraptured the hearts of young girls. They knew what to do with love even if their men did not. Liberation is often contagious and this one was no exception, women became masters of their own province in the bedroom and demanded more from their mates.

Sophia introduced Viktor to Crimson during the deep freeze of February. Viktor recalled Sophia’s request playfully bouncing off the large marble veneer that made up the hallway of the palace, ‘Viktor, darling, there is someone you must meet.’ He had just returned from tracking wolves near the outskirts of Solna. He was tired and hungry, but could never refuse Sophia. Sophia envisioned herself a matchmaker but not of pre-arrangement or force. She was a matchmaker of love and illumination, of destiny. She believed in romance, she was enthralled by the concept of hope, not hope as a promise, but something beyond a promise. Sophia respected sacrifice and saw sacrifice as the purest form of nobility.

Sweden was essentially icebound during the depths of winter and, with little to do outside, Viktor halfheartedly followed Sophia into a large room off the main hallway to find several women sitting in the glow of a shoulder-high fireplace. The kindling snapped and popped as the women discussed fashion, the prospects of war, and their favorite topic’s, love and sex, between their sips of tea.

Although introductions were a necessary formality as a matter of etiquette, he immediately found Crimson ravishing. Her presence captivated him and held him prisoner as he sat for hours among the dreadful conversation of the ladies.

Viktor had no interest in fashion or the inner workings of the rumor mill but stayed just to steal inadequate glances of Crimson. A young man’s romance reveled in his mind. ‘What do her lips taste like? How would she feel in his arms? Only her laugh is more intoxicating than her smile.’ He found Crimson’s every movement, her every action provocative and sensual. The conversation rolling off her tongue, over her ruby lips, her opinions, everything she did inspired his longing stares. He couldn’t look away and found her quick glances in his direction flirtatious and inviting. Enamored, she was the smoky mist that drifted as cloudscapes in his emotions. She was the softness of clouds in his vibrant blue world.

During the following spring, they snuck their first kiss in the unfinished Baroque garden in the courtyard behind the palace. There was heat in their kiss, and Viktor supposed that if the snow weren’t already melting, they would have certainly melted it. When their lips parted Viktor was immediately captivated, and he couldn’t remember a day that he didn’t think of Crimson, or a night that he didn’t fall asleep dreaming of her. Even when he trekked out to the countryside alone, everything seemed to remind him of her. Crimson had stolen his heart; he had no hope of ever getting it back.

One evening, during a loud and raucous party thrown by the young king, he and Crimson followed an imbibed chambermaid and soldier into the garden behind the palace. They hid behind a hedgerow and watched the new lovers under the moonlit sky. The two lovers giggled and teased each other until their flesh glowed with each playful touch.

“Do you see them, Viktor?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it amazing?”

“We shouldn’t be watching, Crimson.”

Crimson was enthralled as she watched the soldier lay flat on the ground. The chambermaid straddled, and then kissed him. The collar of her dress was pulled to her elbows exposing her breasts and they gleamed under the moon’s light. Her nipples stood erect and carried the moisture of the soldier’s wet mouth and they kissed, deep kisses, his tongue slipped through her tender lips to find hers. She moved to his side and lowered his pants, and pleased the soldier with her hands and mouth. Crimson, as she watched them, wondered what a man tasted like, what he felt like on the chambermaids tongue. Was it like a wet French kiss, exhilarating and seductive? Crimson smiled, knowing the woman had complete control over the soldier.

Viktor was silent and motionless as he watched the couple, but he noticed Crimson drew on heavy breaths. Crimson reached out and squeezed Viktor’s hand. She guided it to her chest and pressed it against her cleavage.

“Do you feel the rapid thud of my heart?” Crimson asked.

Viktor was too timid and pulled away. He snuck down the hedgerow back toward the palace.

Crimson stayed behind and watched the two lovers. Something about the encounter appealed to her deepest liking. Something awakened inside her as she watched the entangled bodies and studied the strength of the soldier’s thrusts. She listened to the lover’s passion-indebted moans. Crimson lost her breath when the chambermaid fell onto the soldier in what appeared to be a peaceful death. Then she smiled as the chambermaid giggled and kissed the soldier’s collarbone. They were whispering to one another and Crimson wanted to hear what they were saying. “What could they be saying to one another after what she just witnessed?” It had to be something about heaven, something about how close they were to it.

Since their introduction, Viktor and Crimson were inseparable. They spent most of their time together, often sneaking away to steal kisses, and their relationship deepened. Crimson loved the clandestine meetings.  The kisses were exciting because she didn’t know where they might lead, how far they would go.

Several months later, it started with a kiss, and then his hands roamed. Soon Viktor found the natural courage of a man, and he and Crimson made love under a willow as the sun lowered in the sky and sparkled in ginger flame across the waves of Lake Karlberg. The world seemed to drift away. It seemed to dissolve into a sentient mist that dewed their naked bodies. It was a dance of persuasion. His palm, having barely enough force to move a feather, caressed the small of her back, the nape of her neck. His mouth found the lobes of her ears, the tenderness of her lips, and the firmness of her nipples. His slightest touch became a powerful suggestion, which pulled her deep onto him. Interlocked fingers guided them to the same starting place, encircling one another, face to face, foot over foot. They were dancers in the innate waltz. And then Viktor’s explosion, it forever changed the verdant meadows of the boy within. It opened him to the world a man perceives.

Afterward, they enjoyed the afterglow as they leaned against the willow trying to assign words to the feelings, trying to decipher their new world. Unable to put it to words, he gifted Crimson a necklace, a gold chain with a single diamond, saying it only had one diamond because he only had one heart to give. She turned her naked back and asked that he clasp the necklace around her neck, saying she wished the clasp would magically fuse so that it could never be removed.

The next day, Viktor was late getting to the willow for their planned meeting. The sun had disappeared hours earlier, he had hoped Crimson would still be there but she wasn’t. He understood: it was foolish to be caught outside the palace walls after dark. When he arrived at the palace the following morning, Crimson was nowhere to be found and he knew something was wrong. No one had seen her and with the homeland’s preparation for war, all efforts were dedicated to assisting Sweden’s allies. No one seemed to care that she was missing. He cared, and he set out on his own to find her.

He feared she had been taken prisoner by Denmark forces or worse, had fallen victim to dark princes that sheltered in the shadows of the forest. He also considered the possibility that the reported bands of roving marauders, consisting of deserters, exiled farmers, and criminals, were no longer on the fringe of the kingdom's border but were now in the interior. Maybe they had taken her. Maybe they were holding her for ransom.

On the fourth day of his search, he found her chestnut gelding near the province of Bolstomta. He checked the animal for injuries, for signs of a scuffle, but the animal was in perfect health. Crimson was known to have stayed in the Bolstomta at times during the summer. He tethered the horse to his own and rode into the village.

Many of the men from the village had, months ago, been swept away to war. The sight of a young man, and a man of obvious nobility, excited the mothers and they rushed their daughters out for his inspection. One mother far too eagerly lifted her daughter into the air; the child fell and landed on the path before Viktor’s horse. The young girl felt sullied, embarrassed, and looked to her mother for direction as she sat in the dirt.

Viktor dismounted, lifted the child from the ground, brushed the soil from her cheeks, back, and kissed her forehead. He patted her on the back and guided her toward her mother. He grilled the womenfolk, focusing on the elder women and their network of gossip.

“My dear women this gelding belongs to Crimson of Karlberg. It is of grave importance that I speak with her and I know she has stayed here before. Has anyone seen her?”

The growing crowd heard his question but none answered. The men of their village were off on the Baltic Sea or on foreign lands giving their lives as conscripts. The remaining men in the village were of little brawn; they were mostly earth and grime, old age, and lacked that which offered any future for the young women. This young man was refined, commanding, and groomed. There was a power and a sense of confidence about him.

Most of the women of the province were young and energetic but wore the affliction of hard work and worry on their faces. Survival, as a sturdy constitution, had plagued their daily lives and took its toll on their bodies. These villagers were the true owners of the land—their Viking blood was pure and Viktor respected them, they were the true continuity of the Sweden homeland. Instead of answering, they primped themselves and flirted. Viktor sympathized with the women but needed his answer.

“My ladies, I implore. My bed is cold and my world empty, my heart in despair. You are all lovely and tender but it is Crimson upon whom my thoughts linger. Has any seen her the last four days?”

An elder woman understood the young man’s desire. She huffed and pushed her way through the crowd, shooing the ladies. “Get, get. Leave this young man be, have you no shame!” The crowd ignored the elder woman as they wooed over the young man. Unable to clear a path through the crowd the elder woman shouted over their heads, “My lord I have seen your Crimson!”

Viktor pushed his way through the crowd and barked, “Leave, all of you! Now!”

The crowd scattered, the disheartened women made their way back to their homesteads, fields, and stables. Back to empty personal dynasties that needed the presence of a man.

Viktor grabbed the reins of his horse and approached the elder woman. “When? My lady, when did you see her last?” he demanded as he locked eyes with the elder woman.

The elder woman examined Viktor before she spoke. “She was to travel to the outskirts of Karlberg palace to watch the soldiers head to Denmark. This was four afternoons ago I think. She rode that steed you have tethered. My husband noticed the stable empty the last three nights.”

Viktor grabbed the elder woman’s shoulders. The woman was old but strong and easily held her ground. “Did she say which port?” he demanded.

The elder woman pulled away, obviously annoyed at his manhandling and walked back toward her home. Viktor closed the distance and walked beside her. “My apologies, my lady, my desire gets the best of me at times. Please, did she say which port?”

“No, my lord. Only that she was heading in the direction of the palace. Odd, though, she left on the south path. I suspect she was leaving to meet a lover. You perhaps?”

“That is where I found her horse, near the willows on the banks of the lake. I shall start my search there.”

The elder woman entered her home, moments later she returned with a loaf of bread and two Akero apples. “Here my lord, go and find your love. It’s the romantics who die for the poets and the poets light a fire in us all with their words.” She refused his payment of krona, appeared to grow tired of the conversation and closed the door in Viktor’s face.

Viktor stored the food in his pouch, mounted his steed and galloped off toward the willows, toward their secret hiding place.

The elder woman watched the young noble leave from the small window of her house. She secretly wished him well; she knew his love, having been missing for days, would prove difficult to find. She also knew that questions unanswered, quests incomplete, left a breach in ones soul. The breach would slowly leak until the man had been drained and left as an empty shell of himself.

Viktor rode his steed hard for two hours and reached the willows just before dusk. He examined the area and screamed out Crimson’s name until he was hoarse. There was no response; only a stem of a Twinflower near their special tree seemed worth noting. He picked up the stem and twirled it in his fingers while he followed a trail of wilted pedals that led to the shores of the lake.

The sky above expanded into darkness and became the color of sweet molasses but there was nothing sweet about this night. The campfire flickered and cast shadows, all manner of evil seemed to suddenly appear then disappear among the draping branches of the willows. With weapons at the ready, he matted the grass under the willow, placed a layer of animal hides, and snuggled in. He lay there, staring at the twinkling curtain above in the night sky. He tried to fall asleep in the saccharine reminisce of his love, Crimson. Sleep came slowly, finding it difficult to unravel the knots of an anxious lover.