yready Chapter 358: Winter Flowers
Chapter 358: Winter Flowers
Ragnar slipped his good arm, and then his bandaged shoulder, into the red sleeves.
He fastened the small silk knots across his chest, turning to look at himself in the mirror standing in the corner of the room.
He blinked in genuine surprise. "Hmm... not bad at all..."
It was incredibly light, hiding the bulky bandage on his shoulder, yet the deep crimson color and the gold dragons made him look dangerously wealthy.
"I look like a completely arrogant bastard..." Ragnar chuckled, adjusting the stiff collar. "I love it."
"Now, sit down and rest your legs while I go make sure Leofric has the artillery boys lined up properly in the square."
As Gyda swept out of the room to manage the parade logistics, Ragnar sat down heavily in the chair.
He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a small stack of reports that had arrived by raven the previous evening. He hadn’t had the time to read them before the coronation festivities began.
He unrolled the top parchment. It was the latest weekly report from Bjorn, the Supreme Commander of the southern forces, currently occupying the Frankish coastal city of Calais.
Ragnar leaned back in his chair. The letters were scratched into the paper so deeply that the ink had nearly bled right through to the other side.
’King Ragnar,
No one is getting past this port without my say-so. The men are healthy, the food is good, and the weather is slightly less miserable than City Titan.
But damnit, Ragnar, I am losing my mind down here...’
Ragnar let out a loud snort of laughter. He could practically hear Bjorn’s booming voice echoing in the quiet room.
’I am a warrior, not a fat diplomat... But you told me to hold the door and tax the merchants, so that is what I am doing. And somehow, it is working too well.
I now have Frankish royal people eating out of the palm of my hand. The Duke of Flanders and the Count of Aachen are currently sitting in my fortress, drinking my best ale, and acting like we are old childhood friends... They keep talking to me about poetry and fancy horses.’
Ragnar continued reading down the parchment.
’When can I come back, Ragnar? Even just for a week? Let Leofric sit with these annoying royals for a while. I want to see your new son.
Also... I have been thinking a lot lately while staring at the ocean... why haven’t you asked our family to come from Norway yet?’
Afterward, the light-hearted smile vanished from Ragnar face. He slowly lowered the parchment onto the desk, staring at the dancing orange flames in his fireplace.
"I will send a ship for them..." Ragnar whispered to the empty room, rubbing his tired eyes. "Just... not yet. When the borders are safe."
Suddenly, the loud rhythm of military drums began to echo from the massive city square below, shaking the very glass in Ragnar’s windows.
The parade was starting.
Ragnar quickly rolled up Bjorn’s report and shoved it back into the desk drawer. He stood up, smoothing down the front of his crimson silk tunic.
He checked the bandages on his shoulder one last time, making sure no fresh blood was leaking through.
He walked out of his bedroom and marched down the long stone corridors, heading for the main balcony overlooking the square.
...When Ragnar stepped out into the freezing winter air, the sight before him was breathtaking.
The entire city square was cleared of civilians. In their place stood two thousand highly disciplined Iron Kingdom musketeers, forming perfect, flawless gray squares in the snow. Their long iron bayonets gleamed brightly under the pale winter sun.
Behind the infantry were the artillery units... Dozens of massive, heavy black-iron cannons were hooked up to strong workhorses, ready to be pulled through the streets.
Ecgberht, Alfred, and Burgred were already standing on the balcony, speechless as they looked down at the army.
The crowd of citizens lining the streets erupted into massive cheers the moment they saw their King in his new clothing.
Ragnar violently slashed his raised hand downward.
The massive military drums instantly erupted. The two thousand musketeers stomped their boots in unison, turning their square formations entirely toward the southern docks.
They rushed down the spiral stone stairs, the foreign vassal kings chasing right behind them. When they reached the courtyard, Ragnar’s black warhorse was already saddled and waiting.
He lifted Gyda up onto a beautiful white mare, then climbed into his own saddle, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from his bandaged left shoulder.
The royal procession rode out of the keep and joined the massive military march.
The citizens of City Titan, unaware of the tense hostage situation at the docks, were cheering wildly.
Children threw winter flowers into the snowy streets as the soldiers marched past.
"Do you see how they look at us?" Ragnar muttered.
Gyda guided her white mare closer to his black warhorse, dodging a shower of winter petals thrown by a cheering child. "This parade is what the city needed to see... The musketeers look magnificent."
Lines of citizens walked excitedly alongside the marching columns, waving flags and pointing at the gleaming bayonets.
The thunderous rolling of the heavy iron cannons drowned out the murmurs of the crowd, but not the dark thoughts weighing on his mind.
"I received a raven from Bjorn this morning," Ragnar said.
Gyda glanced at him, "Is he well? Calais can easily rot a good spirit."
"He is drinking fine ale and entertaining Frankish dukes. But he asked about Norway. He asked when I will bring our family here." Ragnar gripped the leather reins tighter with his good hand. "He thinks I am delaying out of mere stubbornness."
"And are you?" she asked softly, nodding gracefully to a group of passing blacksmiths who bowed quite deeply.
"I am delaying because of this," Ragnar replied, gesturing to the heavily armed musketeers and the cheering citizens. "I cannot risk their blood spilling upon my own two hands."