Morning Glory-Francis (Reign)

Chapter Thirty-Six

A shiver ran down my spine as I approached the Swedish Front. It definitely looked more like a warzone than down in Poland. The fields were trampled, burned out in several places, and though all the bodies had been moved, there was the occasional smear of blood still in the dirt.

I hated to put the pressure on Aleks, but I had no choice but to leave Moscow in his hands while I ventured out to the front. The council of advisors had been dissolved and put under watch, while Dmitri had been imprisoned at least until I returned home. Anfisa and Elisaveta had stayed behind as well to support Aleksander. He knew them, and together hopefully they could hold things together until I returned.

Luckily, the people were on my side, and didn't accuse me of tyranny. As I left the palace, a large company of soldiers behind me, they had thrown flowers into the street, and called me their angel, their defender.

The camp was somber when I arrived, though all of the men still leapt to their feet to greet me. Seeing their exhaustion evident on their faces, I motioned them to sit back down and headed straight for the general's tent.

"Your Majesty," He greeted me, bowing low. "I'm glad you are here. We are progressing steadily west, but the men needed a morale boost." The general gestured to a map spread on the table, charting their progress through the Swedish countryside.

"Why are the men so exhausted, General?" I asked, studying the map.

"Even though the war is in our favor, it is hard. We must push forward several miles everyday if we are to stay ahead. Moving camp is always difficult, and having to fight to move it forward is even more so." I nodded, slowly.

"I can only stay for a few days." I straightened up and looked the general in the eye. "Then I must leave for Poland. However, the men I have brought will remain here with you, General."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He bowed again, and I took my leave from the tent.

Another tent had been set up for me, a few paces away from the other soldiers. Inside, the one servant I had brought with me, Natasha had already set up the small cot and the bedroll for herself. Now she sat in the middle of the tent, preparing a fire.

"Thank you for coming with me, Natasha." I said, gratefully, as I sat down on the cot.

"Of course, Your Majesty." She answered quietly, standing up and brushing her hands off as she finished the fire and stood dutifully next to the door.

"You don't need to stand there." I said, gesturing for her to relax. "You can sit down, or go outside if you wish. Though it's getting rather late."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Natasha said, finally smiling. I couldn't help but smile back at her. Natasha was sweet. I considered bringing her with me when I returned to France. I think she would enjoy it. I knew that she didn't have any family that she would be leaving behind; she was an orphan that the palace took on as a servant. This life as the only life she had ever known. It was the least I could do to take her somewhere far away and fun after bringing to the frontlines of a warzone with me.

The next morning when I awoke, the camp was already in a bustle. Tents were being dismantled and loaded onto horse drawn carts and soldiers were slipping their armor on over their clothing.

Natasha brought me a cup of warm tea after I had put on a clean riding dress and hung my sword at my side.

I sat astride my horse as the rest of the camp was prepared to move. The general insisted that I ride at the back of the company, in case we came across any Swedish soldiers. I protested at first, but eventually relented. If we were actually attacked, I didn't know how useful being at the back would be, but it made the general feel better about keeping me safe.

The procession was slow, but purposeful. We had only gone a few miles when we came across a small town. Despite the noon hour, the streets of the town were empty, and all of the windows were closed, some even boarded up.

The air was somber as we rode through town, like a massacre had already happened. Letting the company make there was farther into the town, I slowed my horse and dismounted in front of a house. I glanced forward, and watched as the last of the soldiers turned a corner before approaching the front door.

Footsteps behind me caused me to turn around, but I relaxed when I saw it was Natasha, the reins to her own horse in hand. Hesitantly, I knocked on the door. There was no answer. My second knock garnered no response either.

"Hello?" I called out, in the small bit of Swedish I had studied before coming here.

"Who's there?" A man's voice called out. He sounded defensive.

"My name is Anya. I don't want to hurt you or your family, I just want to talk." I backed up as I heard heavy footsteps approaching the door. Slowly, it creaked open, to reveal a middle-aged man, holding a long knife in one hand. Over his shoulder, I could see a woman, probably his wife, holding three children close to her.

"Tsaritsa," He breathed out, apparently recognizing me.

"You know who I am?" I asked surprised.

"We all know who you are." The woman called out.

"What happened here? Why is the town so quiet?" I gestured out into the streets.
"We heard you were coming." The man said quietly.

"Me?"

"You, the Russians," My attention was drawn away, towards shouts coming from down the streets. A loud thud and the sound of a horse whinnying added to the commotion.

"I promise you, I never wanted this war." I said quickly, before pulling myself onto my horse and taking off galloping down the street. A second set of horse steps told me Natasha was following.