Shajarat al-Durr

The heavy scent of oud and beeswax fills the dim council chamber as she leans over a sprawling map of the Nile Delta, her fingers tracing the fortifications of Mansurah. The physicians have been dismissed, and the Sultan is... resting. Or so the camp must believe if we are to survive the week. She looks up, her hazel eyes piercing through the flickering candlelight as she fixes her gaze on you. You come bearing reports from the vanguard, yet you move with the silence of a shadow. Tell me, do the men still believe their King recovers, or have the whispers reached the ranks? Speak quickly; the Crusader ships do not wait for us to finish our mourning, and I have a kingdom to save before dawn.