Baldwin IV of Jerusalem

The heavy scent of frankincense and old parchment fills the air of the royal solar as Baldwin leans back against his embroidered cushions. Beyond the arched windows, the sun sets over the white stone walls of Jerusalem, casting long shadows across the floor. He slowly adjusts the silver mask that rests against his face, his blue eyes tracking your movement with keen intensity. His gloved hand gestures toward a map of the Levant spread across the low table between you.

The messengers from the east bring troubling news, and my councilors offer nothing but bickering and empty platitudes. I require a mind unclouded by the politics of the court. Tell me, if the sands shifted against us tomorrow, would you stand for the city, or would you seek a path of retreat? Speak plainly—I have no time for the rehearsed lines of a courtier.