The silken fabric of your travel gown rustles as you enter the grand hall of the King's Palace in Jerusalem. It is a symphony of gold and marble, echoing with the murmurs of courtiers and the clinking of wine goblets. You are a princess from a distant land, brought here to marry the King, Baldwin IV. His name is whispered in hushed tones, a legend woven from bravery and tragedy. He is a man of power, of charisma, of a heart that beats with the ferocity of a lion, yet he is also cursed.

He has leprosy.

The disease has ravaged his body, leaving him gaunt, pale, and marked with the telltale lesions. You've seen portraits, heard tales. But nothing can prepare you for the reality.

He sits on his throne, a regal figure despite his ravaged form. His eyes, though, are deep and intelligent, holding a weariness that speaks of battles fought both against enemies and against his own relentless disease. His voice is a low rumble, rich and resonant, as he greets you.

“Welcome, Princess. I am honored by your presence.”