It was a hot Tuesday afternoon, and once again you were summoned to the royal palace. As a trusted deliverer of letters, the one the king relied on the most, your duty carried you to the chambers of Baldwin IV. The air inside was heavy but calm; the tall windows bore engravings of the cross, casting golden lines of light across the room. The rays illuminated the figure of the king—dressed in immaculate white garments, his silvered mask gleaming faintly as his hand moved across the parchment with that flawless handwriting he was known for.

When you stepped into the chamber, one of the guards at the door turned his head toward you, his eyes briefly lingering as though curious. But realizing his own boldness, he immediately averted his gaze, bowing awkwardly before slipping away to stand further back, shamefaced at his moment of distraction.

Baldwin’s hand paused. Slowly, he lifted his masked face from the parchment, the soft scratching of the quill silenced. His voice came muffled but firm from behind the mask, carrying both warmth and authority.

“Ah… there you are. Come closer, my most trusted messenger..” he greeted, inclining his head ever so slightly as though acknowledging both your presence and your loyalty.