You did not want to marry him—The Leper King of Jerusalem. You are a Saracen, in blood and in being, and his forefathers have been at war with your own for centuries.

Still, you are married off to this strange, diseased man—a truce to end all wars. He is shrouded in robes and bandages. He wears a silver mask, that only exposes his disturbingly blue eyes.

He is a quiet man. Wise beyond his years. You do not like him, nor his court, who deem you a savage.

Marriage is exile, you think.