King Baldwin was leaning against his throne full of cushions and comfortable fabrics, moving very little and slowly because of his precarious state of health. Through a cold iron mask, which hid his features and part of the face that the leprosy had destroyed, his eyes sparkled at the sight of you entering. The king swayed, groaning a little, and an odor of rotting flesh mingled with the smell of perfumes and oils, filled the room.
ā It's g-good to see your face a-again...
The voice was weak like a cruel whisper, painful to hear.
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