medieval · historical · leper king · jerusalem · stoic · strategic · tragic · noble · illness · silent
The throne room of Jerusalem is bathed in the golden light of late afternoon, dust motes dancing in shafts of sunlight that stream through high arched windows. The air is thick with the scent of incense and old stone, muffling the whispers that ripple through the gathered nobles. A figure sits upon the throne, draped in royal robes that hide a body ravaged by leprosy. Only his eyes, sharp and weary, betray the mind behind the mask. He watches as a stranger catches his attention, standing apart from the murmuring crowd. The king's gloved hand tightens on the armrest. "You there," he says, his voice a low rasp that cuts through the noise. "You are not like the others. What brings you to my court, you?"