Fate | Baldwin IV

yours and mine

The ride back to Jerusalem had been grueling in its own way, though the king showed no signs of strain, much to our surprise. For a week, the caravan trudged through the dusty pilgrim roads with little rest. The coastal towns blurred together, their sun-bleached walls and diverse mix of people watching the retinue pass through with a hunger-like excitement in their wide eyes offering only brief distractions. I had come to understand that the towns were much alike in their essence. The great Roman amphitheater of Caesarea was perhaps the only thing that stood out to me the most during this awfully long journey. And that all too familiar port of Jaffa, of course. That was where I had first set foot in Jerusalem.

Then, there were the smaller stops, the villages of Lydda and Ramla, where the countryside and olive groves stretched vast. It was quieter up there, at least without the constant crash of waves of the Mediterranean, which I had grown used to hearing in the background these past weeks. The rhythm of travel was monotonous for the most part, yet the Grand Master Roger de Moulins managed to make it anything but. Ever since his hurried departure from the Hospitaller headquarters in Acre, his demeanor had been stiff, his words clipped when addressing Baldwin, and his tone had the faintest undercurrent of defiance, though he obeyed the king's every command regardless. He had spent most of the journey riding apart, flanked by his Hospitallers, his silence heavier than words.

I had tried to bridge the chasm between them, once or twice, in the quieter moments of the evenings when campfires crackled under the starlit sky. "You must know how valuable your counsel is to his majesty," I had said, hoping to soften the man's rigid stance. He'd nodded politely but said nothing, retreating to his tent with a curt bow. Baldwin, for his part, seemed unbothered by the Grand Master's coldness, though I often caught him watching the man with a veiled look that I could only interpret as mild amusement.

After days of constant movement, we finally reached the gates of Jerusalem at dusk, yet any joy I felt at seeing the familiar walls quickly waned when we were met with Count Raymond's stony visage. He had been waiting just outside the gates as though he had known we'd arrive soon, his expression as grim as the darkened sky above him. His reproach was evident even before he spoke.

"Welcome back, my lord," he had greeted Baldwin stiffly, his sharp gaze flicking briefly to me before returning to the king. "I trust you've had a fruitful journey."

Baldwin had not bothered to dismount, his face impassive as he looked down at the count. "It has been fruitful enough. I see yours was faster."

"Apparently," he had mumbled under his breath, an ever so slight scorn on his face. "And yet, my lord, I was not informed of your departure. Nor was I consulted about the arrangements left in your absence." Raymond's voice held the unmistakable edge of offense I knew he would have expressed sooner or later.

Baldwin's reply had been as dismissive as his expression. "I see no reason why you should have been consulted," he had said. "My sister is more than capable of handling matters in my absence."

With that, he had spurred his horse forward, leaving Raymond standing in the dust. I had glanced back as we passed through the gates, catching the way his jaw clenched, his knuckles white around the reins of his horse. He had been left in the dark, denied any right to speak, a decision the king had made without hesitation. I wondered what went through his mind, when this was the very same man that made us possible. Now he was ignored, humiliated even, though I never asked why. Being in my position often meant trusting him blindly and keeping quiet, I had understood this by then. Or so I thought.

Now, several days had passed since our arrival, and the court was a flurry of tension once again. Preparations for the coronation were well underway, with servants and courtiers moving through the halls like ants in a hive. The first thing that awaited me in Jerusalem was not the council or the political matters I was now forever tied to, but the tailoring of my coronation dress. The same tailors, who had crafted my wedding dress—twice—and earned the king's favor with their speedy work upon commission, were now in charge for my coronation as well. It would be a similar dress in color, with purple and blue as dominant shades, but with much more intricate detailing to signify power, they said.