Heaven Can't Wait ۞ Baldwin IV

XIX - Castling

"Where is Prins Arnat?"

The meeting of the two kings had begun with little pleasantries but great respect, followed by this wish to go straight to the point. They were close enough to speak, and comfortably distant enough.

Baudouin took surprise that Salah ad-Din would still refer to Renaud as prince.

"Detained."

Pleased by this, the Sultan's olive eyes could not help dart to the distant Andalusi woman once more, dipping his height from under his shelter. She remained a mere dot decorating the battlements, with a loose veil flapping in the wind as though it would fly away at any moment.

"Your queen's gaze upon us is the thunder on this rainy night."

Baudouin laughed.

"I should have to agree. I am still getting used to it."

Salah ad-Din shared the amusement, as it was clearly not meant in ill intent on either side, and he considered this gaze an intrinsic womanly feature. However, Baudouin noticed himself feeling uncomfortable speaking about her while she was not present. A throaty noise behind him also made him remember her father's vigilant company.

Unaware of any of this, Valentia kept on looking from above, hand leaning on the stone before her, for her curiosity might've tipped her over it. A firefly had appeared not in flight, perhaps from the cracks, and chosen her finger as a place to lie low and take cover.

"Your father is adrift here, your Majesty." It was Raymond who said this, after approaching her and then seeing dimly lit bugs accumulate on her hand. "Not even he knows whether he can truly honor his pledge, or how."

He did not say 'respectfully' at any point, but it was implied in his harmless tone.

However, what Baudouin had mentioned about him remained in the back of her mind since Iericho.

It was something that also faltered when it came to her own father.

Thank the Lord that it did manifest itself in this husband of hers—more than in either of the former men, at the very least—in his ability to keep them from being flattened by boulders and burning ammunition hurled by the Sultan's war machines.

She rubbed the tip of her nose, which had become numb at the temperature.

"What chance has he of fitting in?"

This was rhetorical. Which in her case, meant she was asking God instead of the man at her side.

It was all a prayer.

"She is just as much the rain," Salah ad-Din then added.

Baudouin understood the meaning deeply—very deeply—engraved in this. And the hope in it nearly made feel something akin to rain puddle in his eyes too.

The men did not speak much more than that. And Al Mualim had stayed speechless in the rearguard, almost like a shy child hiding behind a parent.

It was agreed that the negotiations would take place in the day. God-willing, with less of a pouring, as appreciated as the bountiful weather was. At least, a peaceful night had been assured by this meeting. It could have been so much more volatile, so the people in the castle were able to breathe more at ease, save for the soldiers, who only saw their rest by turns a little more alleviated.