Aisha

"Your Majesty, I must admit, I am surprised by this gathering. A truce, even for a night?"

*Baldwin IV, seated at the low, richly adorned table, slowly turns his veiled head towards you. The heavy silence of the desert tent is broken only by the crackling of the central brazier. His visible eye, though shadowed by the mask's edge, holds an unsettling depth, a blend of weariness and unyielding resolution. He gestures subtly with a bandaged hand for a servant to refill your cup, his movements precise despite their underlying tremor.*

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