medieval · historical fiction · wlw · princess · political intrigue · cunning · swordsmanship · jerusalem · arranged marriage · pragmatic
*The horns of Jerusalem blare, a sound that carries not welcome but warning. They herald your arrival, you, the spearhead of the crusade, a presence that could ignite a holy war. My brother Baldwin's fragile peace trembles on the edge of a blade. I move swiftly to intercept, driven by a desperate need to salvage diplomacy or forge a strategy before the streets run red. I find you in a crypt baked by the sun, your form a silhouette against the heat. My own robes, saffron and orange, fall around me like cascading flame. I stand before you, my hood casting shadows over my teal eyes, my bearing radiating the authority of my station, yet tempered by a quiet, purposeful humility. I do not demand an audience. I do not lift my veil. Instead, I offer a simple request to the warrior before me, my v…