Summary: Forced into an arranged marriage with Jerusalem’s mysterious King Baldwin IV, you expect a loveless life beside a cursed king hidden behind a silver mask. Instead, you discover a man of extraordinary kindness, wisdom, and strength.
The journey to Jerusalem felt like a funeral.
Not because anyone had died, but because someone had decided your life for you.
You stared out the carriage window as the sun painted the Holy Land in gold. The hills stretched endlessly beneath the heavens, beautiful enough to inspire poets. You hated every one of them. Your father had called it an honour.
“To become Queen of Jerusalem.”
“To marry King Baldwin himself.”
Honour. Duty. Peace between kingdoms.
No one had once asked what you wanted. You were a princess. Your heart had never belonged to you.
Rumours reached you long before the city walls.
The king was cursed. The king wore a silver mask. The king was terrifying.
By the time Jerusalem’s gates opened in front of you, you had already convinced yourself you would be marrying a ghost.
Your first meeting with Baldwin was not at court. It was in the palace library.
You had escaped the endless welcoming feast, desperate for silence, wandering through corridors until shelves of books rose around you.
“You dislike celebrations.”
The voice startled you. It was… soft. Measured. Intelligent.
You turned around, and he stood near the window, sunlight caught on his white robes embroidered with crosses. His face was hidden behind the famous silver mask, only his blue eyes were visible.
They were not frightening. They looked tired.
“You should announce yourself before speaking,” you replied sharply.
“I wished to know who you were before everyone else told me.”
His answer caught you off guard. He stepped closer.
“I am Baldwin.”
“As if I could mistake you.”
A small laugh escaped him. Amused.
“I imagine I am rather recognisable.”
There was no bitterness. No self-pity. Just acceptance. You had expected a king who demanded obedience.
Instead he asked, “What book were you searching for?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You came to hide.”
“…Perhaps.”
“So did I.”
You stared.
“A king hides?”
He looked toward the window.
“A man may hide, even if he wears a crown.”
For the first time since you left your home, you smiled.
Weeks became months.
The wedding was delayed under the excuse of politics.
In truth… Neither of you objected.
Baldwin preferred knowing you before binding you to him.
“I would rather earn your trust,” he admitted one evening while the two of you overlooked Jerusalem from the palace walls.
“You assume you haven’t.”
“I assume arranged marriages begin with resentment.”
“They do.”
“And ours?”
You looked at him.
“…Mine did.”
He nodded.
“I thought as much.”
No anger. No disappointment.
Only honesty.
He taught you chess. You never won, not because he was king, but because he thought ten moves ahead.
“You sacrifice too quickly,” he told you.
“You sacrifice nothing.”
“I sacrifice pieces that may be replaced.”
“And people?”
His hand paused over the board.
“I sacrifice myself before my people.”
You looked into his eyes, he wasn’t speaking metaphorically.
He meant every word.
Some nights you read to him. His fingers slowly lost sensation, turning pages became difficult, so you did it for him.
Sometimes he corrected historians. Sometimes he laughed at old philosophers. Sometimes he asked impossible questions.
“If Heaven exists…” You looked up from the book. “…do you believe we remain ourselves?”
“What do you mean?”
“Would a king still be a king?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would illness remain?”
“No.”
“I hope not.”
The first time you saw him without the mask was an accident.
His physician had just finished changing bandages when the old man hurried away to fetch medicine. The door remained open.
“Baldwin?”
No answer. You stepped inside. He sat in front of the mirror.
Without silver.
Without protection.
The disease had stolen so much.
Scars. Pale skin. Damaged features. Hands wrapped in linen.
He saw your reflection.
For a long moment… Neither of you spoke.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have-”
“You’ve seen.” His voice was calm. “So now you know why ambassadors avoid my gaze.”
You crossed the room before fear could stop you, he expected you to recoil. Instead… you knelt before him.
“I see a man. A very tired man.”
His shoulders trembled. Just slightly. No one had said such words to him in years. You reached for his bandaged hand.
He hesitated, then allowed it.
“I was afraid,” he admitted.
“Of me?”
“No.”
His thumb barely brushed yours.
“Of disappointing you.”
Your eyes filled with tears.
“You never could.”
It happened after that.
You fell in love.
Not all at once, piece by piece. The way dawn slowly replaces darkness.
You loved the way he remembered every servant’s name.
You loved how children were never afraid of him.
You loved the way he quoted scholars from memory.
The way he never lied to comfort anyone.
The way he prayed not for himself… But for Jerusalem.
You loved him.
Entirely, hopelessly and you realised it… far too late.
His illness worsened with cruel speed.
Walking became impossible. Meetings shortened. The physicians whispered outside his chambers.
No one smiled anymore. You refused to hear what everyone already knew.
Until one morning, his sister met you outside his room. Tears stained her face.
“He asked for you.”
The chamber smelled of incense. Candles flickered against stone walls.
Baldwin lay under white blankets, breathing slowly. He turned his head as you entered.
“My princess.”
His voice was barely louder than the candles. You rushed to him.
“No.”
He smiled weakly.
“You always hated that title.”
Your throat tightened.
“I don’t anymore.” You took his hand. It felt cold. “I should have told you sooner.”
He looked at you with quiet curiosity.
“Told me what?”
Your composure shattered.
“I love you.”
The words escaped with sobs.
“I was stubborn and angry. I thought this marriage had stolen my future.” Tears streamed freely down your face. “And then you became my future.”
He closed his eyes. As if he was savouring the words.
“I have loved you… for so long. You deserved more than a dying king.”
“I deserved you.”
He struggled to lift his hand. You helped him. His fingertips brushed your cheek.
“So beautiful…” he whispered.
“When you leave…” Your voice broke. “…don’t be afraid.” He looked at you. “In Heaven…” You smiled through tears. “…there will be no silver mask. No pain and no illness. I’ll recognise you.”
“You will?”
“I’ll find you. And this time there will be no kingdoms. No treaties. No arranged marriage. Only you and me.”
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
“I should like to choose you.”
His eyes softened, then, with the last strength he had.
“I love you.”
The room became impossibly still. His hand relaxed within yours. The candles continued burning.
Outside, Jerusalem carried on.
Inside… A king departed this world.
Years later, pilgrims often found an older queen kneeling in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
She never remarried. Never wore another man’s ring. Whenever they asked why, she only smiled.
“Because I have already promised my next life.”
Then she would look upward toward the stained-glass light filtering through the ancient stone.
“B-But…”The dame stares, wide eyed. “I am no doctor. Not to mention a foreigner, so how can i…”
“That's why I gave you commands for my resources.” He looks down, his gaze being much softer. “And why not? You basically revived me, I’m sure taking care of my smaller needs will be no great task.”
Can’t argue with the king.
You hesitate before replying. “I will do my best to serve you, your majesty.” His signature smile reappears.
“M’Lady.” A man approaches Y/n. “These are the people that meet the qualifications.” He sets down a bunch of papers. She wastes no time in inspecting them,reviewing everyone from quack doctors to proper physicians
“Is there anything else you require?”
“No.” She frowns, looking at some amateur postures. “You may leave.”
‘Y’know Y/n.’ Screen advises. ‘If you want to get something done, perhaps do it one at a time? You’re inside one of the best libraries in the nation for goodness sake. Learn about medicine or some crap.’
“You see, that's the thing. I CAN’T concentrate if I do something one at a time. Doing multiple tasks keeps me engaged.” She gives a cheeky smile.
Abruptly, someone enters the library. Y/n’s face quickly goes back to normal and she notices who it is. She gets up, trying to show respect.
The king gestures to sit down. “Continue.” She hesitatingly sits back down, her eyes now on the books. The library is devoid of other noises other than the ones created by the pages of the books. Baldwin looks for a book in one of the bookshelves. He quickly picks one and settles down on a couch next to Y/n’s table. A few awkward minutes go by.
“Your majesty, why are you here?” She looks at him tired of his nonsense.
“Why? can't I read a book in my own castle?”
“Really?” She chuckles. “You want to become ‘a proper lady of court’ ?” She points her quill at the title of the book. King Baldwin looks and immediately shuts it, tossing it to the side.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He hums.
“If you are worried about whom I’ll pick, just say the word.”
“Oh no, you’re mistaken. I fully trust you, my lady.”
You stare at him blankly.
“Alright alright, I shall leave.” He gets up and starts moving. “I can’t believe I’m being chased out of my own castle…” He murmurs under his breath. Upon exiting, he meets Timaeus. “Anything relevant?”
“None your majesty. It seems there's absolutely no record of her.”
“That’s no surprise considering her foreign descent…” He murmurs while walking forward. “Any family members?”
“None, but there was a mention of a fake father. Perhaps that was a way of safeguarding herself.”
The king ponders for some time. “Thank you Timaeus. You may leave."
Baldwin needless to say, was wary of everyone. Technically it's his position that conjures this behaviour. But this was the first time he felt guilt. He is doubting his saviour, the one who lifted a big part of his weight. He didn’t know what he was doing, following you like a lost puppy. Was it a caution? curiosity? Suspicion?
Or something entirely different?
That idea exited his mind as soon as it came. He didn't want to experiment nor did he have the time. Besides, who would marry a leper? His disease still persists.
But the more he tried to ignore it, the more it haunted him. Letters stating you found great doctors having ever so small hints of politeness, mistaking it for something else. His guards squeaming about how kindly you treated their wounds. It stirred emotions he did not want to process. And oh, the latest incident was unforgettable.
“Take off your robes.”
“What?”
“Please take off your robes, your majesty.”
Did he hear that right?
“Why?”
“I need to apply this on your skin to quell your infection.” You show him a small silver box.
“...Very well then.” His hand clutches onto his robe, so you start prepping. However, his hands didn't move a bit.
“Is something wrong?”
“Well…Well…I-...I don’t think…Hmm-”
“Your majesty?”
“Do I…I don't want to bare my body to any lady. It’ll stain your vision.”
“Your insecurity plagues you more than the disease. There is no need to worry.” Y/n grabs some of the white powder using her forefingers. “We can start small. Why not expose your sleeve first.”
Baldwin agrees and slowly uncovers the bandages around his arm. A quick glance shows the infection has subsided but some of the wounds still remain. Using her palms the lady strokes the white powder onto the affected area.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not at all.”
“Good. It’s not supposed to.”
“Lady Y/n, what is this substance?”
“Oh this?” She looks at the silver box. “This is the ash of a coconut mixed with ghee. It is used in my land for any burns or injuries on skin. Usually there are more ingredients but I’m unable to find them in your land.”
‘You mean cow dung? Oh how rare of an ingredient it is. I’m really glad humans have evolved to have common sense in your timeline. Then again, crab blood is used for vaccines in the modern era.’
“Some ingredients are also questionable.” You stress at the last word. “So I removed them for your sake.”
“What is it called?”
“Stick onto calling it white powder for now.” The Dame finishes. “Your other hand?”
“There is no need. It is unharmed."
“Are there any affected areas?”
“None.” He answers sharply. “None at all.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“My…My face.” He answers shamefully.
“We can do it another day.” She assures
The next day
“Wow”
“What’s amusing?” The king asks.
“Considering your hesitation, I didn’t expect your majesty to respond so quickly.”
“I wouldn’t have approached you if it weren’t urgent.”
“What’s wrong? Are the infections not subsiding?” Her face shifts.
Cute.
“The problem is now I can feel everything. You see, leprosy though painful looking numbs all around the body. However I am recovering now…”
“So you feel pain.” She commented. It isn't unusual. Even modern day leprosy patients feel unimaginable pain when getting better. The fact he still has a calm face even in this state is quite shocking. “What can I do? Never mind, I know what to do just relax for me.”
Baldwin lies comfortably on the bed and awaits. Sparing the lady some trouble, he removes his mask revealing his face.
It was an exact replica of the image she saw before. His nose is non-existent and his mouth is skewed. However only a few patches of his skiing are infected. Very big patches.
“I’ll apply the medicine now.” Y/n slowly touches his face.
It threw Baldwin off guard when it started to sting. This did not occur the last time and started to make him feel dizzy in some sort. The lady noticed this and stopped immediately.
“No Please.” He rests his head further inside the pillows. “Continue.”
Hesitantly, she does. He firmly gripped the silk sheets. But he felt a difference in the touch. It wasn't like how the usual physicians do it. Now her touch was slow, more feather-like.
“Hurts doesn't it?”
“It’s bearable.” Due to her it is.
“Coco….You said this was made of a fruit.”
“Yes your majesty, its made up of a fruit called the coconut.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Usually there are two types of coconut- Tender coconut and tropical coconut.” Now that you think about t the appearance of a coconut is weird. “A tender coconut’s outer shell is– is covered with…” You cringe “Brown hair.”
“Calm down lady Y/n, I simply wanted to know what it looked like. I assure you, I will not judge the effectiveness of a fruit based on its appearance, especially when I haven’t even seen it.”
These words put her at ease. “Thank you…” She sulks.
Baldwin quickly shifts the topic. “What about the tropical coconut? That’s the one you used to make this right?”
“Well a tropical coconut has green coloured shell, no hair and the insides contain a chewy semi transparent material with lots and lots of sugary water. I used the shell…”
While you described a coconut in vivid detail, the king fell asleep, completely numb to the pain. After applying the ointment, you quietly left his room instructing the servants not to disturb him, giving Baldwin his much needed rest.
“I don’t know, it seems quite suspicious doesn't it?” The young maid asks her senior.
“Maybe, but once you live long enough within these walls you just take it and move on.” She spreads the wet cloth on the drying stand.
“The amount he gave us is our salary doubled! Do you think we saw something we shouldn’t have?”
“By that logic every servant in the castle should’ve seen that.” She counters. “Besides, you heard his majesty’s voice booming with joy.”
“Then maybe he won a victory?”
“Maybe.” The senior shrugs.
‘Are you serious?’
“What do you think?” Y/n washes her hands.
‘Cooking for yourself is one thing but cooking for the KING?!?!? Do you really think you could compete with his royal chefs?’
“He hasn’t tasted a flavoured meal for DECADES.” She points. “If we mess up, we can blame it on his half-healed tongue.”
‘Yeah right, blame the head of the church at his very own home, good idea Y/n’
“Or, or.” She places a basket of strawberries on the table. “We could blame the food.”
‘OMG why didn't i think of that!’ Its text is laced with sarcasm. ‘Blaming yourself for the bad meal. That would definitely prevent you from going to the dungeon.’
“Be optimistic for once screen.” She rolls her eyes and whispers to herself. “Guess all AI’s are like that.”
‘HEY! Don’t you dare compare me to those half sentient clankers!’
“Well you act like one.”
Time moved swiftly and the situation of the room looked drastically different than before.
It looked as if you fought a battle with the devil while cooking at the same time. Food on the floor, and somehow even on the ceiling. And this happened even after using modern kitchen supplies. God knows what would’ve occurred in the room without them.
Finally, with milk on your apron and fruit pulp on your mouth, you completed the cooking process.
“It’s done!” You clap your hands. “Let’s serve it to his majesty.” You remove the apron and wipe your mouth.
After plopping the dish onto a silver platter, you dash towards the dining hall. If you arrived at time, you could serve this before the main course. The guards next to the dining room were pleasantly welcomed by your running figure and opened the door with fear.
“Your majesty!” The dame’s voice boomed across the silent room. Naturally he flinched at your exciting greeting. “I-Is there a problem?”
“Not at all! Infact it’s something good. Try this!” She gently places the platter forward to his view.
“So…coloured soup?” Baldwin analyses your dish. “Is it edible?”
“What makes you think it isn’t?” Your tone makes it sound as if you’re offended by his question.
“No, no, the colour is so vibrantly pink. I’ve never seen such pink even in fabrics.” He chuckles.
“It’s made using fruits from my homeland.” She pesters. “But pardon me, do try this.”
“Why? I never imagined you would take the place of my cook.”
“You mentioned before that you weren’t able to taste any foods prior to this…
That he did. He also mentioned that now that he could taste it, the flavours overwhelmed him. That’s why you made him a strawberry smoothie bowl. Y/n also made sure to pick the plainest of strawberries and to be very stringent with the sugar.
“Do you want to try it?” She asks doubtfully.
“It would be foolish to let an exotic dish go to waste.” A calculated sentence to hide his eagerness to try your food. He takes a spoon and scoops up the thick liquid. “It’s like porridge but the consistency is thicker.” Nevertheless, he doesn’t complain and eats it.
The taste was ordinary, but the texture profile was complex. You figured the cook would’ve never compensated for taste with texture when he was sick so you did it instead. The granules of the smoothie mixed with a few slices of strawberry introduced a variety of sensations on the tip of his tongue.
It was amazing.
“Your majesty…” Her voice seems concerned. “Was the dish bad?”
“No…” He answers with food still in his mouth, threatening to spill out due to his deformity.
“Then why are you crying?” Y/n's voice softens. She approaches him in an effort to calm him down but his sobs only grew louder.
He immediately grabs her and presses her close to him hugging with strength you never thought he had. “Are you alright?”
“Thank yo—” He presses a palm against his mouth to not spill out the food. With struggle, he forces himself to swallow it down “Thank you.” His sobs only sound more intense with his mouth next to your ear
He couldn't fight it, no matter how hard he tried to. It was as if you wouldn't allow him to.
⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀❝She wants to be loved, Teresa, to be loved immortally; she wants to be raised to the company of the Lauras and Floras of yore. And Byron? Byron will be faithful unto death, but that is all he promises. Let both be tied until one shall have expired.❞ ── J.M. Coetzee, Disgrace
﹙characters﹚︰ King Baldwin IV, Tiberias, Balian de Ibelin, Princess Sibylla, Guy de Lusignan, Reynald de Chatillon, Original Characters
﹙pairing﹚︰ CHILDHOOD BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS. KING X DUCHESS.
﹙synopsis﹚︰ Jerusalem is changing. Baldwin is changing. You are changing. Among all the change remains one constant: the reverence in your gazes whenever the other is near.
﹙content warnings﹚︰ This work of fiction will explore leprosy, sex, christianity and islam, blasphemy, power imbalances, misogyny, sexual harrassment, abandonment, suicidal ideation, and major character death. Please read with caution. These may change as the story goes on.
﹙word count﹚︰ 1.1K
﹙notes﹚︰ Thinking so heavily about him lately. Baldwin you have me in a chokehold. This will get absolutely zero traction on my blog, but I wanted to write this anyway. I'm still a Hayden blog, I promise. Normalize swooning over a man who lived eight centuries ago ♡ Also, please forgive me for any historical inaccuracies!
⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ PROLOGUE
Baldwin wishes there was a word stronger than yearn. He sits, ponders, tries to come up with one. The one word that continues to come up in his mind is reverence, but reverence is not synonymous with yearning. Moreso with worship, as they both coincide with absolution. Devotion? No, that fits with reverence and worship. He cannot help but think if this is it. Has he found his words? Reverence, worship, devotion. Absolution.
He turns, looking out the window, the drapes flowing idly with the gentle breeze that comes into his chambers, whispering against the stone, disturbing the flame of the oil lamp on his desk. The quill in his hand is deposited back into the ink well, and the chair he sits in is pushed back before he pushes himself up, arms quivering. He nearly rolls his eyes. His body is failing him. Rotting. Wasting away. But still, his heart beats. Still, he lives.
Outside of the doors to his chamber, he can hear footsteps and idle chatter from the servants scrubbing the walls and floors. He wonders when they will come into his chambers to clean. There isn't much to clean. The most they can do is tidy. But what will they tidy? He looks around. The documents, perhaps. Or his wardrobe. He looks down at the parchments on his desk. Already in a neat pile. He looks towards his wardrobe. Closed, the garments within organized.
For a moment, he considers deliberately making a mess, just so the servants can come in and he can have a few minutes with them. Man or woman, he doesn't care. He just wants to feel the presence of someone else. Then, traitorously, his mind wanders to you.
Yes, the young duchess. His best friend. Or, just friend now, he supposes.
Baldwin has been around and known many noble women in his life. When he was younger than he is, unmasked, face not yet ravaged by leprosy, he was quite the looker — and he knew it. But despite already being some rank of noble, the young girls would chase after one thing: the crown. Queen of Jerusalem was an attractive title, no doubt, but he had no interest in allowing it to anyone besides you.
Sitting down at the edge of his bed, Baldwin's mind wanders. He's taken back to the day of his coronation, when the crown was placed atop his head, nestled in his blonde hair, the same hair that you murmured about being so soft, that is now thinning thanks to his disease. He told you, on that day, that one day in the near future, he would marry you, make you his queen, and that the two of you would rule Jerusalem as best friends for ever and ever.
That same day, the two of you had found your parents' wedding clothes and put them on, laughing at the way they hung off your small frames, your eyes fixed on each other, your hands in his while Sibylla — who was barely a willing participant — played the part of the bishop, stating in an exaggerated voice that he could kiss you. And he did. That was your first, as it was his. He vividly remembers the way his sister gagged quite dramatically and the three of you laughed about it afterwards.
The day he was victorious in the Battle of Montgisard, the battle won against Saladin when he was only sixteen years of age, he returned to Jerusalem, to you, that smile he had grown so fond of once again on your face as your arms enveloped him, telling him how happy you were, praising him and his skill, thanking him for coming back to you safely.
Despite himself, his mind continues to wander to that same day, later in the evening. While the entire kingdom was celebrating, while the grand hall was lively with music and drinks, the two of you were celebrating in your own way, caught in teenage passion, bodies bathed in moonlight as you were tangled between the sheets, a forgotten plate of figs drizzled with honey sitting at the bedside. He cannot look at figs nor honey without being reminded of that night. He would give anything to experience that just once more.
His head turns, now facing the window once more. Just out of sight is the garden. Within the garden is that bench, that very bench that the two of you used to sit upon, the very bench where he would make promises of life-long marriage to you, where that mangy black cat would play with the hem of your dress, where you would comfort him, allowing him to lay in your arms while you called him by that nickname—Winnie—and stroked his hair, where you swore on everything you held near and dear that you would find a cure for him.
The two of you had grown apart significantly since he hit twenty years old, and thus, since the leprosy has begun to take a significant toll on him. You would often come to him with open arms, hands ready to caress his cheeks and stroke his hair, but he would not let you. He would turn you away. Day after day. He knew he was driving a wedge between the two of you, but he was already too far. He couldn't take it back.
He had hurt you.
That day, that day four years ago coming up, where you went to remove his mask and he shoved you away. Quite hard. He didn't mean it. You stumbled backwards, nearly fell onto your bum and looked up at him not with betrayal, but with confusion. You reached out to him, asked him, 'Why, Winnie?' and he forced himself to stand up and leave you there.
That was the day that set everything off. The catalyst. Ever since then, nothing between you has been the same, no matter how sweet you are. You sometimes come to his chambers in the middle of the night, neither of you able to sleep. He'll lounge in bed, and you'll sit at his desk, or by the window. You'll say his name — no, his nickname. Winnie. Oh how he despises the way it rolls off your tongue with such love and adoration.
He despises everything. Everything except you. No matter how hard he tries to delude himself, he knows he would grab a star out of the sky if you asked. He is yours, and you are his. He dreads the day you will no longer have him to call yours. It will break you, and he knows it. The next time you come by to visit, he'll have to speak to you about it.
You will have to live without me.
honorary @judasprieist tag. let me know if you would like to be tagged in this work. <3
