The late morning sun was warm on the stone floor of the study. King Baldwin IV sat alone, sleeves rolled up, one gloved hand resting beside an open manuscript. He was deep in study—maps, letters, and reports sprawled around him like a silent army.

He barely looked up when a knock came—not at the door, but lightly on the window.

Brows raised, he turned, only to find Lady Philippa crouched outside the arched window frame, her face flushed with mischief and a grin that could outshine the sun.

“Your Majesty,” she whispered like a conspirator. “Are you busy?”

He stood, stunned for a heartbeat before approaching. “Lady Philippa…” he said slowly, pushing the window open wider, “What exactly are you doing?”

She hoisted herself with ease onto the ledge, dangling her legs inside. “Well, I was on my way to the library,” she said with exaggerated innocence, “but then I had a better idea… Do you want to play hooky with me?”

He blinked. “Play… hooky?” The words sounded foreign on his tongue.

Her grin widened. “Yes! It means, um, skipping your boring royal duties for a while to do something fun instead.”

Baldwin tilted his head in mild disbelief. “You are suggesting that I abandon my duties to… frolic?”

Philippa stifled a laugh. “Frolic sounds a bit dramatic, but sure—yes. Come on, Your Majesty. Don’t tell me the King of Jerusalem has never played hooky.”

“I fear I’ve never had the luxury,” he said wryly. “And if the court knew I were tempted by such a strange phrase from your strange vocabulary, they might demand a new regent.”

“But they don’t know. It’ll be our little secret,” she said, winking.

Baldwin exhaled, bemused. He crossed his arms. “You do realize that you are coaxing a king—your king—into mischief?”

She placed a hand on her chest with mock solemnity. “Only the noble sort of mischief.”

“And what would this noble mischief entail?” he asked, tone laced with amusement.

Philippa looked around theatrically, then leaned in as if it were a state secret. “There’s a fig tree in the lower orchard. Ripe. Unwatched. We could steal a few and eat them under the sun. Maybe skip stones in the pond. Talk about nonsense.”

Baldwin chuckled, and it surprised even him. “You make rebellion sound like poetry.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Well, I am a bad influence. You’ve been warned.”

His smile softened. “And yet I find myself curious. As if you’ve offered me something I didn’t know I needed.”

Philippa’s breath caught for a moment. There it was again—his ability to look past her words, past her mask. His deep blue eyes didn’t just see her; they understood something she didn’t dare speak.

She coughed lightly and said, “Then, shall we escape, sire?”

He reached for his cloak, eyes never leaving hers. “Lead the way, my lady. But if I’m found out, I shall tell them it was all your idea.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said brightly, already hopping down to the garden path. “No one ever suspects me. I look too innocent.”

Baldwin leaned briefly on the windowsill, watching her spin once in delight before beginning to walk backward, hands behind her. He shook his head with a quiet smile and murmured to himself:

“Not of this world, that one. But perhaps… precisely what mine needed.”

Moments later, he found her in the orchard, barefoot on the grass beneath a fig tree, arms outstretched like she was claiming the whole world.

“The fig orchard?” he asked as he approached.

“It’s peaceful,” she said, spinning once. “And slightly rebellious.”

“How so?”

“Well, one—I’m not supposed to be here. Two—I may have ‘borrowed’ some of your figs.”

She held up a plump, ripe fig like an offering. Baldwin accepted it, brushing her fingertips as he did.

“Stolen royal property,” he mused. “You grow more dangerous by the day.”

She giggled, sitting beneath the tree and breaking the fig in half. “I like it here. It’s warm, quiet, full of life. Not everything in a castle has to feel… so heavy.”

Baldwin lowered himself beside her, wincing slightly at the movement. She noticed.

“Still sore?”

“Just a little. Your medicine helps.”

Philippa smiled with relief, then quickly changed the subject. “You don’t ever sneak away like this, do you?”

“I don’t have the luxury of vanishing unnoticed,” he replied, picking at a fig leaf. “But I must admit, this has its appeal.”

“I used to do this all the time back at… the convent,” she said, catching herself. “Climb walls, sneak into the gardens, steal sweets.”

“Are all convent girls so unruly?”

“Oh, only the ones worth remembering.”

He laughed softly, surprised by it. “You continue to confuse me, Lady Philippa. One moment you’re quiet and composed, the next you’re climbing through windows and speaking in riddles.”

“Maybe I’m just unpredictable,” she said, tossing a fig stem toward him. “Or maybe you like being confused.”

“I like the way you make me forget,” he said suddenly, his voice lower. “For a little while, I can pretend I’m not the king. I’m just… a man in an orchard.”

Her smile faded, softened. “Then I’ll keep bringing you figs.”

Their eyes met in the filtered light, neither quite sure who had moved first—only that the space between them had shrunk.

Philippa looked away, cheeks pink. “This is nice.”

“It is.”

“Thank you… for playing hooky.”

“Thank you for teaching me the word.”

“And the meaning?”

Baldwin smiled. “And the meaning.”

They sat in silence, the birds chirping overhead, the sunlight dappling their hands. It was only a stolen hour—but to both, it felt like something far more dangerous.

And far more precious.

The heavy doors of the royal study creaked open as Archbishop William of Tyre, man of the cloth, scholar of high esteem, and known sufferer of Lady Philippa’s antics, entered briskly with a stack of urgent scrolls.

He muttered to himself with calm purpose. “The Venetian envoys have arrived early. For once, we might start negotiations on time—if His Majesty refrains from quoting Plato mid-sentence…”

He glanced up.

The study was empty.

“…Baldwin?”

No response.

He frowned and approached the desk. The parchment was half-written, the ink still fresh, a steaming teacup rested nearby… and the window was open, curtain fluttering like a scandal.

His eyes slowly trailed to the floor.

Boot prints. Muddy ones. And one of Baldwin’s boots was missing.

Then—a partially eaten apple on the windowsill, bearing a suspiciously glossy lipstick print.

William’s expression froze.

“Oh no. Not again.”

He marched to the window and leaned out, spotting—yes. There it was. A ladder leaned carelessly against the castle wall, as if someone had staged a prison break from a convent comedy.

He didn’t need to guess who was behind this.

“Philippa,” he hissed under his breath. “My goddaughter. Child of my dear friend, and holy terror in a corset.”

Sir William bursts into the council chamber with a face redder than a boiled beet.

“Where is His Majesty?” he barks at the guards.

“W-we thought he was with you, Sir William!”

“Well, I thought he was here! It’s a council meeting, for Heaven’s sake, not a masquerade ball! Where in blazes is he?!”

The guards look at each other in panic. One brave soul adds meekly, “Perhaps… he’s in the garden again?”

Sir William groans. “That blasted garden again. That’s it.

He storms off, muttering, “Kings do not frolic! Frolicking is for peasants and ducklings!”

Sir William reaches the garden. No king. No Philippa. Just a smug-looking Bathilda watering the rosemary.

“BATHILDA! THE KING IS GONE!”

Bathilda dropped the watering can. “Gone?!”

“Window. Ladder. Apple! Lady Philippa was last seen with a rope and suspicious intent!”

“I’ll look for her,” as she hurried through the corridors.

A page poked his head around the corner. “Milord, the Venetian envoys are in the great hall. They’re asking for the King.”

“Tell them His Majesty is… momentarily engaged in vigorous contemplation.“

He stomped into the courtyard, stopping two gossiping guards.

“Where is Baldwin?!”

They startled. “Ah… we saw His Majesty with Lady Philippa earlier.”

“Doing what?”

“…She said something about… playing hooky.”

William blinked. “Hooky?”

“Lord, grant me wisdom… and a strong rope to tie my goddaughter to a chair next time there’s a diplomatic meeting.”

He finally looked up at the castle wall again.

A single note was stuck to the windowsill, scrawled in Philippa’s suspiciously cheerful handwriting:

“Dear Godfather, don’t worry—we’re just getting a bit of fresh air. Love, Philippa

William stared at it in silence. Then exhaled a long, slow sigh.

“Fresh air. She kidnapped the King for fresh air. This girl is going to bring about a crusade and not even notice.”

King Baldwin IV—disguised only by the world’s most unconvincing hood and a smile entirely too relaxed for a monarch—is seated beneath an olive tree, holding an enormous fig pastry like it might contain the secrets of life.

Lady Philippa is lounging beside him in the grass, bare feet tucked under her dress, twirling a flower between her fingers.

“So,” Baldwin said, chewing thoughtfully, “this is… hooky?”

“Yup,” she replied with a grin. “Skipping your royal duties for a day of fun. Very rebellious.”

Baldwin tilted his head. “Is this… common?”

“Totally. Sometimes we skip school, sometimes work. Occasionally a wedding.”

He blinked. “A wedding?”

“Not mine,” she added quickly.

He laughed softly. “How strange… skipping obligations for joy. We call that treason in Jerusalem.”

Philippa gave him a mock gasp. “Oh no, am I corrupting the King?”

“No,” Baldwin said, studying her with amused warmth. “You’re simply… bewitching.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean that in the most ecclesiastically acceptable way possible, of course.”

In the great hall, the Venetian envoys are drinking their fifth cup of tepid tea and looking increasingly insulted.

Archbishop William of Tyre storms in, robes billowing like a man halfway to canonization and halfway to strangling someone with incense beads.

“My sincere apologies, your lordships,” he says with a forced smile, “His Majesty is… presently in… private counsel.”

“With whom?” one envoy asks suspiciously.

William pauses.

“God.”

Bathilda enters urgently and whispers to William. William clears his throat. “Ahem… it seems like the king is getting ready… I’ll go ahead and get his highness…” he smiles and turns to go hurriedly.

Philippa has climbed the olive tree.

Baldwin is watching from below, looking faintly alarmed. “Are you certain you’re allowed to do that in a corset?”

“Pffft. I once climbed out of a tower window in heels and a petticoat.”

“…That explains so much, and also nothing at all.”

She tosses him an olive. He misses, blames his glove.

Philippa dangles from a branch with a cheeky grin. “So, is this the weirdest day of your reign?”

He pretends to consider it. “Once a camel wandered into the chapel and ate the bishop’s sermon notes, but… this is close.”

She snorts.

He catches her gaze.

There’s a moment. Just long enough.

Then—

“YOUR MAJESTY!“

Philippa nearly falls out of the tree.

Baldwin doesn’t even flinch. “Ah. William. Would you care for an olive?”

William looks like he aged ten years in ten minutes.

“There are Venetian envoys in the great hall! Waiting! For you!”

“I’m in the middle of something important,” Baldwin says, utterly serene.

“You’re eating snacks in a tree with my goddaughter!”

“She brought pastries.”

Philippa waves. “Hi, Godfather!”

“Do not ‘hi’ me, young lady! You climbed out of a royal window with the King!”

She shrugs. “Technically, he climbed out on his own.”

William pinches the bridge of his nose and murmurs, “I should have become a monk. Or a hermit. Or a blacksmith in Cyprus…”

Baldwin stands up, dusts off his cloak, and strolls past William with a calm, regal nod.

“I’ll greet the Venetians now. I trust you’ll explain my delay with grace?”

William glares. “I’ll tell them you were praying.”

“Excellent. Not entirely untrue.”

Philippa hops down from the tree. “Want me to come with?”

William raises a hand. “No. You are to go to your chamber, reflect on your sins, and remain there until further notice.”

Philippa pauses.

“…Can I take the leftover fig pastry?”

William mutters, “Take it and pray it distracts you from breaking into the treasury next.”

She salutes. “Yes, godfather.”

William looks to heaven. “Why, Lord. Why did you give her charm and legs?”

The Royal Hall of Jerusalem 

The Venetian envoys rise stiffly as Baldwin IV enters, robes hastily straightened, curls windswept in a way that only barely screams “I just climbed out of a tree.” William follows behind him, trying to smooth both the King’s cloak and the diplomatic disaster he’s certain is coming.

Venetian Envoy (dryly):
“Your Majesty, we feared the Kingdom had lost its sovereign.”

Baldwin (smiling serenely):
“Not lost. Simply… momentarily misplaced.“

The Venetian delegation exchanges wary glances.

William (clears throat):
“His Majesty was in prayerful contemplation. Deep prayer. With a fig pastry.”

Baldwin gives him a sideways look. “And excellent fig pastry it was, Archbishop. I recommend it highly.”

Despite the late start, Baldwin slips into his kingly persona with ease—calm, sharp, eloquent. He speaks of trade, of safe passage, of honor among allies. The envoys thaw, just a little.

Philippa is not in the room, but Baldwin finds himself quoting something she said about “value being seen where others overlook.” The Venetians nod, intrigued.

William watches from the side, arms crossed, muttering prayers not entirely appropriate for the setting.

And just as the envoys begin to nod in agreement, one of them glances at Baldwin and says:

“Your Majesty, if I may ask… is that an olive pit in your crown?”

William chokes on air.

Baldwin reaches up, calmly plucks the offending pit from his circlet, and sets it in his palm.

“Ah. A gift from the land I rule.”

A long beat.

The Venetian begins to laugh.

William is scribbling furiously in his records, muttering: “King went missing. Ate pastry. Lied to Venetians. Quoted a woman in trousers. CROWNED WITH OLIVE PIT—”

Philippa knocks on the door with two fig pastries in hand. “Truce offering?”

William eyes her. “You’re a menace.”

She hands him the pastry. “And yet… your favorite goddaughter.”

He sighs and takes a bite. “God has punished me, and He used you to do it.”

She grins. “Glad I could help.”

In Antioch, a kingdom north of Jerusalem

William of Tyre dismounted his horse and was greeted by Antioch Knight “welcome your Eminence,” said the captain of the Knight as he kissed Williams’ hands.

“I’d like to speak with your master,” William stated.

“Of course, your Eminence, his highness is waiting for you in the throne room.”

William followed the knight to the throne room, where he was met by a young prince in his late twenties. Prince Bohemond III, the eldest son of my closest friend Raymond of Poitiers and his wife Constance of Antioch, inherited his father’s good looks; he is a pale, tall man with well-built muscle, dark hair like midnight, and charming green deep eyes; but, like his mother, he has a bad temper and a very twisted personality. William thought to himself as he gulped and approached Bohemond, who was grinning to see him.

“Greetings, Your Eminence Archbishop of Tyre…” he said.

“Yes, my prince… thank you for having me,” I replied.

“So, what is the reason for your unexpected visit, and how is the Leper King holding on in Jerusalem?” he asked, his cruel and cold eyes staring at me.

“Everything is fine in Jerusalem, your grace, and the young king, King Baldwin, is doing fine and perfectly healthy,” William replied.

“Oh.. that’s good news… maybe God didn’t forget him after all,” he remarked sarcastically.

He is a troublesome man; no one knows how his mind works…however, he is a tyrant to his men but a good leader to his country… I should be more cautious about what I tell him. As he looked at Bohemond, William reflected.

“But the reason for my visit is because of your younger sister Lady Philippa,” William explained.

His smile faded to a frown as he stared coldly at William, “what now? did my idiot sister do something?” he asked.

William froze as Bohemond approached him,with his vicious gaze, but he was able to control his emotion as he continued to explain “n-no your grace… please hear me out “

William explains everything that happened with Lady Philippa to Prince Bohemond, including how the lady discovered that his stepparents had embezzled her inheritance and forced her to marry a man who is already like her father, but the Prince shows no sympathy for her sister and simply listens to what William is saying. He also mentions Lady Philippa’s refusal to marry and enter the convent, and her request to King Baldwin to have her as a member of his royal court, which the King approved because she saw great talent in her.

But when Prince Bohemond heard what had happened, he sarcastically laughed instead, his evil laugh echoing through the empty hall.” great talent you say?.. I never knew that my dumb sister could actually be smart enough to persuade the genius King but I am really disappointed…. ” Bohemond said as he stopped and looked at William who was staring at him dumbfounded I am, really disappointed willie…. ” he said softly, slowly approaching William and whisper.

“Tell Baldwin… I’ll take care of it,” he said.

“What do you mean, my prince?” William inquired.

“As her legal guardian, I will get my sister back so she doesn’t cause any more trouble for your little king,” he said.

“Y-your grace… it’s not it,” William explained.

“huh…” he says as he turns to face William.

“Lady Philippa… wishes to be independent of you…and I wished to be her legal guardian until she marries,” William explained.

Prince Bohemond lost his composure and punched the coloured glass window with a single blow, causing a loud shattered glass and a drip of blood on the white floor of the hall. “What…did you just say?” he exclaimed. following the hearing of William’s statement

“My prince… please…,” William says calmly. As he was about to finish his sentence, Bohemond yelled angrily, “How dare she ask for independence! Who told her she could be free?” he exclaimed, “would you think I’ll let anyone become her guardian?! “

“Prince Bohemond… please calm down and listen,” William said. “Lady Philippa is no longer a child… she can make her own decisions… it is best to talk to her, but she is now under the King’s protection,” he added.

After a minute, Prince Bohemond exhaled a heavy sigh and smiled at William, “Of course you are right…willie… my little sister is no longer a child… yes it is best to visit her,” he said.

William still can’t figure out Prince Bohemond; it’s as if he’s dealing with a rabid wolf and needs to be careful what he says; he decided to end the conversation before Prince Bohemond lost his sanity.

“Then that’s all.. I’ll leave my prince,” William said.

“Wait… Tell my sister, I will be coming for her… I will decide whether or not to give her independence… please relay this message to the leper king as well,” he said with a smile.

William timidly bowed his head and left.

He exhaled a sigh of relief and hurriedly walked out of the hall, saying to himself, “I need to inform Philippa and Baldwin about this… I have a feeling his visit won’t end well.”

In Jerusalem,

It was such a cold day, indicating that winter was just around the corner, that I woke up and ate my breakfast as usual, going about my daily routine, until I was summoned by King Baldwin and told to meet him at the horse stable and wear warm clothing. I did as instructed and went to the stable to meet him.

As I approached him, I noticed him standing and tending to his horse. “Your highness?” I asked.

“My lady,” he said, “I heard you wanted to see me… but why are we in the horse stable?”

“It appears that you forgot that I promised to teach you horseback riding,” he gently said.

“Oh… yes, I completely forgot about it… I apologise.”

“It’s alright.. it’s late, but I really wanted to keep my promise to you,” he explained.

He prepared a horse for me to ride, a magnificent dark brown horse with a gleaming coat. “I’d like you to meet Judas,” he said.

“Judas? that’s an interesting name,” I remarked.

“I named him after Judas, one of Jesus’ disciples,” he explained. “I’d say he’s my favourite disciple,” he added.

“Why? All I know is that he betrayed him,” I inquired.

“True…but in order to save humanity, he must betray him…that is why I would say his betrayal leads to Jesus saving us,” he explains as he gently caresses the horse’s head.

“I never thought of it that way,” I said. I looked at him as he happily tended to his horse, “you really like horses, don’t you?” I inquired.

“I do… when I was little, horseback riding was one of my favourite lessons, and it simply made me feel like I could do anything, and they are surprisingly a good friend you can have,” he said, smiling.

“Oh.. that’s nice.. hey Judas,” I say as I stroke the horse’s head, “did you know that a horse can tell if you’re a bad or good person just by smelling you?”

“Really?… that’s interesting…” he exclaimed.

“Yes.. maybe horses like you because they know you’re a good person,” I said as I smiled at him.

He looked at me and gently reached for my hands, intertwining them with his as he brought them closer to his mask lips. “Your too good to be true… my lady…” he said gently.

I looked at him, blushing profusely. “I wish I could still stop myself or I might completely devour you,” he said as he gently placed my fingertips into his silver mask lips, but Aimery came in bringing King Baldwin’s horse “Y-your Highness, I brought Felipe,” and I automatically removed my hands from his, Aimery was quick to notice “is everything alright?” he asked.

“Yes.. we should get going now,” King Baldwin said calmly as he looked at me.

Aimery prepares the horses for our departure, and King Baldwin gently guides me through my first, nerve-racking horseback riding lesson. When I was mounted on Judas, it was too high… I feel dizzy and lightheaded, possibly because I am afraid of heights, and my hands tremble as I tightly grip the horse’s lead rope. Baldwin was quick to notice as he rode beside me, “are you cold?” he asked.

“No, just nervous,” I explained.

“You don’t have to be nervous, I know it’s your first time… but you’re doing great,” he said comfortingly.

“I think so too.. I think I’m going to get the hang of it,” I said.

We rode slowly with our horses to our destination, which was a very beautiful field with lush green meadows and lavender growing everywhere. I can feel the cold breeze on my face.

“Do you like it? ” Baldwin ask

“Yes, it’s lovely,” I said.

“This is one of the places in Jerusalem where I find peace, and it is also one of my favourite places,” he said.

“It’s certainly breath-taking,” I said as I looked out at the horizon. “Yes… it is,” he said as he stared at me.

He got off his horse and helped me down, holding my waist as he carried me down, our gazes met again, and I felt a thousand butterflies in my stomach as I looked at him. He set me down gently.

We took a walk through the fields, picking fresh lavender and other herbs I could find. It had been a long afternoon stroll. He decided to rest with Aimery under an oak tree, and I continued to look for fresh herbs, but I am still confused about what happened earlier; the thing that was bothering me the most was the growing crush that I might have for him. I’m afraid I’m the only one who has these nascent feelings, I think to myself as I stand back and watch him wave his hand, to which I respond with a smile.

We arrived home just before dinner, ate together, and talked a little; he is a lot of fun to be around. I also taught him some slang words that he was eager to learn; he was a quick learner. After that, I regularly checked on his wound and was amazed to see how much better it was getting each day. He escorted me to my bedroom chamber and kissed my hand good night.

But even so… I wished I could spend more time with him… I always wonder what crosses his mind when his eyes meet mine… Should I just tell him to stay? I wondered as I watched him walk away.

“y-your majesty ” I call him

“Yes, my lady?” he asks, turning around.

“I-I just wanted to say thank you for teaching me how to ride a horse,” I explained.

“your welcome”

“Gosh… you must be very popular with the other ladies?… you know being gentle and cool…” I asked. I thought to myself, I’m such a dummy.

“I am not popular with other ladies…you were the first that I personally taught to ride a horse, usually noble ladies would avoid me because I am a leper, that is why I decided to be a good king for my people… they are my priority,” he explained.

“I see… ” I said, smiling, “you don’t have to worry my king, I will make sure you go down in history as the most kindest king ever.” 

“Thank you, my lady,” he chuckled.

For the time being, I’ve decided to bury those newfound feelings within myself… I need to be more focused on helping him in any way I can.