kingdom of nations

Chapter 129 Son of Earl Josephine III of Edessa! (1) (Bonus chapter for monthly votes!)
The air was filled with the rich aroma of spices, the silks shimmered with iridescent light, and the gold and silver vessels gleamed with a warm luster, but none of these could compare to the six female slaves who filed in one after another; all eyes were fixed on them.

The female slaves wore headscarves, veils, and cloaks, with their eyes lowered; not a single hair was visible except for their eyes. From their appearance, the six women were almost identical in height, build, and posture.

The messenger instructed them to come before King Arazarus one by one. They knelt before him, then lifted their cloaks and let them fall to the ground. They then removed their veils and headscarves. The cloaks and headscarves were made of the simplest white cotton, and the veils were of very ordinary quality and dull in color.

But just as a shrewd merchant sometimes places a lustrous pearl in linen rather than silk—without the distraction of external things, when these girls discard their coverings and expose themselves, their beauty is almost blinding.

Or rather, beauty is secondary; what matters more is the utter submissiveness displayed in their eyes and posture—a meekness and vulnerability that they would obey even if you told them to die. Even among Christians, women are taught obedience, yet they still cannot match this innate innocence.

Even Abigail, who prided himself on loving only the princess, couldn't help but straighten up slightly, wanting to see more clearly, but his position was really not good.

The vast hall was unusually spacious, with the entrance on the west side and the king's throne on the east side. White draperies embroidered with crosses of Arazari hung on both sides of the brocade canopy of gold and silver. The throne was magnificent and enormous, and its towering back easily reminded people of the spire of a church.

The king sat high in the center, with Queen Mother Maria and his sister Princess Hibil on his left, and Patriarch Heraclius and his regent Raymond on his right.

Below them, the three rows of seats on either side are also clearly distinguished by rank.

The first row naturally belonged to the ministers who were most trusted by the king, or those whom he had no choice but to trust, such as Grand Duke Bohemond of Antioch, as well as the Grand Masters of the Knights Templar, the Knights of the Good Hall, and the High Priests of the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre.

The second row consisted of the minor vassal and the city's officials, headed by Berion of Ibelin.

Although David and Abigail were already knights, they could only sit in the third row, right next to the wall, as if reminding them that they only had the right to observe this solemn meeting.

So, where is César located?
Beside the king's throne stood a dark brown oak high-backed chair, just a short distance from the throne where one could converse with a slight bend. Although the chair was devoid of carvings or gilding, Raymond's expression still changed drastically upon seeing it. It was only thanks to Bohimon pulling his hand and pressing down on his shoulder that Raymond did not erupt in anger on the spot.

If it weren't for that great victory on the shores of Galilee, they could certainly have offered advice or even rebuked him. After all, Cesar was now just a knight, and Bethlehem was just a small city. He could be present at this occasion, but he would never sit next to the king. However, it was precisely because Baldwin and Cesar had won that great victory, while they suffered a serious defeat in the war against Murray—many people were already demanding that they be held accountable, and their image had been tarnished as a result.

At this time, it was certainly not something a mature person should do to clash with the young and impetuous king. Raymond held back, but when he saw that the Bethlehem knight Cesar did not show any humility and sat down in that seat, he couldn't help but curse in his heart - what an arrogant little man!

César was well aware that this position would bring him many wicked curses, but even if he didn't sit here, would he have few enemies? As long as he remained a Knight of Bethlehem, bearing the favor of Amalric I and the friendship of Baldwin IV, he had to stand by the king's side and face common enemies with him, whether Christians or Saracens.

Baldwin felt only a surge of genuine joy. Sunlight streamed from the high window onto his throne. He turned his ring, and tiny specks of light refracted from the gemstone swept across the wall, then across the faces of his ministers. Some squinted, some turned their heads, some raised their hands—all their expressions and movements were taken in by his eyes.

This is what it feels like to be a king. Everything his uncle and father once enjoyed has now fallen into his hands. He finally understands why his father sometimes acts so casually, even with a touch of mockery and disdain.

When you sit in this position, everyone here, no matter how powerful or influential, can only bow and scrape before you and obey your orders. You can even easily change their fate—like moving chess pieces on a chessboard. You can't imagine that feeling unless you experience it firsthand.

He smiled, casually resting his hands on the armrests of the throne. From this day forward, he could finally give his dearest brother the reward he deserved.

At this moment, the last female slave walked up to the group. Her behavior was somewhat strange. Compared to the other female slaves, she seemed more unruly. She did not kneel down, nor did she immediately pull off her headscarf. Instead, she looked around with a surprised and bewildered gaze at those... Christians.

The envoy, a minister trusted and favored by Sultan Nur ad-Din, knelt before the young man, who seemed to be surrounded by some distinguished figures. Was he the King of Arazarus? He was so young and so handsome; could she really ask him for help?

Seeing the last female slave suddenly stand still, the envoy frowned. If this were in the Sultan's palace, a eunuch would have already come up, dragged her away to a secluded place, and given her a whipping (female slaves would not be severely punished before the Sultan and the First Lady spoke).

But this was a Christian castle, and he could only condemn this reckless slave girl with a stern gaze. Fortunately, she finally moved, slowly unfastening her cloak, lifting her headscarf, and her veil gently fell to the ground.

"Alas." Queen Mother Maria sighed subconsciously. The face of the female slave seemed familiar to her, and before she could remember who the person was, she had already taken a step forward, opened her arms, as if she wanted to kneel before the king, like her companion.

But suddenly, she froze, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide open, as if something incredible was happening right before her eyes.

Queen Mary later recalled that her expression was as if she had suddenly seen light shining down from the sky, and a saint slowly descending the white steps, reaching out his hands to lead her to heaven; or as if hell had opened before her, and countless demons crawling out of the cracks, grabbing her feet, vying to pull her down.

She stood there frozen, her features contorted, her beauty almost completely gone. Even the king had to feign concern, and out of respect for all women, he asked gently, "What's wrong? Is there something amiss? Do you recognize me?"

He saw the look of ecstatic joy on her face, as if she had grasped something, but he couldn't recall ever seeing this girl before. It wasn't surprising that Baldwin IV had this misunderstanding, given that she remained fixed on the direction of the throne.

Heraclius had already stood up, intending to order the slave girl to be dragged away—he feared that the Saracen slave girl would fall at the king's feet, clinging to his knees and making some inappropriate request, and indeed, just as he had expected, the slave girl lunged toward the throne.

She was just a petite woman, unlikely to have received divine revelation or the favor of a saint, but this act could still be seen as an attempt to assassinate the king.

But the Bethlehem knight beside the king had already blocked his path. He moved so fast it was as if he had always been there, and the slave girl was already holding him tightly.

Until this point, people thought her target was the king, but unexpectedly, she shouted loudly the next moment.

"Joselin, Joselin! Don't you recognize me? I'm your sister, Joselin, I'm Natia! Your sister!"

The hall erupted in a commotion. Some people looked at the envoy, who was also completely bewildered. He hadn't heard a single thing about the Natia brothers before. He had left Apollo with a heart full of fear, and these six female slaves were just part of the gifts. Why would you care about a gold cup or a silver plate?

Of course not.

Others looked at Cesar, their gazes shifting between him and the woman, searching for similarities. Indeed, there were similarities, especially in their jet-black hair that almost blended into the night, and the shapes of their eyes and lips were also somewhat alike. After confirming this, some felt a mix of emotions—if they were indeed siblings, it was rare for the sister's beauty to be inferior to the brother's.

Even Baldwin IV couldn't help but stand up. He took two steps forward, wanting to turn around and observe the female slave, but Cesar stopped him with one hand. Then, with the humanoid accessory hanging on his body, he took two steps forward. The situation was still unclear, and he couldn't be sure whether the female slave wanted to take this opportunity to get close to the king and then assassinate him.

At this moment, several highly respected ministers finally stood up. Together with Raymond, they ordered everyone in the hall to be quiet and summoned the knights outside the door, instructing them to be on high alert regarding the Saracens and the gifts they had brought.

The female slave who had been tightly embracing Cesar was not pulled away. Firstly, if she was not lying, she was the sister of the Knight of Bethlehem. Regardless of who their parents were, she was a noblewoman who deserved the respect of the knights, and they could not treat her roughly. Secondly, Cesar could pull her away at any time if he wanted to; after all, he was a man who had held off an angry mother bear when he was only ten years old.

The knights quickly cleared the area, leaving only the Christian and the only Saracen—the Messenger.

Cesar placed his hands on the female slave's shoulders and gently pushed her away. His expression was solemn—he could sense that the body close to him was not wearing any weapons, nor did it have strong muscles or rough calluses; it was just an ordinary girl. After making her stand still, he did not leave her immediately, leaving her alone to be scrutinized by everyone. Instead, he took a step back and looked at her as he spoke.

“First I must tell you, madam,” his voice had a gentle and soothing magic, “that when I was nine years old I fell seriously ill with a high fever, and I no longer remember anything before that. I only know that, by God’s arrangement, I met King Amalric I of Arazarus in the scorching mountains of Judah.”

At that time, I was still a slave of Isaac's merchant, and what awaited me was an extremely miserable and tragic fate, or death. Of course, I did not sit idly by and wait for my doom. When the king's caravan passed by, while everyone was kneeling and bowing to the king, I escaped from the tent and reclaimed my health and honor.

When the king saw me, he said, "Christians must not be sold into slavery." He redeemed me from the Isaac merchant, brought me to the castle, and generously and kindly allowed me to keep company with his son. As you can see, Baldwin treated me like a brother, letting me sit beside him—this is all I experienced—but in these memories, you are not present.

These words made the black-haired female slave tremble. "I don't know if I've forgotten you, or if what you're saying is a lie from the beginning. But if you're willing to talk, we can take some time to listen..."

“Wait,” a voice suddenly interrupted, “If it’s just about someone’s background, I don’t think it’s necessary to delay the negotiation process, much less make these busy adults play house with you.”

Abigail's words made the king's face turn angry.

But he wasn't wrong; some people were indeed nodding in agreement. Although everyone loves gossip, it's insignificant compared to major national affairs.

“But what I am about to say is also of paramount importance, no less so than the negotiations you are about to hold,” the female slave said.

Baldwin IV raised his eyebrows slightly, signaling her to continue.

The female slave passed by Cesar and knelt down—she could feel Cesar still watching her. She opened her arms and looked at the King of Arazarus as if pleading, and spoke slowly.

“I am Natia, daughter of Count Josephine III of Edessa and Princess Mana of Armenia. And he,” she turned and looked longingly at her handsome younger brother.

“He is my brother, Joseph III’s only son and sole heir.”

(End of this chapter)