On the viewing platform, Princess Sibylla sat beside Queen Mother Agnes, a delicate gold circlet resting on her hair. Beneath her veil, her expression was complicated. There was no trace of excitement at the prospect of two nobles fighting for her hand.

Sibylla had set the duel in motion, but only as an unintended consequence of trying to seize control of her own life. She had never imagined Lothar would reject her olive branch—much less pass it to Balian.

What difference was there between Balian and Guy? She objected to neither man and expected little from either. A princess did not choose her own marriage.

Her gaze found Lothar seated beside Godfrey, tall and self-possessed. A sharp ache pierced her, and her hand clenched in her lap.

"Mother — this Sir Lothar. Is he not a landless knight? Where did he get such a fine company of soldiers?"

"He is Baron Lothar now," Agnes replied. The Queen Mother had aged well; she remained a handsome, alluring woman, and more than a few lords would gladly have warmed her bed. "Baldwin is fond of the boy. He means to raise him high. In time, he will stand where Godfrey stands now."

The meaning was plain: Baldwin IV saw something in this man.

"My brother holds him in such regard…" Sibylla's voice trailed off.

Agnes smiled, and there were layers in it. "Sibylla — whoever rules this kingdom will need capable men like Lothar to serve them. He will be yours, in time."

Agnes knew her son was dying, yet felt no fear for her own future. One way or another, her daughter would become Queen of Jerusalem, and the Queen Mother's position would remain secure.

Sibylla nodded, silent.

Yes. He will be mine.

---

The duel began.

Because Balian had not yet been knighted, the duel would be fought on foot. Guy carried a bastard sword without a shield, trusting wholly in his skill. The instant Archbishop William gave the word, Guy surged forward in a furious assault. Balian stumbled backward behind his shield, every inch the amateur.

The crowd was settling in for a short, one-sided affair.

Then steel rang like a hammer striking an anvil. Balian drove forward behind his shield and smashed Guy flat onto his back.

He hesitated for half a heartbeat, then threw away his sword and hammered his mailed fist into Guy's helmet. Once. Twice. Again. The blows rang out like a church bell tolling the hour.

The duel ended before the crowd understood what had happened. Balian staggered upright, gasping. Guy lay motionless.

Lothar stared. "What just happened?"

At noon, Balian had been trading even blows with Sir Kevin. Where had this strength come from?

Godfrey's eyes drifted, briefly, almost imperceptibly, to the two women behind Lothar. The corner of his mouth lifted. "I think you know."

Lothar understood. A witch's work.

Archbishop William's voice rang out, still tinged with disbelief: "Balian! Balian of Ibelin is the victor! He has defeated his opponent and won the right to pursue Princess Sibylla!"

The crowd answered with stunned silence. That was a knight's duel? Had admission cost money, every spectator would have demanded a refund.

It ended as abruptly as it began.

Guy of Lusignan had defied Richard the Lionheart beside his brothers, ambushed Eleanor of Aquitaine's convoy, and slain two counts. Now a bastard son who had once been a blacksmith had beaten him senseless. No one had foreseen it.

Godfrey exchanged smiling nods with the assembled lords. Every threat and every ounce of pressure the rival factions had applied to him had shattered in a single afternoon. The initiative belonged to him again.

"Not bad, Balian."

Lothar met him atop the platform and clapped his shoulder. "You used Guy's pride against him. You forced the fight into the one contest he couldn't answer—raw strength—and never gave him room to use his sword. When he wakes, he'll be pounding the floor in fury."

Balian's face held no joy. Only unease. He looked at his father and spoke in a voice only the three of them could hear: "I used a witch's power. This was no sacred duel."

Lothar threw an arm around his shoulders. "No. It was the Heavenly Father's power: delivered through a witch's hands."

Godfrey smiled. "Before all these lords of the realm, this was as sacred a duel as has ever been fought."

Two voices spoke in succession, and the words struck Balian with crushing force.

---

At dusk, Lothar's party filed out of Jerusalem in a long, winding column. The duel had ended so quickly that there were still hours of daylight left. Lothar had decided to leave at once for his fief.

Jogelsburg lay near Jerusalem on the River Jordan, close to Count Reynald's holdings. Even its name bore a heavy Greek imprint. Hellenic rule reached back to the Seleucid successor kingdom, followed by centuries beneath the Eastern Empire. Greek influence had sunk deep into the land.

The fortress had once guarded imperial territory against desert nomads. Time passed, the frontier shifted, and the Crown reduced its annual maintenance budget to something purely symbolic.

The System chimed: You have entered your fief. Full functions of Yesterday's Great Ship unlocked.

Your weekly Card Draw pool now includes Building and Special Furniture cards.

First entry into fief — Basic building unlocked: Lord's Hall. Lord's Hall: Provides additional comfort. Retainers resting here recover Stamina at an increased rate. Upgrading the Lord's Hall increases comfort further and raises Retainer Affinity over time.

"We're already inside the fief?" Lothar squinted into the distance. A thin column of cook-smoke rose from a village ahead, the village attached to the Barony of Jogelsburg. A place he might one day grant to a loyal knight as a sub-fief.

"Pick up the pace. Treat this as a field march."

He was impatient to see his fief. In years to come, court or royal office might keep him in Jerusalem for long stretches. Even so, the fief would remain his foundation.

They paused briefly in the village, long enough for Lothar to announce the arrival of a new lord, then pushed on.

Soon, a fortress rose into view on a distant hill. A solitary stone castle, standing alone against the sky.

"Hans — raise my banner."

His personal arms had been completed: a black single-headed eagle on a white field, facing right. No other ornament. If he gained more titles, he could add new devices: a charge in the eagle's claws, or on its wings.

On the castle walls, the garrison stirred at the sight of the approaching company. Shouts. Men scrambling onto the parapets with bows.

Hans spurred forward and commanded them to open the gates. Acting as Lothar's temporary herald, he presented Baldwin IV's handwritten charter to the castellan.

The castellan admitted them at once.

The castle was small. Behind its weathered walls lay the usual sprawl: stables, a smithy, a carpentry workshop, kitchens, barracks. The main keep was cramped, even shabbier than Hawk's Castle back in Aargau. And the climate here made the manor in Jerusalem feel like a pleasure palace.

"How many garrison troops?"

The castellan answered carefully: "Thirty men, my lord. That's all of them."