Dead Suitors Tell No Tales

8: The Suitor of the North

What the hell?!

It took all of Dax's willpower not to recoil from the sight in front of him. Out of all the possible scenarios he had prepared for in his mind, this was definitely not one of them.

It had to be an illusion, a coincidence. This couldn't possibly be the same person. The Princess must be a look-alike. How else was he to accept what was literally staring him right in the face?

Yet the more he looked, the clearer the truth became, and Dax found himself at a loss of what to do. He stood rooted to the spot as he tried to gauge what the Princess was thinking.

The girl in question had half-risen from her seat, seeming to forget herself, before hurriedly sitting back down to cover up the slight breach of protocol. Her eyes were wide as she met his gaze, and her arms went around the armrest of her chair in a vice grip. For a few seconds, her expression maintained its shocked features. Then Dax inwardly winced as her eyes narrowed and a frown overtook her mouth's perfect "o" of surprise.

So it was official. She did recognize him, and he was as good as dead from here on out. Talk about bad luck.

He had not only attacked the Crown Princess, but stole from her too, and here he was before her, about to lie and cheat his way through a contest just to steal from her again. What was more, the girl now knew he wasn't at all who he had just proclaimed himself to be, and would probably blow his cover right away if he didn't do anything.

So, Dax did the only logical thing he could think of and appealed to the King of Ester himself.

"It's an honor to be here, Your Majesty." He made sure his voice betrayed no hint of the anxiety eating away at his brain.

"You're late, Lord Belvoir," King Alistair finally spoke. Dax cringed. He hadn't meant to be late. Grand entrances were always fun, but not if you were trying to avoid detection as an undercover criminal. Making his dramatic appearance in the throne room hadn't been intentional.

He supposed the king was mad, but he wasn't that late. Oversleeping was a common thing where he came from. Maybe nobles didn't understand that sort of thing. He probably needed a better excuse to explain his delayed arrival.

"Apologies, Your Majesty," Dax offered. "My horse threw a shoe outside the city gates. I had to find a replacement." It was a fairly plausible story, he reasoned. Plus, it helped explain why his horse was less fancy than the others he'd seen in he stables. Uri hadn't had time to procure such a stately animal. His peasant horse was a stark contrast to the gleaming coats of the restless battlehorses and proud stallions.

But no matter. He probably wouldn't need a horse for the rest of the contest, anyway.

"I see," said Alistair. "Try to be on time in the future." Dax nodded in acknowledgment and mentally sighed in relief. His story had been accepted. He grinned to himself and allowed his gaze to drift back to the Princess.

She was openly glaring at him now. He was mildly surprised that she hadn't said anything to rat him out yet, but he wasn't complaining. She looked much different now than she had that night in the street. Like a queen, he thought, taking in the diadem in her hair and the regal posture.

He scanned her face for her injuries and frowned slightly when he found none. What had happened to her bruises? Did they just magically disappear? It wasn't a bad thing that they were gone, though, he reflected, as she looked much better without them, but still, he was curious how she had healed so quickly.

Suddenly realizing that Alistair was talking to him in dismissive tones, Dax looked back at the King and bowed, trying to remember the way Uri had said it must be executed. He must've done a pretty good job, because King Alistair waved him to his place without a second thought.