The holy mage straightened from his bow, sounding like a cat that had caught the canary.
"So your majesty, you must serve capital punishment on this royal imposter!" he whirled around and pointed a gnarled finger at me. This man was no spring chicken, my little game must have really pissed him off for him to that eager to give me a death sentence. After all, claiming or pretending to be royalty was punishable by death.
But how to prove my identity? This was a new advancement I did not foresee. In the story, this section had gone by smoothly in a few words, with the author simply writing in passing that Winter had passed the inspection and was moved to a distant corner of the palace. Yet in this version, I am being called a fraud. I can't help but wonder if this is Peppermint's revenge for enjoying two extra years outside the castle or an unexpected development that arose from showing up two years late.
