The noise of the tavern quieted, as if a hand had covered the space. Tankards were set down. The bard in the corner stumbled over his melody. Every gaze turned toward the armored figure.
The knight's plate was dented and scratched, his crimson surcoat faded to rust-brown. Yet he carried himself like a man unbroken: chin high, gaze steady, shoulders squared beneath the weight of years. His sword, though notched, gleamed from constant care.
D'rail's stomach dropped. Great. A knight. Just what I needed. He's probably here to expose me in front of everyone.
The knight's gaze fixed upon him — steadfast, piercing, akin to a hawk targeting its prey. He strode through the throng without hesitation, the sound of his gauntlets clanking and his boots drumming heavily against the wooden floor.
D'rail shrank into his cloak, praying to be overlooked. Maybe he's after someone else. Maybe there's another Phantom Lord hiding under a hood in this tavern—
The knight stopped before his table.
The silence was absolute.
Then, with a suddenness that startled even D'rail, the knight dropped to one knee.
Gasping filled the air. A tankard shattered on the ground. A voice quietly murmured, "He is kneeling!"
The knight's voice resonated clearly, reaching every part of the tavern. "I am Ser Vaunt from Caldrith Keep, a knight who was once loyal, with honor that has been taken from me. I have been in search of a master deserving of my vow. And at last, I have discovered him."
His head lowered, gloved hand resting on the floor. "Phantom Lord — accept my sword, my blood, my life. I belong to you until my end."
D'rail nearly choked on air. He blinked once. Twice. What?
He glanced around, hoping to see laughter, some sign this was a prank. Instead he found only wide eyes, reverent silence, and growing admiration.
The drunk from earlier clutched his neighbor's arm. "A knight kneels! Do you see? Only a true lord commands such fealty."
The bard in the corner muttered, "This'll be a ballad by nightfall."
D'rail swallowed hard. No. No no no. If I accept, I'll have to keep lying forever. If I refuse, he'll suspect the truth and call me a fraud. Either way, I'm finished.
Ser Vaunt raised his head slightly, eyes burning with conviction. "Say the word, my lord, and I am yours."
Dozens of faces turned toward D'rail, with suspense.
His palms were slick with sweat. His throat burning dry. He forced a crooked smile, trying to keep his voice steady.
""Oh," he croaked. "You… dropped to your knees quite quickly."
The quietness pressed tighter, waiting.
D'rail coughed into his fist, searching desperately for words that wouldn't unravel him completely.
The silence weighed like a blade against his neck. Dozens of eyes drilled into him, waiting for the pronouncement of a lord.
D'rail forced a smile that trembled at the corners. "Well… Ser Vaunt, was it? You, ah… kneel quickly, don't you? What if I'd been just a turnip seller in disguise?"
A few in the crowd tittered nervously, unsure if the Phantom Lord had made a jest.
Vaunt, however, did not smile. His eyes burned brighter, conviction like fire in his gaze. "My lord, a man who has seen death knows its scent. I have watched masters and pretenders alike. You cannot hide what you are."
Oh, I can, D'rail thought frantically. I've been hiding what I am with my life at stake. The problem is you're too stupidly sincere to notice.
He leaned back, his hood casting a shadow over his face, and let his voice drop to a low, grave tone. "Ser Vaunt. Do you not see? I am… bound."
The knight's brow furrowed. "Bound?"
"Yes." D'rail licked his lips, words spinning faster than thought. "By ancient oath. By chains that forbid me to declare my position openly. Were I to speak… the balance would break."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Someone whispered, "A vow of silence…"
D'rail seized it like a drowning man clutching driftwood. "Indeed. Only the chosen may glimpse the truth. To others, I must remain… concealed."
Vaunt's head bowed again, lower this time, as if in reverence. "Then I am chosen."
D'rail hesitated. "…What?"
"I understand," Vaunt said firmly. "A lord in shadow, a king in exile. You need a sword to keep your secret until the day comes to reveal it. That is why fate led me here."
The tavern buzzed with approval, Sense of wonder rising. "Fate!" "The knight understands the truth!"
D'rail's gut knotted. This was supposed to scare him off, not recruit him. Shoo away knight from my sight. Shoo shoo.
Vaunt unsheathed his sword — with care and respect — and laid it flat on the tavern floor at D'rail's feet. "Then let my blade guard your silence. Command me, and I will cut down those who doubt you. I swear it upon what remains of my honor."
D'rail stared at the steel glinting near his boots. His reflection wobbled in the blade: tired eyes, pale skin, the face of a liar drowning in his own story.
Every fiber of him screamed to blurt the truth, to laugh and say, I'm nobody, I'm a tragedy, you fool, get up before they all find out!
Instead, he heard himself say: "…So be it."
The tavern burst into excitement — shouts, applause, hurried murmurs. The bard played a victorious note. Someone shouted, "The Phantom Lord has taken his knight!"
D'rail closed his eyes. Idiot. Idiot, what have you done?