Ethan, or rather, Antoinette with a hefty dose of Ethan's flair for the dramatic, burst from the bushes like a startled pheasant. He tripped over a stray root, his arms flailing wildly, and landed with a resounding thud at the princesses' feet. Teacups flew, pastries scattered, and a startled shriek erupted from Princess Catherine.

"Oh, dear heavens!" she cried, her hand fluttering to her chest. "Antoinette! What in the world...?"

Ethan, seizing the moment, let out a groan that would put a dying opera singer to shame. He clutched his arm, his face contorted in a mask of pain. "Help me…" he rasped, his voice trembling with expertly feigned terror. "I've been… attacked!"

The princesses rushed to his side, their initial shock giving way to concern (or, in Ethan's cynical estimation, thinly veiled satisfaction).

"Attacked?" Princess Thea exclaimed, her eyes wide with what Ethan suspected was more delight than worry. "By whom?"

Now came the crucial moment. Ethan, deciding to forgo the rabid badger and opt for a more classic approach, swayed dramatically, his eyes fluttering closed.

(Internal monologue, Ethan's voice) "Okay, think 'fragile flower'... think 'delicate princess'... think 'fainting goat'..."

He let out a soft gasp, his body going limp. With a graceful flourish (or at least, as elegant as a man in a ripped princess dress could manage), he crumpled to the ground in a picture-perfect faint.

(Internal monologue) "Nailed it."

The princesses, caught off guard by this sudden turn of events, reacted with a mixture of alarm and confusion.

"Antoinette!" Princess Grace cried, kneeling beside him. "Are you alright?"

Ethan, of course, remained perfectly still, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and even. He could practically hear the princesses' frantic whispers.

"Is she…?"

"She's fainted!"

"Someone fetch the smelling salts!"

Ethan, inwardly smirking, allowed himself a small, satisfied sigh. He had successfully channeled his inner drama queen (or, in this case, drama princess) and created the perfect diversion. Now, all he had to do was wait for the royal medics to arrive and play the role of the wounded, vulnerable princess.

(Internal monologue) "This is too easy. I should've been an actor. Or maybe a professional fainter. There's gotta be a market for that, right?"

He continued to lie there, basking in the attention, his mind already plotting his next move. He had successfully infiltrated the palace, gathered valuable information, and created a convincing cover story. Now, it was time to put his plan into action.

Ethan, still playing the picture of delicate fragility, remained motionless on the garden path. He could feel the cool dampness of the grass seeping through his ripped gown, but he dared not twitch. The performance had to be flawless.

(Internal Monologue) "Alright, time to up the ante. A little drool never hurt anyone, right?"

He let a thin trickle of saliva escape the corner of his mouth, adding a touch of 'realistic' distress. He imagined the princesses' reactions, their expressions of horrified concern. He almost chuckled.

The commotion around him intensified. He could hear the frantic footsteps of servants rushing to the scene, the hushed whispers of the courtiers, and the increasingly panicked voices of the princesses.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Quickly, bring a cushion!" Princess Catherine's voice rang out, sharp with urgency. "And someone fetch the royal physician! This is a disaster!"

"She's so pale," Princess Grace murmured, her voice laced with what Ethan suspected was a touch of genuine worry. "What if she's seriously injured?"

"Nonsense," Princess Thea scoffed, though her voice lacked its usual confidence. "She's merely fainted. It's probably just a touch of the vapors."

(Internal Monologue) "Vapors? Seriously? Is this the 1800s? I swear, if I wasn't playing possum, I'd roll my eyes so hard they'd pop out."

A soft cushion was placed beneath his head, and he could feel the gentle touch of someone wiping the drool from his chin. He suppressed a shudder of disgust.

"She's still unconscious," a servant's voice whispered. "We need to get her inside, to her chambers."

The princesses, along with several servants, carefully lifted him onto a makeshift stretcher, fashioned from a garden bench and a velvet throw. He allowed himself to be carried, his body limp and unresponsive.

As they moved through the garden and into the palace, he kept his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and even. He could hear the hushed whispers of the palace staff, their voices filled with concern and speculation. He imagined the rumors spreading like wildfire, the story of the 4th Princess's dramatic fainting spell becoming the talk of the court.

He was carried through the grand hallways, past astonished courtiers and curious servants. He could feel the eyes of the palace watching him, their expressions a mixture of pity and intrigue. He was playing his role to perfection, the injured, vulnerable princess, the victim of a mysterious attack.

He was finally brought to his chambers, the familiar surroundings now a stage for his performance. He was gently placed on his bed, the soft mattress a welcome relief.

"She needs rest," a voice declared. "And the physician will be here shortly."

The princesses lingered, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. Ethan could feel their eyes on him, their gazes searching for any sign of deception.

He remained still, his breathing shallow and even, his body relaxed. He was playing the long game, waiting for the right moment to reveal his true intentions. He was Ethan, the mafia enforcer turned princess, and he was about to turn this palace upside down.

The room bustled with activity. Servants fluttered around, adjusting pillows, fetching cool compresses, and whispering amongst themselves. The princesses, their initial shock subsiding, now engaged in a hushed debate about the possible cause of Antoinette's sudden collapse.

"Perhaps it was the heat," Princess Grace suggested, fanning herself with a delicate hand. "It is rather warm today."

"Or maybe she's simply overtired," Princess Catherine chimed in. "All that excitement about the upcoming ball must have taken its toll."

Princess Thea, ever the pragmatist, dismissed their theories with a wave of her hand. "Nonsense. She's clearly suffering from some sort of ailment. We need to summon the royal physician immediately."

Just as she uttered those words, the door to the chambers swung open, revealing a figure whose presence commanded instant attention. King Theodore, his brow furrowed with worry, strode into the room, his gaze immediately drawn to the still figure on the bed.

"Antoinette!" he exclaimed, rushing to her side. "What has happened to my daughter?"

The princesses, startled by their father's sudden appearance, curtsied respectfully.

"Father," Princess Thea began, "it seems Antoinette has fainted. We're not sure what caused it."

The King, his concern evident, knelt beside the bed, his eyes searching Antoinette's face. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead, his touch surprisingly tender.

Ethan, despite his best efforts to remain unresponsive, couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth at the King's genuine display of affection. It was a stark contrast to the cold indifference he had observed from the princesses.

(Internal Monologue) "Huh. So the old man actually cares. That's… unexpected."

The King, his gaze still fixed on Antoinette, turned to the princesses, his voice laced with concern. "Has anyone summoned the physician?"

"Yes, Father," Princess Catherine replied. "He should be here any minute."

The King nodded, then turned back to Antoinette, his eyes filled with a mixture of worry and puzzlement. "My dear Antoinette," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "What could have possibly caused this?"

Ethan, listening to the King's heartfelt words, felt a pang of guilt. He was deceiving this man, this father who clearly cared for his daughter. But he pushed the guilt aside, reminding himself of his mission, his purpose. He had to play this role, to maintain this charade, in order to uncover the truth, to protect himself and potentially even this unsuspecting royal family.

He continued to lie there, his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and even, the picture of innocent vulnerability. But beneath the surface, his mind was racing, calculating his next move, planning his strategy. He was Ethan, the mafia enforcer turned princess, and he was about to play the most dangerous game of his life.