Anaisa's skin crawled as Denolm's arm around her kept its place. She'd tried to subtly wriggle away from him, but after her last plunge towards the hard marble floor had resulted in a twisted ankle, she thought better of attempting a second escape.
She darted a glance toward Trace, but apparently he thought that coming to her aid right now would be inappropriate. Perhaps he was right.
Anaisa turned toward the king. She wanted to protest inviting Denholm to tea, but there was no way to do so without making the princess look like an ungrateful brat. After all, he had caught her and prevented worse injury.
Her ankle throbbed. Badly. The pain of it made her feel a little faint, but she held firmly to consciousness.
If she didn't know better, she would say that the suitor had intentionally angled her to fall in a way that would twist it. But that was absurd, wasn't it?
