Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 112

Chapter 112: Strong arms
Trace cringed when the new suitor pulled Anaisa far too closely as he whirled her away. The way the young man pawed at the fake princess was unseemly! She bore it calmly at first, but as the song wore on she looked as if she were about to panic, and bolt. Or worse, let her temper loose on the man, which would not only provoke him further, but might bring on the king’s ire for making the princess seem unmannerly.

The couple danced further away from him, and Trace struggled to get through the press of people who were noticing and whispering.

“Excuse me, please. Pardon me, if you will…” He tried to maintain the appearance of politeness as he wound through them, but it was not to be.

There were too many people in his way, and the room let out a collective gasp of horror when the young upstart and the princess tumbled toward the floor. They pressed in tightly enough to block Trace’s view, and his heart raced with anxiety.

“She shoved him!”

“Of course she did, did you see the inappropriate way he grabbed her!”

“Who is that ruffian, I hope he’s flogged for trying to molest our princess!”

“He’ll receive a beating, surely!”

“Who’s that with her now?”

The bodyguard finally pushed through to a decent view of Anaisa. The young man who’d interrupted their dance was being dragged away by two guards, and she was being held up by the embrace of the man in green and yellow.

Trace’s blood boiled, and his eyes narrowed. It wasn’t mere jealousy that caused his distress. It was, in part, the way the young man being dragged away by the guards grinned with satisfaction. There was also the way the man in yellow and green was focused solely on Anaisa, and refused to simply help her up and walk away.

Had it been orchestrated? It seemed a large coincidence that the couple had been dancing so close to the man in green and yellow, just in time for him to catch her as the fall occurred. Trace cursed himself for not asking Anaisa about the man’s identity or characteristics the last time he’d danced with her.

His eagerness to make her happy by letting her see Katia had overshadowed his mission. His real mission… which he couldn’t even fulfill.

Even if she knew who the man was, and told him, what could Trace do with that information? He couldn’t attempt to interfere, as it was part of the Count’s plot.

His uselessness plagued him. All of this was ridiculous. What was the point of his being here? Now that the ball was nearly over, would there be a new assignment for him, or would he be free to go? To take Anaisa with him and flee back to his farm in peace?

Could he even do that in good conscience when the kingdom was in danger of being taken over by Count Oakdown? When the man would have the means to create a magical army with the use of the mysterious tree?

No. Trace couldn’t in good conscience abandon the people of the kingdom to someone with such insidious power. He would have to stay. Find some sort of way to get around the commands and thwart the evil plans.

Which seemed unlikely, but he would have to try. What kind of man would he be if he didn’t?

The man in green and yellow had one arm around Anaisa and was helping her towards the throne where the king sat. She was limping. She’d been injured in the fall?

Trace’s stomach clenched, and he made his way towards the king from behind the crowd.

As he edged close enough, he could just overhear the conversation between the monarch and his subject.

“I must thank you most thoroughly for your aid in saving the princess from such a fall.” King Harold glanced with contempt over at the struggling man being dragged away. “I am appalled that someone would treat her so casually.”

“I as well!” The man, whom Trace had mentally dubbed Sir Yellow, replied with great consternation. “When I saw that his attentions were unwelcome, I rushed forward to aid Her Highness. I only regret that I was too late to prevent injury to her. I had hoped to dance with her at least once more this evening…”

His voice trailed off with regret as he looked at Anaisa. The visible part of her face was flushed, and there were tears in her eyes.

Trace wanted to run over, to shove Sir Yellow away from his wife–the man still had a rather possessive arm around her, apparently to support her injured ankle or leg–and carry Anaisa away from the crowd himself.

But his feet were frozen to the ground. Apparently that would be interfering with Oakdown’s plans. Trace’s stomach churned in anger.

How badly was Anaisa hurt? Were her tears from the pain, or from the experience with the overzealous suitor? Perhaps both?

Her eyes searched the crowd to find his. They pled with him, and there was nothing he could do. She leaned as far away from the man as she could, but apparently was unable to stand without the support, or unwilling to try shoving a second man away from her in as many minutes.

Trace stared back at her with concern, and eventually she dropped her gaze and then turned to the king as the conversation continued.

“It is a shame the princess should be robbed of the opportunity to dance further due to injury,” King Harold mused, “but your heroism deserves some form of recognition. Perhaps, once the princess recovers, you will join her and myself for tea? You could bring your family.”

“How gracious of you, Your Majesty,” Sir Yellow bowed without removing his arm from around Anaisa. “I would be supremely honored! As for family, I have only my father to bring along.”

“That will do well,” The king nodded. “I will send a messenger with the details of the day and time. To where should I extend the invitation?”

“My Father is Count Oakdown,” Sir Yellow lifted his head with pride, and distaste curled in Trace’s stomach.