[ Not unlike a cat, she bristles even as he settles beside her. All men are the same, coquettish only until they can be cruel. Except this one does want to be rid of her — and had seemed as nervous as she was, besides, on realising they were tethered. ]

I am certain you know how you look. [ which isn't so unappealing, if you're into silver-hair or whatever. (She, too, has no idea how loaded such a sentiment is.) ] But you are correct in your assessment of this place and its tricks.

[ When he releases the ribbon, she turns their tied grip gently, managing to shift it so her palm cups the back of his hand. A mysterious thing, loose and then tight once more, as if it does not mind her pulling so much as her escaping. Curious. Delicate fingers try to work their way into the knot, then under the silken fabric to no avail.

At the question, her already too-big eyes widen and flick upward. ]

No. [ The ribbon seems to constrict, suddenly, as if in punishment for the lie. ] Yes, I suppose. [ A little shake of her head, eyes shuttering and curls bouncing. ] Sometimes. [ Still not give, until she adds, softer: ] A lady is oft betrothed for reasons other than her wants.