Isabel was lying in a position right at the edge.
Rather than lying on Iver's lap, only one corner of the back of her head was resting against the side of his thigh.
It was like she had her head propped against the headboard, just one slip away from falling off. Her neck was uncomfortable, too.
It wasn't that she was shy or felt that men and women should keep their distance—she was worried about digging into Iver or letting her head grow too heavy and press down on his leg. After all, in her mind, Iver still usually needed to use a wheelchair, so she felt embarrassed about lying too solidly on him.
Instead, she was straining her neck, trying to maintain a somewhat awkward posture that could barely keep its balance.
"Doesn't your neck hurt like that?"
Iver spoke softly, his voice like a whisper beside her ear.
He reached out to support the back of Isabel's head, then steadied her shoulder with his other hand and gently ordered, "Move up a little. That's right, a bit higher..."
Only after Isabel could lie completely on his lap did he let go.
But Isabel instinctively tensed even more.
She exerted force with her neck and shoulders, trying to make her head seem as light as possible.
"Alas..."
Iver sighed helplessly. "Relax."
He pressed down on Isabel's chin with one hand and held the back of her head with the other. If he twisted both hands hard at that moment, the Princess would probably be done for. The intimate physical contact made Isabel instinctively want to cry out, but she immediately controlled her reaction. Her face flushed bright red.
Iver merely moved her head slightly and said softly, "Relax. Relax a little more... Just like when you're sleeping. Relax your