Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Cyreia smiled awkwardly. Her eyes were stinging for some reason and she had to blink quickly to get rid of the sensation. Wait, was she about to cry? Maybe. The story didn't sound as terrible in her head, mostly because she was so used to it being her reality, but, well, Remin's reaction woke up something within her that Cyreia hadn't known about. Something that had died a long time ago, or at least it had seemed like that. Either way, it was good that Remin couldn't see her face in this moment. Cyreia wasn't sure what she looked like right now, but it probably couldn't be described as dignified or anything remotely close to that. 'Fragile' was likely the most fitting word. Breakable. "Well, it wasn't as... wasn't as..." Wasn't as what? Wasn't as bad? Wasn't as life altering? Lies, lies, filthy lies. At this point, was there a reason to hide the truth from her wife? Any pride she might have had had already been shattered as a result of one of the countless mishaps Remin had had to fix for her. Besides, nobody could really blame her for... well, feeling sad about an admittedly sad situation. "Alright, it was," Cyreia conceded. "But the rest of it could have been worse. The army clothed me, fed me and gave me a decent education. That's part of the reason Eupriunia is so successful, I think. When they see a potential in someone, they nurture it. It doesn't really matter where you came from or who you were before. Prove yourself and the world is yours." Climbing the ranks really wasn't as difficult in the army if you showed some promise and didn't squander your chances. That was one of the good things about it.

"I don't know about that, though," she said, her expression turning thoughtful. "I mean, they did appreciate me. All of those promotions didn't come from nowhere, that's for sure. I'm just not certain whether this position in particular was meant to be a reward. I didn't want to end up here and I made that clear. It's... well. It's different now, with..." With you there. "... with certain new developments, but I protested the decision initially. Quite loudly, might I add. I had no desire to rule a country after helping to conquer it. I also felt very unprepared for such a task. I still do and frankly, I don't think I would have lasted a single day without your support."

 

[Conifer]

“If I’m to be equally honest,” Remin says, so soft. The sound of the brush through her hair nearly drowns her out, but it feels like a sin to speak any louder here, in this tiny room that felt more like a temple than a basement at this point - warm and secure and safe, where neither of them needed to exist as anything besides themselves. “I’m glad it’s you at my side. I could handle ruling alone, I’d been raised to, but...but the rest of it? Gods, no. I couldn't imagine." She'd be dead at this point, literally, and while the things they'd discovered - he'd discovered, and brought her along for the ride - brought pain...it was better to not be ignorant of them. She couldn't dream of handling that alone. She could barely dream of being in that house alone. "You...it's far easier with you. All of it." This feels dangerously close to admitting things that she couldn't allow herself to admit, but...that didn't seem as terrible as an idea as it rightfully should in this moment.

 

[Aerynth]

Well. Listening to Remin say such things felt-- both amazing and terrible at the same time. Amazing because Cyreia had wanted her to say it, wanted to hear something like that from her desperately, and terrible because she didn't deserve any of it. Remin trusted her, even dropped her usual mask to let her see the vulnerable side of her. It must have been intentional given her perfect self-control. Meanwhile, how did Cyreia repay her? By continuing to be an unrepentant liar.

"I'm honored to hear that," she said despite that, her voice also quiet. God, this felt even more dangerous than the kisses they had shared before. Kisses, at the very least, could be just physical. Manifestations of desire. Utterly inappropriate - and stupid, of course, given her situation - but also normal in a way. They were both young and good looking and spent a lot of time together, after all. Despite her inexperience, Cyreia knew how these things went. It would have probably been stranger for them to not develop certain feelings for each other. This, though? This seemed to transcend physicality in a way that was entirely new to her. With Cyreia opening up about her past and Remin practically confessing that she wanted her by her side, this felt... tender. Loving. It made her feel hot and cold at the same time. There was an impulse to run back to safety, to retreat from the uncharted territory, but she couldn't very well do that. Not after Remin had gathered the courage to say all of this. It couldn't have been easy for her, either. She deserved some kind of response that wasn't just her putting her defenses up.

"Well. This is probably a stupid thing to say, but since we're being honest, I'm going to say it anyway." It helped that she wasn't facing her wife because this would have been a lot more difficult. "This was just duty for me in the beginning. It still is duty, obviously, but... it's not just that anymore. You are dear to me, for what it's worth, and I want you to be happy." Alright, that was the exact opposite of putting her defenses up. Maybe Cyreia didn't care anymore, though. And if Remin reacted badly? Well, that would be more than fine. At least things would grow to be more awkward between them and they would keep their distance from each other from now on. Perhaps it would make all of this easier.

 

[Conifer]

She knows she should back off. She knows that she should stay quiet, or should put this whole mess to rest, or should -- should lie, and say that his affections went unwelcomed. But they /don't/. Is it her fault for caring for the one person she's been stuck with? Is it her fault for the way that his words leave her feeling cared for, for one of the very few times in ages, and perhaps the first ever from someone who wasn't family or a murderer? No. That wasn't something she was capable of controlling for all the amount she wished she was. "I find you growing alarmingly dear to me as well," she admits, feeling breathless with the admission. She'd almost said it before, and breakfast after the wonderful, terrible kiss, but not in such plain of terms. "And it's proving to be quite the problem." She's teasing, but she's honest, and she's sure he understands. This isn't ideal for either of them. It's perhaps the least ideal. But neither of them are at fault for that. That's not something either of them are capable of controlling.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia almost wished for Remin to react badly. To remind her of her place, tell her to never speak to her again and maybe throw in a few insults for good measure. It wasn't a realistic turn of events, not considering how this entire relationship had been shifting, but, well. She could dream, couldn't she? Of course, the exact opposite of her imaginary scenario happened. Cyreia would have liked to say that it surprised her, except that it didn't, not anymore. It really was inevitable. The pretense of not caring for each other could only take them so far. Where exactly would their feelings end up taking them, though? That was the thing that still seemed to be unclear.

"It is a problem," Cyreia agreed quietly. "Definitely the most pleasant problem I've ever had, but that changes very little, eh?" A quiet laugh left her lips; it astonished her just how easy it was to... talk about all of this with Remin. There should have been shame and guilt and fear and all of those were present, in a way, but they also felt subdued. Buried under... What was it? Giddy expectations? The thrill of sharing a secret with Remin? It was a secret that could ruin them both, certainly, but perhaps that made it all the more appealing. They should have done that from the very beginning, really. Talked openly about everything instead of assuming a lot of things and suffering in silence. Well, they couldn't exactly change what had happened among them in the past, so there was no point in dwelling on it. Perhaps they could be a little more honest from now on, though.

Cyreia finally left her position and stood in front of Remin, a gentle smile on her lips. God, she wanted to kiss her so much. Still, the confession didn't negate her promise; if anything were to happen between them, Remin would have to initiate it. The idea of her eventually doing so, of desiring her to the point of forsaking propriety, seemed... well. Perhaps holding back could be fun, too, if that was to be her reward. "Honestly? I have no idea what to do about any of this. I doubt that this will surprise you as I seem to exist in a perpetual state of cluelessness, but still. I'm at a loss."

 

[Conifer]

Remin sits up as Avther moves, ignoring the dampness of her hair dripping down her back. She wants to reach out to him and cross the hazy, steam-filled air. She wants to reach out to him and cross the hazy blur of ‘has to’ and ‘supposed to’. She wants to reach out to him and -- and allow this to be something she’s allowed.
(When she was young, she’d have thought this terribly romantic. The two that never should have met, meeting and falling for each other, against the better ideas of everyone involved.)
(When she was young, she was childish. But it was somewhat romantic, wasn’t it? Even if it hurt where it shouldn’t, it was romantic. It certainly felt it, tucked away here, her in her sleeping robes and his hands in her hair.

But there was so much at risk, though her mind went blank of the dangers at the sight of that tiny smile, unsure but hopeful. They were there, though. The dangers were there. “I don’t know, either.” Remin admits, trailing her fingers along the soft fabric of her dress. Her fingers were sticky-damp and caught lightly against the weave. It’s almost worse that the whole affair was mutual. Her eyes fall to her lap, and now, not looking at him, she can almost think. “It would be...dangerous, though. They already think you a villain and me a traitor. Being seen properly together-” like they had been, here, and no one had said a word against them “-could risk us both.” like the dinner, like Tristan. But they were already at risk, weren’t they? Or those never would have happened. She inhales, and exhales, and her breath shakes in her throat. She’s never felt this recklessly, impulsively lost. It’s kind of thrilling.That’s not much of a surprise, though. She’d never walked these paths before. She’d never had the time or opportunity to care for someone in this way before. They were new, unmapped, unknown. “For once, I feel just as unequipt to handle any of this as you do.”

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia hesitated for a second before kneeling in front of Remin and taking her hands in hers. She was allowed to do that, wasn't she? They had held hands before, to the point that it had become normal for her, but with their feelings laid bare, the gesture felt different. More intimate. More dangerous as well, since it would be so easy to slip and let this grow into something less acceptable. This whole affair had been laced with danger from the very beginning, though, and so it didn't make a lot of sense to shy away from it now. That wasn't how Cyreia did things anyway.

"It would seem, then, that our primary concern is not being seen," she suggested, feeling so lost in Remin's grey eyes. The awkwardness that would have been there just a few days ago simply didn't come. It dissolved in their proximity, in this oasis of calm. "At least not until... well, until we make this right. We aren't exactly loved by our people now, but that is bound to change with time when we prove that our intentions are good." Cyreia certainly hoped so. Maybe they would be able to exist more freely then.

"And, honestly, it won't hurt to take this slow. We can get to know each other a bit more before making... any hasty decisions." People usually went through this phase before getting married, granted, but it wasn't like she could expect a normal progression here. Their starting point had been the endgame for most couples. The finish line. Was it even possible for them to recover from all of this? To look past the shadow of the war and political machinations? Perhaps not, but she was more than willing to try. "I, well. Not that I don't want to be hasty, but this is all very new to me," Cyreia admitted with a shy smile. "I have never... I didn't have time for personal life. For lovers." There had been women she had found attractive before, of course, but not like this, never like this, and pursuing those feelings would have been tantamount to suicide, so she simply hadn't. Not that this seemed safe. It didn't, though maybe Cyreia wanted this desperately enough to take that leap of faith. Wanting something so much, too, was new. The intensity of it almost scared her; something told her that even if she tried to retreat now, she wouldn't be able to. Like a moth to the fire, but so be it.

"Additionally, things are slightly... complicated with me." Definitely an understatement, yet it was true, or at least close enough to the truth that it didn't break her new commitment to be honest with Remin. "More than slightly, I'm afraid. I'll tell you in the future, but I think I need some time to process all of this. So, in conclusion, be patient with me?"

 

[Conifer]

“As patient as you wish,” She assures him softly, feeling both comforted and run aground by the way this all had gone. She reaches out, cupping his face in one hand, and tries to stay true to her promise before. She wouldn’t kiss him, she couldn’t kiss him, especially after this promise of patience. But how she /wanted/ to. It would be so easy, to cross the small space between them, and allow herself that tiny thrill. She speaks to stop herself from doing that, clinging to the steadiness that distraction provides. “If it helps, I’m...equally inexperienced.” Remin admits softly, her fingertips running against his cheekbone, brushing lightly into his hair. Honestly, knowing he hardly knows what he’s doing either does bring her some comfort, and she hopes that extends both ways. They’re both lost and confused in this mess. They can hold to each other for safety.
She hesitates, before shifting out of her chair to sit against the floor with him. It’s colder than the air and slightly damp and neither of those are facts that stick in her mind for very long. There had been something about him kneeling at her feet and praying for the things he wanted, but this was not a church for all its seeming holiness and she was no god to be followed. Not here. Here, they were stripped back and she could settle on the ground beside him, equal and praying for the same. Her touch doesn’t leave his hand, or his face, as she moves, but the chair behind her leaves her practically settled in his lap - a factor she hadn’t calculated - their knees hitting against each other.
“We’ll be careful.” She says quietly, another distraction from their proximity. “More careful than we have been, because Gods know we’ve been reckless. But places like here, there’s no one to see us.” She’s meant to be discouraging these terrible thoughts, and yet her reason only encourages them. But they’re true and honest, and she can’t help the reality, can she?

 

[Aerynth]

Well. If this was Remin's idea of patience, then Cyreia genuinely wanted to know her definition of the word 'reckless'. She should have nipped this in the bud, really. Established firmer boundaries before it was too late. If this continued at the same pace, things would get out of hand very quickly. Had they ever been not out of hand, though? Since they had said their 'yes' at the altar, she hadn't felt in control of... well, anything, really. Not the kingdom, not her wife and certainly not herself.

As Remin slid into her arms, she embraced her without thinking. Yet another example of not being in control. Hadn't she wanted to wait? Cyreia was fairly sure that she had - that she still did, dammit - but, well. Saying no to Remin had never been her strong point. They were both sitting on the floor now and it was uncomfortable and wet and cold and yet she had no desire to move away from that position. Absolutely none. "Yes," Cyreia agreed with a smile. "We'll be careful." She caressed her face softly before letting her hand fall lower, to the nape of her neck. Her other hand ended up on Remin's back; ever so slightly, she pressed her closer to herself. God, her heart was beating so fast that it threatened to jump out of her chest. "Very careful, if we know what's good for us." Did they, though? It certainly didn't look like that to her. The thing was, Remin was right, as she usually tended to be. Nobody would barge in here. For this night at least, they were guaranteed some privacy. Cyreia leaned even closer despite knowing better, her lips almost touching hers, but not quite. So close and yet so far. "I wonder, though, is this what patience means to you, Remin?" If that was meant to be an admonition, she failed to get it across completely. Her tone sounded light, almost teasing. Playful more than anything else. "What would it look like if you were to get rash, hm?"

 

[Conifer]

If she hadn’t been in Avther’s lap before, she was now, moving with his touch, towards it. She’d never realised how starved for contact she’d been before him - perhaps that’s why she was terrible at following her own rules. She had little choice anymore, her skin making the decisions her mind refused to. Or maybe this has all just become a mess of excuses for her to cling to when she fails herself. Right now, she doesn’t mind if it’s either. Right now, the only thing she’s even thinking about is the ghosty press of Avther’s fingers against her neck and the gentle rush of his breath against her skin and how little space there was left between them anymore, and his voice, soft and teasing and leaving her winded. This fraught, hanging tension was almost more thrilling than simply kissing him.

“I’m being perfectly patient,” She replies in response, but it’s barely a protest, barely anything at all but a string of stubborn, teasing words. Her lips nearly touch his as she whispers her reply. “I simply...wanted to be more on your level. That’s all. It’s more polite, you understand, to talk face to face, and not down at someone.” She’s trying to sound in control of herself, of this, but she can’t do it. Here is where her resolve cracks - that careful mask she can put upon her words when she needs to is all but absent here, no matter how much she tries to reach for it. Remin finds she doesn’t mind too terribly. Let him see her plain and bare. "But having not grown up learning courtly manners, I...I'm sure I can forgive you for your ignorance."

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh, I'm sure that you are," Cyreia agreed, watching Remin's reactions with badly disguised delight. She looked so different from her usual self governed by rules and propriety. Not that Cyreia didn't appreciate that side of her as well - it had saved her skin many times, aftet all - but knowing that her wife could act like this, too, and that she out of all people caused it to happen, did things to her. How many people had seen her looking like this? Just... being herself, free of all the constraints? Not many, Cyreia supposed, and that made it all the more exciting. They didn't know each other that well yet and most of the memories they shared could hardly be described as happy, but this-- this belonged to her. To her and nobody else. Had she always had this streak of possessiveness within her or was it new, too? Cyreia had no idea and it didn't matter. Nothing but Remin mattered at the moment.

"I see how it is now, my queen," she said, smiling softly and caressing her back. Her other hand found its way back to her face and Cyreia touched her cheek gently. It was soft, oh so soft, and it made her wonder whether it would be as pleasant to touch her... well, at other places. Not that she could do that, though. At least not now, when so many things still remained unsaid between them. Things of utmost importance, too. That, however, didn't mean that Cyreia couldn't have her fun. She deserved to let loose a bit, or at least that was what she told to herself to justify her actions. "You're so kind for always explaining things to me. So understanding," she whispered into her ear softly, her tone as teasing as before. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid that I'll have to rely on your guidance some more. I'm but an uncultured soldier, after all, and I don't know what is proper and what... isn't." Led by some unknown instinct more than anything else, Cyreia leaned even closer and nibbled on her ear gently. This was fine, right? Technically, she hadn't even broken her promise. She hadn't kissed her. "This, for example. On a scale from one to ten, how inappropriate am I being right now?" Given how breathless and weak she felt, Cyreia actually managed to sound surprisingly firm. She just thanked the god that they were sitting because she didn't trust her knees to be able to carry her weight right now. God, how utterly fun.

 

[Conifer]

It took her an embarrassingly long moment to find her voice. Gods, was her mouth this dry moments ago? Her face this warm? She could feel every inch of where they touched - she could feel each press of his fingers against her back, and each brush of his skin against hers where he held her face in his hands. She could feel where her hand still lingered on his cheek, but had slid back into his hair as he’d moved in towards her. She could feel where her other one sat, resting between them before but now brushing against his torso, catching mostly the fabric of his shirt but occasionally meeting the warm muscle beneath as they move. She can feel where her nightdress has bundled around her, leaving her legs bare. It’s all so /much/ feeling - the roughness of the bite, the roughness of his pants where skin shifts against them, all of it, and it’s all she can focus on. When she manages to voice anything, it comes out a tiny, breathless whimper at first, until the rest of her mind catches up to where her throat’s managed to get.

“Oh,” she curls her fingers loosely into his hair. “A- a fve. Six. Seven, maybe.” What are numbers? What order do they exist in? “Six and a half.” She manages to settle on. She tries to sound confident, teasing, but she probably just sounds amusingly pathetic, and she can’t find it in herself to care about that, either. “It’s-- terribly impolite to surprise a lady like that. We’re delicate creatures, you understand, and, um.” She can’t look at him, but she can’t look anywhere else but at him. There’s a small freckle against his cheek that she hadn’t noticed before, and she looks there, as if it’s the most fascinating freckle in the world. Perhaps it was. The fact that she had been saying something fell to the wayside, entirely forgotten.

 

[Aerynth]

Alright. Alright, maybe Cyreia was more in control of the situation than she had initially thought to be, or perhaps Remin was simply just as powerless to resist this as she was. Maybe a combination of the two. Either way, her wife looked... distracted. Distracted and absolutely ravishing in her embarrassment, practically begging to be touched some more. If Cyreia could elicit such a reaction from her with a single strategic touch, what else could she accomplish if she put some thought into it? The possibilities seemed to be endless, each of them more enticing than the one before it. 'Let's take it slow.' Who had said that? It couldn't have been her, that much was certain.

Cyreia, of course, knew that this continued to be a bad idea. It had been a bad idea from the very beginning, quite possibly the worst idea she had ever had; a route to her own destruction, one she walked not just willingly, but with great enthusiasm. Predictably, that knowledge did very little to stop her.

"Six and a half?" Cyreia asked and tilted her head aside, her voice full of fake disappointment. "That's my score? And I tried so hard, Remin." Her fingers traced the outline of her neck, then continued down her shoulders and arms, her movements gentle but full of purpose, as if she was trying to etch her shape into her memory. Maybe she was doing just that. Who knew? Not her. God, she felt so clueless about all of this and Cyreia usually hated that feeling, except that... well, it was a pleasant kind of cluelessness. Not the one that filled her with dread; more like the one that encouraged her to explore. "I'll just have to try harder, I suppose." What next, though? Taking a deep breath, Cyreia planted a series of small kisses down her neck, all the way to her collarbone. Technically, that still didn't count as her breaking her promise. She had said, in exact words, 'it won't happen again', and since she had kissed Remin on the lips the last time, this was fine. Completely acceptable. Okay, her excuses were getting more and more ridiculous, but still. They worked if she didn't examine them closely. "What about this?"

 

[Conifer]

It was almost funny, how she’d attempted to convince herself she didn’t trust her husband. That idea had fallen aside over the past few days - had fallen aside since she’d followed her instinct and kissed him - but it was almost impossible to deny that she trusted him more than she rightfully should, now that she was sitting on a washroom floor with him, letting him take her apart with a few gentle presses of his lips against her skin. Which was /not/ kissing. She was doing no kissing. She hadn’t broken her promise to herself. Yet. That ‘yet’ was getting closer and closer with each press of his lips against her flushed - from the heat, absolutely just from the heat - skin, but it was still there - a vulnerable barrier that was collapsing under its own expectations. “Seven.” She breaths, curling her hand to the nape of his heck as he trailed down to her collarbone. The chill of the floor is almost welcome against the heat that seems to roll off her. He’s burning her up and she welcomes it. “Seven, definitely.” She repeats. “Further would be-- would be a much higher rating, but...there’s nothing terribly indecent about necks.” She wondered how far this would go - how far either of them would let it go. Who would play the chicken first? Who would grow scared and back off? At the moment - it certainly wasn’t going to be her. No, not when every way he surprised her made her feel so /wanted/, for once. He was kissing her skin, not the queen’s. They could lose their titles tomorrow and she had a feeling that he would still kiss her like this (or more, with all their problems solved simply like that.) “Come on, Avther.” She murmurs. “My uncultured soldier. I don’t doubt that you can try harder.”

 

[Aerynth]

How did she do it? How? Remin wasn't even doing anything, strictly speaking, but her words sent a shiver down her spine. Probably something about her uncultured soldier. How sweet would it be to hear her own name from her lips, though? To have her call her Cyreia. Telling her right now would be so, so easy. Just a few words and words, words were wind. Didn't she want to be honest, after all? Her wife was bound to discover her little secret at some point either way. Wasn't it wiser to reveal it willingly than deal with the consequences of her finding out on her own? Cyreia opened her mouth to say it, caught up in Remin's proximity, her own feelings and the intensity of it all, but something - likely the pitiful remnants of her common sense - silenced the admission before it could come out. Of course that she couldn't do that. Not like this, not without a good explanation. No, Avther would have to suffice. He seemed to be doing fine anyway, at least judging by Remin's reactions.

"Hmm? I like your neck, though," she said slowly, with a cocky grin plastered on her face. Was Remin trying to make her kiss her properly? Except that wouldn't happen. Not unless she asked her directly. Could she make her beg for it? Now that sounded like a tempting prospect. "Besides, I'm sure I can make it more exciting." Cyreia pressed her lips against her flushed skin again, but this time, she proceeded to suck on the spot. There would be a mark tomorrow and-- god, that was the exact opposite of being careful, but did she like the idea. The idea of people seeing and knowing what had happened between them. The idea of claiming her with something more meaningful than the wedding rings they wore. Meanwhile, her hand traveled up her bare leg, past the fabric of her sleeping gown, until it finally stopped on her soft thigh. She gave it a teasing squeeze. "Indecent enough for you, Remin?" Cyreia asked breathlessly, fire in her veins and spark in her eyes. This... this was fine. Completely fine. She was in control here, not Remin, and that wouldn't change. Not when she just let her do whatever she wanted. This wasn't dangerous. No risks associated with her actions at all.

 

[Conifer]

The sound she made in reaction to his attentions at her neck was positively undignified. The thought of a possessive stain of pinky-red sent a sharp wave of panic through her; people would see, people would know, there would be no way to deny it, but her mind was addled enough by him at this point to almost make everyone knowing they had allowed themselves selfishness alarmingly thrilling. Let them see, if that was the cost of feeling like this. Her heart was pounding in her chest, what felt like loud enough to be heard miles away. "Nine," she chokes out, tightening her fingers in his hair enough to pull at it lightly. "-gods." She wants to pull him to her mouth, wants to break her promises and kiss him, but there's scraps of dignity and desperate stubbornness left in her yet. This was - absolutely more intense than simply kissing him, and it was inevitable that she would within the hour, but it was the principal of it. Remin couldn't help but wonder, further, if she could get him to break the promise he'd made first. At this point she sorely doubted it, but it was an exciting thought all the same.


Her fingers ball up the fabric of his shirt, but it seems to be in search of something to hold. To ground herself, rather than an attempt to remove it from him. "Come on, my soldier," she prods (begs,) "Impress me." It occurs to her that she's not even sure what she's asking for, what she thinks he'll do, but he's shown himself clever enough to find the answers for them both thus far. Anything he does will be enough as long as it isn't /stopping/, and it terrifies her in the best way to be so out of control like this despite her scraping against the barrel for the last shreds of power she can muster. She wants him to kiss her, but truly she just wants more of whatever this is. "Show me how much work I must do to teach you proper manners."

 

[Aerynth]

That sound, along with her fingers in her hair, almost made her see sparks. Cyreia hadn't read a lot of romance books in her life; this type of literature had seemed exceedingly pointless to her when there had been so many important documents to study, so many strategies to absorb. She had read some famous titles out of curiosity, though, and found them utterly ridiculous. Why dish out all that poetic vocabulary to describe a few touches? The notion didn't seem as ridiculous now, though. Now that she had experienced it, Cyreia wanted to apologize to all the authors she had mocked personally. They had been right, dammit. How absolutely mindboggling. She understood now why mythical figures went to war over their lovers, understood the legend of Temera and Nuhena. The idea of losing this feeling? Cyreia didn't know how anyone could deal with that.

And Remin? She seemed so lost in the sensation, so lost in her, really, and Cyreia wanted to preserve that moment forever. Not that it was actually possible. Reading the signals wasn't difficult, not even through her inexperience. Remin wanted more, more of this, greater heights and no restraints. She couldn't give that to her, though. Not here, not now. Her entire body ached with the desire to do so, to escalate this further, to reach the logical conclusion of all of this, but-- No. Not yet. I can't, for god's sake. Still, that little impress me? Cyreia couldn't let that challenge go unanswered. Her lips curved up in a lopsided smile and suddenly, she was kissing Remin on the lips. Promise? What promise? It wasn't like it meant anything at this point anyway. In direct contrast to her previous behavior, this kiss felt-- sweet. Loving. Deep, but soft at the same time, as she took her time exploring every inch of her. "I break my promises," she said as she finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, but satisfied with herself. "That's the worst conduct I can think of. Clearly, you'll need to work very hard to make me change my wicked ways." Cyreia caressed her cheek gently, her eyes full of infinite fondness. "Now, how do you intend to go about it?" Playing with fire seemed to be her new hobby at this point.

 

[Conifer]

There’s little feeling of victory wrapped up in the kiss, too many far better feelings taking up the space designated for it. Gods, that tiny, smug smile had taken her breath away, but it felt like her lungs had vanished entirely when she won the complicated little game they had been playing. She /couldn’t/ breathe, but in a far better way than had happened the last time they’d done this. She knew the risks time and dove in with educated, reckless abandon. No one would see them here. No one would even know they were here, nevermind that. This was safe and they could have it. Not infinitely, but...for now was good enough for her.

Remin was left equally winded when they parted, and she nearly followed after his lips to chase the /more, more, more/ that surged through every inch of her, but she managed to stay keep her resolve. Whatever pretense had been encouraging them before seemed melted away now - they were left two people sitting on a washroom floor, cold-damp from the floor clinging to her thighs like his hand was. That was no worse or better than the hazy space they’d tumbled into before, and did little to discourage her wanting or her burgeoning affection for him. Love, that’s what it was, whether she liked it or not. It felt so strange to be sure of that, but...but not unwelcome. “That was...that was entirely scandalous.” she manages through soft, fond giggles and breathlessness. Gods, this was fun. “I think there may not be any saving you.” She turns her head to press a kiss against his wrist, letting it linger before turning her gaze back to him. “But I’ll have to do my best to teach you, for the good of the nation, my king.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Probably not," Cyreia agreed easily. "I mean, I am the most despicable person in the entire kingdom." Many Atheans certainly seemed to think so. Not that she could blame them given the circumstances. But maybe, in this very moment, Cyreia didn't care what they thought about her. Let them hate her, let them plan more assassination attempts. They couldn't take this away from her, not Remin and not this feeling soaring in her chest. "With you by my side, though? Perhaps I can change. Like in all those cheap romantic novels when a monster is transformed through the love of a pure maiden."

She stood up and offered Remin her hand. Her legs felt almost wooden after all that time spent on the cold, damp floor, so it wouldn't be strange if her wife required some assistance with standing up. Hell, even if she didn't, Cyreia simply liked acting like a gentleman. (At least when she wasn't touching her, biting her, kissing her. God, the memory made her knees feel so weak. Where had she found the audacity to do all of that in the first place?) The confidence that had guided her actions before evaporated, leaving her flushed and awkward and all too aware of what had just transpired. Damn. She had been this close to flat out admitting the truth to Remin. Just like that, without being prompted in any way. Years of secrecy gone in an instant. The amount of power she had over her after those few days was terrifying. Terrifying and, strangely enough, comforting as well. Belonging to someone so fully felt like being home.

"Ah. Well. I didn't know I could..." Cyreia put her hand in her hair nervously, suddenly unable to face Remin. It was ridiculous to feel shy around her now of all times, but she couldn't exactly control her feelings. That, at least, seemed to be a constant in her life now. "Sorry about that," she pointed towards Remin's neck. "I let myself get carried away. I shouldn't have." Quite obviously. The bruise she had left on her skin was becoming visible already.

 

[Conifer]

Remin took the offered hand, pulling herself up from the floor clumsily - where her legs weren’t stiff they felt like jelly, but it wasn’t something she minded. It reminded her of the moments before. When she was on her feet, she didn’t pull her hand away - if anything, she held a bit tighter, lacing their fingers together. Her skin felt the loss of him already, feeling cold where they’d been pressed together. Giving up contact with him entirely felt impossible right now.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” She murmurs, raising her spare hand to the mark at her neck. It feels lightly tender, and she hates that will be gone sooner than later. “I can magic it away, later.” She could. She was capable of it, and if she did it before she slept, she’d only be a little tired when she woke. It wouldn’t be much of a task at all - and she utterly detests the idea of it. She wants to keep it there, wants to watch it turn purple-yellow and fade and then let him leave more against her skin to mark her as his - oh, wasn’t that a thought? His. Yes, that seemed alright. More than alright. She welcomed it - she was his whether she wanted to be or not. “Next time,” she says, dangerously, presumptuously. “You’ll have to leave one my clothes can hide better. Or I’ll have to invest in some higher-necked tops.”

She hesitates, before moving her hand from her neck and moving it to his cheek, guiding him into one last kiss before they’re forced to leave this scrap of holy land. It’s softer even still than all the others they’d shared, and briefer than the last few, but she tries to tell him everything she doesn’t dare yet say with it. Admitting anything other than growing fondness by now would be foolish, but in this, she can lay her emotions bare; she was his as he was hers, and they’d sort out the rest as they went. “It’s been a long day,” She murmurs, when she parts, dropping her hand from his face and reaching for the door with it. She can’t bring herself to open it without his consent as well as her own. There was no coming back here once the wood-and-metal seal had been broken. “I’m sure we could both use some rest. Off to bed?”

 

[Aerynth]

Oh. She could just make it disappear. That... was the only sensible solution, of course, and Cyreia should feel thankful for her ability to do so. Somehow, though, she didn't. "Or you could cover it with a scarf," she suggested instead. "I mean, you did say that cleaning my wound made your head hurt for the entire day and... and that would be unfortunate, obviously. I don't want to cause you more headaches than absolutely necessary." God, she wasn't exactly subtle about her desire for the bruise to stay there, was she? Because really, while arguments may have been rooted in reality, there was nothing innocent about her tone. Could she be blamed, though? Feeling possessive about one's wife was hardly a sin.

"Higher-necked tops sound good. I'd promise to be more careful, but, well. My promises obviously don't mean that much when it comes to self-restraint." More like when it came to Remin. Cyreia had never really struggled with controlling her urges before. Once, it had been so simple to look at a situation rationally and deny herself what she wanted. Couldn't, shouldn't, mustn't. Those words had defined her entire life; now they decidedly didn't and it almost felt like the firm ground underneath her feet had turned liquid. There was something wonderful about that, though. About not knowing what exactly would happen, and not just because of having zero control over where she would be stationed at. Being the source of that uncertainty for once felt refreshing.

Cyreia returned the kiss, wishing more than anything to pursue her instincts and deepen it once again. To go even further than before. This was no time for that, though. They had to return to their room. The innkeeper probably considered their absence to be suspicious at this point and the resulting rumors could not help their reputation. Still, leaving that small sanctuary - the only place where they could be themselves, just two people instead of political figures - hurt. We'll build more places like this. Carve them out if we have to. We. It had a nice ring to it.

"Yes," she ended up saying despite the initial hesitation, "we should get some sleep. Tomorrow, too, will be a long day. A lot of traveling." Cyreia couldn't exactly imagine sharing a bed with Remin and... and just sleeping, but that was exactly what they had to do. She did feel tired, though, more than she had realized earlier with all that adrenaline. Perhaps it would work out somehow.

When they arrived in their room, Cyreia plopped down on the bed. God, she should have changed into fresh clothes when she had had the chance to, but the idea of helping Remin with her hair had gotten her too excited to think of practicalities. Well, now I'll get to pay the price for not thinking clearly. One more night in the stained clothes for me. There was no opportunity for her to put on her sleeping robe now, was there? She could hardly hide from Remin's eyes in this tiny room. Unless... "Turn around for a moment?" she asked her with an apologetic smile, feeling ridiculously stupid for her request, but still willing to give it a try. It would only take a second to slip into her sleeping robe, after all, and she trusted her wife not to go against her wishes. "I'd like to get changed and, well. I don't feel comfortable enough for that just yet. It's a... privacy thing."

 

[Conifer]

There was going to be more, then. There was going to be quite a few more. More marks against her skin that he’s left in his wake, proof of their quiet moments that they cut from stone to have. Yes. A scarf sounded good. It was going to be colder by the coast, anyways - she didn’t want to catch a chill. A scarf was only a responsible thing to wear.

Remin turned away, when they’d returned up to their room and it was requested of her, busying herself with packing away her clothes from the day so that Avther didn’t feel rushed on account of her listlessly waiting. She understood. Despite downstairs, that was - a step further than she was ready for, even if she wasn’t terribly modest. It wasn’t an issue of nakedness, it was an issue of - implication. Of another boundary crossed that they both knew they shouldn’t cross. They’d work up to that, maybe. For now, kisses stolen away in silent moments and hands in hair and marks against skin would serve well enough. She waits for his okay before turning back towards the bed, crawling into the rough blankets and thin mattress. She didn’t miss home, not yet, but she certainly missed her bed and all its softness.

Where would they sleep, when they returned home? Would they keep to separate rooms? That was the easier option, certainly. The option with the least rumors that would drift around - wasn’t that funny, how the people would hate them caring for each other in the way that they did, but them wishing for seperate spaces when they slept would be the gossip that fuelled the mill for weeks? Remin shifted to her side, facing him tonight instead of away from him how she had the night before. Perhaps home was too far to think. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted when they arrived back to the castle. Where would they sleep tomorrow? The night after that? Maybe that was too far to think ahead, too. It was a question for tomorrow, and a question for the night after that. Maybe they’d be left with little choice but to share a bed again.
That didn’t matter now, though. All that now mattered was that she wanted to be close to him, and when he joined her in the bed, she reached across the small distance (Not much of it, honestly, just a few inches,) to tangle his fingers in hers. “Goodnight,” Remin says softly.

 

[Aerynth]

Well. That was... that was significantly less complicated than she had expected. Could she have just asked Remin for some space from the very beginning and avoided sleeping in uncomfortable conditions? It seemed so obvious now. Why hadn't it occurred to her before? Probably because Cyreia was so used to physical discomfort and so unused to asking for favors that sacrificing her personal well-being had felt more normal in comparison. Unpleasant, definitely, but nothing out of ordinary. Unpleasantness was an old companion, after all. Maybe it didn't have to be that way anymore, though. So many things didn't have to be as they once had been. "Thank you," she muttered as Remin simply turned around. Just like that, no questions asked. The amount of consideration almost shocked her. What have I done to deserve all of this?

Despite being given all the time she could wish for, Cyreia still almost tripped over herself to do everything as fast as possible. It wasn't that she didn't trust Remin, but accidents happened. A single peek at the wrong moment could destroy the entire illusion she had been maintaining so diligently. No, it just wasn't very wise to parade around almost naked for too long. "Sleep well," she said after joining Remin in the bed, then she kissed her softly and drifted off to sleep.

When the morning came, it was time to leave Hadsberry behind and continue with their journey. "It's a shame we have to leave so early," Cyreia said to Remin as they were mounting their horses. "I liked it here." It was still unclear who exactly she was in relation to the locals - an enemy? an ally? something in between? - but, for some reason, the complexity of the situation seemed to melt away while existing by their side. Her identity or her country of origin? Who cared? None of it mattered at the construction site. What mattered was her willingness to work and the strength of her hands. Too bad that they could never have this kind of life. Simplicity, it seemed, lay beyond their reach. There were only traps and pitfalls waiting for them. Speaking of traps and pitfalls...

"If I remember correctly," Cyreia began as she rode closer to Remin, "our next stop is... some type of formal event." Even though her words were neutral, her expression betrayed her thoughts on the whole affair quite eloquently. She would have preferred sticking her bare hand inside a hornet's nest to spending more time with all those rich people who said one thing and meant something else entirely, but alas, a king's life pretty much consisted of keeping such company. Cyreia would have to get used to it eventually, she knew that very well, but that didn't mean that she also had to pretend to enjoy it. Being grumpy about it was the one solace afforded to her. "I meant to ask you earlier, but there were so many things to do. So many distractions, if you know what I mean." Oh, there was no way she didn't, but reminding her of it in public? How fun. It wasn't particularly risky in front of the guards, either. They weren't blind and must have noticed something by now, so Cyreia supposed that they didn't have to try too hard to hide the nature of their relationship from them. "Anyway, I suppose that there will be dancing. Could you teach me some basic steps before we arrive? I mean, I could improvise, but I'm not sure whether that would be the appropriate strategy here." Something told her that aristocrats would be far less likely to welcome that approach than commonfolk had been.

 

[Conifer]

“I’m sure we’ll return,” She promises, glad that the morning air is cold enough outside that the scarf doesn’t really raise suspicions (from who? The people who had seen them blatantly flirting at dinner? The guards who had seen them in stumbling orbit around each other and most likely assumed much more about their relationship than they were even doing?) “If not because they take you up on your offer for work, then because we’ll come check in on them in a while. I think we’ve proved ourselves enough that we at least won’t be run from town. Right away, at least.”
She rode in silence for a few moments, simply listening to Avther as they headed from the town. It was late enough in the day that a handful of people were beginning work, and those that lingered in the streets stopped and waved to them - she couldn’t tell if they were pleased they were leaving or not, but any recognition felt like a win.

“Yes.” She agrees, easily. “To both things. We’re attending Lady Everbright’s birthday party - which will be an incredibly beautiful and boring affair, so be prepared.” She liked parties, she did, (or had, really. She wasn’t sure if that remained true. It had been a good while,) but even she wasn’t unwilling to admit that the most prevalent part of them - the inane chatter with people who pretended to know you far better than they truly did - was incredibly tedious. “Her cooks are wonderful, though, and so at least we’ll have good food to distract us. And I’d be happy to show you what I can about dancing. It wouldn’t serve me well to have an /entirely/ uncultured soldier at my side, would it?” She teases, unable to help herself - payback for his not so subtle mention of the activities of their evening. “I promise, it won’t be nearly as complicated as the dancing at the festival.”

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh, don't worry. I never expected it to be fun in the first place. I'm not nearly naive enough. Birthday party, though?" Cyreia raised her eyebrow. That detail in particular had escaped her attention. God, there were so many things to remember. Not just the nuances of an entirely new culture, but also smaller things, such as birthdays of various aristocrats. Notably, 'smaller' didn't mean 'less important' in this case. People, particularly those of noble birth, could be incredibly petty about these matters and Cyreia didn't really wish to spite them. Not when her continued existence probably ensured that they'd be angry enough even without her actively contributing to it. "I assume, then, that we should bring her a gift. Do we have anything arranged or should we buy something?" There were a few cities conveniently close to their route, so it wouldn't cost them a lot of time to make a little detour and go shopping. Hell, they should probably do so anyway as their supplies weren't endless. Her decision to travel lightly had allowed them to proceed relatively fast, but they also weren't able to carry enough provisions to feed them, the guards, the two coachmen and their horses for two weeks due to it.

The remark about uncultured soldier made her smile. "I don't know about that. You seemed to like it enough yesterday," she said in a hushed tone, confident that nobody was close enough to hear them. Was it just her imagination or did the guards give them some space on purpose? Somehow, the two of them always seemed to be almost alone despite their watchful presence. Well, it wouldn't exactly surprise her. Having to observe their clumsy interactions had to be incredibly awkward from their point of view. I should give them a raise after all of this because I'm reasonably sure that they aren't being paid enough to deal with that.

"Still, thank you. I suppose that most of the formal dances are slower?" Cyreia sincerely doubted that people attending fancy parties wanted to exercise much. That could possibly result in expensive clothes being ruined and they couldn't have that, could they? Reputations had to be preserved. "Can't say I hate the idea, though. With the right partner, it could be nice. More intimate than dancing in a circle, you know?" Being able to hold Remin close in public, to move together to the rhythm of music, didn't sound bad at all. Perhaps there was some fun to be had despite the occasion.