Fantasy All's Fair

[Aerynth]

Cyreia shifted a little to assume a more comfortable position and listened to Remin's words. It occurred to her that situations such as this one, where her wife spoke extensively, were rare; they talked to one another often, yes, but those were... well, conversations. This was much more one-sided than that, and Cyreia found out she liked it. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy their conversations, of course, but Remin also knew how to narrate. Closing her eyes and getting lost in the sound of her voice? How nice. Not many people had that privilege when it came to her wife, and she was going to indulge in it. What would life be without such small indulgences? A dreary, terrible thing, Cyreia was sure.

"That's so like you," she smiled as she continued to braid Remin's hair. Her hands worked quickly, and within minutes, almost half of her head was covered in tiny braids. Still, it was no wonder, really, that she had chosen this particular story; a simple epic wouldn't have suited her. Narrative twists, no matter how intricate, simply didn't fit her wife somehow. A story that posed questions, though? That seemed far more appropriate. Moreover, the questions that were raised by this story were of deeply personal nature; both for Remin and, incidentally, also for her. "You know," she said, "I wonder what I would be like if it... if it weren't for all those things that made me who I am. If I hadn't eaten that fruit." Because, ultimately, all of it had been her choice. Cyreia hadn't had many options, and the options she had had hadn't been exactly great, but they had existed. Instead of joining the army, she could have begged for food, or tried to become somebody's apprentice, or even gotten married, except that all of that had felt-- well. Incongruent with what she had gone through. Living peacefully after her old life had been shattered in such a dramatic way had never really occurred to her in the first place. Then again, wasn't that also a marker of who she was? It wasn't like she had been nothing before that attack had changed everything; she hadn't been a leaf passively carried by the wind. Even then, her choices had been reflective of something. Mostly foolishness, Cyreia thought now, but still.

"Do you also wonder about that? Who you could have been if they hadn't raised you to be a queen? If you were... I don't know. A farmer's daughter." What a strange idea that was; Remin had blended with her role so perfectly that Cyreia couldn't imagine her being anything else.

 

[Conifer]

Remin relaxed as Cyeria worked her fingers through her hair, faintly amused by the dozens of braids that she twisted into it. They'd have to take them out sooner than later, and that process would be a mildy taxing one, but that was a problem for later. Right now all that mattered was the feeling of Cyeria's gentle hands in her hair stroking out a soothing pattern as Remin told her story. If only all their moments could be just like this one - quiet and peaceful and ultimately meaningless. Maybe they'd lose some of their charm, then? No, Remin didn't think so. She wouldn't get tired of this as long as she might live. She wouldn't get tired of Cyeria.

"I don't know." She admits after a long stretch of silence. "...I think I visited that market the day I was born. Gods, before that, even. There's no other me to imagine. No choice to make." As much as she'd fantasized about running off, of being-- someone else, something else, when she was young...it was never really an option. It was hardly even a dream. She'd look out the window and see the world passing by and pick someone at random from it and think, 'what if they were here and I were there', and then she'd look away, and that would be it. She'd travel, tucked behind the fine curtains of the carriage, and imagine opening the door and just running, and then someone might ask her something and then it'd be over. Never were any of her fantasies actually plans. Never could they be. "I could never be a farmer's daughter. I could never be anything but what I am now." Was that sad? Would Cyeria think it was? Remin truly had no idea the answer to either of those. It was true, at least. "I could have shirked my lessons, or taken better to riding, or been less or more proactive in understanding my country, but regardless, I was just...always going to end up roughly here. A queen in a political marriage to some country we need to make nice with, with dozens of people who'd like me dead and dozens of people who don't. It's not just a political marriage anymore, but...that was hardly a choice I made." She smiles softly, leaning up to press a kiss to Cyeria's cheek. "But there was never going to be a Remin who was a farmer's daughter. There couldn't be."

 

[Aerynth]

Yes, that was the difference between them. Unlike Remin, she had a point of reference; a clear before and after, a taste of what a different life could be like. It was distorted because she had experienced that life through the lens of a child - a child relatively unburdened by the difficulties that came with the so-called simple existence - but at least it wasn't completely foreign to her. Was it a kinder fate or a crueler one? They said you couldn't miss what you had never known, but that didn't ring true for Cyreia. Even before she had met Remin, some part of her had yearned for love; she had suppressed it, buried it so deep inside of herself that she had almost forgotten the desire had even existed, but it had been there the entire time, more bitter than sweet. The point was, maybe not knowing what you didn't have hurt more? Without some kind of experience, you could romanticize it more easily; paint this ideal world you could never have. Well, it probably didn't matter. Few things did in the grand scheme of things.

"That's probably true for all of us," Cyreia ended up saying with a gentle smile. "I mean, the scenarios I come up with are just what ifs, and even if they theoretically could have unfolded at some point in my life, they wouldn't have. They wouldn't have because then it wouldn't have been me, you know? I'm sure that, even if it hadn't been for the destruction of my home, I would have found some other way to get myself in trouble. Maybe it wouldn't have been as deep, but I don't think I was meant for a quiet life. My mother used to say I had wolf blood," she chuckled gently. Maybe that was what fate was; not some mysterious path gods sent you on, but a result of choices you inevitably made due to who you were. Well, that, and the circumstances surrounding your birth because not everyone could choose equally. Very few things were truly equal; Remin's life story, after all, had proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"I like to think that, though, in some other world where I'd be a seamstress and you a farmer's daughter, we would have still ended up together somehow," Cyreia beamed at Remin, suddenly all childlike. "Maybe it wouldn't have been as exciting of a story, but it's... kind of nice to imagine that we're linked, you know? And perhaps it would have been exceptional in its own way. Perhaps-- perhaps we would have met as bitter rivals at a village baking contest or something like that, and I would have wooed you with my delicious cake."

 

[Conifer]

As ridiculous as it was, it was easy for Remin to indulge herself in Cyeria's silliness. How could she deny that delighted look on her face? There was no way. She could only indulge her. Remin laughed softly, shaking her head fondly, though she was careful not to move enough to dislodge the strands of hair that Cyeria was working away on from her grasp. "Oh, that might have been the case. However, I would have won the contest." Ignoring the fact that in this lifetime she could make bread and that was about it, and that was only a recent development. Maybe in another world, she could bake anything worth anything. Worth winning a baking contest and some seamstress's heart. "Access to fresher ingredients, you know. And you would have been so impressed that you fell in love with me immediately," She teases, her smile just as delighted and childish now. What if this had been them? It couldn't be, but it could be in this moment. If she'd been lost, or ran away, or something like that. If, generations ago, something had gone differently and her family had been farmers instead of nobility. It wasn't so impossible. It was almost entirely impossible, but not so impossible.

It'd be strange to see herself so differently. What would she be capable of? What would she not? What was she capable of now? Killing a man, killing some rats, leading a country to war after war. Filling out miles of paperwork. Feigning amusement each time some stuffy whoever told a terrible joke, or made some off-color comment. But until a handful of months ago she couldn't bake a loaf of bread, or defend herself in any meaningful way. What other mundane things was she incapable of? Remin had never really...thought much about that. How long would she last if she was suddenly stripped of everything that allowed her to live her life how she did? Well, she'd be okay. She had Cyeria. But what if she didn't? This was nothing more than some thought experiment, but....still. It was a kind of terrifying thing to wonder. She'd manage, surely, but how well?

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia laughed softly and caressed Remin along the line of her slender neck. Oh, how nice it was to dwell in these fantasies! They were entirely divorced from reality, of course, because none of them could ever participate in something as silly as a baking contest, but... that was what made it so appealing, wasn't it? Since it could never happen, it couldn't be tainted by all the little complications that came with putting things into practice, either. In their minds, everything could be perfect and charming and beautiful. That was, after all, the purpose of telling each other stories; to experience the world through the lens of someone else. Someone highly idealized who accomplished great things and didn't have to worry about all those tedious matters such as paying taxes or recovering from the flu. Was it strange that they craved the same kind of escape? No, Cyreia decided. They were, after all, still human. Sometimes it seemed like everyone wanted them to be more than that, to be symbols rather than people, but-- well. They couldn't exactly transcend that boundary, and thank the gods for that. Those human pleasures? They made life so sweet.

"Those are fighting words," she said when her laughter finally died down. "You would have had the access to fresher ingredients, I'll give you that. I bet that you still wouldn't have been able to beat my family recipes, though!" Family recipes that didn't exist because her mother had never been particularly passionate about baking, but in that other reality, they might have. Her family wouldn't have been broken, either. Maybe she would have had siblings as well? Cyreia hadn't really thought about that before, but having a brother or a sister could be nice. Especially a younger brother or a sister; she would have taught them everything she knew, and protected them from all the dangers.

"I agree that I would have fallen in love with you immediately," she said with a smile. Without the barriers between them, that outcome seemed almost likely. Hadn't they, after all, clicked almost immediately? Even though their first night had been disastrous, they had already been joking with each other during the breakfast. It had been a brief, careful thing, and yet it had also been the harbinger of things to come. "Maybe I would have been so smitten that I would have used salt in my recipe instead of sugar," Cyreia chuckled, and then her eyes lit up.

"You know what we could do? Once we return home, we could have a baking competition of our own. Without recipes and such; we'd just improvise and see whether what we come up with would be edible. And the who loses-- the one who loses would have to admit she would have lost in that other world, too. And the loser would have to eat the cakes as well!"

 

[Conifer]

"Absolutely not. Because in that case, you will win, and I don't want to eat whatever unholy concoction I manage to piece together." Remin laughs, shaking her head. "I'll consent to using a recipe, but I'm not going into this blind." There was few futures in which Cyeria didn't win that, as well, but at least whatever Remin made wouldn't be as terrible as it might have been otherwise. What even went into a cake? Flour, surely, and...what? Eggs? Oil? Sugar, definitely. But gods only knew the amounts, and even then, that didn't seem like it would make a particularly good cake. And then frosting it would be another hurdle entirely. No, she'd let other people keep handling that one and she'd just pay them for their services when she wanted cake. It was a better solution than her creating some sweet monstrosity. But Cyeria's plan did have some appeal; she'd admit to that easily. Any little scrap of time they could scrape together to exist with each other just like this, all silly and living in some other world, she would take. Even if it still probably lead to her losing and eating some overcooked or underdone bit of baking. "Or," she suggests, because despite that, there's other ways to have those moments, "We buy a cake, we pretend we made it, and we just hide and eat as much as we'd like of it. Then neither of us has to lose."

 

[Aerynth]

"Hey, you never know!" Cyreia laughed. "It's not like I'm great at baking." She probably did have more experience than Remin, but honestly, that didn't mean much because almost anybody could boast that. "I do know how to use an oven, more or less, because I used to help out in the kitchen when I was in the army, but we didn't really bake sweets. What we did there-- you don't want to know, I think. You wouldn't be able to sleep soundly at night." After tasting the food in the Weroughian war camp, Cyreia doubted that Remin still had any illusions concerning what soldiers generally ate. Eupriunia was richer, yes, but that didn't mean that those who fought for it enjoyed better meals. Just like always, the country's wealth meant nothing for smallfolk.

"Ah come on, where would be the fun in that? Are you that afraid of losing?" Cyreia teased and planted a small kiss on her cheek. "But you know what? Fine. I'll concede that those conditions are unfair, and I don't want to make it seem like I'm trying to poison you. That would only lend credence to lady Beleret's vision." How come that she was able to joke about it so freely when, mere minutes ago, those words had been so terrifying? Remin's faith in her must have caused that. The way she believed in her so easily, so quickly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world? It gave her the strength to face that prophecy head on. "It doesn't have to be a competition. We'll borrow a cookbook or two, and we can try to bake something together. I remember this delicious thing my mother used to make for me-- we called it the sponge cake, have you heard of that? It's not made of sponges," she added quickly, "it's just that the structure is very soft and sponge-like. It's supposed to be easy to make, so I think we wouldn't mess it up too terribly. I mean, I know we will likely be busy for... the entirety of our lives, but sometimes it helps to do something different. It's good for your mind. Maybe we'll think of some groundbreaking solution to our problems while covered in flour from head to toe!"

 

[Conifer]

Remin made no objection about Cyeria's belief that she didn't want to know what the soldiers ate. She really, really didn't. Especially when there was a chance she might dine with them again. A small chance, admittedly, both with the war being over and with ...well, her selfishly wanting to abuse her privilege and not eat rice and mystery meat. It did remind her though that, if there was time before whatever incoming war, she really did want to see if there was anything she could do to improve it somewhat. Even if it was just tossing a handful of carrots their way, vegetable would still be something. Ideally the meat wouldn't be a mystery, but she'd start where she could afford to. That was a problem for once they reached home, though; little could be done about it now.

"You keep inviting risk into our lives, my love." She teases softly. "If we think of our groundbreaking solution while covered head to toe in flour, that only means that the next time we're in need of a solution and struggling to find it, we'll have to cover ourselves in flour again. That doesn't sound like a reasonable process at all. Much to messy, and wasting supplies. I'd be happy to have you show me the cake, but I'm forbidding any thought or talk of our current difficulties in the middle of it. Until we're entirely free of flour." How likely that was to happen was impossible to know, but they were wishing and wanting in this moment, weren't they? As much fun as it was to joke about their impending doom on occasion, it would be nice to have a short while where they just...weren't allowed to think about it. A duty in itself. A few moments for them, Remin and Cyeria, not the Queen and King. Even this current little dalliance into comfort had some edge to it; the second they heard footsteps down the hall, they'd have to return to sobriety instead of teasing and laughter. In the castle, it was just as likely that someone might wander in on their baking, but at least there she'd have some sway over them. "And not a moment sooner."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia smiled when Remin called her 'my love.' Would she ever get tired of hearing that? No, she didn't think so; the warmth that filled her upon her uttering those too syllables was too precious, too addictive. "I think the kingdom can afford to waste some flour," she teased. "We may not be the richest country in the world, but we won't go bankrupt over that. Still, if you insist, I'm not against shirking our duties once in a while. Everyone needs to rest, you know. Even the lowliest of soldiers get days off!" It didn't happen often, true, and when it did happen, the activities they could do were restricted, but they were allowed to enjoy some rest once on a while. People, after all, weren't machines; they couldn't reasonably expect them to go on and on and not be driven insane from the pace. Why should kings and queens be any different? "Once," Cyreia started gently, "when I was still an ordinary soldier, we got a day off and used it to sneak away from the camp. There was a pub nearby, you see, and we were desperate for some normal food. Nobody saw us on the way there, but we met a high-ranking officer inside and he was not pleased. In the end, we only managed to get away with it because I pointed out he also wasn't supposed to be there and he liked my audacity, I think," she laughed quietly.

Cyreia wanted to tell another story, and another one after that, but it was too late already; her eyes were closing on their own. Moreover, it seemed that tomorrow would be an exhausting day. Wouldn't it be wiser to go to sleep and gather some strength? Ultimately, that was what they ended up doing. Not long after that, Cyreia drifted off to sleep practically mid-sentence, still in Remin's arms. The closeness, it seemed, brought her some amount of comfort. Despite the bad news they had received earlier - news of betrayal, of treachery - she slept soundly, grounded by the steady rhythm of her wife's breath.

Morning came much too quickly, and with that, the illusion of peace shattered. As soon as they got dressed, a maid knocked on their door; apparently Isobel had woken up. She had woken up and, despite the sorry state yesterday had left her in, was ready to receive them. And honestly? Nothing terrified Cyreia more in that moment. What would she say? Would she lie to her or tell her the harsh, cruel truth? Had she somehow discovered that Remin had spilled her secret? Gods only knew, after all, just how far her abilities stretched. And if she did know about that-- how would she retaliate? God, Cyreia felt so foolish of being afraid of dealing with one sickly woman, but lady Beleret was far from harmless even in a weakened state; that much was painfully, painfully obvious. "We should probably get it over with," Cyreia said once the door closed behind the maid. "I'm curious what kind of tune she'll sing with me there."

When they entered Isobel's room, the woman was still lying in her bed; just like yesterday, she seemed ghostly pale and somehow shorter than she truly was, but at least she wasn't on the verge of collapse anymore. "Welcome, your highnesses," the lady greeted them. "I apologize for having to receive you like this, but as you can probably imagine, the ritual-- it can be rather draining."

"No, no," Cyreia waved her hand, "don't apologize. I'm thankful that you decided to speak with us at all, considering how tired you must be. Now, my lady, did you happen to see anything important? Anything at all that would help us gain an advantage over the enemy?" It was better to pretend, she decided, that Remin hadn't told her anything at all. Picking and choosing which parts of it were safe for her to know - which parts of it wouldn't land her wife in trouble - could get tricky, after all.

 

[Conifer]

Remin slept blessedly easy that night; the demons that had shown their ugly faces on previous nights settled into the background. The room was wide, the windows large, the moon full - light streamed in, soft and just bright enough for her to see what she might need to until she fell asleep, which wasn't a much lengthier process than Cyeria's drifting off. That helped, as it always did. To be so near to her, and know that if she needed to, then she would protect Remin. Despite how much it was impossible to tell if they could trust Isobel, this place at least felt safe. Yes, she still made sure the door and windows were securely closed and locked before she fell asleep, but there wasn't some edge of danger lurking in every corner of this castle. (Just maybe a handful of the corners.)

Morning brought with it the comfort of pattern. Slowly waking, a handful of kisses shared while they were each half-asleep, and then eventually rising and dressing. It lacked the breakfast they usually took in their room and there were dozens of braids to deal with (though as many as she could manage to make look nice stayed where they were. They'd be a reminder of the peace they were still capable of finding in all this mess.) Then once dressed, the knowledge of repetition: today they'd talk pretty words, talk business and little pleasure, and then move on. It was almost as if they were home already. The knock on the door was almost welcomed in that regard. Not entirely welcomed, but...almost.

When they reached the room, Remin found herself complicatedly relieved to see Isobel still in bed. She was a powerful woman, that much was certain, and having her weak enough that she couldn't meet them elsewhere meant that any harm she meant them would at least not be physical.
Isobel's attentions settled almost immediately on Cyeria, and she watched her in silence for a moment too long; it left Remin feeling on edge. Was she aware that Cyeria knew more than she was letting on with her question? Did she know that Remin had spilled what she'd told her in what seemed to be confidence as soon as she possibly could? Well, if she did, she didn't let on besides that unsettling look. Isobel shifts, sitting up better against her pillows, though the movement only makes her seem more weak than any more regal. Had it really taken that much from her? If this was some ploy, then she was a wonderful actress, but...which way was she acting? Strong before, or weak now?

Isobel doesn't move her gaze from Cyeria when she speaks. "I've told your wife most of what I know already. I saw the moon grow full and thin three times before the war begins, and that your enemies are dressed in Eupriunian colors. That there is not win or loss at stake here - there is destruction and rebirth. There's...too many possibilities to see any more concretely." She admits, seeming genuinely apologetic for her lack of ability to help any further. "The event that starts it will be...disastrous. There's no avoiding that. Again, too many fates all make themselves available to give any better warning, I'm sorry. I wish I could see anything more detailed there, but it's all muddled and complicated. Too many things depending on other things. But..." Her expression softens, somewhat, and she seems to sink into her pillows. "It will be a trying time. For everyone involved, but you especially, Avther."

 

[Aerynth]

God, did this whole thing make Cyreia feel uneasy. The way Isobel watched her? It didn't seem especially friendly. Not that she had been friendly before, but-- had this undercurrent of hostility always been present or had it appeared along with the vision? Or was she just reading the atmosphere incorrectly, looking for signs of enmity where there weren't any? There was no reason for Isobel to advertise her feelings, after all. Not when those feelings could land her in prison or worse. Did she think her to be that kind of person? The kind of person who would abuse her power to the point of hurting an innocent just because the message she brought displeased her? Maybe. A traitor couldn't be trusted; that was kind of the definition of that word. How nauseating. Cyreia hadn't done anything to deserve that label - and she wouldn't do anything like that, she definitely wouldn't - and yet it felt like the word had been seared into her skin already for all the world to see. A traitor. A traitor.

No. No, I cannot think like that. Paranoia had never helped anyone, least of all those in positions of power. Cyreia had witnessed people succumb to such thoughts; more often than not, they had been a self-fulfilling prophecy. Perhaps Isobel would turn against her in the end, but she hadn't given her a reason to truly suspect her just yet. Until that happened, Cyreia had to... well, not necessarily believe her, but at least avoid demonizing her. The woman, it seemed, had gone through much just to produce a reliable prophecy. Why spit on her efforts when she had no real proof of her being an enemy?

And, indeed, if nothing else, Isobel didn't lie to her-- or if she did lie, then she at least lied consistently because she told her the same things she had also told Remin. Cyreia found it difficult to fake surprise. It would have been wise, no doubt about that, but her facial muscles just refused to cooperate. "Yes," she sighed, "Remin-- Remin has mentioned that already. We talked, back in our room. I just hoped you saw more than that." Had it been a good idea to veer so close to the truth? To admit that they had discussed this? Probably not. It would have been stranger to pretend they hadn't talked about it, after all; especially considering how close they had seemed yesterday. No, this was the better alternative. Cyreia just... hoped that it wouldn't lead lady Beleret to the conclusion that Remin hadn't hidden anything from her because, if so, then she might have put her wife into danger.

"I'll be frank with you, my lady," Cyreia continued, looking her straight in the eye. "I don't believe that we'll face Eupriunia in any conflict, mostly because it doesn't make any sense. There is absolutely nothing for them to gain from this. If a war comes, though?" A smile spread over her lips, except it wasn't a happy smile; it was the smile of someone used to slitting throats. "I'll crush the enemy, since that's what I do. It doesn't matter who it is." There, that was the closest she would ever go to admitting that she wouldn't hesitate to fight against Eupriunia in front of anyone who wasn't Remin. Now, what would lady Beleret do with that information?

 

[Conifer]

If she finds that damning, Isobel gives no indication; her expression barely changes besides something shifting, going...what is that, sad? Resigned? Remin can't tell anything with this woman and it's going to drive her utterly mad. It may as well have been joy and she wouldn't have been able to guess at it any better. Whatever Isobel was thinking was alien to them no matter how much they tried to do any amount of understanding of her. She could be ally just as easily as enemy. These all could be lies just as easily as the truth. There was no proof to any of it. She could be mocking them, mocking Cyeria with her declarations of traitor. Maybe she carries a hatred for Athea that she disguises well and this is her idea of a way to work against them. Remin has no idea anymore, but...ignoring it would be a risk they really can't afford. "I don't doubt it, my king." Isobel says levelly, the exhaustion visible on her the only thing coloring her tone. "The fates and I...we don't doubt your ability to slay. You've proved that over a lifetime, and you'll prove it again and again. But you may learn to care. If not in these coming months, then...in time."

 

[Aerynth]

... what? To care? Cyreia had expected a wide range of reactions, from relief to alarm, but certainly not this. What was it, even? Similarly to Remin, she couldn't tell what this woman was thinking at all. For all it was worth, Isobel may as well have been talking in a different language because what she had said made no sense at all. Cyreia cared. She always had, to the point that some of her deeds had kept her up at night, and now she cared even more. About Remin, Athea, her new people. Caring about them, after all, was the reason she had promised to destroy any enemy that might cross them. What else was there for her to learn? What else was there for her to do if pledging her sword to the cause wasn't enough? Or did Isobel think her to be a liar? A cold, hardened commander who only ever fought to protect his interests rather than his people? That could be the case. Eupriunians, after all, didn't have the best reputation, here or... well, anywhere that wasn't Eupriunia. And the songs they sang about her? Those praised her skill, not her tendency towards mercy. To Isobel, she had to look like a terrifying figure; it was a small wonder, really, that she spoke as honestly as she had.

Still, despite her thoughts, Cyreia managed to stay calm, at least outwardly. Outburts had never solved anything. Well, that, and Isobel also seemed so pitiful, so obviously exhausted, that she couldn't bring herself to raise her voice against her, as unfair as the accusation felt. Maybe it wasn't entirely unfair, though? Cyreia had jumped to the worst of assumptions immediately, but that didn't mean that Isobel had thought along those lines as well. Every other word that left her lips was a puzzle to be solved; why should this statement be straightforward? Perhaps she had simply meant something Cyreia didn't see.

"Care about what?" she asked, confused more than anything else. "I care plenty about this country, which is why I shall protect it. And I do understand how disingenuous that must sound coming from me, but it is true."

 

[Conifer]

"About who you bring down." She says, still just...level and plain, as if they were discussing breakfast and she didn't have a strong opinion about what they might eat, and not-- whatever it was that she was trying to get at. It was a threat, Remin decided. Every word from her mouth was a threat. Perhaps not one she meant to carry out, nor one she was even capable of carrying out, but they were certainly threats more than the warnings Remin could only hope she intended them to be. "Countries...are an abstract. What do you mean, you care plenty about this country? You care for the gods you don't know? The politics you still learn? The people you haven't met?" They almost felt like genuine questions, but of course, they couldn't be. They were something mocking, weren't they? Or were they as genuine as they seemed? No. No, if her words were threats, than these were taunts. "You bring it down, and then months later, you care plenty about it. No, I think you care for its specifics. Its queen. The handful of people you've found tolerable. The freedom you have here. You protect those. If they were elsewhere, Athea would be nothing to you."

"My lady-" Remin frowns, taking a step forward towards the bedridden woman. "I think all of this is incredibly unnecessary. Unless this is relevant to the war, I don't think we need to-"

"It is." Isobel's gaze finally leaves Cyeria for a moment, looking to Remin, but it's back to Cyeria in seconds. She looks so tired. So worn down. "There's nothing wrong about protecting those things. You should. But...it might become hard to protect them blindly. That's all I mean. 'It doesn't matter' may begin to matter."

 

[Aerynth]

Oh, so it was going to be one of those conversations. Cyreia was used to people speaking like that to her; she was, after all, a mere soldier, good only for strategizing and swinging her sword. Thoughts of higher of purposes eluded her. Everyone seemed to love that about her when her skills were needed, but when that need disappeared? Suddenly, it was a reason to condescend to her. God, how infuriating. It would have been one thing if someone from Hadsberry had mocked her - someone whose home had been destroyed by war - but coming from this woman, who hadn't lost a thing? Who had likely spent the entire war locked in her ivory tower and watched as people died, and likely only lived now thanks to her help? No. No, she didn't have to accept such treatment from her. Words threatened to spill from her mouth, unfiltered and full of poison, but Cyreia bit her tongue. It wasn't worthy of her.

"I won't deny that," she said, her expression more or less neutral; it seemed that, despite her lamentations, she had learned a thing or two about hiding her feelings. The masm she donned wasn't as well-crafted as Remin's, of course, but-- it was something. "And it's the same with you, I'd wager, because the human heart isn't large enough to fit an entire country. None of that, however, diminishes our desire to protect it." Cyreia could have been pettier than that, could have asked her whether she knew and loved every citizen, every blade of grass within the country, but she restrained that impulse. Deeds spoke louder than words, after all. If the war truly came, then Isobel would come to see her for what she was-- and if it didn't, then all the better for everyone involved. Who cared if lady Beleret personally didn't like her? They didn't have to be friends in order to cooperate.

"Nevertheless," she continued, her tone still measured, "I thank you for the warning, and I shall think about your words." That, at least, was true, because Cyreia would ruminate over it. Likely endlessly, as that was what she did when a problem arose. "In the meantime, is there anything we can do to help you recover? Both you personally and Werough. We thought we could invest into better roads, as well as other things, but perhaps you have different priorities? We are also open to re-negotiating the deal Athea has with Werough so that the conditions are more balanced." Cyreia's feelings towards the other woman had cooled off somewhat, but that didn't change the reason they had come here; they still had to try win her over as an ally, and she would play her part. She always did.

 

[Conifer]

Isobel looked more...disappointed than anything, at the mask that Cyeria raised, and she looked like she might want to argue something, say something, but if she did...she made no attempt. She just settled, looking strangely defeated, against her pillows, and allowed for Cyeria to continue her speaking. She took the hint that the topic was being pushed aside and allowed it to be. "...your thoughtfulness knows no bounds, your highnesses," Isobel comments, and now her tone is different than the strange openness (or perhaps not?) that she was speaking with before. This was more familiar to Remin, for better or worse. It's not rude, certainly not, but there's a forced pleasantness there. Had she realized she couldn't get through to them with carefully disguised snideness? Or had she simply given up trying to be sincere? Or was this mask a response to Cyeria's own? "Both those things would be appreciated. I'd have to assess things to see where else I might ask for aid, especially in the wake of all of this turmoil, but the roads have been a nuisance for a good while, and I certainly won't turn down an offer to re-negotiate the deal now that we're not on as desperate footing as we once were. Now that we have things we might offer you, instead of entirely needing your pity."

"It was never pity," Remin protests, shaking her head lightly. "You were in need, and we could help."

"And you did because you pitied us." Isobel doesn't seem upset by this, really - if anything, there's a complicated humor to it. "And because you saw a chance for exploit. The fault's not on you for that one, though. We can't carry the sins of our family with us, or else we'd all be monsters. If you'd like to discuss this all in person, I'd ask that we wait until this evening, so that I might rest and then prepare information for you, or I can send someone to negotiate with you to your home once you've returned to it."

 

[Aerynth]

What did Isobel even want from her? The answer to that question was becoming even less obvious than it had been just seconds ago. While sincerity had caused her to resort to mockery, deception... also seemed to displease her. It was like dancing to a tune Cyreia couldn't hear; of course she was going to make mistakes when she couldn't rely on the rhythm to guide her! Or maybe-- maybe there was no way for her to win at all. Maybe she had already been branded as a traitor in her mind and every word she said only deepened her conviction. An awfully fatalistic way to look at things, sure, but what if it was true? Well, it wasn't like it mattered. Not terribly at the very least. As long as Cyreia proved to be useful, she wouldn't act against her; that formula also worked with the older lady Everbright, Gregor Marsh and everyone else who disliked her. What was one more enemy when she was already surrounded by them? (One true ally in the sea of enemies, though? That could change everything. Too bad that this outcome would be denied to her. Perhaps in time, when Cyreia proved that she was going to protect their interests? God, she hoped so.)

The comment about their thoughtfulness sounded more sarcastic than anything else, but perhaps she was being unfair to Isobel. Not every word of hers had to contain a secret meaning, and she wouldn't gain anything by antagonizing them while they offered help. "Yes, I'm looking forward to our cooperation," Cyreia nodded. "That's what I wish it to be; something more equal than the last arrangement. I'm sure that if we adjust it slightly, both Athea and Werough will be more content in the long run." What she meant to say was that there should be much less resentment, but then again, this would have been too direct. No, merely implying it was safer.

"And you shall have all the time you need. I apologize for bothering you about in the first place when you're so tired, but-- I couldn't help myself," Cyreia smiled. "Too much work, too little time. I'm sure you can relate." She turned around, eager to leave Isobel's presence, eager to escape this strange atmosphere, but something made her pause. "My lady?" she asked, her tone hesitant for the first time since that not-so-friendly exchange. "Thank you. Truly. I may not be good at finding the right words to say at times, but I do appreciate what you've done for us and I will try not to squander your efforts. I hope you will recover soon."

And with that, Cyreia left. Once they got far enough for her to be sure that nobody but Remin would hear her, she sighed loudly. "God, I have no idea what she meant by half of what she said, and I also don't know whether I made things worse or not. Why can't I ever figure out what to say? Usually, I'm not this stupid."

 

[Conifer]

Isobel watched in silence as they left; either she didn't know what to say, had nothing to say, or even this interaction had left her feeling worn enough to not want to speak did she not have to. Either way, the door closed behind them and Remin laced her hand into Cyeria's as they wandered down the quiet hallways. Lady Beleret didn't seem to keep much staff, but whether that was a facet of the week-long war, some desire for isolation, or something else entirely, Remin didn't bother to hazard a guess. If it was her alone, she likely didn't have much need for many people anyways.

"I don't know." Remin admits softly. "She's...either the most honest person I've ever met, or hasn't told us a single truth since we met her besides her name. I don't know which one would be more of a comfort at this point." Wouldn't it be nice if they prepared for a war that never came? "For what it's worth, I don't think you made anything worse. Not any worse than I did, at least. She's a baffling woman to try to speak to. But...I don't know. There's something to be said about her willingness to complete a ritual that left her so weak for no real gain of her own." As much as Remin wanted to cast doubt that Isobel had been left weakened by all of that, it was hard to believe that she might be that good of an actress. There was a chance, of course there was, but at some point thinking that every single thing the woman did was a lie felt a little too paranoid for Remin's tastes, even if she'd found herself more and more justified in those thoughts with various people as time went on.

"Do we want to wait around to speak with her this evening?" Remin asks as they continue to walk. "Or should we leave word with her to send someone to speak with us later? It may be simpler, admittedly, to just speak to her about it all while we're here, but then again it might be simpler to not speak with her about anything much when we can avoid it, if we feel we can't believe her to be upfront and honest."

 

[Aerynth]

In a way, Remin's uncertainty was... almost comforting, really. It wasn't that Cyreia enjoyed seeing her so lost, but the fact that lady Beleret was difficult to read even for her politically savvy wife? That did make her feel a little better about herself. "You may be right," she said, "though we don't know whether there was anything for her to gain from the ritual. Who knows what she saw? Perhaps she didn't share everything. Hell, perhaps she even lied about the contents of her vision. Isn't being able to deceive us valuable enough on its own?" Information was a currency as well, after all. If lady Beleret had fed them lies-- the consequences could be dire. What if they poured resources into preparing for a conflict that never came? It would both distract them from the real issues and make them look like fools. An adept politician could (and probably would) take advantage of it. 'Look at the king,' they could say. 'War is everything he knows, so that's what he entertains himself with instead of making the country bloom.' Cyreia could see it in vivid colors; there was no way they wouldn't hold her roots against her. Not when she was who she was.

"And I have to admit that the idea of leaving is... tempting. We shouldn't, though. I think that, despite everything, we owe her to speak with her personally." They had already promised it, after all, and leaving now would be... more than awkward. No, this wouldn't help their relationship at all. And even if lady Beleret didn't care at all-- well, Cyreia did. People had to be able to believe her, and that couldn't happen if she wasn't consistent. This may have been a relatively small thing, but those small things said a lot about a person to anyone who paid attention.

"It doesn't mean, though, that we have to spend the rest of the day locked in her castle," Cyreia smiled softly. "We could-- I don't know. Go for a walk, eat in a pub and maybe meet some smallfolk. It would look good and it could be fun." Maybe that was the reason she was hesitant to go home immediately; since the war had ended, they could treat this as a vacation, more or less. When they returned, though? They would have to tend to their duties immediately, and Cyreia wasn't in a hurry to do that just yet.

 

[Conifer]

"You're always so very smart, my king." Remin agrees with a small, teasing smile. They've spent enough time in walls - tent or stone - and an afternoon wandering around a town where they wouldn't be too terribly noticed sounded as near to paradise as they were likely to reach any time soon. Yes, they would still be noticed, but Cyeria was right. It would be good to be seen admiring the fruits of Werough's labors instead of simply hopping down to fight a war, winning it, and then leaving as soon as they possibly could as if the entire place was some sort of diseased. And food that wasn't either the lowest of the low or the highest one might get in a war camp had a weird sort of appeal. There was always a strange novelty that Remin found with just...normal food. Simple, hearty things that people who were bothered with filling stomachs made instead of complicated dishes with delicate attempts to lay it out made by those who wanted to impress. It was ridiculous of her to think that, she was well aware, and those complicated, delicate things didn't go underappreciated, but sometimes breakfast didn't need to be served with such precision. Sometimes it was just breakfast, and it was nice.

And it was. A few of the soldiers had spilled over from the camp and into the town, it being the nearest one, and so they were noticed and recognized a bit quicker than Remin would have liked to be (especially since it meant that she couldn't hold Cyeria's hand as she would have had they been entirely strangers to this place,) but that was okay. The people here seemed mostly loyal to Lady Beleret, and so they welcomed those that had defended her with open arms and eager smiles, even if those smiles were perhaps more guarded than they might have been had they not been in Werough. It was fair of them, though, Remin had to admit. The deal between the two countries had been one-sided for longer than she should have let it been. (As if, though, she had any control over it until recently.) Lunch was just as mundane as Remin had hoped it to be - thick, crusty bread, some unfamiliar onion-heavy soup, and enough of each to fill them both fully. Remin took the opportunity as well to buy another set of clothes, because while the one they'd bought after her rescue was functional...well. She appreciated having a change of clothes that didn't come from Cyeria's wardrobe or some noblewoman's pity. One of those was far more appealing than the other, but still. Having her own things was a better experience all around. During the day, at the very least. She certainly didn't mind wrapping herself up in one of her wife's shirts to spend the night.

Eventually, though, the sun began to reach its hazy arms towards the tree-lined horizon, and with it they returned to their horses and began the short trek back to the waiting Lady Beleret. Remin felt terrible for hoping that she hadn't regained her strength entirely, but it was far easier to feel like they had some sort of control over the whole situation when she was tired and tied to her bed from it. So, she hoped.

She wasn't quite so lucky, though - but she had no reason to need to be lucky. Isobel was looking much more the woman they'd met the day before when they joined her for dinner, and Remin had expected that to spell out a tiresome evening, but it went shockingly smoothly. Perhaps Isobel was just indecipherable when it came to prophecy, or perhaps the time away from her had allowed them all time to settle - she had no idea, and honestly, she didn't care. It didn't matter. The plans were smooth - they'd help with the roads, they'd send more people to expand on the literacy programs, and they'd adjust the agreement between the two countries, and in return, Werough would offer what soldiers it could when they would need them for this dooming war and those who had actively supported Wellan and had more than enough money for it would be kept at the higher tax until some significant cost of the war was recouped - for both Werough and Athea - and then they, too, would reduce down to the new standard. It wasn't perfect, but it was good for now, and while Isobel was baffling she at least proved herself willing to converse and negotiate. Remin trusted that they wouldn't be stabbed in the back over this at the very least. Other things? Absolutely a chance. But this deal? Less likely. There'd at least be some warning first.

 

[Aerynth]

The rest of the day was a blur; mostly a blur of unexpected pleasantness. Getting to spend some time with Remin in a non-formal setting was a reward in itself, but they way Weroughians treated them only added to it. There weren't any accolades, of course, and they would have been foolish to expect them, and yet, despite that, they seemed almost happy to see them. What a strange feeling. Kings probably got to experience it often - at least the good ones - though Cyreia hadn't had the privilege yet. Such kindness, after all, was rarely extended to foreign invaders. She had gotten a taste of it way back in Caldora, but it had been forced back then; the Caldorans had greeted their new king because they had had to, not because they had wanted to. For these people, though? They were their saviors, and it showed in the way they smiled when they passed them by. Cyreia even got to pat a few children's heads, which... honestly moved her more than she was willing to admit. (Maybe being a parent could be sort of nice? The thought came and went. She wasn't ready for that particular conversation considering everything it would inevitably entail, and besides, they had more pressing things to worry about. Things like war. War and dealing with lady Beleret.)

Surprisingly, Isobel wasn't an issue. Perhaps she planned to betray them, but she did cooperate when there was something to be gained. Still, by the end of the day, Cyreia wished to go home; the talks had exhausted her thoroughly and just being in lady Beleret's castle drained her energy even further. How could it do anything but that? Nobody could reasonably expect her to be able to rest when it felt like she had to watch her every step constantly! They couldn't very well leave, though; not immediately at the very least. Another confrontation awaited them, this time with the rest of the nobles.

All things considered, this, too, went smoothly. Some of them had to pick up their jaws from the floor when Cyreia announced she was the king, but Remin had correctly predicted that presenting the reveal as a sign of her favor would be well-received. Even lady Yngran seemed sort of flattered, which almost gave Cyreia a heart attack. Who knew the woman was even capable of such feelings? Certainly not her! (That was the power of Remin's scheming, she supposed. She should thank the gods for allowing her to have such a shrewd wife, really, because without her, Cyreia would have been hopelessly lost.) Finally, when all the formalities were dealt with, they could head home. What a sweet, sweet notion. They hadn't even been gone for that long, at least objectively speaking, but it felt like ages. Once, she had wondered whether the castle would ever feel like something more than cold walls to her - whether it would truly turn into her home - and now she knew. And the answer? A resounding 'yes'. It shocked Cyreia how much she had missed the place, really; it only occurred to her when they arrived because the happiness that swelled in her chest was almost overwhelming. Was this what it felt like to belong somewhere? To have a place you could call your own, a place where you would be accepted no matter what? God, Cyreia could cry. Perhaps she would have done that, too, except they couldn't afford to succumb to sentimental thoughts. Not when dangers lurked within the very walls she was getting so nostalgic over; not when the traitor(s)? who had handed Remin over to Wellan still walked free.

Since nobody conveniently confessed and it was impossible to discover who the culprit was, they had to fire most of the staff. Only people like Oren and Maric remained; people who they were reasonably sure hadn't done it. Cyreia felt sorry for the servants since many of them had served Remin's family for years, but-- well. She wasn't about to risk her wife's safety just out of some misplaced sense of pity. Now wasn't the time to play the chronic idealist. They had tried to murder them in their own home, for god's sake! Even the innocents that were caught in the crossfire must have understood that.

After that, their lives settled into relative normalcy. The ghost of what had happened there still haunted Cyreia at times, and she woke up in the middle of the night to reach after Remin more often than not, but to her relief, her wife was always there, safe and sound. Would she ever stop worrying that someone might steal her right from her embrace? Probably not, though, if nothing else, it would at least help her stay vigilant. Cyreia may have failed to protect her back then, but she would not fail again. Not even if it cost her her life.

Still, the rhythm of everyday life somewhat lulled her to complacency. The war lady Beleret had threatened them with? It was nowhere to be seen. Instead of that, Cyreia and Remin were wrestling with the advisors, outdated laws and all those little things that had become utterly ordinary to them long ago. Perhaps that was a blessing in itself; being able to focus on the details and not having to see the greater picture.

That routine was disrupted, however, with the arrival of the letter from king Loran. They were just trying to decide which actors to hire for the numerous plays that would be performed there when a messenger arrived. Cyreia broke the seal on the scroll and started reading, already apprehensive; that apprehension only deepened with every word. "So the good news, I suppose," she started hesitantly, "is that king Loran wishes to attend the festival as a, and I'm quoting him here, 'proof of friendship'. Apparently he is curious about you in particular, Remin." She didn't know what to think about that; the reason for that remark might have been anything from simple politeness to... well, to him hearing some unpleasant rumors about her wife and wanting to discover for himself whether they were true or not. Only time would tell. "The less pleasant news is that-- well. He wants to have a say in what we do at the festival. Specifically, he wants to have a military parade." ... which was something Atheans wouldn't enjoy, Cyreia was sure, considering that the same army had brought the country to its knees just a few months ago. It was an insult, really. An insult and also a blatant display of dominance.

 

[Conifer]

It was hard for Remin to watch people that had been around nearly her entire life walk from the castle walls not to return. Oren stayed, and Maric, the cook, and the head of the guard - people who she either trusted enough that even if they couldn't prove they didn't do it, she was willing to take the risk, or in Maric's case...well. They needed him, plain and simple, and sending him away now would likely be a deathwish once more. She did what she could for them, though - letters of recommendation, praising their work and their dedication, and occasionally finding new employment for them entirely when she could manage to do so. There was only a handful that was possible for, but it was a handful better than none. By the end, surely they'd really only made more enemies, but they were left with a new (albeit smaller,) staff that had been vetted entirely, and the advisers had been moved to separate homes in the small town circling the castle with less potential access to the personal rooms of Remin and Cyeria. It was safer, if quieter, and a little more strained. It was okay. It was better than being caught off guard again, because doing that all again...she'd gotten lucky. Remin wasn't sure that she would get lucky again.

And that still was something that plagued her. Their room was hard to sleep in for a few days, and she couldn't do it at all until the entire place was searched top to bottom. The bat wing ended up being found beneath the dresser, tacked to the underside of so that not even a quick glance under would reveal it easily - it couldn't have been too quick of an attempt. A new lock was placed on the door, and one key given to Cyeria, one key to Remin, and one key to the head of the guard should there be any need to get into the room. It would be locked any other time which helped somewhat and had the bonus of making it all the easier for them to be alone together, trusting that no well-meaning maid would walk in to seem them sharing whatever affection they wanted to. Still, the fire burned most nights regardless of the warmth of the room, and a candle as well on Remin's side of the bed. Her dagger sat there, too, and if Cyeria's sword was anywhere besides quick reach, then sleeping was an impossibility. Yes, it was paranoid, but did it matter much? She slept, and that was enough. Avoiding meat as she had been proved easier now that they were home; rarely did mystery chunks of something dark appear in her food here, and a quick mention to the cook kept most of it off her plate entirely. It still made her stomach turn at the thought of it, and so she just wasn't going to bother with it for a while longer at least. She had the privilege of being picky, and so she would be.

She was almost grateful to return to long days of paperwork now, though. It settled out a good amount once they had their new staff settled in, with the only additional work on her plate the planning of the festival, and the mundane preparations for war, each of which were going shockingly smoothly. There was always an end to that, though; it was inevitable and foolish to think there wasn't. She hadn't expected it to be in the form of a letter, but...well. They got what they got.

"...A military parade." Remin frowns, reaching for the letter and angling it so that she can see the scrawled words (in handwriting she truly doubted was King Loran's.) "I don't like that. Beyond the obvious reasons, I...don't like the idea of him having a small army there." But could they say no? Not really. If they did, perhaps that was the thing that would start the fight. "And it avoids the whole point of the celebration. It's a festival for unity, not for grandstanding and terrifying. But, gods, there's not much we can do, is there?" She drops the letter, looking back over the list of names they'd been looking over before the letter arrived as if it held the answers for anything but 'who might tell this story well'. "Very well. We'll simply agree. We'll have a military parade - of both of our militaries, walking side by side. No weapons involved for either side. There's no need for them. If he wants to prance through Athea, then we can't stop him, but we can at least lay some ground rules." It wasn't as if her suggestion would fix literally anything, but it brought some small amount of balance to the whole thing that might keep it from getting so disastrous.

 

[Aerynth]

"I don't like it, either," Cyreia frowned. She understood what he meant by that gesture, but couldn't wait for a bit? The memory of war was still fresh in people's minds; they weren't going to forget that Eupriunia ruled over them any time soon, for god's sake. Why this reminder, then? Could it have anything to do with lady Beleret's prophecy? Suddenly, the prospect of them going to war with Eupriunia didn't seem as ridiculous anymore. There had to be some underlying reason behind this, after all. Military parades weren't as expensive as campaigns, but they did cost money. Perhaps even more importantly, they cost king Loran men; Cyreia hadn't been watching the developments in Eupriunia as closely as she should, but she didn't doubt that they pursued their military interests elsewhere now, mostly because they always did. Sending his troops elsewhere weakened his forces. Why did he do it, though? Something was clearly amiss here. "And not just because of the reasons you've outlined. It's-- always difficult to keep soldiers in check." Cyreia had mainly done it through intimidation, and even that hadn't always worked. Would king Loran even try to keep things peaceful as hard as she had? And if his soldiers did end up terrorizing the populace-- what could they even do against it? Not much, it seemed. (God, the whole festival was shaping up to be a giant headache. Kind of like her entire rule, now that she thought about it.)

"There isn't," Cyreia agreed. "Not unless we want to provoke him and trust me, that's not a sight you want to see." King Loran was generally open to feedback, but only to a degree; once his decision had been made, questioning it was... inadvisable, to say the least. More than one person had paid for such audacity with their head. Cyreia had had more leeway at some point, but she wasn't sure whether that was still true; she had been a beloved hero back then, after all. What was she in the eyes of Eupriunians now? A rolemodel to emulate or someone who had abandoned them to lead a comfortable life within the castle walls? Either way, if he decided to punish her now, Eupriunians wouldn't protest nearly as much as they would have in the past. What a sick, sick joke. Wasn't she supposed to be more powerful as a king?

"But yes, we don't have much of a choice. We also don't have much of a choice when it comes to the other request of his. Have you finished reading the letter? He... also wishes to arrive earlier, stay with us for a while and, I'm quoting him again, 'review my rule.' I have no idea what that means," Cyreia admitted with a frown, "but it doesn't sound good."

 

[Conifer]

Remin had almost allowed herself the fantasy of a peaceful year. No wars, just festivals and recovery. Nice things. Not more bloodshed. It had seemed less and less like anything terrible was creeping up on them as the time had passed quietly, with no news of rumored preparations or insults making their ways to royal ears. This letter dashed all of that. King Loran's requests were a test if nothing else; how manipulated could they be? How quietly would Avther do what was asked of him? How much fealty could Loran force them to show? He knew they knew denying him would be risky, and she had no illusions that he might want them to stand up for themselves. But that was the cost of war. Or-- more accurately, it was the cost of peace. If he wanted a bed in their castle and a military parade, he'd have it. "So we'll have him." Remin sighs, her words decisive like they had a choice in the matter. She grabs a scrap bit of paper and begins drafting out their reply; it'd be written nicer, scrawled with perfect inks on official letterhead and everything proper later, but knowing what they were going to say before all of that would be good. "That part's not unexpected. We knew he was likely going to stay at the castle, and we knew that you were going to be under scrutiny. At least he's being upfront about his intentions. I don't like it, but...some credit where credit's not likely to be due, I suppose."

"Is it terrible I'm grateful for the new staff at this time?" She asks, lightly humored. "There's little chance he doesn't interrogate them for information on you - or us, even. And if there's little information they know, there's little that he knows that we aren't aware he knows." She was also glad they had been being somewhat more careful when spending time together. Yes, there was a clear fondness there, but at least it was likely little more than a friendship in their eyes. The last staff hadn't seen too much more, but...but enough that there was less risk. They'd just have to keep it up for a while longer.

 

[Aerynth]

"We did," Cyreia sighed. "That doesn't mean the prospect makes me happy, though." King Loran was one of the many, many things she didn't miss about Eupriunia, and the idea of meeting him again filled her with quiet dread. The way he had looked at her? It always seemed as if he had seen into the very depths of her soul. What if he somehow managed to uncover all of her secrets with a single glance? What if he just knew? Logically, it made no sense, of course; for all of his perceptiveness, king Loran had never even suspected that something was amiss with her. Or had he? No. No, he never would have forgiven her for spitting on the sacred Eupriunian ideology in such a profound way. He didn't know who she truly was and he never would, either. It was going to be alright, Cyreia said to herself. And if not alright, then almost certainly manageable. There was no hurdle, no obstacle they wouldn't overcome together, after all. Perhaps that belief was childish, but-- well, it brought her comfort. It also seemed to be true. Hadn't events of the past few months proved that they made a fine team?

"Oh, I wouldn't actually worry about that," she smirked. "King Loran doesn't associate himself with mere servants. To him, they may as well be air. He... doesn't even seem to notice that they're there, really." That, too, was probably just a pose; in order to distance himself from the commonfolk, he had to look like their very existence didn't concern him. Still, pose or not, it worked in their favor. As smart as it would be, king Loran wouldn't go around interrogating their staff. Then again, though, that... wasn't the greatest danger they would face from him, even if he suddenly decided to discard all of his opinions and actually did that. Cyreia rose from her chair and put her hands on her shoulders, both gentle but insistent. "He's much more likely to interrogate you, Remin. King Loran-- well. Before he sent me here, we spoke about you briefly. He thinks that you are... weak. A pretty doll stuffed in a pretty dress." It was so obviously untrue that saying it aloud felt wrong, but Cyreia still forced herself to repeat his words; Remin deserved to know what her king thought of her, no matter how ugly it was. Because of how ugly it was. Only knowing the full extent of it, after all, could help her prepare herself for everything it would entail. "As such, he is going to target you. The weakest link and all that. I'll do my best to protect you, though I'm afraid I can't shield you from everything. You'll just... need to be strong."