Remin did have a point, certainly, but the prospect of her lying on the floor while she got to enjoy the soft mattress was bizarre. "What?" Cyreia raised her eyebrow, clearly scandalized. "No. You shouldn't have to do that. We'll just sleep together tonight. A lot of people do that, so I don't see why we can't." A solid argument, except that she wasn't like those hypothetical people who lived in their normal, uncomplicated marriages and didn't have to pretend they were something they weren't. It's not a big deal, she tried to convinced herself. We'll just sleep, that's all there is to it. That was true. There really would be no more than that, not now and not ever, but it was still difficult for her mind not to jump to certain associations. Fortunately, Remin was changing, so she didn't get to see her expression in that moment.
"I'm sure it will work out," Cyreia said as she tucked herself under the blanket, her eyes already closing on their own. This had been a long, long day. Tomorrow would be even longer. "Sleep well, Remin." With that, she retreated to her half of the bed, almost to the very edge of the mattress, and fell asleep.
By the morning, the magic-induced haze finally wore off. Cyreia felt good, refreshed even, but the plans they had made for this day didn't instill her with confidence. They'd still see them through, though. Remin deserved to get some conclusion to this mess, to know what had truly happened the day her parents had died. Only that could allow her to move on eventually. "Good morning," Cyreia smiled at Remin when she woke up; being used to getting up early had its benefits, such as being able to get changed into her normal clothes without the risk of being caught red-handed. "See? We survived. That's progress." Let's see if we can also survive our trip, Cyreia almost wanted to say, but she managed to stop herself just in time. Remin probably wouldn't appreciate this kind of humor the way her compatriots had. It hit too close to home, although that was, of course, the whole point.
Time flew quickly, definitely too quickly for her liking, and before she could really prepare herself for the trials they would be subjected to, they were suddenly standing in the courtyard, waiting for Lord Vestat. He didn't let them wait for long. "Remin, my king," he bowed, his eyes kind, but then his gaze lingered on the sword hanging around her waist and some of that warmth was replaced by caution. "Oh, wondering about this?" Cyreia pointed towards the weapon with a smile. "Just a habit, my lord. At this point, I consider my blade to be my good luck charm." Cyreia really did bring her sword almost everywhere, mainly because she felt vulnerable without its weight at her side, so it didn't even sound like a lie. Vestat, at least, seemed content with her explanation. "Well, my king, if it pleases you, who am I to judge?"
The winery wasn't very far from the castle, so they went on foot. Vestat spoke of the history of the place - it had apparently been built by his great-grand parents thanks to a bet that had gone too far - but Cyreia couldn't really follow the story. Not when her attention was consumed with watching... just about everything, really. Vestat, Remin, their surroundings, even herself; there would be no more magical accidents today if she could help it and Remin had said that increased awareness should prevent them from happening. The mere idea of becoming so weak again made her shudder. No, her focus had to remain sharp.
The winery itself was, frankly, charming. Rather small, but with a lot of love poured into it; all the plants looked to be carefully taken care of, the ever-present green was easy on the eyes and the air smelled of flowery sweetness Cyreia couldn't really categorize. An ideal place for a trip, or it would have been if her thoughts weren't too busy with images of death, betrayal and danger. Vestat insisted on tasting some of the local wine ("It would be a waste not to do so, my king,") and Cyreia had to comply, if only to appear less suspicous. She only drank sparingly, though, and when Vestat looked the other way, she spilled the contents of her glass covertly. Getting drunk would have been no better than spontaneously using magic again. Cyreia preferred to stay useful, thank you very much. The three of them proceeded to go check out the plantations from up-close, Vestat chatting with Remin the entire time. Now would be the good time to breach the topic, but how? Cyreia looked at Remin, hoping that her wife had some kind of idea. She certainly didn't. How to bring it up without accusing him immediately?