( Accepting the wine with a quiet murmur of gratitude, Herian moves to the sofa as well. Her body is still bruised and painful, and sitting is not an act that can be carried out without her muscles making some protest, but she sees it through without betraying the spike of soreness. )

Mayhaps it reminds us of our true state. So much in our lives is... an artifice, constructed to keep us in check. Some aspects for the best. ( Others presumably less so, from her tone. ) We all of us rely on codes to govern us.

( A knight was hardly an exception to that. )

Do you oft rely upon permission, Miss Ives?