"Haven't you always known me to be bold, Your Majesty?" Her lips quirk into a slight smile—falling into this sort of banter has always been strangely easy with Edelgard. "And... think nothing of it. I wanted this to be special, for the both of us."

Byleth has the delayed realization that she forgot a corkscrew, and looking at the bottle in consternation for a brief moment, she retrieves a slim knife from her bag and stabs into the cork, twisting hard enough to wrench it free. It's clearly not the first time she's done something like this. With that handled, she pours a cup for the both of them, leaning slightly into Edelgard's touch.

"I would love to model for you, El. I don't like the portraits that have been made of me, but..."

They all tried to capture some false ideal. Whether it was the portrait of the so-called "Enlightened One" that had been unveiled to her, or even the proud official depictions as the Empire's marshal that she'd seen sketches and studies for during the war... it all rang false, even if she was proud of the latter role.

"None of them are me. They're... the saint. Or the general. But you've always seen me instead."