My wife and I have a ritual. It goes like this:
I tell the truth.
"I love you."
And then she lies.
"I love you, too."
We do it every single morning.
Today is friday. A year ago, I cut back from a five-day work week to a four-day one and told Iron Heart that the the company had to cut everyone's pay since times were tough.
Compared to all the other lies I've told her, it's nothing but a small fib.
As the love of my life heads to work at the Castle, I wait a few minutes to ensure that she's well and gone before heading out in the opposite direction.
Halfway to my destination, I duck into a dark alley, hiding behind some crates stacked near the back. I emerge a new stallion. My clothes are cleaner, crisper. I look, and feel, younger, more virile, like I was ten years ago when I first met Iron Heart. My movement are lighter too, less burdened by the weight of age.
I hate this new me with every fiber of my being.
I continue walking down the street, stopping in front of a large, beautiful mansion. I climb up the the polished marble staircase and knock on the heavy wooden door.
A few moments later, the door opens, revealing the purpose of my journey here. "Ah, there you are!" the mare says from the other side of the doorway. "I've been waiting since dawn for my weekly massage. Come in."
I do so, and as soon as the door closes I find myself pressed against the wall, hungry lips trailing a line of kisses from my mouth to my neck. "I've missed you so much," she whispers as her hooves roam over my body.
"I've missed you too," I reply.
We have our own ritual, the two of us. She tells me a truth.
"I love you, my dearest."
And I tell her a lie.
"I love you too, honey."
Eventually, she pulls away from me. "I've got the bedroom ready for us," she tells me, her eyes burning with a fire that I'd once seen in another mare. "Let's go."
She ascends the stairwell, swaying her hips to and fro as she moves to bring attention to her voluptuous rump. As my loins quicken at the sight, so to does my heart ache as the pain of betrayal nearly staggers me. Still, I follow behind her, affecting a leer on my expression in case she looks back.
Golden Silk is everything Iron Heart is not. Young where she is mature. Soft where she is hard. Decadent. Passionate. Golden is an opulent and decadent mare, desiring only the finest luxuries money can buy, while Iron is thrifty and spartan, who believes in function over form. Golden is passionate and fiery, a tornado of flame, while Iron is cool and collected, a bastion of ice.
Golden Silk loves me.
Iron Heart does not.
I despise Golden.
And yet, as we enter her bedroom, I playfully nip at her tail. She squeals and playfully bats at me with it. I put on a false smile that she does not see through as we climb into the bed together.
Afterwards, I feel invigorated, alive, full of energy and ready to take on the world again.
It sickens me.
"Must you leave so soon?" she whines as I get dressed.
I turn around and stroke her cheek lightly with my hoof. "I'm sorry, my love, but I must take my leave before your parents return."
"Oh, pooh on them!" Golden playfully bats at me. "Why can't they see that it doesn't matter how much money you have or what titles you don't have? What matters is what's on the inside, right?"
"Right," I reply. "But I cannot offer you the life you deserve."
"All I want is a life with you." A bright smile crossed her face. "We could run away together! Ditch the shackles of our positions and let's travel the world without having to worry about what the world wants us to be!"
This isn't the first time she's said this; every few months she decided she would forsake all ties and flee the city. I spend a few minutes playing at making plans to live in the Everfree with Golden, knowing that she'll have changed her mind before our next meeting.
She prefers the idea of a forbidden relationship. It’s part of why she loves me so much. If I’d told her I’m married, she would’ve loved me even more.
The truth hurts far more than the lie, however.
Finally, with a smile on my face and a hole in my heart, I say goodbye and head back out into the busy Canterlot streets, blending into the crowd with practiced ease.
On my way home, I stop by a nondescript building with a fading sign that proclaims it to be a consulting firm of some sort. Inside, I greet the receptionist with my code phrase before being led into the basement.
Once inside, I drop my disguise.Green fire races down my body to reveal a hard, black exoskeleton lined with holes. It reaches my head, and my fangs grow back, extending from my muzzle as my tongue lengthens. My wings become weak, gossamer-like things, a poor tradeoff for the jagged horn now sprouting from my temple.
"Agent Chitin, report!"
I provide a summary of my activities for the week to my current handler, who was sent to us from the Hive a few months ago. I don’t know his name. I hardly care; all changelings are equally hateful to me. When it comes time to divulge intel on Equestria's military gleaned from my relationship with Iron Heart, I provide some false information that seems true enough to satisfy them.
This is one lie I have happily told for the past nine years, ever since I made the greatest mistake a changeling could make.
On my way out, I'm stopped by another changeling. "Hey Chitin," his thin, reedy voice calls out to me.
"Thorax." I turn to address him. "How are you adjusting to life in Canterlot?"
"I'm… doing good," he replies, his eyes darting back and forth nervously. "I've never been out of the Hive other than to go on some raids on the nearby villages. This city is so big, and so full of love."
"That it is. And when our Queen conquers this land all that love will be ours for the taking." The standard lines roll off my tongue from memory, remnants of a time when I was a different changeling. "We shall feast as we never have before."
"I… I guess." Leaning closer, Thorax's next words are hushed. "Do we really have to invade though? These ponies seem pretty nice. Maybe if we just tried to–"
"That sounds a lot like treason, Agent." I place a hoof over his muzzle to stop him from saying anything that I might have to report. "Do your duty, and remember: ponies are food, not friends." Sound advice. It's too late for me, but I can at least save another from my pain.
"Of course." Thorax turns away from me. "I guess it doesn't matter anyways. We'll be invading in a few months."
Years of training as an infiltrator and even more years of experience being deep cover allowed me to keep up my calm façade despite the panic gripping my heart. "Oh, our Queen has finally decided to act? How wonderful."
"Yeah, I overheard Pharynx and a few of the other higher-ups talking about it. We probably won't be part of the first attack, though. They want us to stay undercover."
"I see. Well, I suppose we might learn more as our time of triumph nears. Good day, Thorax."
"Bye, Chitin." A flash of fire, and I am once again the mature stallion who has seen far too much in life.
The return home takes less time than usual, fear lending swiftness to my steps. When I arrive at our humble abode, I begin preparing dinner. I've become skilled at the culinary arts since I arrived to Canterlot; ever since I began playing the role of a pony full-time, I've developed a taste for their cuisine, and Iron Heart is fond of anything that doesn't remind her of the meals she had to endure during her time in the barracks.
As I set the pot of water on the stove to boil, my mind wanders back to my conversation with Thorax. If an invasion truly is imminent, then Iron Heart needs to know. Plans of whisking her away somewhere safe in the chaos of the initial rush filter through my mind for a few seconds before being discarded. Iron Heart would never let anyone pull her from the front lines, would be right there in the battle directing her troops.
No, the only to protect Heart would be to make sure the invasion never happened.
A chiming at the front door announces the arrival of my wife. "Hello, Heart," I say as I hear her hoofsteps behind me. "Dinner's almost ready."
"Thank you, dear." Formal, polite, cool. Iron Heart was never one for outgoing displays of affection, but that had always been okay with me; after all, I always had her steady stream of love flowing into me to let me know the truth of her devotion.
At least, until that flow had turned into a trickle, and then into nothing, too slowly for me to tell until it was too late.
We sit down at the table, a plate of rice and vegetables in front of each of us. Despite my expert preparation of the meal, it tastes like ashes in my mouth, a phenomenon I have sadly come to expect.
"How was your day?" I ask between bites of my food.
"Fine," she replies, "same as usual. How was yours?"
"It was good." Keeping my voice deliberately casual, I ask, "did you know that there's a whole series of tunnels underneath the mountain?"
Iron looks up in surprise? "Where did you hear that?"
I can tell her the truth right now. I can tell her that changelings have been using the caves for years to move large numbers of changelings in and out of the city without arousing suspicion, and that I was one such changeling sent to infiltrate the city.
I can tell her all about the false reports I've been sending, offer to make my position of double agent official, as it were. And once that secret is out, I can ask her why she fell out of love with me.
We can start over again. It will take time to win her trust again, but I can see it in my mind's eye: a future where we recapture lost love, where I don't have to sneak out every Friday to visit Golden Silk.
"One of my clients is a fan of spelunking, and he told me that he stumbled upon them one day. Apparently they run all the way to the base of the mountain. He even saw a group of other ponies there too."
They say cowards die many times before their death. As another lie slips from my tongue, I feel another part of me wither away.
"Hmm, I should probably get the guards to investigate that," Iron says. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, dear."
The rest of the dinner passes by in silence. There is no more for us to say. Afterwards, we put our dishes in the sink and clean them with practiced coordination, with me washing and her drying.
"So, what do you want to do tonight?" I ask, leaning over to wrap a foreleg around my wife. "We could catch a movie, or stay in. You've got some pretty tense joints there; do you want me to work my magic hooves on them?"
"I need to review the guard rosters for the wedding," Iron replied, shrugging off my attempts at intimacy. "Even though it's a few months away, there's still a lot of work to be done, especially since Captain Armor won't be able to supervise the guard at the event itself."
"Alright," I say, unsurprised after years of seeing her prioritize work over me. "I'll just clean up around the house, then."
In this moment, part of me wants to ask her what I've done wrong. Was I too assertive? Not assertive enough? Did I not show enough interest in her work or hobbies? Should I have spent more time with her? Less? What can I do to win her love again? Is it even possible? I have to believe that it is, or else I've betrayed my true love for nothing. The words are on the tip of my tongue, begging to be spoken so that I can have my second chance.
Instead, I press a kiss to her cheek and tell her a truth.
"I love you."
She doesn’t even bother with a lie, this time.
