The Rose Way

Seed had to admit, though he wasn’t too keen on playing this game of secrecy and patience with the identity of Dancer’s rescuer—necessity quite understood, of course—Prim Collar certainly knew how to soften the proverbial blow. That blow, of course, being the understanding that tonight might not be the night he presented the courier to them.

The Lord Heir of Damme had granted Petal prime real estate among the catering parties of Merrie and Damme, their table situated near the center of the wall opposite the entrance, right in the line of sight, and right along the invisible line of demarcation which was certain to divide Prim and Rose guests much like their cities. A bit of a helper, he realized.

No Prim would need to venture too far into “Rose Territory” on the dance floor in order to sample Petal’s fare. Which, naturally, meant their Dammeguard courier might just feel a little less skittish.

If he should feel a bit curious and want to try something new.

An expert move. Collar was certainly a stallion after Seed’s own heart. Such a pity he hadn’t seemed interested that night, but oh well.

He would look quite handsome by Rosewater’s side anyway. Seed hadn’t missed how those cheeks colored when he’d teased about the courier’s bags falling nowhere near her—nor the denials which didn’t sputter forth from his lips.

A sting of teeth upon his cheek made him turn, smiling as he found Petal falling back on four hooves to glare up at him. Seed rolled his shoulders, showing off his pink tux. “Benefit of these sleeves, dear heart,” he teased. “You have to rear up to get me.”

Those verdant eyes he so adored narrowed, but Petal couldn’t fight back a smile. The night promised too much excitement, even to scold him too hard for his lapses. “You quit your fooling around,” she warned without heat. “And help me finish the setup. I still need you to shovel ice in the wine chillers. Unless we want my new vintage to flop.”

“Ah, heavens, no.”

The stallion set about setting up a quartet of wire stands fitted with buckets made from shimmering gold filigree. He stopped ice from the chests so thoughtfully provided by their hosts, and filled each chiller three-quarters of the way, just as Petal and her father, Rosewine Cabernet, had taught him when the pair first started helping with the hosting duties.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed a mare about a decade or so older fixing Petal with a baleful look. He took note of her coat, a pale periwinkle like maturing grapes, and silvery mane, her eyes, he couldn’t quite see from this distance, but her cutie mark belayed the reason behind that glare.

A pair of wine glasses clinking together, flanked by a tall blue bottle.

Prim blue, of course.

Seed turned away, hiding a smile. “Oh, dear,” he murmured, just low enough that Petal could hear. “I think the matron of Primyard and Vine is trying to scorch a hole through your head, Pet.”

Snorting, Petal glanced over her shoulder at the mare. “Probably just angry that we have such a fine location,” she mused, winking at her family’s old rival. “And that she and hers don’t have the gumption to come a little closer to the Rose side of things.”

He didn’t need to look to know how the Primyard matron’s glare intensified like a roaring inferno. The stallion could feel it upon his coat, trying to scorch through his hide.

Leaning over, he murmured, “Let’s not antagonize her too much.” Seed nipped at her cheek, and gave the incoming Prim guests something to whisper about. “Not when Lord Collar has extended us a friendly hoof.”

“Of course.” Petal turned to brush her cheek against his. “I can at least revel in tempting virgin palates though, right?”

“Darling, if you didn’t, I’d worry you’d taken ill.”

The butterflies which so loved to flutter about in his belly refused to be denied this night. In fact, they brought an entire bloody swarm along for the fun.

Across the room, Baroness Lace spared a moment to greet a pair of nobles from the Prim Mane house, Note stole a moment to adjust his dress uniform for what felt like the dozenth time.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sunrise muttered out of the side of her mouth. The mare was in her armor and helm, on duty for the night. Note certainly held rank, but right now, fidgeting wasn’t helping anypony.

The guests of honor—dubious though it was for at least one of their number—were yet to arrive. The Dammeguard were on edge, treaty sanctioned event or not.

Sanctioned? Mandated was more apt.

The Primrose Gala was required. No action could be taken this night.

Not unless anypony wanted to witness the combined might of Firelight Spark and Wandering Star before they called a violation of terms and summoned Princess Celestia to pass verdict on both cities.

“Apologies, Sergeant,” Note replied with a bow of his head. “Habit.”

Sunrise hadn’t missed the hint. Her ears lowered a touch. “Sorry, Lieutenant. Just … tense lately.”

He offered a thin smile and nod. You don’t know the half of it. “Try to relax,” he advised, contrary to the whispers rising to nibble at his ears. Nibbling on how he hadn’t seen her in months, hadn’t held her or been held, hadn’t felt them in so long. Much could change in four months. Note swallowed and drew in a deep breath. “And just try to enjoy a peaceful night.”

With his piece said, the stallion busied himself with trying to obey his own urgings. His hoof itched to reach up and tap against his right breast pocket, worrying that his gift had been forgotten or somehow slipped out.

It wouldn’t have. It hadn’t the previous four times. The last he’d checked had been mere minutes ago.

That had been about the point Sunrise originally asked if he was feeling well or needed to go ask leave to be dismissed home for the evening.

What he needed was to feel her cheek against his, and her warm body in his hooves again. And, in a few hours, their lovers’ embrace.

All Note needed was that physical touch to bring him back to ground and let him feel that their hearts were still open to him, and their love still strong.

Stars, he didn’t even care if the next two nights passed without sex. Two nights of cuddling after four months apart would be like a balm. The stallion swallowed both nerves and need, and let his gaze wander the road ahead, searching the coats and manes of the coming guests in search of his love.

Coat appeared by his side and leaned in to mutter, “Lord Collar needs us. Come along.”

Curious. Note’s brow furrowed. Typically, once sent to escort, he was left to his own devices. What could Collar need him for now?

He followed Coat to the main entrance, where Collar was still greeting visitors.

His eyes found, briefly, a visage of utmost horror. Roseate Rosethorn, in all her insidious glory, striding toward them, a wide berth around her despite all promise of protection afforded by the treaty—and for good reason.

She’d broken its spirit recently. A failed effort, but fresh.

Naturally, the witch did not come alone. As always, two daughters joined her. One, Silk Rose, a formidable scent mage who bound hers to silken bonds and wove them around snout and limb to ply her magics upon unsuspecting victims. She had chosen to make one of her custom dresses, adorning herself with her namesake and utilizing it to style her mane into a rather impressive coiffure.The other—

His heart leapt and took residence in his throat.

No amount of training or stoic will could have spared him this.

In four months, Rose Crown had surely learned the means to capture all the allure of a siren, physical and vocal, and deigned to test his will against this new offensive. Her carmine mane had always been styled in lovely, bouncing curls which gave an appearance so like her namesake, and her coat, vellum, such that it almost reminded him of a bit of froth around the ridges of a cup of coffee.

Tonight, they glowed. Those curled tresses seemed to shine a dusty red to deepening carmine with the loving caress of dancing torchlight. A matching dress flowed forth from her left shoulder, affixed by a pink broach, to skirt just above her ankles. Around her waist, a pink sash wrapped around her like a lover’s embrace, a subtle tease of one he’d craved for months.

One she’d craved in kind.

Stars above, were it not for propriety and secrecy and the mere fact that his fellow Dammeguards would surely fall upon the pair of them and haul him to a hot box to sweat out a lure, Note would have happily left his place and met her in the middle of the courtyard, greeted her with a brush of his nose against hers and a whispered …

A whispered what exactly?

Note realized in that instant that his tongue had quite cheerfully knotted and glued itself to the roof of his mouth.

The first thought which managed to pierce through the momentary haze her immediate presence conjured was that his love was, indeed, a most wicked mare. The second …

Well. The second was that if they and their loves ever got to the point of one of those chases he’d read about in various bits of Rose lore they’d pushed into his hooves, Note had the distinct feeling Crown would play unfairly and bring this or some similar visage back so she might ensnare his eyes even before her song rose to fill his ears.

The smile she gave Collar wore warm and friendly. Just like herself, when not firmly suppressed beneath her mother’s hoof. For once, unguarded.

Though not nearly so much as the look she sent Note once certain her mother could not see her eyes beneath her tresses.

Collar continued along with some line of comment he’d been in the middle of making when they’d approached, “… We’ll make sure she’s well cared for and has no cause to complain to Firelight during his inspections. And… Silk. That is a lovely dress. I hear tell through the whispering birds that you made your sister’s as well?”

Silk raised her head to meet his eyes. There was a flicker of movement, between he and her mother, before her eyes betrayed a sort of softness Note hadn’t expected. “I did. Is she here already? I really would like to see how the final fit came out.”

Roseate stiffened before Collar shook his head.

Note filed this away for later thought. And, perhaps, a question for Crown.

“She is not. I believe that’s her just behind you, crossing the courtyard.” Collar lifted his head to look over them. “Coat, Note, could you please accompany these lovely mares to the ballroom? I’m afraid I can’t leave my post until later.”

“If I may,” Crown said demurely, the slight twitching at either corner of her mouth betrayed a hint of mischief, “ask a diversion first? I wish to find the title of a book I started, but did not finish, when I was in your custody.”

“Of course. Note?”

“It would be a pleasure, my lord. Lady?” Note asked, beckoning her forward with far more gravitas than he felt.

She stepped forward that she might walk beside him, her shoulder and hip brushing with his as they began their walk. A silent crowing that she could see the excitement in her lover.

And a vow that it would be rewarded later on.

A book? A book? You wicked, crafty mare! Note bowed slightly, as expected. “Yes, my lord.”

With her nod, he turned about on his hooves and led her by a half-step into Prim Palace like a proper Prim gentle stallion. His heart hammered in his chest. Four months apart. Stars, he felt every day in an instant.

Note couldn’t resist.

He looked, hoping he a look alone could tell her how he’d longed to be this close again.

That she could see in his eyes how much he loved her.

The Rosethorn mare ducked her head, a dusting of pink bleeding into those cheeks as she peered over the ridges of her glasses. With the heat rising in her cheeks, he could smell the sweet fragrance she’d dotted behind her ears and the nape of her neck floating to him.

Bluebells and roses.

So sweet.

Stars, if he didn’t long to just take her in his hooves and drink it in.

Once they were out of earshot, Note went to work. He reached into the ballroom with his magic and set a spell in place, then wrapped around them one of his thrumming privacy spells, this one tuned to a light piano melody. “A book, my lady?” he murmured out of the side of his mouth.

Her cheeks flushed. “I’ll not be shamed,” came her reply. “I’ll not be shamed for longing to play our games together and see what I do to you, my dear.” Those rosy eyes danced. Once they’d turned the corner, Crown drifted close and flirted her tail against his rump. “From our loves.”

“O-Only from them?” Note managed to tease.

And fell right into her trap.

Crown brushed a shoulder against him. “Patience, dear Note. I’ll see that tongue tied in short order before we return to my Librarium.”

Rose Petal was in her element, her smile radiant as she levitated a bottle in the shimmering green glow of her magic and spoke to a quartet of Prims, “… Perhaps I might tempt you to try a vintage named for a dear friend of mine? Rose Cordial, a fine stallion and tender hoof on the vine. I think you’ll detect a rather pleasant hinting of springtime blooms will help warm us for the dances. Much needed, after that chilly walk, I should think.”

While his wife buttered them up, Seed let his eyes flutter shut as he drew in what, to most, must have seemed merely the beginnings a contented sigh.

The benefit of ponies only just filtering in and migrating toward the various catering stalls was, naturally, a chance for Petal to work her silver tongue on the braver Prims or few Roses who didn’t favor her vintages. Yet.

Even fewer could say otherwise once she’d tempted them enough to let her work her magic and select from her arsenal a vintage among those she’d brought that would surely light their eyes.

In Seed’s opinion, his wife didn’t need any sort of scent magic talent to entice—and she did have notable talent, even lacking Rosethorn heritage. She was like Rosemary in her own way.

Her word, her presentation of herself and her wares, and that little dabbing of white rose and chocolate perfume behind her ears were all the enticement she needed.

Was it any small wonder, then, that some of the more hardline Prims honestly felt she’d lured their Dammeguard lovers? Stars knew Dazzle and Prism loved to tease and needle her with claims themselves under her spell whenever her wine tastings were in swing.

Of course, there was a secondary benefit to the current state of the ballroom, yet unfilled, but slowly progressing toward the expected crowd. Less ponies meant he could pick out individual scents a bit more readily. Without tapping into his gifts and unnerving the Prims with his markings’ glow.

So when Seed breathed that contented sigh and smiled at a young stallion from a minor Prim house as he accepted a glass of Cordial Cabernet, not a pony among them was any the wiser that he’d casually scented them. They must have though him reveling in her success.

Practice kept the smile on his face, despite another wafting of disappointment.

Not a hint of orange blossoms among the myriad scents worn by the Roses and those halfhearted efforts of the Prims.

Come on, Collar. You gave your word. Where is he?

He could just imagine Rosewater chiding his impatience. Oh, she would smirk at him and probably delight in a brief snippet of a lecture. Just enough that a few friendly caterers might hear and get a chuckle or two at his expense.

Which was why she could sit and goggle when he revealed he’d caught the stallion’s scent days ago. That’d teach her.

Still. It would’ve been nice if their mysterious courier just trotted up and served himself on a proverbial platter at the start. Unwittingly, perhaps. But at least they could get a look before things got too bound by formalities.

Easier to get a read on him that way.

Petal winked and floated a fresh glass of Springtime Jubilee, a lovely blend of fruit and rhubarb joined together with some of his own red roses. A celebration of the village’s bounty.

He accepted it with a gracious nod and a kiss upon her cheek, and aimed a smile at that young stallion now sputtering on Cordial Cabernet. Poor dear wasn’t quite ready for that.

When Seed turned to face forward, his eyes met those of another Rosethorn. Another of his cousins.

It had been years since Silk Rose stood taller than he, but Seed now angled his head just slightly downward to meet her gaze. His own height inherited twofold from his parents’ lineage. The mare shifted, her splendorous silk dress trailing with the slight motion of her shoulders. Surely a tempting sight to track for any curious eye.

“Cousin,” she greeted softly, and offered a bow of her head.

Seed returned it in kind. “Silk,” he replied, drawing a wince.

They weren’t at odds, but neither were they exactly amicable. Seed tended to be politely distant these days. She and Vine garnered invitations to tastings, but were kept at hoof’s length.

Still, it was a far sight better than his relationship with Rosetail and the rest of their little brood, and Rosewater vouched for her.

So he offered a laurel.

“You’ve outdone yourself again,” he mused, flitting a look toward the doors. “I believe Crown was coming, no?”

A smile, a genuine one, tugged at Silk’s lips. “She wanted to make an impression on somepony,” she answered, her voice low as she nodded. “I can only hope that she has.”

For but a moment, Seed wanted to ask.

He wanted to just be a family like he was with Rosewater and Rosemary.

Instead, he merely raised his glass in salute. “She mentioned something similar before. Tending to a love she hoped would bloom, I believe,” he quipped. “Happy gardening, no?”

“Happy gardening indeed.” Silk shook her head and drew in a breath, her ears twitching once. “That vintage has a lovely fragrance,” she mused, daring to flick a look to Petal, who, presently, was cajoling a young pegasus stallion she’d managed to catch sending a curious glance before he slipped into the crowd. “May I? Two glasses, please?”

“Oh, we’ll leave her to another palate to tempt, I think.” Seed wrapped his magic around the bottle and a pair of nearby glasses. “If I can sleep while standing, I’m sure I can manage to pour wine.”

Another wince. Damn.

He’d only meant it as a joke.

Pressing his lips together, Seed blew a sigh through his nose. “Silk, I’m—“

“It’s fine, Seed,” she said, cutting him off with a wan smile. “Past wounds do sneak out in humor sometimes, no?”

Yes, that much was true enough. Still.

Still.

Damn Roseate and her machinations.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed a flicker of blue. Something nibbled at the back of his mind, lost beneath a lamenting at the state of his family. The stallion extended two glasses of Springtime to Silk and dipped his ears in apology.

“Enjoy, cousin,” he murmured. A token gesture, but one he hoped would take a bit of the heat from his words. “We look forward to seeing you again this winter.”

Silk Rose returned it with a smile and bow of her head. She took a sip, her eyes lighting as she took the chance to savor the taste.

For a bare instant, the mare let her guard fall, even with her mother looming somewhere in the ballroom. “My compliments to your wife and her vineyard,” she murmured, giving another bow before she turned and began to trot off to her mother’s side again. “And all under her employ.”

A short glimpse into what could be. What, stars willing, would be once Rosewater supplanted Roseate and restored honor to the city and the Rosethorn name.

Rosewater and Collar, he corrected himself, returning to his glass and drawing in a self-satisfied breath through his nose. Once again, that lovely scent brought warmth to his chest, and restored a sense of—

Orange blossoms and rainwater.

His brows disappeared beneath his bangs. Deep rosy eyes flitted about, searching out each and every pegasus he could find, armored or not. One of them, one of them was the right one!

The stallion turned and drew close to Petal, leaning in to hiss in her ear, “He’s here.”