The Rose Way

“Remember,” Seed teased, his lips mere inches from Stride’s left ear. A sort of sly mirth tinged his voice.

“No peeking,” Petal finished in his stead, stinging his shoulder with a light jolt of magic. “Or we’ll have to see if we can’t convince our mutual friend in Lord Collar if we can’t find some suitable punishment for rigging games.”

A shiver ran down his spine. “I-I keep telling you,” Stride whispered, fighting against a smile. “It was accidental! I heard the crowd and couldn’t help it!”

“I believe that,” she teased, “like I believe a Gardener foal with crumbs ‘round his lips that he hasn’t been digging in the cookie jar.”

The game itself was simple enough. And, honestly, who would possibly complain about such a delightful impromptu wine tasting?

Stars, was this the sort of life led in the Garden of Love?

Stride swallowed what tasted a bit too light to be a cabernet, but most certainly not any sort of white wine or rosé. Those tastes, Stride knew well enough from dalliances with Primyard and Vine vintages at some of his parents’ holiday affairs.

This one had been Petal’s choice, and she’d proven herself quite a fiend at this game, her selections enough to make his feathers fluff at will. Even the headier wines, those with the slight hint of tart aftertaste which he typically avoided managed to play just right on his tongue. Well, not quite tart. More almost a tang.

Seed, though, did well to keep up with her. He’d actually managed to take a lead with a rather sweet sauternes which carried with it a delicate strawberry and cream taste, a clever choice. One he tried to follow up with a bit of port wine.

Unfortunately, that had been his downfall. Hardly his fault.

How should he know Stride didn’t favor the nuttier wines?

Running his tongue along his lips to clear off a lingering drop of wine, Stride considered its sweet, fruity taste. Mulled wine?

Not his usual flavor, but certainly good.

Mindful of the rules he’d already broken twice, albeit unintentionally, Stride held out his glass for one of his hosts to relieve him of, then awaited their command to open his eyes.

“Okay,” Seed said, a smile evident in his voice. “Now.”

Stride fixed him with an apologetic smile. “Point to Rose Petal,” he supplied softly, flicking an ear toward the victorious mare. “You couldn’t have known I’m not much of a nutty wine stallion. I barely eat them unless I’m at a pub.”

The stallion let his shoulders slump, his ears splaying against his wife’s smug grin and prancing. “Damn,” he muttered. Seed breathed a sigh and shook his head. “I should’ve gone back to the sweet ones with a kick, I’d been doing great.”

“Too much kick can be a bad thing.” Petal winked at Stride, adding, “I almost had him on my father’s old Zinfandel. I knew he’d preen for me if I gave him something fruity right then and there.” Here, her grin turned teasing. “Something sweet as the stallion drinking it.”

“I was thinking something warm for the way he colors, myself.”

At very least, they’d let him swallow before teasing. And hadn’t let him try to polish off the rest of a glass just before. That had been an experience. One he didn’t care to repeat.

Still, Stride couldn’t deny this was fun. A rather familiar sort of teasing and flirting, and he suffering it with an awkward smile and rustling of wings while he tried to look away to hide the color bleeding into his face. An effort in vain, of course, but part of the whole game.

A slight fuzzy feeling began to creep into his mind. He blinked thrice. Four glasses for tasting, two for his own enjoyment. Not the worst he’d ever had in terms of getting sauced, but wine had a way of sneaking up faster than Dammerale if consumed quickly enough.

Were those glasses properly filled, Stride might have been singing and dancing like a Merrier at this point.

“Well, the bad news is that we’re all tied up,” Seed mused. He eyed Stride a moment, the teasing edge in his smile fading for a moment, and left him with one a sight more genuine. “And we may need to slow you down anyway. So, I think this next will be the finale. For all the rose petals, as it were.”

Petal hummed her agreement. “Let this be our tiebreaker, then. If our dear Dammeguard friend is willing to suffer us another round, of course.”

Stride felt himself trip mentally over her wording. Had he not given his name? After all this time drinking, playing, and being teased?

Stars above, Rosethorn and Rosewine or not, there were proprieties to be observed!

He ducked his head in apology. “It’s, er, Stride, sir. And ma’am,” he said with a sheepish half-smile. “Primfeather Stride.”

The Rosethorn stallion’s brows raised. “Well, well, I’d thought so with the dappling, especially that shade of gray,” he mused. “A Primfeather, a Rosewine, and a Rosethorn.” Chuckling, Seed waggled his ears. “All we need now are a Rosewing and a couple Primlines and we can have a little cross-section of history right here before our table, no?”

“You, er, don’t mind?”

“You paid bits for your glass,” came Seed’s reply, followed by a gesture toward his markings. “And I’ve yet to hear a word toward my heritage or my wife’s pass your lips, save that of politeness and a openness to play a game. Should I just because you have dapples on your face rather than these cut markings?”

Stride couldn’t help but duck his head at that reply. When put like that, well, it seemed rather silly of him to even ask.

He dipped his ears in apology, the nervous rustle of his wings telling of his hope that he hadn’t offended with his presumption. “Well, er, thank you. I’m willing—to do the tiebreaker, I mean,” he explained, his laurel offered. “I’m only fuzzy, not fully gone yet.”

“Fuzzy is fine, but a good place to stop at an event like this,” Petal replied with a nod and small smile. “In any case, yes. I think I have mine quite in mind already, so if you’ll be so kind, Stride—“

She cut off and flicked a questioning look toward the Damme side of the room in the same instant a hoof hooked around Stride’s foreleg.

When Stride turned, he found himself face to face with his eldest brother and heir to the Primfeather house, Gale. “Excuse us,” he said without so much as sparing the Rose couple a glance, and drew Stride away from their table.

“Hey! Gale!” Stride squawked as his brother frogmarched him a few steps out of earshot. His feathers bristling, he jerked his hoof out of Gale’s grasp and fixed him with a glare. “Do you have any idea how rude that was? How bad that makes us look?”

Gale scoffed. “To Roses?” He flicked his tail and gave a derisive snort. “Like anypony here who matters cares how we look to them. Do you have any idea how stupid you look?”

“For what? Being polite? Partaking in a bit of a wine tasting game? Shock and horror abound!”

The eldest of the Primfeather siblings fixed Stride with a stern look. “You know exactly what I mean,” came his reply, his voice low so it was almost a warning growl. “Chatting up a Rosethorn is enough, stars forbid, but you’re telling them what you enjoy! Do you want the pair of them or some of their fellows—“ he waved his hoof wildly toward the opposite side of the ballroom “—to make a lure meant for you? One of their customized fragrances? If so, do carry on! I’m sure they’re picking out the components of the wine you’ve just sampled for one right now.”

“The entire bloody purpose of the Primrose Gala is to try to foster relations anyway!” Stride hissed back. “Not everypony is that—“ he flicked a look to Roseate, then back, quickly “—not everypony in Merrie falls in step with her anymore than everypony in Damme with you and dad!”

That drew a flinch, and a glare.

It was no secret how the Primfeathers loathed their dying influence in Damme politics. The success of the Lace Reformations in the days before Roseate took power all but cemented their status, but modern times left small cracks in that faith.

Small, but present.

“Then you don’t pay attention,” Gale said, calling him back to present. “That mare, Rosewine Petal—she has lured—“

“Allegedly,” Stride cut him off with a stomp of his hoof. “She’s allegedly lured five Dammeguards, and two have returned to Damme saying otherwise. Free of any influence of lure.” He fixed Gale with a sickly smile. “It took a minute to recognize her on sight, but yes. I know the name and the list. Of the three of us brothers, I’m the only Dammeguard.”

Again, his comment drew a flinch. This time, one more abashed than pained by a shot at family pride.

Gale shook his head, turning away. “You’re a bloody fool.” He glanced back over his shoulder at Stride, and sighed, almost disappointed. “You were already fool enough to befriend that Rosewing, if you’re fool enough to chat up a wanted mare and a minor lord of a village of ponies who indiscriminately rut and drink themselves into a stupor, be my guest. Oh, and Stride?” His brow arched. “A Dammeguard should know just how much Roses love tempting ponies who shy from social life. Makes them easier to miss. Food for thought.”

With his piece said, Gale strode through the throng of Prim nobility, bound to return to his parents’ side like the dutiful son he was.

Leaving Stride to stand alone, bristling amidst a crowd of curious Prim nobles awaiting to see if there might be a furthering of hostilities. The evening had been rather dull, save Collar’s announcement. The second act should begin soon.

Just because Stride had a bit of trouble and stumbled over socializing didn’t mean he completely shied away—it just meant he picked his spots! He picked a nice, small circle.

Quite small.

Now that he thought about it, most of his circle were Dammeguards like himself. Not a whole lot of variety.

He shook himself. Gale was just digging at him. Needling him for not following Wing’s way to the letter.

Still, that comment about Seed being a lordling warranted some examination. After they finished their game.

Stride drew in a deep, calming breath and steeled himself. This was going to be awkward.

Stars help him when Rosemary’s freedom was negotiated and they could be friendly in a more public forum. This would be trouble enough.

He turned and did his best not to look to frazzled or nervous as he returned to the Rosewine Vineyards table, a sheepish smile worn plain upon his face. That fuzziness tickling the back of his mind died beneath the old familial embarrassment. “I cannot apologize enough for my brother,” he said with a little bow of his head. “It, er, seems he’s somehow forgotten himself and any sense of manners this evening.”

Seed, to his credit, cocked his head, his own smile similar in feeling. “You can’t choose family,” he murmured softly.

Petal turned to bump her nose against his shoulder, a comforting gesture. “If I judged ponies for their families’ idiocy, I’d never have married this lug,” she mused, flicking a look to Stride. “I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t seem too happy. Are you well?”

“As well as I can be, thanks.” She didn’t seem to be playing an angle. No more than she had while choosing wines for him to taste.

He flicked a glance at Seed, considering him. Collar had mentioned the Garden leadership wanted to meet him, to talk with him about that day on the bridge.

Could these two really be the leaders of a village? A pair who would stop and play and tease a random pony at the Primrose Gala like this was one of their normal wine tastings?

“Perhaps we should return to happier things,” Petal offered, raising her brows. “The game still begs completion, if you feel up to it.”

It took an effort of will not to glance about to search out the eyes Stride felt upon them. Three sets, at least, belonged to his family. He could almost feel the scandal in his mother’s eyes, and the baleful glare in his father’s.

So he’d give them something to really enjoy.

Stride bobbed his head. “I’ve flown home in worse condition,” he replied.

It earned him a hum he just knew was one of disapproval, the sort one kept unvoiced, but made certain to ensure it was known. Still, Petal smiled genially and said, “Very well, one more round of our game.” A sly glint shown in her eyes, she looked to Seed and smirked. “Winner gets to first dance with our new friend?”

“Certainly. Stride, would you accept those terms?” Seed asked.

Already, Stride could envision the volcanic eruption in his father’s head the instant he accepted a dance with a Rose.

Such a shame he didn’t know more than four decent ones, counting these two, or he might think about filling his dance card for the night—think about it, not actually pull it off.

There were limits, even to fantastical notions of sticking it up Prim Wing’s ass.

He bobbed his head, then took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes.

A slight disturbance of air brushed across his face. Rose Seed testing to see if he was cheating, no doubt. An approving hum drew a flick of his ears, he could hear the stallion take a step closer and murmur something in Rose Petal’s ear, then a sharp intake of breath.

Stride cracked an eye, just to see the look upon her features. That coy, sultry smile had vanished, and in its place, the slightest glare. She whispered softly, her soft, luscious lips betraying an utterance of “that was my choice,” and Seed’s a merry grin which just screamed “I know!”

He squeezed his eye closed a mere instant before the pair glanced over and caught him looking. The telltale sound of tinkling bells, her magic joining in song with Rose Seed’s, was punctuated with that of the stopper plucked from the bottle, then joined with the trickle of wine.

Just a round or two, the pegasus told himself. That’s all he’d agreed to. If anything, he was just entertaining two lesser antagonists, one he couldn’t even recall from Lord Collar’s files.

Air shifted before his nose, the static energies of magic made his coat stand on end. Then, a warm snout brushing against his ear. “Your first,” Seed murmured softly. A hoof covered his eyes as he tried to open. “No cheating, Prim Stride,” he chided, amusement tingeing his voice. “Try.”

Stride felt the rim of the wine glass tease his lips. He let out a snort of laughter and took the glass in hoof, then tilted his head back to drink. A floral fragrance wafted to his nose first, familiar. A flower he knew, but couldn’t quite place. Light, sweet, and reminiscient of times spent flying around the garden parks of Damme.

A smile played upon his lips. He tipped the glass, drinking slower than the last so he could savor the taste, the sweet delights of floral nectar and traditional Rose wine made his feathers fluff. Cold, too. She’d chilled it.

A rosé of some sort, then. How fitting.

As the last drop rolled into his waiting mouth, he felt Rose Seed’s magic slide around the glass again. He released it without prompting to allow the stallion to hover it over to the mare for her selection.

Another chime of magic’s bells rang out, then the glass returned to his hoof.

“And there’s mine,” Rose Petal purred. “Enjoy.”

His tail swished. That tone and the scents of Rose wine enough to make a stallion’s mind wander. Prim Stride drank deeply, his breath hitching. This one came a bit stronger, headier, yet not so much as a red wine. A white, perhaps? There was a slight citrus taste to it, like orange blossoms in spring. His favorite flower.

How ever had she known?

When Stride finished, he drew the glass away and opened his eyes to find both Roses watching him expectantly.

“Well?” Petal prompted, laying her chin atop a hoof as she leaned over her table. Her eyes piercing his with a half-lidded gaze. “Which do you favor?”

They were both delicious. Both just perfect. Who could possibly choose one over the other?

The pegasus let his eyes fall to his glass a moment. “The easy answer is both,” he admitted with a weak laugh, trailing a primary along the rim. “But that doesn’t exactly match the game, does it?”

“Yes and no.” Seed touched the tip of his hoof to Stride’s chin and gently coaxed him to raise his head and meet those enchanting pink eyes once more. “If you like both or neither, we can offer others. If, as Petal says, you feel so bold.”

“I certainly hope so.” Petal turned her head, her tail swishing in concert like some hypnotic dance. Fittingly so. “He would make a wonderful wine taster. A virgin palate to nurture and test.”

Her words filled his cheeks with heat, and threatened to send it to the very tips of his ears. “I, er …” Stride’s wings rustled. “W-Well, that is, it’s not that I don’t favor one over the other, but they’re both delicious.”

“But,” she coaxed.

His ears burned. Stride’s eyes flitted between the pair once, then settled upon Rose Petal. “I heard you mention the first was going to be your choice as well. So, you were both right.” He turned to raise his glass at Rose Seed and raised his glass in nervous salute. “To the victor, as it were.”

Seed’s long, pink tail lashed in triumph. He retrieved the glass from Stride’s hoof with a warm smile, then turned his gaze upon a pouting Petal and said, “You heard the stallion, my dear. No hard feelings?”

She rolled her eyes, but returned his smile and leaned up toward him. “Only if you kiss me as sweetly as he speaks.”

“Now there is a challenge.”

Damme mores demanded Stride find something else to occupy his eyes while husband and wife kissed one another over the table before him, but lessons and teasing with Rosemary kept his focus somewhere in the general area. So he managed to return his attention to the many bottles lining the table, the colors and shapes all so gripping he felt almost like a foal in a candy shop.

Or perhaps that was the fuzzy feeling talking as it crept back into his head.

A stallion’s low chuckle drew his attention to Seed, now parted from that kiss shared with his wife. “Stars, such proper Dammer manners,” he teased with a waggle of his ears.

“But open to play a little,” Petal mused. With a heavy, obviously feigned sigh, she waved Seed over to him. “Go have your dance before I decide to steal it, you sneak.” She leveled him with a glare. “You’re going to pay for that trick, by the by. That was dirty.”

Seed gave a sweeping bow and grinned like a fool. “A price I shall pay with joy.” He stole a quick nip to her nose, then danced out of reach before she could reply in kind, though not quite quickly enough to avoid a stinging spell across his backside.

His grin never abated, though. Seed held out a hoof in offering to Stride and beamed. “May I have this dance, friend?” he asked warmly.

Somewhere, Stride was certain his mother was suffering the beginnings of illness.

Which meant it was time to kick her over the edge and straight into a heart attack.

He returned Seed’s smile with a shy half-smile of his own, and accepted the offered hoof. “Only if you don’t expect me to be good at this either,” came his reply.

Laughing, Seed squeezed his hoof, then turned to guide him toward the dance floor. “I’m quite certain,” the larger stallion said, “you’ll dance as well as you play. Perhaps as well as you sample wine, by the joy in my wife’s eyes.”

Dances of reunion in fiction tended to be splendorous, high-energy affairs, in Note’s many years of experience consuming art across the various mediums. Always in the middle of some big to-do, a pause from some old family feud or war, when the lovers just threw caution to the wind and danced before their seething parents.

Note, personally, felt the authors needed to actually experience a centuries-long war between feuding houses before they should write about such things. Better, let them experience the same pain Crown and he endured, loving and longing for one another from afar.

Right now, he felt content with this.

This private bit of rebellion as he held Crown around her waist, and she looping her hooves around his neck so she might bury her muzzle in his chest while they danced a slow, lazy amble, merely rocking one another with a simple foalish two-step as the first notes of music filtered through the spell he’d bound to the ballroom door. In this, Note found joy.

Joy shared by his love, by the smile he felt pressing against his collar, the way she trailed her snout up his neck and kissed his chin.

Stars, this was perfect. Note almost wanted to cry.

But he corrected himself. It wasn’t quite so. Almost.

At least two more ponies should be there for him to call it a truly perfect night, but they would be. Soon.

Close enough for now. Note rested his chin atop Crown’s head and murmured, “You’re perfect.”

Crown tightened her embrace. “Flatterer,” she murmured into his neck, hiding her smile. “If you keep talking like that, I’ll think you mean to disappoint us tonight.” The mare let the notion, and its consequences, simmer for a moment before she hummed and kissed him again. “Or that you’re hiding something.”

“Says the Rosethorn to the Primline.”

“Says a Rosethorn to her lover.”

She drew back to fix him with a knowing look, her lips curving into one of her teasing smirks which promised to find answers one way or another.

The blasted mare even let him mull it and shiver in the midst of their dance.

“Mm, definitely hiding something.” Her eyes dancing, she leaned up to press her nose against his. “What secrets are you keeping from me, my dear?”

Immediately, both his surprise and the story vexing him so leapt to the forefront of his mind. A lapse betrayed by the slightest ticking of his ears, all the would need to know if he tried to hedge or pretend otherwise, to take hold of them in spell or mouth and tease until he danced on his hooves and sang his secrets to her.

And yes, she would insist that he sing. She had when he’d tried to keep her birthday present under wraps.

Licking his lips, Note glanced toward one of the shelves to escape her gaze. “I-I may have set up a bit of something for a surprise tonight. For all of us.” He noticed her fixing him with a prompting look, he ducked his head, adding, “Please. It won’t require any detour. Although—“ he glanced down at his scarf, and offered a sad smile “—I’d like to put this in my home before we go, rather than chance bridge inspection.”

Her ear flicked, a concession. Bridge inspection might take issue with Note carrying a scarf obviously touched by scent magic, even if benign. And if he spoke of who’d given it to him …

Well, that would be the last he’d ever see of that scarf.

Note tried to pretend he didn’t notice the hurt in how her ears dipped. Though she would agree, though their secrecy was in no small part her necessity, it was well within the culture of Merrie and the heritage of the Rosethorns to let all know that a pony or several were theirs—friends, lovers, or mated, sharing in the kaleidoscopic love preached by Rosethorn the Wise in his words and writings.

So he drew her in close, turning her head so she laid it against his chest, and dared to nuzzle her ear before whispering, “I may also have finally started on another project.”

Crown sucked in a sharp breath, her ears twitching. The Rosethorn mare fixed him with a triumphant look and said, “I knew you were up to something in the park!”

“It’s been giving me a bit of trouble, so I came out to see if fresh air might help spur something along.” He held up a hoof, already anticipating her next question. “It’s still in planning.”

She hummed. “I’ll expect more detail than that, once we’re in my Librarium.”

“Oh, come now! Let me have some mystery before I’m interrogated!”

“We shall see.” Her brows raised just slightly, then her tail in a tell of an idea which filled her with joy. “Perhaps I might be persuaded if you show me how well you truly dance.” This time, it was her turn to hold up a hoof to forestall his reply. “Not here, my dear. Not here.”

Confused, Note tilted his head, a gesture he’d picked up from her.

Crown hummed her joy and lit her horn, her magic tugged at the beautiful scarf she’d procured for him, sliding it free from his neck and brought the fine pen case she’d been gifted up to bare. “Hold these in your pocket, my dear,” she ordered, wrapping the case in the scarf. “With the cowing my mother has received thanks to my eldest sister, our Lord Collar, and Knight Firelight Spark, I find myself in a position favorable for a small measure of rebellion.”

“Er …” Note’s ears slicked back. Stealing across the bridges to the Librarium, certainly, had gone into his calculations. But if she was referring to something else … “What sort of rebellion did you have in mind?”

She slid her muzzle along his cheek, her markings brushing against his cheekbone in an old gesture of Rosethorn affection before she whispered in his ear, “Let’s take down these aural shields, and you cancel that little spell you left in the ballroom. You and I will rejoin the gala and dance.”

“I, er, really should tell you,” the pegasus stammered in a way so reminiscent of Dazzle. Stars, if not for his dappling, Seed would say they could have been relatives.

“Tell me what?” Seed asked.

Stride’s eyes flitted between his forehooves clasped with Seed’s, and then their hind hooves touching the ground. His wings gave a nervous rustle. “I’ve not danced like this much. Upright on two legs,” he clarified. “The few I know best are more traditional pegasus dances.”

Humming, Seed let his thoughts turn to a few such dances he’d had the pleasure of witnessing. Several were private, all for the Garden, led by Rosie Bliss and a few friends from the contingent of weather patrol who worked the skies around the Garden and western Merrie districts. There was most certainly an allure to those dances, their use of wing and feather to tease and hide, and their sleek bodies as much enticements as the fragrances gracing them.

In present time, he smiled and squeezed Stride’s hooves. “Well,” he murmured softly. “If I had wings, I’d be happy to share in those dances with you—one of Dammer style, and perhaps one of Merrier, if you could be so tempted.”

The color returned to Stride’s cheeks in full force. Better still, those stormy gray dapples darkened, like the wildest of storms, rolling in black as night and warning of its terrible winds and lightning.

Aha, so you’ve seen a few of those, have you? Or perhaps you’ve heard tales? His smile blossomed into a grin. Seed chuckled. “But since I have none, I’ll ask that you trust me to lead.”

Stride swallowed. “Like the sampling game?” he asked.

“Exactly.” Seed cupped the smaller stallion’s chin with a touch of magic. “But this time, eye contact. No looking down at our hooves. Trust between partners, in love, life, and dance.”

Those gray-blue ears twitched. Stride blinked, starting for a second before he caught himself and nodded. Recognition, perhaps? Interesting.

That was drawn from Rosethorn’s writings. Where would he have picked that one up?

What a curious stallion this was.

As the first notes of a familiar waltz floated to Seed’s ears, he picked up the rhythm and guided Stride into a basic step, mindful of his lack of experience. Dancing, while more Rosemary or Aunt Rosewater’s cup of tea, had been a bit of a side hobby. It let him get closer to his loves and friends, and hold them tight in these times while showing their bond in a more artistic manner.

It also gave him a chance to keep newcomers near and read their eyes.

Seed gazed into those stormy gray eyes, curious. This was him, was it?

This was their stallion?

To his credit, Stride did try his damndest to maintain eye contact, his gaze only faltering during the earliest steps while he tried to figure out where his hooves needed to go so they didn’t cross or trip Seed. And each time he did, Seed gave him a little squeeze and a smile.

He was trying.

And more, when Seed did remind him like that, Stride took a half-second to search him for disapproval or disappointment, and returned the smile when he did.

Stars, a Primfeather dancing sincerely with a Rosethorn. Would wonders never case?

To say this one didn’t act like most Primfeathers would have been the understatement of a lifetime. Ignoring the crowd from the pub, Seed knew Primfeather Gale well enough to know what a … charming individual he could be. His tact, somehow, managed to be better than his other brother, Gust, or their father.

His curiosity piqued, Seed asked, “Gale is a cousin of yours?”

“I … wish he was only that.” Again, Stride’s gaze fell, this time, lingering upon Seed’s breast. Right where he must have known the Rosethorn heart marking to rest. “My eldest brother.”

Seed’s brows raised. Surprising indeed. “You seemed quite put out with him.”

“He was being rude. And throwing accusations.”

“Ah, no need to be vague. I can guess which.” He offered a comforting squeeze, murmuring, “Toward my wife? Claiming our Dammeguard loves were lured?”

The way those ears slicked back confirmed it.

Well, that certainly put a downer on things. They couldn’t even escape those whispers.

Practice had the explanation on the tip of his tongue, but his dance partner beat him and surprised him once more.

“I know they’re just allegations,” Stride said. His voice, the setting of his ears told of irritation. Not with Seed, but with Gale. “I know the two who didn’t stay in the Garden testified that they weren’t lured, and Lord Collar would remind me that allegations are not grounds for criminal charges without proof if I went to him claiming the same.”

You remind me of a mix of Dazzle and Note. The former’s nerves, the latter’s sentiment. But Seed wanted a little more. “And how do you feel about it?”

Here, Stride flicked a dark look toward the corner where the Primfeathers and their like held serf. “I think civilian lords and ladies need to stop complicating things more than they are.” He sniffed and returned his attention to Seed, meeting his eyes again. “Or we’ll go back another hundred years and keep going forever.”

Seed threw back his head and laughed. Blunt as a kick to the face, and full of that fire typical of pegasus ire.

Over Stride’s head, he saw Petal watching him with interest a few steps off the dance floor. She dipped an ear in askance that her turn might begin.

He returned the gesture in kind and leaned in to whisper in Stride’s ear, “How’s your balance?”

“Er.” Stride blinked and ticked his ears in question. “Getting a bit better. Why?”

Petal was in position and ready to catch him, her legs already tensed to rear up.

Perfect. “Just checking. Keep your back straight and get ready to turn quickly in three, two, now!”

Seed pushed Stride out and held just long enough to make him spin with momentum, the startled pegasus let out a yelp and took a hesitant step forward, right into Petal’s waiting hooves. She beamed and muttered something under her breath to him, no doubt a comment on Seed being a terrible brat or something of the like, and guided him along the steps again.

It granted him a chance to steal a quick look to Rosewater and Collar while they chatted together, raising his brow once he’d caught his aunt’s eye. The scent matched—orange blossoms and rainwater, applied with just the right touch, like somepony had taught him not to drown himself in a fragrance. He ticked an ear and tilted his head just slightly toward the dancing pair, his question plain:

This is really him? This isn’t a substitute?

Rosewater simply flicked a look to Collar and let him meet Seed’s gaze with the slightest inclining of his head, and then sort of minute salute with a bowl of pretzels he’d procured from stars-knew-where.

Yes.

And then they returned to their conversation like nothing happened, and Seed moved off the dance floor so he didn’t make it too obvious.

He lingered near the edge, close enough to the table that he might move in case somepony came by for another glass, and watched. And imagined Stride dressed in black armor and helm rather than his dark silver jacket, those wings curled in diving position.

Those stormy gray eyes focused and determined.

For a fleeting moment, Petal and Stride turned, and Seed noticed, despite the pegasus’s nervous smile, his eyes held that gaze again. Determined not to trip or stumble, and focused on hers. Not quite so intense but …

Seed’s breath hitched. Stars above, they had their rescuer.

Now it was on him to keep things quiet in the village until Collar, Rosewater, and he could ensure Stride’s safety, and Stride himself be deemed in the right state.

A few ideas flitted through his mind as the last notes of the song faded beneath a low rumble of stomping applause. Seed nodded to himself, and poured three more glasses of Caronation, the very wine which won him that first dance. The best thing was to coax him off to the side for a talk, and do things gently.

The faces of Dazzle, Prism, and Tremor floated through his mind, each had needed that same touch.

He turned just in time to greet a returning Petal and Stride, the mare smiling brightly in fine compliment to the blush returning to his cheeks.

“Tell him, Seed!” Petal said, bumping hips with Stride. “This silly boy says he feels clumsy on two hooves—this stallion is a dancer, through and through with how quickly he caught the uptake!”

Stride ducked his head low, but he couldn’t hide the smile her flattery earned. “It still feels weird,” he said with laughter tinging his voice, and his wings twitching like he wanted to cover his face. This, apparently, had been a topic of conversation already. This flattery, something he was yet unused to. “Like I’m about to fall forward and knock you over each time I step.”

“It takes practice!” Another hip bump followed, this time coupled with a playful flick of her tail against his ankle. “Perhaps I’ll teach you, if you’re interested and willing. I’d love to see you dance in both styles at one of our wine tastings.”

He blinked and stood up straight. “Like … an actual, official wine tasting?”

Petal’s lips twitched. She’d caught on to reading him as well. “At Rosewine Vineyards, the vineyard house atop Rosewine Hill.”

“I’ve, er, heard of those from a friend. Er, a friend born of Merrie,” he hastened to clarify.

“Oh? And what have you heard?”

Stride licked his lips, the slight rustling in his wings telling that it was one born of nerves. “That they tend to be rather …” He turned his gaze toward the ceiling in search of the right wording. “She claimed invites tend to be rather hard to come by. And that they’re big—like, important ponies show up quite often.”

She told you about the orgies, Seed surmised. His brows raised. And that makes you a little uncomfortable, doesn’t it?

But not disgusted.

He’d have to find this Merrier friend and thank her. She’d clearly tended to him with gentle hooves and understanding on what foal rearing he’d undergone.

A bottle might have to find its way to her doorstep, somehow.

Humming to himself, Seed offered a glass to each of them. “I know we mentioned slowing you down a little, but after indulging us like that, I think you’re allowed one more.” He winked, adding, “But I’ll expect more dancing out of you at a tasting. Pegasus and two-leg style.”

To his credit, Stride didn’t say no.

But the poor boy’s cheeks turned such a vibrant shade of red they could have rivaled the markings on Aunt Rosewater’s face.

Oh, the Garden would just love to get a look at him, hero or not.

Seed and Petal definitely didn’t seem like good-for-nothing ponies who just wantonly drank and rutted whenever they pleased.

So, Stride could pretty happily say Gale could go get stuffed, but there were still a few questions lingering thanks to his brother’s words.

Petal certainly was the heiress of Rosewine Vineyard—it took a bit of time to rack his brain, but the name had come to him, and he knew it from those very reports and lists Gale waved before him. In a figurative sense. If nothing else, she’d have pull with the village by virtue of her vineyard bankrolling the place.

But from his lessons, Stride could definitely recall that the Garden was under Rosethorn control. Granted, not Rosethorn control via Roseate and her daughters—a small mercy, there—but still.

How did that work? A Rosewine controls the vineyard but the Rosethorns control the village?

Seed was … well. Seed reminded him a lot of Rosemary. He teased and flirted a little, but his smiles were genuine and warm, and his want for friendship the same.

It was in his eyes. His eyes and actions, more so than mere words.

Just like hers.

That, Stride could live with. Even if it meant he’d be in danger of further mischief—this flavor was just fine. Good, even.

Though, admittedly, rivaled by this vintage they kept giving him. Sweet, floral, and fragrant.

Stars, did Petal even need scent magic when she had a vintage like this?

He’d just finished his glass and cajoled them to join him in having some fruity fizz, a Dammer’s drink, rather sweet and pleasant, and more something to enjoy chilled and when one wanted to stay sober, when Stride noticed the pair drifting toward the far end of the ballroom. Toward the open door leading out to the balcony which overlooked Baron Dapper’s garden.

They caught his eye and held him in their gaze for a moment. Then, Petal glanced to the door, then back at him and smiled. She gave a little tick of her head toward the door, and headed off with her husband.

Did they want to talk outside?

Well, it was a little crowded. And it had gotten a bit hot, what with more dancers joining in after their little show.

The pegasus took a sip of his apple fizz and followed after them, weaving through the clusters of ponies moving to and fro, around those gossiping with one another or shooting looks across the ballroom, some baleful, others curious. Technically, Stride had already finished Collar’s challenge. He could walk right over now and tell him, and go back to his corner if he wished.

These Merriers—Gardeners, he corrected himself. These Gardeners seemed fun to talk with, though.

Rosemary would titter and usher him to follow, and Cloudy would probably swipe a wing upside his head and tell him to get his tail moving before she beat him senseless with his own wing, or something of the like. She’d grin through every word though.

And he’d end up owing her a round, somehow.

What the hay? he decided with a shrug of his wings. I’ve got two Merrier friends, two more can only make my life more fun and interesting.

Once Stride felt the cool touch of a late autumn night’s breeze across his face and tickling his feathers, he took a moment to sigh and savor it.

Winter wasn’t his favorite season, for it did rob him of the chance to see his beloved orange blossoms, carnations, and bluebells, but he loved it all the same. Something about the air thinning like the higher altitudes just made him feel right at home.

Quite the opposite, though, for his unicorn friends.

“Well, don’t you seem happy as a kitten in a basket of yarn,” Seed teased as he wrapped a warming charm around Petal and himself. The slight stomping of his wife’s hooves betrayed her sensitivity to the changing weather. “Stars! This winter’s gonna be a cold one. Time to break out the thick scarves and blankets, no?”

Despite himself, Stride couldn’t resist. “I wouldn’t know. Pegasi love the cold.”

That earned him a pair of looks, both a mix of humor and ire, and both promising he’d get his comeuppance for that little show of cheek.

He wisely hid a smile behind a sip of apple fizz.

Shaking her head, Petal beckoned him closer. “Come, join us and let me steal a bit of warmth from your presence as repayment for your teasing.”

The slightest hint of a shiver remnant in her knees halted any retort or thought of denial. Were they more familiar, he might offer a wing, but …

Stride did as asked, sidling up so he was on Petal’s side opposite Seed, though he avoided brushing shoulder or hip against her. Closeness was acceptable, as long as personal space was respected. In this case, a quarter of a tail’s length would do.

It earned him a grateful smile and slight bowing of her head. Petal hummed, watching her breath spiral skyward like a silver serpent climbing the night air. “It’ll soon be time for us to start pulling out the tarps and tie downs for the vines,” she mused aloud.

“And I’ll need to have everypony check the windows on the greenhouses for cracks and loose panes.” Seed pulled a face. “I tell you, Stride, I do love my village and my greenhouses, but the work just piles up!”

Stride thought back to their table, laden with bottles of fine vintages. “It must make you happy, then,” he said.

The larger stallion turned to fix him with a sideways glance. He sipped at his drink, a sweet strawberry fizz, and arched his brow in prompting.

“It’s just … you wouldn’t really do it if it was that much work and it didn’t make you happy, right?”

“It depends. I might.” Seed shrugged. “But I certainly don’t think I’d be as successful. Pet?”

“Seconded in that regard, and you’re right, of course. I love it.” She laughed and shook her head. “Even if it sometimes feels like the vines don’t love me back when an experimental vintage yields poor results.”

Blinking, Stride glanced back toward the door. “You have vintages that fail? I’m not sure I believe that with the way your wines tasted tonight.”

He hadn’t meant it as humor, but the couple took a look at one another and burst out in laughter.

Seed threw a hoof across his eyes to wipe away a tear. “Oh, Stride, my friend, believe me when I say those experiments don’t see the light of day once they fail. Petal disposes of them quite thoroughly to ensure they never reach another’s lips if they fail to pass our test.”

“My vineyard has a reputation,” Petal added in chiding. “Stars, when Cookie makes comment on how dry a wine is, I don’t need any prompting to tell me it’s time to scrap it!”

“Er.” Stride wasn’t sure how to ask. “Cookie is …”

“A lover of ours,” came her answer. “Her palate is … charitably, rather easy to satisfy.”

“Which is my wife’s way of saying Cookie will drink anything you put in front of her,” Seed quipped. “Even Primyard and—ow!”

Stride wisely pretended he didn’t notice the shimmering green glow pinching and twisting Seed’s ears, and diverted his interest toward his apple fizz. Their banter, their teasing was theirs. As he was learning through Cloudy and Rosemary, this was but one of many ways Merriers shared their love.

And, apparently, how Gardeners did so as well. Since they distinguished themselves, he would try to do the same.

Still, there was a part of Gale’s claims that nagged at the back of his mind. He’d called Seed a minor lord—one of a village which drank and rutted indiscriminately, but that didn’t matter quite as much.

The minor lord of the village.

Questions gnawed at him. Stride licked his lips, and downed the last bit of his drink before he managed to find his voice. “There’s, um, something I should ask.” He cursed himself. That already sounded so wrong.

But Seed didn’t notice, or he had the grace to grant him a misstep. “What might that be?” he asked in kind.

How best to word it without sounding accusatory?

Maybe he could just avoid mention of Gale’s name entirely. That’d work.

“The, er, vineyard. It’s a big part of the Garden—I don’t know a lot, but I know that much.” Stride flitted a look between the pair. “And if Petal runs the vineyard, doesn’t that make the two of you kind of important to the village?”

Petal laughed softly. Without a hint of hesitation or hedging, she said, “I suppose it is a bit rude of us not to introduce ourselves more formally in this setting.” The mare tipped her glass to her husband. “Go on, darling. Proprieties.”

Pulling a face, Seed gave a slight roll of his eyes.

Then, he turned and bowed his head to Stride and said, “Rosethorn Seed, Lord of the Garden of Love, at your service, sir.”

“And Rosewine Petal,” she greeted, offering her hoof to the pegasus. “Heiress on the Hill.” At his blank look, she laughed again. “It’s a ceremonial title. It means I inherited Rosewine Vineyards, dear.”

“O-Oh!” He started, then remembered himself and took her hoof in his so he could brush his lips against her ankle like a proper Dammer. “Thanks. I didn’t realize—er.” Stride released her hoof, bowing his head. “Lance Corporal Primfeather Stride, Dammeguard.”

Seed gave another bow in kind, surprising him. “To your service,” he said, saluting him with his glass. The stallion made as though to say more, but seemed to think twice on it. Then, he added, “Always a pleasure to meet somepony called to serve and protect their ponies and home.”

That hadn’t quite seemed right.

Not that his words were insincere—no, they seemed so. While Stride didn’t have near the talent of reading ponies as some like, say, Collar or Cloudy, he’d hung around enough to notice little things.

Odd.

A part of him wanted to press on that and see what came of it. But niceties dictated Stride avoid it.

He’d hate to make an ass of himself, like Gale so publicly had done.

So, calling upon the example of Cloudy Rose and her teasings, he offered perhaps the weakest playful smile he’d ever given and asked, “Honoring a soldier of a rival city is a bit odd to do, isn’t it?”

Then he yelped and leapt to flee the sting of a fuchsia tendril pinching his ear.

“Three of our loves are former Dammeguard, my friend,” Seed chided gently. In his eyes, a hint of amusement shone, but not enough to spare Stride that disciplining. “And I have friends in the Merrieguard. I respect those who answer the call to protect their own, even if I might not agree with the reasonings one or both sides have for certain actions of late.”

The raids then.

That made sense. Collar had made a point of mentioning the Garden as a place of commerce—and a lot of it! So, rather than look at them as the lord and businessmare backing possible enemies in their home, focus on that.

Them as business ponies.

“Not exactly good business, is it?” he asked. “For business ponies on either side of the river.”

Here, Seed winked. “I, of course, couldn’t say either way,” the larger stallion sang.

“I will.” Petal huffed. “It’s rutting terrible. Stars bless the foreign trade, for they have enriched us and pulled my snowy tail out of a bitch of a fire.”

Relief filled Stride’s chest. It had been the right play.

Good.

Seed set his hoof between Petal’s shoulders and began rubbing small, soothing circles. “I can’t lie, my Garden would likely be blooming brighter and grander were this war over. But, alas, the price of neutrality from this war was my ancestor surrendering her claim to the throne.” He shrugged, adding, “But I’d make a poor Baron for Merrie anyway, so, perhaps that’s for the best.”

“Would you?”

“Oh, heavens yes. I prefer sleeping in and it would take far too much time away from my tending to greenhouses. I’d probably abdicate in a week.”

“Little ambition to rule in this one,” Petal supplied when she noticed the wry look on Stride’s face. “As you say, business and commerce are our forum.” She shared a look with Seed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile. “Perhaps you’ll visit someday and see the fruits of our efforts.”

Stride felt his feathers bristling. “Er … Um …”

Crossing the Merrie River. Stars, befriending and chatting was one thing, but crossing into Merrie territory, where scent magic and luring were quite legal, was a reach.

The pair noticed his apprehension.

Seed held up a hoof. “Why don’t we do lunch in Damme sometime? We have a couple days free before the commerce day on Primrose Bridge.”

“If you get off your duff and get work done at a reasonable hour,” Petal groused with a roll of her eyes. To Stride, she said, “But I would like to enjoy lunch with a new friend. If he’s not otherwise engaged.”

Already, Stride could imagine his parents’ reactions. Stars, that would be worse than his leaving Primfeather Villa if he were seen associating freely with Roses.

But so too could he picture Collar nudging him to say yes, that he had minimal duties these days. Light duties, after the bridge.

Oh. And Cloudy would call him a lunkhead and find the back of his head with wing or hoof if he begged off spending time with new friends.

And they did seem to think him a friend already, and were friendly enough …

“I … am on a bit of a lighter schedule lately,” Stride found himself saying. “Depending on the time and day, but I’d be happy to, er, meet up.” He caught a hint of a prompting look, and hastened to add, “Er. Prim Tap and Lager’s is a pub that has a good menu. It’s a bit pricy, but I can—“

Seed held up a hoof. “I won’t hear of price. Money is of little object to us.” Beaming, he set his glass on the balcony. “Then it’s settled. We’ll send a runner tomorrow so we can all look over our schedules. Without the nice tingle of wine buzz playing games with memory.”

A rosy hue filled Stride’s cheeks. He ducked his head, ears flat, and nodded shyly.

A meal in broad daylight wouldn’t hurt anypony.