The Rose Way

Visiting Damme nowadays brought with it a fair share of wrinkles. Chief among them, naturally, was the reputation of the Rosethorns thanks to Roseate and her ilk doing their damndest to mirror the Primfeathers’ efforts to drag things back to the worst days of the war.

That raid with her daughters, for instance, had Dammeguard patrols far more frequent, often in scent masks or with some close to hoof, and on the bridge? More in depth searching, especially if one had those Rosethorn cut marks like he.

In Petal’s case, though, an additional wrinkle presented itself, and didn’t stop on the bridge.

By the time they’d reached Prim Palace and stood on the steps before those ominous stone walls, Seed had to bite his lip to hide his amusement at her frayed patience and blossoming irritation with answering the same questions while searching spells trailed their statuc over her form.

“I’ve been checked by a half-dozen of your comrades,” she said testily, watching closely as the stallion checked her saddlebags, laden with envelopes, and seemed to mull tearing them open to check. Her snowy tail lashed and brushed across the burly earth pony mare’s nose, and earned a dirty look. “I’ve come quite naked of scents, my perfume is quite light today to be mindful and polite to Lord Collar during our appointment.”

“Then you’ll have no problem telling us again the nature of your appointment with Lord Collar,” the mare drawled, trotting around to her front and gestured that she lift and spread her mane to show any hidden phials. “And name the scent. It’s rather strong.”

“Stars above,” Petal muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said, “It’s pink roses and vanilla, more mild and soothing. I like how it helps my mindset.”

The mare motioned that she could drop her mane. “And the nature of the appointment?”

Rather notably, Seed thought, none thought to demand Petal cant her tail and allow them to check if she’d hidden anything between her legs. How nice to see they weren’t painting all Roses with the same brush, despite Roseate’s treachery.

“He invited us to discuss the incident on Rosewine Bridge four days ago,” came her reply, bored, dull, and recited like she was reading from a script. “Perhaps you might like to check his schedule?”

The mare’s comrade, a unicorn stallion, snorted. “I think I won’t take advice from a mare who ensnares upstanding Dammeguards, Rosewine Petal,” he growled. “Whether or not your watch list investigation status is pending.”

Seed just couldn’t resist. “Wouldn’t that make her ensnaring alleged, then?”

The stallion shot him a dirty look, then jerked his gaze back toward Petal. His horn still lit, his spell buzzed in the air. “Step out wide,” he ordered.

That made their ears twitch. “I beg your pardon?” Seed asked.

“Step out wide, both of you,” he repeated. “I’m searching both of you fully for hidden scents and packages. Step out, now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Seed noticed Petal’s nostrils flaring. She set her jaw and looked the stallion in the eye. “No. We will not.”

Both Dammeugards glared. “Step out wide,” the mare repeated her superior’s order. “Now!”

“No, I will not debase myself.” Petal stared straight forward, unflinching. She nodded once. “We were invited as representatives of the Garden of Love by Lord Collar, and I will insist you fetch him and let him judge if this is warranted. I understand your need for greater security and sympathize with the care you’re taking for your liege lord and your comrades, the leader of our city took actions I do not support, and I respect that. However.” Here, she turned her gaze upon the pair, her glare as cold as ice. “Though my heart is open to many loves, my body is my body. Get Lord Collar, so I may ask him myself if he wishes my mate and I to spread our legs for our Baroness’s sins.”

With her piece said, Rose Petal sat down upon the cobblestones and looked to Seed. He glanced at the Dammeguards, shrugged, and sat with her.

The Dammeguards looked at one another, equal parts confused and irritated by the defiance in her tone and action.

Finally, the stallion sighed and let his spell dissipate. “Sergent,” he said, waving his hoof toward the door. “Kindly go and fetch Lord Collar, and inform him that his guests are refusing to cooperate with a search.”

“And inform him just where the … Lieutenant? Ah, yes, I see the ranking.” Petal’s smile was one typically seen in venomous snakes. “Inform Lord Collar just where the Lieutenant was hoping to search. Thank you.”

Seed just chuckled and shook his head. Oh, I hate this war and all its stupid complications.

Collar, unfortunately, hadn’t been available. He was still locked in negotiation with Rosewater, so it fell upon Primline Coat, a cousin of his, to answer the call.

It came as some consolation that Coat had the grace to look chagrined when he came to retrieve them.

The setting of his ears, the way his tail flicked just as soon as he’d ordered the Dammeguards back to their post and turned to offer a bow just deeper than usual told of a sense of annoyance which had bubbled within him at varying points between his office and the doorway. Something told Seed that sergeant hadn’t bothered telling him about the locations her lieutenant wished to search, or annoyance might have beaten out chagrin and bloomed into ire.

Thankfully, of course, that was not the case.

“I must extend my sincerest apologies to you both,” Coat said, as he led them down the corridor toward Collar’s wing, turning past portraits of the old Primline lords and ladies who had once sat upon the throne. Among them, a much younger Prim Lace sat, regal and proud and strong, with a similarly aged Dapper Rosedown by her side. “I assure you, I’ll let Collar know of the rudeness you’ve endured today. The bridge search and a similar one at the door are expected, but that is not acceptable.”

“I would appreciate that,” Petal replied, offering him a smile. Coat was no stranger, he, like Collar, knew most of the vendors. Especially those on friendly terms. “Truly, I understand the want for extra security. But I am no criminal nor am I an enemy.”

“Certainly not. Allegations and watch list status are not an excuse for that treatment, you have my word.”

She nodded once. “An unfortunate reality, that some on either side of the river choose to act as such. Incidentally, I’d heard you wedded that stallion you were seeing. Congratulations.” Petal aimed a teasing smirk, adding, “I only wish you’d have sent an invitation. We’d have brought you a bouquet.”

Coat’s cheeks colored. “My apologies, again. We had to step carefully so not to offend the Primfeathers.” After a beat, he glanced between the Gardeners, and asked, “Er. A bouquet of flowers or the special occasion wine type of bouquet?”

“Yes,” both answered, grinning.

The smaller stallion ducked his head to hide a flattered smile. “Perhaps we might join you at one of your winter tastings as penance,” he offered. “I would be delighted to introduce Thistle to the Garden, and to you as my husband.”

Seed made a mental note, certain to see that an invitation did indeed find its way to their letterbox. Again, he nodded his thanks. “The Garden of Love and Rosewine Vineyard will be all the more fortunate to host the pair of you.”

As they walked, Seed drew in a deep breath through his nose. Prim Palace, at least, held some rather lovely fragrances. The gardens wafted sweet scents of orange blossoms, jasmine, and bluebells, even a couple rosebushes to give Baron Dapper a little bit of home to call his own. A gift, no doubt, from Lace.

But then, among those scents, another reached his nose.

His ears stood erect. Orange blossoms, rainwater, cirrus, and the musk of a pegasus stallion. Distinct and fresh.

Seed fought to keep his perpetually lazy look in place. He’s here. A thousand curses flew through his mind. Of course he’d be here. Of course, right now, when he had to behave and follow exactly the plan Lord Collar laid for him lest the Dammeguard suspect that his allegiance was with Roseate, Dancer’s rescuer would be in the same building, waiting to be found.

But not all was lost, he realized. Yes. This could work. He could take this several ways, this could help him put a little pressure on Lord Collar. Stars, if the stallion remained, well, anypony might excuse an accidental run-in. If he left …

He licked his lips. Seed had already made a little plan for himself to take a walk sometime soon. Now, he knew his first would be today.

Petal will understand.

They turned the corner, and Seed felt a block of ice drop into his stomach.

There, seated upon a pair of chairs among a half dozen outside of what could only be Lord Collar’s office, Wing, Lord of the Primfeather House, and a younger mare of sunny coat and fiery mane sat, waiting. Wing took one look at Seed and Petal, and sneered as though they were slime beneath his standing.

Coat affixed a smile as sincere as fox’s. “I apologize again,” he murmured, low enough that Wing didn’t hear. “He managed to find time for an appointment days before that poor colt fell.”

“Hardly your fault,” Seed replied in kind. “It’ll be an exercise in patience and minding out tongues, I’m sure.”

The Gardeners bowed to Coat and parted with him, trotting over to select their seats. Wing eyed them every step of the way, and shifted his seat away as they chose the ones which gave them a good view out the window facing the city. Before Seed could put himself in the one nearest the Primfeather patriarch, Petal slipped into place and fixed him with a stern look.

With a roll of his eyes, Seed sat in the one on her opposite side. Right, he snarked to himself. She’s the one who’s threatened to drown Rosejoy in a wine cask, but it’s my temper we’re gonna worry about.

Days off had been a rarity since the raid, which made the few Prim Note was afforded a rarity he cherished like a Rosewine vintage.

Seated on a bench in Prim Prance Park with a scarf of deep Prim blue adorned with his cutie mark, a Prim blue musical note set upon a scroll, he had situated himself with a makeshift temporary desk—a polished piece of wood attached to jointed legs—so he might work on his latest novel. Around him, a nigh-invisible wall of sound chimed like a piano’s reverberations, an ingenious little work of accoustomancy he’d invented himself to allow him to block out external distractions and similar aural mage tricks to listen in.

Typically, it served as a protection against spies. Now, just a shield to ensure his thoughts would not be turned from his work. This one, he knew, was quite the risk. A stark contrast to his usual works.

A not insignificant part of him fretted dearly that this, at last, would be the experiment his readership decided they could not abide. Even though he knew a sizable chunk to reside in Merrie.

He chewed on the end of his quill while he stared at the title scrawled across the page. A foal hood habit he’d never been able to kick. The words called, but the emotion, the setting.

Well, they too, called. Like a siren’s song.

How fitting, given the mare who’d stolen his muse’s attention and inspired him so.

And she, herself, was a muse. The muse.

Thus, did the words The Muse of Merrie stare back at him and wonder just when he’d finally put pen to paper and stop fretting over the little details. Were she to know of this secret project, she and her book club would certainly chide his marriage to things like rigid outlines and timelines set in stone.

“Consider an affair with the verve, dear Note,” she’d tease. “The lone weakness with your writing, splendid and gripping that it is, is that I know with one read through you’ve sat down before ever letting your characters live and decided their lives in their stead.”

A muse indeed. He could hear her words as though she’d sat herself beside him just now and nipped at his ear before whispering them.

Or cast her own bit of aural magic to fill his ears with her song and let her spell’s phantom sensations deliver the sting as he slipped into her embrace.

That lack of planning, though, coupled with this idea, was the problem.

Note’s eyes flitted between his own notes and the first page. This wasn’t quite the roadmap he preferred, but damned if he wasn’t committed after that comment.

Rose Crown had a way of sparking that. Honestly, she didn’t even need her enchanting song.

As the thought played through his mind, Note felt an aural spell probe against his shield, drawing an arching of his brow and a marshaling of his defenses. He waited to see how the other mage tried to slip through, holding in his arsenal a response which would see their ears ringing for days. If they tried piercing, they’d get it in kind.

Instead, the spell slipped in between the melodic tones protecting him much in the same way a lover might duck beneath another’s chin. It trailed around his head like a playful bird, and brushed against his left cheek before another tendril slipped in and visited the same upon his right. Both reached up to tease his ears. A static touch only an aural mage of great skill would recognize.

He smiled and set his pen down, and with it, his defensive spell. In its stead, Note altered his shield so it would only allow sound through the connection shared by the spell around his ears. As almost an afterthought, he readied a newly modified aural filtering spell. Tuned to her last song, so to avoid being left a blushing mess again.

But he waited to slip it over his ears. Crown always gave the sign to tell him they were playing, and that he should test himself against her.

It always came with the first notes.

And as the first trills of her voice, sweet and melodic, like a chorus of angels had blessed one mare with all their talent, Note closed his eyes and smiled, waiting for the sign.

Sure enough, his chest filled with warmth not unlike that which followed the first sip of a freshly brewed cup of tea, or a warm body sliding against his while they huddled beneath a blanket on reading night with the book club. The stallion drew in a shuddering breath through his nose as he felt the ghost of a kiss press into his neck and linger for a count of three, before a phantom muzzle slid up his neck and jawline and a second kiss was visited upon his cheek.

Crown cut her prelude and released him from her spell. A promise made and kept, so the game could be played and enjoyed to the fullest.

A promise of delight, one way or another, which required discipline to quash the stirrings in his loins. Stars, mare. Note licked his lips, his composure faltering beneath nerves. “I’m in the park, if you’re not watching me through a spyglass,” he said, sliding his filter into place. “So, I really hope you’ve not chosen or written an indecent song.”

The spell made her chuckling sound as though it came from right beside him, the slight dipping in octave and a throaty hum trailing afterward made that struggle all the more difficult.

Dramatic flair, he realized. Like she had to decide whether or not to grant his plea.

After forcing Note to endure that small eternity’s wonder, Crown drew in her breath and began to sing. She sang of a young mare, trapped by the misfortunes of birth and circumstance and caged by elements beyond her control, her only respite in her younger years the company of books and song and poem, her thoughts like a clear sky for a little robin despite the dark days plaguing her life. One by one, this mare was joined by others, mares and stallions alike, who shared her love. Their own robins rising to fly alongside hers on their journey through fantasy.

A journey taken together, even as days grew darker and the ponies around her offered their light to her life and let her live this dream for a while.

Lights all fighting against the darkness she felt encroaching closer and closer to her haven with each passing day.

But from that darkness, another from gave his own light. Another lover of word and song who let his imagination soar like a bluebird, each flap of his wings spreading forth words which wove together to form words spanning fanciful worlds which could grip the mare and her companions like none other. A stallion they’d only known from afar, a name and portrait, with only his words to spark their fancy and warm their hearts.

Note sucked in his lips, a dusty pink began to creep into his cheeks and bled into the nape of his neck. He swallowed and glanced about, praying no pony saw him in such a state of fluster.

She knew.

And Crown fully intended to move in for the kill with this one, for her final verse spoke of their meeting, a chance to meet that stallion who crafted such wonderful words and worlds and extended a hopeful hoof, that he might join. That his bluebird might join the flock of robins frolicking through the sky.

As her last notes trailed off in a warbling croon, Note could do little but cover his snout with a hoof, and swallow heavily.

He drew in a deep breath. “You,” he said, his throat tight. Damn it. “You tried an alternating resonance.”

Somewhere across the river, Crown laughed. And that beautiful sound reached his ears, full and clear as she were pressing against him now. “You fenced well,” she mused, a note of approval to her tone. “What spell was that you used for your filter base? It’s not one you’ve yet used against me.”

Note managed a smile behind his hoof. “Trying to gain the upper hoof for next time? Cheater, you know you have to figure them out yourself.”

“Rosethorn,” she corrected. Then, a sly smirk bled into her voice. “Yet you shan’t escape admission so easily, my dear. You were mine.”

The stallion shook his head. “Never fell under, I’m afraid.”

“No, you did not.” He could almost feel her smiling into his neck before she sang, “And yet …”

Crown let her words hang in the air, a silent prompting.

Now, Note covered his face with both hooves. “You have my heart aflame and fluttering, and my ears aglow! Are you happy now, you wicked mare?”

No doubt, behind those glasses, her rosy eyes danced with glee. Again, she gave that throaty hum in his ears. “Delighted,” she purred. Crown drew in another breath, sighing in content. “Would that I could enjoy your embrace now. It’s been too long since you last visited.”

Since before she was sent on raids, yes. Note let his hooves slide down his snout until they clasped together. “How are you holding together?” he asked. “How are they?”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“I am well,” she answered, finally. The teasing gone from her tone. “We held a book club two nights afterward, their insistence that I not wallow. Your presence went dearly missed, both by our friends and our loves.”

A shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t miss the significance.

Nor Crown his hesitance, the perfect chance to add, “They asked that I send their love when I left the house.” He pictured her laying on her side, her chin propped upon the back of her hoof. The flirtation was back, and her pain buried.“And Crisp Corner, a wish that he might hold you under wing again soon.”

So she wasn’t singing from her balcony, but another spot. Note ran through some of the more romantic sittings in Merrie, and realized he’d need a full day to count them all. A fool’s errand.

And one impossible with that little prodding at his nerves at the whole matter.

Courtship in Merrie was, naturally, a monumental matter to all parties involved, and the community in which they resided.

At last, Note swallowed and said, “G-Give them mine as well. And, er …”

Another silence. Crown didn’t give him an easy prompting.

He had to say it.

His tongue ran along his lips. “Tell Crisp … tell Crisp I certainly missed his wing during the last of the fall storms.”

“I most certainly shall.” Satisfied, Note fancied she merely closed her eyes and smiled to herself. Then, she sighed again. This time, it seemed mournful. “When can we hold you again, my dear?”

Note smiled at a group of foals who happened by while they kicked a ball. Inwardly, though, he longed for something a bit … more than ‘my dear’.

This was her way, though. How long had they been lovers in that casual, friendly sense Merriers had before she confessed to him that her love for him was deeper. As deep as his for her?

It had been while she sat in the Gilded Cage. Months after their first meeting—he’d come to read to her, to discuss philosophy, couching it as a curiosity to any who asked why he should go visit her. A brilliant poet and singer, he’d always wanted to pick her brain again after that first meeting at one of her reading events. In a café she had some hoof in …

Even now, Note felt his heart soar at the memory. The way her rosy eyes shone as she cupped his cheeks and drew him in for a kiss …

“Is it safe for me to come?” He grimaced, realizing the poor wording. “Wait. Is it safe for you all to have me there?”

“One way or the other, we will make it so.” Her tone was firm and resolute. “When will you return to us? To my hooves?”

Oh, how every fiber of Note’s being longed to rise and tell her he’d walk over immediately. But she, Gilded Page, Crisp, and the others would want to prepare something.

The book club as well.

“Talk with our—“ Note pressed his lips together. The words just seemed to stick. “Talk with them. Our—our loves. See when we can all be together after the Gala.”

“So long?”

“But a few more days.”

“The Gala, yes. But longer still, by your words.” He could envision her earnest look. Neither pouting nor wheedling, not if he didn’t wish to incur the full force of her educational teasings. “Leave it with me, join us that night and the following day.”

A dozen-odd ways that could go terribly, terribly wrong raced through Note’s head. All of them ended with their lovers and friends in the book club hounded by Roseate’s agents, and Crown sinking back into that nightmare she’d been trapped in for the past four months or so, robbing her of that vitality she’d shared with him during the early days of their relationship as it bloomed from anonymous friendship to courtship.

All it would take, though, would be the right disguise, and Roseate would be none the wiser. Most intelligence he and Priceless had been able to suss out indicated she’d somewhat tucked her tail between her legs since Collar’s spell and her own daughter’s open rebellion in defense of her mate to be.

A night and day with Crown and their lovers. Together. Rut me, I’m a besotted fool. Note closed his eyes, nodding. “If they can be kept safe, my love, I’ll be yours night and day.”

“You already are, my dear Note,” came her reply, tinged with naked glee and mirth. “And they will be. And you won’t know a moment without our affection, many months overdue.”

Something told him the others would be certain to take the inch he’d given and make of it a mile.

Another shiver. Anticipation refused to be stifled.

Crown laughed. “Quite. Now, the Gala. What will you wear?” She gave a derisive sniff. “Please tell me something other than that ghastly blue.”

Now, it was Note’s turn to smirk. “As an officer of the Dammeguard,” he drawled. “I am, in fact, obligated to wear my dress uniform—and the word for which you search is noble, my love. I will be wearing a most noble shade of blue.”

“And the word for which you search is cursed, my dear. You are cursed to wear that ghastly blue dress uniform.” A heavy sigh came through her spell. “I shall have to balance it accordingly, then. But, first, I think I’ll find you a scarf of a proper color—a nice rosy red with pink to mark petals, I think—to replace that blue one ‘round your neck.”

Got you. “Ah!” Note grinned, his ears perked. “So you are watching me through a spyglass.”

He heard Crown suck in a breath through her teeth, not quite enough to mask the clink and dull smack of metal slapped down upon sand. How he longed to see her now, so he might try to spy a glimpse of blush coloring her cheeks again.

Once she’d composed herself, Crown muttered, “I will not be shamed for missing you these months.”

“I should hope not, for I am not shaming you.” Note took up his pen once more, and jotted a note in the margins to find something blue for Crown, just to tweak her a little. “I’m flattered beyond belief.”

“… And, really, I do understand the need. The Garden offers its sincerest sympathy, Lord Collar,” Seed said with a wry smile. “But I don’t much appreciate the treatment we were dealt as your guests.”

Collar seemed to draw in a deep, calming breath. His displeasure was clear as day. “You have my sincerest apologies, Seed. And you, Rose Petal, doubly so.” He gestured to a pair of cushions before his desk, offering them a place to sit. “Though I am quite aware of the accusations leveled against you and your status on the watch list, alleged crimes do not hold a verdict of guilt until investigation is complete.”

Again, Seed was faced with the realization that he quite liked Lord Primline Collar. And not just because the stallion had a jawline chiseled from marble or hips and rear toned such that he bounce a bit off it and knock out another stallion at a half dozen paces.

The stallion had heart and a deep respect for Merrie culture.

In better times, Seed fancied Collar and Rosewater would be toppling the legislative errors of the past that kept the sister cities and ponies apart, rather than whatever came fate demanded they play to make that dream so.

Petal, at least, had the grace to give a small smile in reply. A skill picked up from years of running the family business. “I understand and appreciate your position, my lord,” she said as nodded and accepted a cup of tea from an attendant. “Though, I would ask, when will the Dammeguard’s investigation be finished? I find it rather upsetting to be labeled in such a manner because I flirted with our loves and some chose to leave your fine city for us.”

Collar arched a brow, an amused half-smile playing upon his lips at her little tease. “I can make an inquiry with Captain Pink,” he replied. “Unfortunately, I cannot say I’m prepared to comment on it at this time.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Petal took a deep sip of her tea, eying him over the rim. “However, that isn’t what you invited us here to discuss.”

“No. No, it is not.” The heir of Damme set his own cup and saucer upon his desk, and leaned forward in his seat. “How is the foal? Raindrop Dancer, I believe you said his name was, Seed?”

The Rosethorn stallion nodded, smiling. “Yes. He was able to sleep, though he was quite attached to that helm when I visited yesterday and brought him sweets from Rosie Nights’s shop.” Idly, he peered through the steam spiraling upward from the surface of his tea at Collar, observing his features with care. “You’ll be pleased to know he is quite adamant that he find some means to clean the helm before he returns it. Apparently, he fears his rescuer will earn your ire if his helm is ‘scuffy’ upon return.”

Collar gave a hearty laugh and shook his head. “Oh, to the training grounds for remedial training with him indeed!” His smile was genuine, the setting of his ears sincere. “If that’s the worst thing to come of this, I assure you, he’ll hear no complaint from my lips.”

You don’t miss a thing. “You hold the same concern as we, then.” Seed breathed in the scent of tea, and a hinting of that distinctive orange blossom fragrance. Save that.

To his surprise, Collar’s smile broadened. “Yes, he was here,” the stallion said, as though commenting on the weather.

Seed froze in place, stunned. “Er.”

“I’m afraid Rosewater and Rosemary have given away the signs of a Rosethorn trying to sneak a bit of scenting. It’s the eyes, they flutter just a little as you pick out all the individual components, even before your markings glow.”

Well, there’s all four of my hooves in my mouth.

He licked his lips. “Which has shown it more often?”

“Rosemary.” Collar hesitated and turned away for a moment. “She plays a game with us, several try to fool her as to who is at her door.”

An ear flicked, its tell plain.

Seed’s brows nearly disappeared beneath his mane. You and Rosewater, Rosemary? Oh, he must know he’s a doomed stallion.

Petal shared a knowing look with him, then coughed. “We’re getting a tad off subject, I think,” she said smoothly. Her ears twitched expectantly. “So you’ve found him, then, if he was here recently.”

“I never needed to find him.” Collar faced them again, and took a sip of his tea. “I’ll ask that you not tell the rest of your village quite yet. As a favor to me.”

Visions of ponies on the front porch of the Garden Villa, all glaring expectantly at him, danced through Seed’s head. He grimaced. “I’m … going to have to ask for more than that, my lord. My aunt and I have promised our protection, and I’ll take personal responsibility if that would ease your worry.”

Chuckling, Collar leaned back in his seat and gave a wan smile. “I appreciate that, truly. But there are … other factors.” He let his cup hover in the air, turning it about in his magic. “I trust I need not tell you that, in better times, he would likely be celebrated in our cities. Our cultures, though differing, both place value upon the family.”

“You do not. Rightly so, he should be.”

“And were it so, I would have named him on the bridge and only asked your patience before I could present him officially.” Another sip. Did he need it to calm himself? Just what had Prim Wing wanted? “Unfortunately, though Roseate has been quiet since her latest raid with her daughters, there are significant political ramifications.”

Seed blew a breath through his nose. “You suspect, then, as I do. That my aunt would see value in attaching our village’s hero to one of her daughters?”

“Given her … previous attempts upon myself, I find that phrasing quite apt.” Something flashed in those Prim blue eyes. “Please forgive me, but I’ll not let her have one of her daughters lure that stallion and use his heroism as political coin in Canterlot. His only crime, frankly, is nearly braining my bride-to-be with his messenger bag.”

Unable to resist, Seed gave a sly grin and decided to help a mare. “My lord, I must correct you. That bag fell nowhere near my Auntie Rosewater.”

The young lord leveled him with a flat look, a brow arching.

Seed held his hooves up. “Only teasing. You two just take your time, don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” he added with a flick of the ear toward a most amused Petal.

“I’m almost certain that list is frightfully short, but we’re moving on.”

“Pity.” Petal let a vulpine smile spread across her features. “I’d happily offer you pointers to help you keep up with her when you share your first time together.”

Even Prim Collar’s impressive self-discipline couldn’t hide the faint pink hue which colored his muzzle. Seed hid a triumphant smile behind another sip, and made note of things progressing.

Fitting that the son of a Merrier would not be quite as rigidly against the Principes as others might think. This, I think, can work well to all our benefit.

“All that aside, I must ask.” Petal tilted her head to one side, her snowy bangs falling to cover one of her eyes. “Do go on. I believe you had more to say.”

“Yes. Unfortunately, yes.” Now, Collar let a bit of weariness show in how he ran a hoof through his mane. “He’s going to be turned into a political figure no matter how his name comes to light, that much is obvious. What makes it more troublesome is his … difficult mental state.”

A diplomatic choice of words, Seed knew. And one which he wouldn’t let pass without further comment. “Please, how do you mean?”

Collar shook his head. “He’s been through a lot these past few months, personally and with respect to duty. Some of it, I confess, my doing through your cousin, Rosemary, to broaden his horizons. It’s gone well, happily, but unlearning what one’s parents taught causes quite a bit of internal struggle.”

Humming, Seed gave a nod. “It may be … too forward of me to ask, but …” He took a deep breath. “When can we expect to meet him? Petal and I, and perhaps my loves at the Villa. I can attest to their discretion.”

The stallion seated opposite him took a moment to chew the inside of his cheek, mulling it over. “With all due respect, I hesitate to push him further,” came his answer, his words slow and deliberate. “I’ve already asked much of him. However, I plan on making an announcement at the Primrose Gala, recognizing his deeds. This is where I must ask your patience.”

He sighed and folded his hooves atop his desk. Collar met their eyes and said, “I ask that you afford me the chance to judge his state myself. Let me get him to attend. If I feel him ready to meet you, I will give a sign to Rosewater that night. And she, then, to you.”

Seed pressed his lips together in a thin line. He could guess just how the Garden would take the news that Collar hadn’t delivered, even if his reasoning was valid.

Silver, alone, would ream him.

Still, Seed couldn’t press his luck too much. Not when Collar could’ve simply told him to stuff his wishes up his ass and complain to Roseate if he didn’t like the fact that the Lord of Damme wasn’t feeling much in the way of kinship with the denizens of Merrie or the Garden these days.

And so, with a heavy sigh, he resigned himself to merely sniffing around at the cookies until the Gala at the very earliest. “The Garden of Love places its trust in you, my lord,” he said finally. “Thank you for your consideration. Ah, wait.” He gave a sheepish smile. “There was one more thing.”

Collar arched a brow once again. “Go on.”

Petal reached into her saddlebags and retrieved two bound stacks of letters. “Words of thanks from the village foals and others,” she explained, floating them over to Collar’s desk. “Dancer is … a dear friend to many, and a joy to a number of adults. If you could pass them along.”

The stallion’s brow settled, a smile spread across his features. Collar nodded once. “I’ll see to it he receives them. Thank you both.”