Chapter I: Change of Engagement
Celestia’s setting sun shone down on a small region to the east of Equestria. Rising from the wetlands and fields that surrounded it, on a great rocky outcrop overflowing with houses and villas, was the town of Camarque. The ponies of Camarque had, long ago, been granted the land by the Princess herself as theirs to settle, and over the centuries the wetlands had been drained, vineyards had flourished, and the town prospered. In modern Equestria, it was well-known for the quality of its crops, as well as the beauty of its citizens.
On this beautiful summer’s evening, the bells of the city hall were announcing a wedding, each peal echoing over the still marshes. However, despite an outward fanfare, the ceremony itself was a simple and private affair. Within the town’s hall were gathered only a small collection of ponies, all seated to one side of the building. Two groups of benches had been set up, with an empty aisle running down the centre, but the other half of the seating was strangely unoccupied.
The hall was sparsely decorated, but still strung with ribbons of white cloth and garlands of flowers with tasteful precision. They caught the sunlight streaming in through the ancient stained glass windows depicting scenes of Camarque’s long history. The stone flooring was smooth with the passage of many thousands of hooves over the years, but warm in the summer heat.
Before the podium on the raised dais stood a unicorn stallion, fidgeting in his tight-fitting tuxedo. His white coat had been groomed specially for the occasion, and his blue mane combed neatly, framing his horn. Beside him, continually fussing and straightening the stallion’s jacket, was another stallion, a particularly finely dressed earth pony with an elaborately styled mane, over-sized collar and sunglasses.
“By the Sun, Fancy, stop moving about! You’re making a dreadful mess of my suit,” the earth pony hissed, glaring at the unicorn over the bridge of his sunglasses.
“I can’t help it, Hoity! And stop tugging on the sleeve, it’s already nearly past my fetlocks!” Fancy replied, glancing back at the city hall’s door as the bells continued to ring. Hoity Toity rolled his eyes and stood back in his place on the dais, adjusting his own collar.
With another peal of the bells, the door swung open to reveal the bride, resplendent in her beautiful white silk dress and floral veil, standing before the rising moon. Despite convention, she had chosen lilies as the flowers of choice for the ceremony, and now sported a particularly magnificent specimen in her mane. Hoity Toity looked on in approval as she slowly made her way up the aisle, bridesmares carefully carrying the train in their mouths as a little filly ran in front of her scattering petals.
Fancy tried to prevent his mouth falling agape, but he was fighting a losing battle. He watched his beloved step delicately up the aisle, her hooves barely making a sound on the stone steps as she ascended the dais to stand next to her groom.
Fancy leant across and whispered: “You look absolutely stunning!”
Beneath the veil, Fleur de Lis smirked, and she replied, “Hoity’s not looking too bad, either.”
Fancy was interrupted in his no-doubt scathing reply by the minister loudly clearing his throat. The bride and groom turned their attention to the older pony who sported the black and white collar traditional of his office. Once he was sure he had the full congregation of the ponies gathered, he smiled and flicked open a book resting on the podium. This was more by force of habit than necessity; he had performed so many marriage ceremonies over the years that he knew the lines by heart.
“Dearly beloved!” he began, in time-honoured tradition, as his gaze swept over the small gathering of the bride’s family. He frowned momentarily as he saw that no guests were present on the groom’s side of the chapel, but continued regardless. He’d seen far stranger in his time.
“We gather here this summer’s eve, under the light of the sun and moon, to join this mare and this stallion in blessed harmony. We believe that marriage is a special state of friendship into which all may enter, bringing the fullness and treasure of the love in their hearts and hooves to one another.”
Fancy caught Fleur’s eye, and they shared a smile. Their tails entwined of their own accord.
“I charge you both,” the minister continued, “to remember that your future happiness is to be found in mutual honesty, generosity, loyalty and kindness. With these five elements is forged a bond stronger than that of the sun and moon themselves. It is your duty, as you plant your hooves on the threshold of a new life together, that you honour this bond. You are to be one, and undivided.”
The minister turned to Fleur.
“Do you, Élisabeth de la Camarque, take...” the minister paused, and looked at the name to make sure he hadn’t read it incorrectly. “... Fancy Pants... to be your husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or for worse, as long as you both shall live?”
‘Élisabeth’ cringed involuntarily at the mention of her full name. Fancy Pants just bore an expression of sudden confusion, looking at her with a raised eyebrow and his head slightly tilted.
“I do.” Fleur quickly recovered, trying to avoid Fancy’s questioning look.
Oblivious of the subtle signals between the two about-to-be-weds, the minister turned to Fancy and peered up at the substantially taller stallion.
“Do you... Fancy Pants, take Élisabeth de la Camarque to be your wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or for worse, as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” he answered, still looking at his beloved with some confusion, but managing to keep it out of his voice. The minister beamed, and flicked over the page.
“Who has the-?” he began, before Hoity-Toity interrupted him by revealing the rings on their cushion, setting them on the ground between the pair. They were both magnificent, perhaps more so for their simplicity. Perfectly round bands of fine gold engraved with the pair’s initials on the inner band, made by Fancy Pants himself.
At least he was pretty sure those were her initials, up until a few moments ago.
The pair of rings shone with intermingled magic as they rose from the fabric, Fancy taking the smaller and Fleur taking the larger. As one, they lowered their ring onto their partner’s horn, allowing them to rest neatly at the base. A uniquely unicorn tradition of course, but one that had been practised since before the founding of unified Equestria.
“Now that the bride and groom have made their pledge and sealed it with a ring, I pronounce them husband and wife, in the light of the sun and moon!”
The minister looked at the newly-wed couple with happiness, and delivered his closing line.
“You may now kiss.”
The reception was finally over, as the sun crested the hills to announce the dawn. Fleur and Fancy’s private air-chariot flew through the air over the Camarque wetlands as it sped onwards towards the eastern sea.
" ‘Élisabeth’?!” said a voice trying to choke back laughter.
“It’s Fleur!” came the indignant reply.
“Oh, is it now? The minister seemed to have a different opinion!”
“That was for my parents’ sake! I always hated that name!”
“Ah, well, no wonder you never told me!”
“You never asked!”
“Well, when one is courting a mare, one doesn’t often think to ask ‘oh, excuse me, but is that actually your name?’”
“No, Barding, I suppose one doesn’t.”
“Touché.”
The two looked at each other as they lounged on the plush seat of the carriage. Fancy’s suit was creased from dancing, and a mix of confetti and rice was caught in Fleur’s mane. The pair were worn out, but as happy as could be. Fancy looked his wife lovingly in the eyes, as they shared a moment’s rest together.
His gaze slowly crept upwards.
“You’ve still got custard in your mane,” he said, after a short and thoughtful silence. Fleur snorted, then burst out laughing, taken off-guard by the non-sequitur.
“At least I dodged the punch!” she retorted, jabbing a hoof at a particularly vibrant stain on Fancy’s shirt. “That’ll be harder to wash off! And I suppose you can’t rely on Hoity to do it for you anymore,” she added, grinning. He smirked.
“A terrible loss. Although I’m sure he’ll have his hooves full with your two sisters for quite some time.”
“You know, I didn’t think they would be to his... tastes,” Fleur replied, as she glanced out of the carriage window at the landscape speeding past.
“I believe he calls it: ‘Keeping his options open.’”
Fleur giggled, and the conversation fell into silence again. They both gazed out of the window, content to just be in each other’s company. There’d be time for fencing later.
“Alright, careful, mind your horn...”
Thud.
“... Really, Fleur, this would’ve been so much easier if you’d let me carry you.”
Fleur frowned, rubbing her head where it had just smacked into the lintel of the door frame of their new home, a beautiful mountainside villa on Canterlot’s slopes. The couple had decided to settle here on returning from their honeymoon, as it was far grander than Fancy’s own townhouse within the city. Fleur’s family had owned the villa for several generations, and she had lived here herself for a number of years.
He had just been attempting to fulfil the tradition of carrying one’s wife over the threshold, but Fleur had insisted on being carried on his back instead of by magic, since she didn’t want to feel like a piece of baggage. However, pony doors tend to be designed without the possibility of one pony riding another in mind, and the attempt hadn’t gone smoothly.
“Alright, and again... There!”
Fleur slipped off Fancy’s back as he turned to get the luggage, smiling (despite the throbbing in her forehead) now they were home.
Another unicorn mare’s head peeked around the door of the front room, blinking in surprise. “Oh, madame! You’re back! We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow!”
“Hibiscus! I trust you enjoyed the break!” Fleur replied, smiling at her maid. Mrs. Hibiscus Pickle and Mr. Lime Pickle were the only two housekeeping staff Fleur employed, as housekeeper and chef respectively. Lime Pickle’s messy green mane appeared from a cloud of steam as the kitchen door swung open, and upon spying Fleur he barrelled down the hallway.
“Fleur! You’re alive!” he shouted in exultation as he flung his forelegs around her neck. Fancy looked on, bemused, while Mrs. Pickle shook her head, smirking.
“He’s been inconsolable since you left,” she said, prying her husband off her employer, “convinced you’d been captured by pirates, or eaten by Sea Ponies...”
“Taking a cruise is the most dangerous form of holiday available to modern Equestrians! It was very foolish of you to worry me so!” Mr. Pickle protested, in his thick foreign accent. Fleur had never been able to quite pin down where Mr. Pickle was from, the most she ever got out of him was ‘somewhere hot’.
“I assure you, Mr. Pickle, that nothing of the sort happened,” Fleur insisted, “Fancy and I enjoyed a pleasant and relaxing cruise around the Eastern Isles, no Sea Ponies or fanged horrors from the deep involved! It is good to be back, though.”
She cringed as another throb of pain went through her head. “... I don’t suppose you have any ice?”
Lime Pickle grinned and rushed back to the kitchen, while Hibiscus helped Fancy take the luggage up to the master bedroom.
About an hour later, the newly wed couple were alone on the estate, as the Pickles had gone out to the city to stock up on food and supplies for the evening’s celebratory feast and house warming.
“Come to think, Barding, there is something I absolutely must show you,” Fleur said, as the two wandered about the gardens, enjoying the view of the valley below.
“Oh?” Fancy replied, raising an eyebrow.
Fleur smirked and beckoned him back towards the house with a nod, leading him along the hallway and halting in front of one of the panelled walls.
“... Is this it-” Fancy began, but was interrupted when Fleur raised a hoof and pressed a small portion of what Fancy had thought was just decoration on the panels. There was a faint ‘clunk’ as the main panel fell backwards half an inch. Fleur lightly tapped it, and it swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing a narrow staircase leading down below the building. Fleur headed down, followed closely by a fascinated Fancy.
They emerged in a large room carved from the rock of the mountain, lit by an expensive-looking enchanted chandelier hanging from the ceiling. All around were pedestals, displays and shelves, displaying an eclectic collection of artifacts, jewels and knick-knacks. To his shock, Fancy realized he recognized some of them.
“Isn’t that the Heart of Canterlot!?” he stammered, rushing over to the beautiful diamond, resting on a plinth much like the one it had been displayed on on that fateful night four months before. “But the museum reported they’d recovered it! Fleur, you didn’t-”
“No, no, no, of course I didn’t!” she replied, laughing. “This is my trophy cabinet. Just souvenirs. Convincing though, aren’t they? I have the replicas made by a contact of mine in the city, then return the original. Just little mementos.”
Fancy blinked, looking around at the incredible collection. Copy Paste had done his job well, each of the replicas was indistinguishable from the original artifact, at least to a layman.
“And that’s the Border Blanket... the Seven League Horseshoes... the Cauldron of Black Night? How in Equestria did you walk out with that?” Fancy asked, bemused, as he glanced from item to item.
“Pretended I was catering staff,” Fleur replied as she examined the edge on her replica of Coltana, the sword of the legendary Ogre the Bane, an earth pony giant said to have fought and defeated an Ursa Major that had terrorized the earth pony tribes long before the founding of Equestria. She put it back next to its sister blades, Concorde; sword of the Unicorn King, and Marendal; blade of the pegasus swordspony Rolling Skies.
Fancy smirked as he continued browsing, occasionally stopping to inspect an item more closely. Eventually he came to an empty plinth, decorated in the royal colours and backed by the crest of the twin princesses.
“You have something in mind for this one, I take it?” Fancy asked as Fleur approached. She looked unsure as she gazed at the display in silence for a few moments, and Fancy wondered if he’d accidentally struck a nerve.
“... I had planned to put the crown jewels there,” she said at last, “they were... a goal, of sorts. The most precious and famous of all of Equestria’s artifacts, and they never leave the Princess’ side.”
She paused, and slowly looked up at her husband. “But... Maybe I set my sights too high. Things have changed now... We’re married, and we have a whole new life ahead of us...”
She turned and gestured to the entire collection with a hoof. “I wanted you to see all this, because... I’m giving it all up. I can’t risk being the ‘Fleurdeliser’ any more, not now that I have you. Besides... I know you didn’t really approve,” she laughed, “and that’s quite understandable!”
Fancy opened his mouth to say something, but Fleur lifted a hoof to stop him. “It’s alright, I came to this decision on the night of the exhibition. The Heart of Canterlot was my last prize, and I’ve earnt something far more precious than all the jewels of the kingdom.”
Smiling, her horn lit up, and she pulled a small box from the recesses of her clothing. She set it carefully down on the empty plinth, in pride of place, and opened it to reveal the engagement ring she had taken from Fancy on the night of the exhibition.
“The crowning jewel of my collection.”
Three years passed idly by. Fleur and Fancy lived a sheltered, but happy, life, staying out of the limelight of the paparazzi and only attending select social functions. They wished to spend the early years of their marriage together, to enjoy one another’s company. Fleur still did the occasional photography shoot and modelled a little for some of Canterlot’s more famous names (she could never find it in her heart to decline any of Hoity Toity’s offers), but largely remained beyond the public eye.
Fancy Pants returned to his work as a jeweller, the profession in which he was most skilled, (as his cutie mark attested to,) and in which he had earnt his fortune. He found Fleur’s collection an endless source of inspiration, and his lines of replica jewellery and historical fashions made enough money to provide for a comfortable lifestyle for the both of them.
Fleur had remained true to her promise, and had not stolen so much as the tiniest jewel in the kingdom (which would be the Whitetail Seed, claimed to be the last surviving seed of the original Whitetail Maple tree). Although, truth be told, that was because she had stolen it years before, so there wasn't really much point. All that said, she was beginning to feel that a certain degree of spice had gone out of her life.
She and Fancy were sitting around the breakfast table one morning, calmly chewing their way through the meal while slowly adjusting to the waking world. Neither of them handled mornings well, which was fortunate, because Lime and Hibiscus handled mornings well enough for the both of them.
“Another egg for you, Mister Fancy?” Lime said, a degree too loud and too enthusiastically, over the spitting of the oil in the frying pan. Fancy blinked, shaken out of a blank stare, and looked down at his overflowing plate of fried bread, tomato, potato rosti, potato scones, mushrooms, two eggs and a side of beans. He was certain it was emptier when he last looked. Barely had he opened his mouth to politely refuse when he found that the plate suddenly contained three eggs, and Lime Pickle was reaching for the carton.
“That’s fine, thank you, Mister Pickle! I think there’s enough here for a banquet, let alone breakfast.”
Hibiscus was also bustling around the kitchen, the portly mare taking an inventory of the groceries for the weekly shopping.
“... and that’s three pounds hay, make it four, as for oats... Oh, Fleur dear, are you wanting for oats?”
Fleur looked up from the morning newspaper, quickly gulping down the mouthful of oats she had been chewing. “Oh, no, thank you, I think there’s still plenty in the pantry.” She delicately took another mouthful and chewed carefully. “I would quite like some strawberries, though,” she added, swallowing.
“Strawberries! Of course dear, I’ll get you a punnet from the market. Anything else, for either of you?”
Fleur and Fancy looked at each other from across the table.
“No, thank you,” they chorused. It was one of those little rituals they had to go through every week. The Pickles were dedicated in making sure that every last detail of the couple’s life was as smooth and organized as it could possibly be.
Hibiscus and Lime were soon away, walking up the mountain path to the city market, which left Fancy and Fleur alone for a little well-earned peace. They both just sat there, enjoying the silence, broken only by the rustle of pages as Fleur read the newspaper and the gentle chewing and crunching of them eating their respective breakfasts. When a couple of minutes had gone by without any further rustling, it was unusual enough to make Fancy look up from his plate.
“Something interesting? You haven’t moved from that page in around five minutes,” he said, raising an eyebrow. Fleur glanced at him over the top of the page.
“Oh, no, nothing. Just an article,” she replied, hurriedly, and flicked over. When she had finished with the paper, she laid it flat on the table and continued eating, giving a disarming smile to her husband.
Fancy, suspicions sufficiently aroused, took up the paper and began reading through it. A few more minutes passed by as Fancy scanned through the rest of the paper. He glanced up at Fleur occasionally, noting that she suddenly seemed a little distant, as if pondering something, but said nothing until he came to rest on one particular article.
“I say!” Fancy uttered suddenly, causing Fleur to look up with an inquisitive expression. “The Princess is putting the crown jewels on display in the palace as a special exhibition! My, that must be the first time in... Well, since before I was born, I think. Normally she keeps them locked up under the castle somewhere.”
“I know,” Fleur replied, matter-of-factly, but a little glint had appeared in her eyes.
It didn’t escape Fancy’s notice.
“... Oh, no. No, no. You’re not,” he said, emphatically, folding up the paper and placing it down on the table.
“Not what?” Fleur replied, feigning ignorance.
“You know what. You made me a promise, Fleur, for the both of us,” he added, looking sternly at her.
“But-” she began, but was cut off.
“No! I can’t believe you’re seriously considering it! Well... actually, I can, and I’m a little disappointed, but I forbid you to do it!”
Fleur scowled back. “You ‘forbid’ me from doing it? Fancy, I made a promise! Do you think I would break it just like that?”
“If it were anything else, then of course I wouldn’t, but the crown jewels-”
“Fancy!”
“You mean to tell me, in all honesty, that you hadn’t thought once of stealing the crown jewels since you made that promise to me? Especially now, when the opportunity plainly presents itself?”
“You know I haven’t stolen anything since we married!”
“No, because there wasn’t anything worth taking! You were no common-or-garden thief, Fleur, you stole for the challenge of it, and there has never been a greater challenge to you than this,” Fancy stated, hitting the newspaper with his hoof for emphasis. “I just... I understand that this is a temptation to you. There are times when we visit galleries and museums that I notice you drifting off into your own head, and I know that, in your mind, you’re planning it all out, even if you don’t intend to do it. I just don’t want to see you get caught...”
Fancy sighed, and slumped back in his seat.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t get worked up like that. Just... Promise me you aren’t going to make any plans for this. Please?”
Fleur looked down at her half-eaten oats, unable to look Fancy directly in the eye. Truthfully, she had never really stopped planning that particular heist, and now, for the first time in her lifetime, it seemed as if it might be a tangible reality. However, she knew that Fancy’s fears weren’t entirely unfounded. Lenient as the Princess was with criminals, at least non-violent ones, she was still just, and the repercussions of being uncovered as ‘the Fleurdeliser’ would destroy Fancy’s reputation as much as her own.
“... I promise. But...” she said, at last, looking back up at her husband. “I would like to see the exhibition.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he replied, looking concerned. Fleur’s expression turned sour.
“Don’t mollycoddle me, I’m hardly going to leap at the display case in broad daylight.”
“I don’t doubt it, but what about late at night, when no one’s watching?”
“You think I just want to ‘case the joint’?” Fleur replied, her voice taking on an edge.
“Well, it’s a distinct possibility,” Fancy responded, just as coldly.
They stared at one another. Fleur got up from the table and silently walked out. Fancy heard the soft noise of her hooves on the carpet retreating, then the click of the hidden door, followed by the sound of it closing behind her.
He sighed in exasperation. It wasn’t very often that he and Fleur got into an argument, even a minor one. He knew his wife missed her more adventurous days, even if she didn’t outwardly show it, and he was terrified that one day she would give in to that temptation and be caught. He just thought that it would be best if, for the time being, they both stayed away from the upcoming exhibition.
He got up, leaving the rest of his breakfast, and walked out into the hallway. With a glance at the hidden door to Fleur’s cellar, he turned away, took his coat from the hangar by the door, and started walking into Canterlot. Sometimes they both needed their space.
Fleur heard Fancy’s heavy hoofsteps on the floor above, and marked the short pause before they continued, moving away from her towards the front door. She heard it close, and she heard the soft crunch of gravel beneath his hooves as he walked away.
She couldn’t put words to how she felt. ‘Conflicted’ would, perhaps, be the closest description. She slouched, a little, letting her shoulders fall and hanging her head as she walked around her trophy room. She always came here when she needed some peace or solace, or when she was angry and upset. It served as a constant reminder of what she had achieved, and she delighted in recalling the stories behind each object in the room.
Of their own accord, her eyes began to drift towards one pedestal in particular. She shut them tight and turned away, not allowing herself to look. The earlier pang of guilt throbbed once more beneath her breast.
Opening her eyes again, she stared forlornly at a display case containing her first trophy, a simple pendant and chain she had swiped from her mother’s jewellery when she was only a filly. She had been so happy that the act had made her realise her true talent and earned her cutie mark, but when she saw how distraught her mother had been at the loss of the pendant, she could not bring herself to tell her the truth, and hid it among her own small collection of jewellery..
She remembered how her mother had found her with it, and the punishment that followed. She had been upset then, both for having caused her mother so much worry and for being so selfish at keeping it from her. Her mother had been so very understanding, and although she insisted that Fleur deal take the consequences of her actions, she was not a cruel sort. For Fleur’s cute-ceañera, her mother had presented her with the pendant as a gift, although no one but Fleur and her family knew the true meaning behind it. They had let their friends and neighbours form their own assumptions as to Fleur’s special talent, never revealing what the three fleur-de-lis on her flank really represented.
Ever since then, although she still used her talents, she deliberately made sure to avoid causing her targets any undue stress or worry, which is why she made copies of the stolen goods for her own collection and then returned the original. It was for the same reason that she had promised Fancy, when they married, to give up thievery. It was the best way to avoid causing him worry. Yet, still...
She couldn’t help herself. She looked up at the pedestal that bore the engagement ring Fancy had made for her. The pedestal that was meant to hold the crown jewels.
Tearing up, she turned and fled from the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
Later that morning, Fleur had an obligation to attend a lunch hosted by one of her numerous high society acquaintances. Officially, they were ‘friends’, but Fleur personally thought that the term was much too precious to waste on just anypony, especially anypony in the ‘upper crust’. In general, she, like her husband, found them rather less interested in actual friendship than in gossip and finding the next rung up the social ladder. One had to be careful that the next rung did not become your own head.
She sat, now, around a table far too large for the purpose for which it was currently being used. There were several other ponies present, all of whom she knew (or at least knew of), but none of which were particularly close ‘acquaintances’. They nattered and blathered as they ate conspicuously small confectionaries and sipped from equally disappointing cups, made from finest china and containing what could charitably be called tea. All in all, there was a great deal of effort being made by the hostess to impress upon her guests that she was wealthier than she actually was.
As far as Fleur was concerned, it was like fencing against an earth pony that was holding the foil at the wrong end.
“Jewel, darling, I simply must say how much I appreciated the article you wrote for the Audience last week, it was most thought-provoking,” one pony opened, after a brief moment of silence, “I think we don’t spend nearly enough time contemplating our past culture. Why, just this week I was talking to Lore Keeper - he’s a teacher at the Canterlot School for Gifted Unicorns, don’t you know - and he was telling me that he had a student recently who couldn’t name the seven Unicorn Magi of the old kingdom!”
A ripple of gasps went up from around the table. Fleur obliged, and took a sip of tea to help resist the urge to roll her eyes.
“Well, it is always my continuing mission to educate the public about our rich cultural heritage, my dear Wall Flower,” responded Jewel, the ‘star-guest’ at the little gathering and a respected member of Canterlot’s archaeological community.
Jewel (or, more accurately, Lady Emerald Cabochon, the Viscountess Bridlebrook), ran a small, private museum out of her Canterlot townhouse, which had recently received an award from the Princesses, hence her inclusion. Fleur knew full well that Lady Wall Flower (the Countess Whitetail) wouldn’t have invited ‘that disgraceful unicorn that digs around in dirt all day’ out of sheer goodwill. In fact, Fleur noted, with a sense of wry amusement, that all of the members of the little circle were nobility of one sort or another, including herself.
Of course, Fleur was not above occasionally hosting little parties of her own, much like this one, but tended to be less discriminating about the guestlist. Fancy Pants held no title, and built his fortune from the ground up, and so tended to socialize with those of ‘lesser degree’. Fleur had to agree with her husband’s opinion in that regard. She, too, found them ‘charmingly rustic’.
However, she had her reputation to maintain, and so she was forced to sit through arduous social gatherings such as this one.
“In fact, that reminds me... I hear that the Princesses are putting on an exhibition at the palace this month, displaying the crown jewels and other treasures of the kingdom. I have already received my personal invitation, of course,” Jewel continued, snapping Fleur out of her wandering thoughts and back to the conversation at hand.
Not to be outdone, Wall Flower’s horn lit up and an envelope floated over from the cabinet to her right. Clearly she had been prepared for this.
“Indeed! I received my own just this morning.” She opened the envelope and waved the letter about for her guests to see. Everypony else made some sign of affirmation that they had also received theirs but had conveniently forgotten to bring them with them. Everypony except Fleur, who remained quiet. This did not go unnoticed.
“Fleur, dear, you seem a little distant.” Lady Wall Flower asked, the question barbed, deliberately drawing the attention of all present to her target. “I trust that you, too, are going to the exhibition? After all, everypony knows what a great lover of the arts and history you are!”
That fumbling earth pony had figured out which end of the foil was which and made a lucky strike.
Fleur didn’t have time to parry.
“I...” she hesitated. All eyes stared at her, waiting for a single indication of weakness, like pack animals surrounding their prey.
Her feelings of distress and panic rose back up through her veneer of calm and ease. She remembered that morning’s argument. She remembered the pedestal.
She gulped.
“Of... course I’ll be going. Fancy and I have already made plans,” she replied, her expression carefully neutral. Inside, she felt pain stabbing her heart as she made the barefaced lie, but she couldn’t lose face, not to these mares. Fancy would understand.
She hoped.
Fleur returned home some hours later.
When Mrs. Pickle opened the door, Fleur was almost immediately presented with a letter, even before she’d had a chance to cross the threshold. The moment she saw the delicate cursive, the royal postmark and the artistic cut of the envelope, her suspicions were confirmed. She knew exactly what it was. A part of her had been hoping that it wouldn’t be there, but she had known it would be.
She took it from Hibiscus, not wanting to betray her unease about the matter, and feigned surprise as she opened it and read the text contained within.
“ ‘To the Lady Élisabeth de la Camarque, Countess Manade, and her husband, Fancy Pants, greetings.
Her Royal Highnesses, the Princesses Celestia and Luna, do request your presence at the opening of Her Royal Highness, the Princess Celestia’s, exhibition of the Crown Jewels of the Principality of Equestria, to be held on-’ ” Fleur recited, before Hibiscus interrupted her.
“An invite from the Princesses themselves?! My, Fleur, this is most serious! I’ll need at least a week to help you prepare! Perhaps two! Oh, I should go pick out some dresses immediately...” she said, and almost immediately disappeared up the stairs of the house, leaving Fleur alone with the letter. She sighed, and placed it aside on the table near the door. She would deal with all that later.
For the moment, Fleur decided she needed to relax, and ventured upstairs. Carefully trying not to disturb Hibiscus, who was furiously tearing through Fleur’s wardrobe, she managed to make it to the bathroom, and began to run a bath. Once full, she slipped into the warm water and tried to put the whole affair out of her mind. She was beginning to wish she hadn’t ever seen that morning’s newspaper.
Barely half an hour later, she heard the front door open and close, followed by the unmistakable, heavy tread of Fancy returning home from work. On any other day, she would’ve been happy to hear it, but today it just brought on a feeling of dread.
The hoofsteps stopped, and she knew he’d seen the letter on the table. There was a minute of silence, and Fleur strained her hearing to pick up any indication of his immediate reaction to the invitation. The hoofsteps returned, a little slower and more deliberate, as they passed through the hallway and into the front room.
He was waiting for her to make the first move. She ought to have known that was how he’d react. They had, after all, had more than enough bouts of fencing over the three years they had been married to allow her to predict that much. She pondered how long she could stay in the bathroom without it being considered ‘too long’, but almost immediately there came a knocking at the door.
“Your husband is home, Fleur, just so you know,” the muffled voice of Hibiscus informed her.
Fleur sighed, and dragged herself out onto a waiting towel.
In five minutes she was standing at the top of the stairs, trying to find her nerve. A part of her felt ridiculous for hesitating. Fancy was her husband, not some terrifying ogre. He’d understand. He always did.
Yet there was still that small doubt at the back of her mind, that little voice that said that, no, he wouldn’t understand, or he didn’t want to.
However, she couldn’t stay standing on the edge of the staircase forever. Taking a deep breath and steeling herself, she began a slow descent, trying to be as light and as noiseless as possible. She reached the door and peered through the crack that joined the door and frame, catching a glimpse of Fancy facing away, looking out of the front window. His stance denoted stress; he always drew himself up to his full height when he was tense. The letter was on the coffee table in the centre of the room. The skewed angle at which it sat seemed to indicate it had been discarded with some force, rather than placed down carefully.
She gently pushed the door open and stepped inside. Fancy didn’t immediately turn around, but when he did, looked less like he was angry, and more like he was just worn out.
“I see you received an invitation from the Princesses,” he said, by way of greeting.
“I did, yes,” Fleur replied.
There was a silence.
“I suppose I shall have to write and tell her royal highness that we can’t attend,” Fancy continued, searching Fleur’s downard eyes for any hint of disapproval.
She looked up, and a brief hint of panic crossed her features, just enough that Fancy caught it.
“Something wrong?” he asked, almost rhetorically.
“I...” Fleur stammered. She felt as if the blade of her wit had been completely stolen away. Fancy was a fine fencer, to disarm her so completely without even striking.
“I... I told Lady Wall Flower that we would be attending the exhibition,” she managed to say, and steeled herself for her husband’s reaction.
It didn’t come.
Fancy just stood there. He wasn’t even looking at her, anymore, he was just looking past her. His eyes were vacant.
She stepped closer.
“... Barding?”
“You couldn’t do it, could you?” he replied, his voice shaking a little. “You couldn’t let your own image slide. Couldn’t possibly lose face.”
“Barding, I...”
“Can’t you see that I don’t want to go through with this either? Damn it all, Élisabeth, I’m not doing this for the sake of being stubborn! This isn’t one of your fencing bouts! I’m not trying to ‘win’!”
She tried to say something, but nothing came.
“I know you want nothing more than to go!” Fancy continued, his voice rising. “And not just for that reason, either. There’s no pony alive who’s seen the full regalia, other than the Princesses themselves. Frankly, I’d like to go see it, too, but I was going to lay that aside so that it wouldn’t become a temptation to you!”
“But, I-”
“No! No excuses! You were just thinking about yourself again, you didn’t spare a thought for me! It was all about how you’d look if you didn’t go, how it would tarnish your perfect score against your ‘friends’, if you can even bring yourself to call them that!”
He picked up the letter, holding it so tight in his telekinesis out of anger that it began to crumple.
“Nevermind how it would reflect on me! Nevermind how it would put you directly in the path of something we both know you can’t resist! How can I put this any other way? I don’t want you to get caught!”
The last barb struck a chord in Fleur’s heart. Her biggest flaw rose back to the fore, because Fancy had pricked it: her pride. How could he not see what a prize this was? How could he understand?
“I wouldn’t get caught,” she spat back. As parrying went, a child could have struck a better blow, but it had allowed her to regain her footing, and now she was on the offensive.
“Not that that even matters! You don’t trust me! That’s what this is, isn’t it? You don’t trust me!” she stamped her hoof on the carpet as she snarled her reply.
“No, I don’t!” Fancy flung the words back at her, and the accusation stung her.
“And what do you care for how you look? You’re always telling me how you’d much rather mingle with your suppliers than your clients! In fact, I don’t believe you wanted to see the exhibition at all, you wanted to snub it, just to show the elite that it doesn’t matter to you!” Fleur shouted, not caring if Mr. and Mrs. Pickle heard the argument.
“Well, I-! So now I’m a liar as well as a cruel husband?” Fancy replied, staggering from Fleur’s verbal assault; her zornhau.
“You’re a hypocrite! You accuse me of only caring for my image when, really, its yours you’re worried about! Well, stay at home if you like, but I’ll go, and I’ll prove to you that I’m not some magpie that’s irresistibly drawn to any shiny thing she sees!”
Fleur tore the letter from Fancy’s magic grip, and the backlash made his head spin. She stormed from the room, heading straight for her trophy chamber. Only when the door had clicked shut behind her and she had reached the end of the winding stairs did she stop, and seethe.
She threw the letter aside and strode to the desk she kept at one corner of the room, the desk at which she had planned so many of her previous escapades. It was almost a trophy in itself.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a map of Canterlot, marked many times over in as many different inks, highlighting every place of interest, every back alley route and service tunnel in the city.
She glanced at the pedestal that held her engagement ring. She looked back at the map.
This was how she let off steam. She planned and organized.
Then the realisation hit her. Fancy was right; she couldn’t resist it. It was an addiction, and being denied the chance to indulge it was what had driven her to argue with him.
But she could handle herself. She had to prove that.
She would just plan it, as a theoretical exercise. That’s what she told herself. It would calm her down, and potentially fill that craving.
She looked at the scale drawing of Canterlot Palace on the map, and traced the route to her own home with her eyes. Smiling to herself, she picked up a ruler, and began measuring the distance between them.
