Peace is kept amongst the warring factions of the city only by the will of the Princesses, the grace of the Athanatoi, and the wits of the stallions and mares of the Equestrian government that put duty ahead of trivial squabbles. This is their story.
One-thousand and one years after the banishment of Nightmare Moon, and the realm of Equestria is once more governed by two princesses, equal in authority, though not in influence.
However, despite the return of the younger princess, all is not well in the capital city of Equestria. Once little more than a maze of cottages scattered around a newly-built keep, it has grown into a city that could rival the great metropolises of Minos and Tarracob, though nowhere near as exotic, of course. But conflict roils beneath the surface; once truly ‘the best,’ now the larger part of the old aristocrats, once the models of Equestrian virtues, mostly sit in their manors and keep themselves occupied with petty intrigues, squashing all but the most determined of up-and-coming nobles of less ancient stock beneath their gilded shoes, while the middle classes bicker and gamble over which faction to back, but otherwise remain uninvolved.
Peace is kept amongst the factions only by the will of the Princesses, the grace of the Athanatoi, and the backbone and quick wit of the stallions and mares of the Equestrian government, noble and plebeian, patrician and nouveau-riche, that put duty ahead of trivial squabbles. This is their story.
(Be warned; the following story will almost certainly contain lots of sex, violence, and intrigue. For those too squeamish, take comfort in the fact that the sex and violence is purely fictional and not an actual depiction of violence, decadence and ruthless backstabbing based on the annals of history without sanitisation. Contains M/F, F/F, M/M, M/F/F, M/F/M, and just about any kind of monogamous and polyamorous combination imaginable, including orgies, and both implied and explicit incest between a canon character and an OC sibling.)
Like with all great upheavals, it began with a war. Well, it couldn’t quite be called a war at the moment; more like a scaled-up barroom brawl in which one third of the room is fighting, another third is waiting for an opportunity to join the fray, and the other third either wants the fight to stop, or is betting on which poor drunken bastard looks the meanest.
Taking all that into account, a ranged skirmish was probably the best way to describe what was going on at the moment; though it was more symbolic of the larger picture of the genuine quasi-war that had been bubbling beneath the surface for decades. Today, though, it all seemed to come to a head.
Beneath the great dome of Canterlot’s Parliament House, in the shadow of the great Temple of Concordia, divine Lady of Peace, a most curious fracas had broken out in the middle of the floor. Dozens of noble Senators fought with each other: the unicorns lobbing any available object across the room with the force of their magic, pegasi grappling with each other in the air in positions that would make most athletes wince in sympathy, and the earth ponies simply attempting to pummel the others into submission by hoof. This went on in full splendour, as some of the sparring nobles fell to the ground, exhausted and battered, their fellows barely batting an eye long enough to avoid trodding them underhoof. Just to put the frosting on the cake, the glorious cacophony of grunts, groans, and yelps of pain was all accompanied by the barely-audible, though constant, shouts of the Senate’s Speaker for order.
On the opposite side of the room, most of the Tribunes, or plebeian members of Parliament, were busy discussing amongst themselves what to do about the business at hand before the fight had broken out, joined by a couple dozen of the more sensible Senators who’d managed to make it unharmed (or unnoticed) from the Senators’ benches. “What in Concordia’s name are we supposed to do about this? Parliament’s still in session until our fellow idiots get their act together and close it properly, and we can’t actually do anything unless they vote on it with us!” piped up Night Light of House Sparkle, a fairly minor Senator with enough sense to get away from the fracas before it even began.
Chancellor Fancy Pants adjusted his cracked monocle, his purple-striped robe looking a little worse for wear as well (he wasn't as lucky as Night Light), before glancing back across at his fellow Senators. “I think we could, actually.” The little smile on his face grew into a devilish smirk no one but two of the ponies gathered there had seen before, prompting the Tribunes to look up at him with curiosity and mild alarm.
One of the Tribunes, Arpeggio, simply gave him an incredulous look. In other words, his default expression towards suggesting any breach of proper protocol. “Your Grace, with all due respect, if an argument over granary construction closer to the city sent these half-wits fighting tooth and nail, I don’t think they’re going to shut up and listen long enough to vote. Clearly, this lot was just looking for a fight today; and don’t look like anything’s going to stop ‘em, either.” The others around him nodded, not seeing an end to the chaos anytime soon. After all, they were only thirty minutes into a session when nearly half of Parliament had degenerated into a flock of angry loons, just barely self-controlled enough to not severely wound any of their fellows. Yet.
Fancy Pants’ smirk, however, did not subside. Instead, he looked over at one of the Senators who’d been doing her best to avoid being noticed by anypony; their new Recorder. “Blue Belle, what does the law say about voting in Parliament sessions; specifically, emergency procedures?”
The mare did her best to cut her brief impression of a gaping fish at being called on short, and cleared her throat nervously, her eyes fixed on the panels of the coffered ceiling as if praying for them not to crash down. “W-well, Article XV, Section B reads that, in a state of absence or incapacitation of m-most of the Senate, a two-thirds majority vote in the Tribunal, with the Chancellor presiding, will suffice to c-carry a m-motion until the Senate c-can...” Her mouth promptly shut as she realised what she’d said, and Fancy Pants’ smirk became downright smug as he looked around at his fellow members of Parliament, giving nods of understanding as the implications dawned on them.
“Very well then; we’ll just have to get business done without them this time, won’t we?” He said with a roguish wink that, though they would never admit it, flustered a few of his colleagues just a tad. “After all, they seem pretty incapacitated to me. All in favour of clearing the ruins of those mouldy old warehouses, and building new granaries closer to the city?” All the Tribunes assembled, as well as their handful of Senator colleagues, raised a hoof. A certain blonde stallion beamed proudly at the Chancellor’s quick thinking, then quickly regained his composure before anypony but the object of his smile could notice. “None opposed?” He paused for a moment, then glanced back at the madding crowd behind him to see if any of them were paying attention. Thankfully, they were not; though one of them had apparently managed to get ahold of the formal wands of office and had begun beating all and sundry within striking range with a bundle of them. Fancy winced at the sound of cracking wood; there was more Treasury money down the drain, he thought as he turned back around to the others with a painfully neutral smile. “Motion carried. Senator Blue Belle?” The mare nodded meekly.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I declare this session closed. Now, write up the report of today’s proceedings for me to send to the Princesses. Both of them.” He gave the other side of the room a pointed look. “I’d particularly love to see what Princess Luna has in store to correct this mob of brawlers, I’m sure.” The few Tribunes and Senators who’d seen Princess Luna at the height of her Parliament-induced fury before snickered audibly; there was a certain lovely sense of schadenfreude about watching most of the most powerful men in the city reduced to a whimpering supplicants by the mere force of a Diarch’s shouting. As long as it wasn’t directed at them, anyway.
And so, as the fracas continued, the remaining mares and stallions on the peaceful side of the room slipped out the back entrance quickly and quietly, knowing they would soon be at a safe distance from the chaos of the Parliament House, and the very loud royal chastisement soon to follow.
Just another ordinary day in Canterlot, Fancy thought.
The hustle and bustle in the capital city on a busy day wasn’t as rushed or crowded as in other cities, one might observe. Ponies draped in silks and linens, perfectly suitable for the summer months, made their way up and down the shrub-lined boulevards, on the lookout for the nearest stall or shop that looked appealing. Vendors shouted out their wares at the top of their lungs, putting the most eye-catching items on display in front of them.
It was through this crowd that Fancy Pants made his way home, his formal senatorial robe replaced with a more casual vest and tucked into his saddlebag to not attract too much attention while on a simple walk. He’d had enough excitement for one day, after all.
Bright fabrics with rich embroidery lay stacked in bolts in front of their stalls, occasionally unrolling long enough for the disgruntled vendor to have to chase after one. Poor Lilly Love, he thought. She’s always knocking over one thing or another when she gets too enthusiastic during a sale. Red amphorae with intricate patterns painted onto them stood upright with bronze and copper vases and jugs, burnished to shine in the late afternoon sun. A very wide range of jewelry lay assorted on a velvet cushion atop one vendor’s stall, though the disgruntled look on the mare’s face told him she hadn’t been having a very good day, either.
He stopped for a moment, glancing back and forth between the jewelry vendor and a wine seller right across from her. Bellona’s breath, he needed a drink or two anyways. And he had been looking for a present for Fleur before he left for the Parliament session; now was as good a time as any to get one. Oh, and something for Night Light and Twilight Velvet, too, maybe.
With his usual cheerful smile, he walked up to the jeweler, glanced down at her wares, and quickly produced a purse half-full with bits. “How much for that, my good lady?”
Fleur de Lis reclined on her couch in what most would call a regal pose, gazing into the depths of the shallow pool in the middle of her house’s atrium, and discreetly ignoring the sound of loud, boisterous recreational activities in the bedroom on the north side of the room. She shook her head with an amused smile, suddenly glad for the many scented wax candles she’d set around the house. She looked back up to find the other two mares in the room still chatting away. “I’ve told you a hundred times North, you can’t let those nasty snobs get to you too much. I mean, after all, you were paid fair and square for the plans; what do they want, a discount on the next one?”
North Star just huffed and spent a few minutes gazing into the cushions of her couch before looking up at her companion. “I know, I know, Petunia, but you know I can’t help it! Those insufferable ponies call my work ‘a bunch of organised scribbling.’ Scribbling! The greedy lot can usually barely scratch a straight line in the dirt, and they have the nerve to call architectural drafting ‘scribbling?’ I work for every bit I get, and if they don’t appreciate having to pay for the best damned architect in the city,” she gestured towards her cutie mark of a drawing compass, “Then they can go pay for a cheaper one!”
Petunia nodded in sympathy, the earth pony mare refilling her cup of wine from a nearby pitcher before handing it to one of Fleur’s servants, “Take that to North. She looks like she needs it.” Once both their cups were refilled, she continued. “I feel for you; after all the horticultural profession isn’t one looked on too favourably in this city,” she muttered with a hint of bitterness, “Oddly enough, since they sure love their gardens here, but most of these aristocrats can’t be bothered to respect the ponies that make them grow and flourish.” She froze for a moment, before glancing over at Fleur with an apologetic smile, “Present company excepted, of course.” Her smile slowly sank back into a frown as she looked down into her cup, then back at Fleur. “But... come on, my Lady, you have to get tired of it too, I mean? The old farts and their constant belittling, the snobby looks, the stupid muttering behind our backs? It’s got to be-”
Fleur delicately coughed, shooting Petunia a stern look, and the other mare fell silent. She looked Petunia in the eye, before opening her mouth to speak, “Yes, it is.... unpleasant to deal with, especially with my previous career being a ‘not noble enough’ background for some of the snobbier ones to count me as an aristocrat, wealth and title or not.” She shrugged, keeping her face a neutral mask of indifference. She was a first-generation noble of the lowest rank, a baronetess, who, like many young bourgeois, acquired the title in response to a generous fixed 'donation' to the royal treasury. Celestia had created that title for two reasons: one, to make money easily; and two, for easier social mobility for members of the upper-middle classes. “Still, need I remind you, a good number of my friends and allies are 'proper' nobles. Night Light, Twilight Velvet, Octavia Philharmonica, Primrose, Purple Stripe, Prince Blueblood-”
North and Petunia were just barely able to cover up their snickers by turning them into a fits of coughing, intentionally avoiding the glare Fleur threw their way. “No offence, my Lady, but Blueblood usually has one of three things on his mind; power, sex,” North gestured towards the currently-occupied bedroom off the atrium for emphasis, “and drink."
"Don't I know it." she said with a roll of her eyes.
"All three together, if the rumour of him hosting Bacchic rites in his villa are anything to go by.”
Petunia flushed, trying to look anywhere but at the two other mares. “Actually, they’re quite true. I’ve been to one of his parties, and believe me when I say they make Purple Stripe’s look chaste.” Her ears folded down in embarrassment at the surprised looks Fleur and North were shooting her. “What? I’m not one of Lady Camina’s sworn virgin priestesses, so don’t look too shocked. I’m an adventurous mare, after all.”
North broke the moment of silence with a chuckle, while Fleur filled a cup of wine for herself before passing the pitcher back to North. “So you are, Petunia; I do not doubt that. Even if you are easy to tease..” She offered the pitcher to the other mare. “More wine, dear?”
“Thank you.”
The three of them lay there, quietly sipping from their cups, before North started the conversation back up in her usual direct manner, “So, how was Blueblood between the sheets anyway? If rumours anything to go by, he’s supposed to be very... vigorous.”
To her credit, Petunia did not spit out her wine; as she had prudently drank just before that question was asked. Instead, she flushed even redder, shakily setting her cup down before she could spill any. “How would I even-”
“You just admitted to going to one of his orgies, dear.”
The horticulturist pony squirmed in her chair, North fighting down a fit of giggles at Petunia’s expense while Fleur took the more delicate approach. “Don’t mind her any, Petunia; you know how... blunt she can be about these matters.”
"Not my fault she's so easy to tease about these-"
“It’s... it’s alright,” Petunia took a deep breath, her face returning to its usual violet hue. “Actually...” she grinned sheepishly, “He was pretty... vigorous. A bit smaller than usual, but by the ancestors, I definitely felt all of it, for sure. I kid you not; it took him nearly three hours to run out of stamina. And he was with probably a fair number of the guests that night besides me. I didn’t stay for the second and third nights, I was so exhausted.”
Fleur nodded, thinking back to some of the stories Fancy had told her of Blueblood’s stamina. “So Fancy told me.” A small grin made its way onto her muzzle, “He didn’t say he was a little undersized, though.”
North snorted, “Of course not. He’d want nothing more than for you to think the utmost best of his ‘dear friend Blueblood’, despite his vices. Probably hoping you’d actually agree to his offer to join those two in bed one of these days. How he ever took a shine to that fussy little lecher, I’ll never know...”
Fleur paled at the thought; while she loved Fancy dearly, she had little regard for Blueblood, his political position and very close friendship with her lover aside. Unlike some of the more adventurous members of her class, it was a requirement for her to at least like somepony before thinking of bedding them. She knew Fancy felt the same; she just didn’t understand what he liked in the stallion, Fleur thought to herself with a just a teensiest bit of envy.
Before she could start brooding on how to deal with the ambitious fop of a prince, the door to the previously occupied bedroom swung open, the object of her thoughts appearing on the other side of the doorway with a grin so smug Fleur had the urge to smack it off his face. From behind him appeared two of Fleur’s servants, Rosemary and Star Bright, the two of them sporting the usual giddy, painfully wide smiles Blueblood tended to leave in his wake. “My Lady Fleur! Your beauty outshines the brightest lilies of the field, as always,” he said with a sweeping bow, somehow managing to look dignified despite being sweaty and just a tad bedraggled, not even mentioning the other bodily fluids probably on him. Fleur just gave him a flat look, “Go clean yourself up, Your Highness, before you speak with me. Can you not spend a day without seducing one or more of my servants? Are the guests at your... parties not enough variety for you?”
Blueblood just gave her that irritatingly charming smile that almost never seemed to leave his muzzle. “Not my fault all the mares in your household are distractingly attractive.” He shot the departing flank of Star Bright a rather appreciative look. “The stallions, too.”
Fleur rolled her eyes, not in a mood to deal with his antics yet. “Don’t I know it,” she muttered, thinking of Fancy, before slipping on her mask of indifference once more, “At any rate, you need to get cleaned up before Fancy gets home, and before Night Light and Twilight Velvet arrive to head to the party tonight.”
“True enough,” Blueblood said, making his way out of the atrium and towards the back of the house. She breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the door shut behind him, turning back towards her guests, who had remained silent the whole time. “Well, don’t just lay there; it’s time for us to get ready! You left your dresses in the guest bedrooms, right?” The two of them nodded, and promptly headed off to change.
With a sigh, Fleur lay back onto her couch on her back, looking up at the patterns on the ceiling. It wasn’t that she disliked Blueblood because he slept with Fancy; if that was the case, she wouldn’t get along with Hoity, South Pole or even Night Light and Velvet; well, at least before that one night the Senator, his wife, and Fleur had spent together after Fleur’s birthday party, anyway. It was more that... well, she was worried. She knew Blueblood and Fancy’s friendship went back years before they’d even met each other, back at their Hoofton School days; but she also knew Blueblood was an ambitious power-broker, and couldn’t help but wonder if, worst came to worst, Blueblood would betray Fancy if it suited his political goals. She felt tears prick at her eyes at the thought; she just didn’t want him to get hurt like that...
“My brightest lily, I am home!” announced a familiar boisterous voice, Fleur’s brooding quickly turning to delight. The mare nearly fell into the atrium pool in her scrabble to get to the door, but she made it with nary a hair out of place, wrapping her forehooves around the barrel of her lover as soon as he stepped into the atrium.
“Thank the ancestors you’re home! After all I heard about the trouble with the Senate today, I thought you wouldn’t be back from the palace in time.”
Fancy returned the embrace with equal vigour, nuzzling into her shoulder. “Well, I’m home now, my dear Fleur,” he said, pulling away enough for her to see his smile. “I trust Blueblood behaved himself while I was gone?”
Fleur bit back the first retort that came to mind, before settling for the second. “As much as usual; he’s in the bath at the moment, of course.” “Ah,” he said with a tinge of disappointment. “Oh well. I trust he didn’t act too unsavoury towards you, my lily?”
“No.” she said with a shake of her head, her lip curling slightly. “Just him being... himself as usual.”
Fancy frowned, his eyes taking on that ‘pleading’ look that always managed to make her heart (and Blueblood’s, she suspected) melt, at least for the time being. “Alright then.” He turned away for a moment, in thought, before his eyes widened. “Oh, by the way; I have something for you I picked up from the market.” He opened his saddlebags, levitating his gift for her out so she could see it. “I hope you like it.”
A brilliant gold pendant in the shape of a, well, Fleur-de-lys, hung on a chain in front of her, set with sparkling little white gemstones. Her eyes watered slightly, before she pulled Fancy in for a passionate kiss, to his pleasant surprise. “Well, that answers that question!” he said with a breathless chuckle once she pulled away.
The two of them simply gazed at each other for a few moments, before a cough caught their attention. “Erm, Your Grace, My Lady? It’s time for you two to get ready for the party.”
Fancy nodded, sharing one last nuzzle with Fleur before going their separate ways. “Of course it is. And may it be a damned fine party.”
A few hours later, Fleur, Petunia, North Star, Fancy and Blueblood were gathered in the atrium, and all were quite ready, thank you very much. There was one thing missing; well, two, rather. Night Light and Twilight Velvet.
Fortunately, the five of them would not have to wait long. Soon enough, the sound of rapping on the door made it to their ears, followed by a muffled call of, “Open up! It’s us, Fleur!” With a smile of delight, Fleur signalled to one of her servants, and the door was practically flung open as Fleur and Fancy found themselves with their forelegs full of a certain pair of ponies. “Fleur!”
“Fancy!”
“Are you two ready for tonight?” the two responded practically in unison, despite their muzzles being almost buried in the shoulders of the ones they’d hugged. Fleur and Fancy nodded, and the two... affectionate nobles pulled away, smoothing out their outfits quickly. They were a very spirited pair; probably what made them such a good fit for each other, their backgrounds aside. Twilight Velvet was of an old patrician family, the House of Vesperae, in contrast to the relatively nouveau-riche Sparkles. Still, the two made quite a pair. Night Light’s meeker, more controlled scholarly demeanor matched well with Twilight’s exuberance, usually bringing out in her a measure of sobriety she usually lacked; likewise, as tonight, her exuberance encouraged him to be more open and carefree as well.
“Yes, we are,” Fancy nodded, giving Night Light an affectionate peck on the cheek while Fleur did the same with Twilight.
“Shall we go then? I’d like to get there before sundown,” uttered Blueblood, immaculate in his usual black waistcoat and deep blue bow tie. Fleur resisted the urge to smack him, her face remaining curved in a smile.
“I think we shall. Onward then, my friends!”
With that, the seven of them made their way outside, the door swinging shut behind them.
It was looking to be a fun night in the villa of Purple Stripe, esteemed, if often-absent, member of the Senate. Beautiful mares in bright, flowing swathes of translucent material danced about everywhere, taking a spare moment or two to flirt with the guests. Nobleponies and citizens of various stations mingled, laughed and chatted amongst themselves, all whilst drinking heavily from their glasses. A haze of sweet incense mingled with shisha and hemp smoke hung over the entire inside of the house, drifting out the opened windows. The music of violins, flutes, drums and an oud could be heard floating through the air, a small group of musicians clustered by the atrium pool. All in all, it was looking to be a great party.
Life is good, Purple Stripe thought as he observed the proceedings from his couch on the far end of the dining room, very glad for everything to be going smoothly. The chairs had been moved out of his sumptuous dining room, as per usual for an informal occasion. Comfortable couches were placed along the length of the long table, upon which his guests reclined as they ate.
And ate they did. He had spared no expense to provide food, hiring more cooks than usual to prepare enough food for over a hundred guests. Fresh fruit, tarts, pies, custards, soups, stews, salads, sandwiches; all were piled high upon the table, as servants armed with trays of cups and jugs of wine moved from pony to pony, making sure no one was thirsty. Purple Stripe signaled to one of his servants, who quickly refilled his own with wine. He took a deep gulp from his gem-encrusted goblet, and leaned his head back onto the couch with a sigh of contentment, slipping off his red robe and handing to a servant to leave himself in his dress shirt and waistcoat. It may be an informal occasion, but damned if I'm going to be less well-dressed than my guests. I'm the host, for Celestia's sake!
The other guests were attired with varying degrees of formality. Most had come in a simple dress or waistcoat, others wore dress shirts or more formal gowns, and at least one had arrived in a burgundy coat, waistcoat, and day cravat (Hoity Toity, of course; the designer never turned down a chance to show off his own designs.). Some wore nothing, but since this was normal for most ponies, he let it slide. After all, it was supposed to be somewhat informal.
The guests certainly seem to be enjoying themselves, anyway, he thought with a happy smile. They were certainly chatty, anyway, as wine had a proclivity to loosening tongues, even in the most awkward of company. Senators and Tribunes alike (even those who’d been brawling earlier) swapped stories over their cups of wine (and various other beverages), laughing uproariously over jokes that would be entirely inappropriate if the setting were more formal. Minor magistrates, celebrities, city councilors, and even important clergy involved themselves as well, some flirting with the dancing mares, some flirting with each other, and some going off and finding a private spot to get... busier, he presumed. Purple grinned as he spotted a lovely yellow-coated priestess of Sapientia chatting away with one of the dancers, their conversation audible from across the table.
"So... priestesses don't have to be celibate, do they?" the light-pink earth pony mare asked.
"Oh, no, no, no!" the priestess giggled, brushing her light blue mane out of her eyes. "That's the Caminal Virgins, and only during their tenure. Other than that, no celibacy necessary for them; and not at all for the rest of us. Why do you ask?" She batted her eyelashes slightly at the other mare, causing her to blush slightly, and not from the wine this time.
"N-no reason. Well... back in Bitalia, my parents' home, all the priests have to be celibate." The mare said, a trace of a Tuscaneighse accent coming through in her voice.
"Bitalia... oh, right, the.. Romane faith?"
"Correct, Signora. La Chiesa."
"And you? I don't suppose the, uh, Chiesa is incredibly fond of your chosen profession."
"I... kind of still am, though I've... how do you say? Fallen off the vagone?"
The priestess chuckled loudly, almost upsetting her wine as she turned onto her side on the couch. "I can see that. Don't worry, fallen off the wagon or not, I'm sure your Gods- sorry, God- is still fond of you. He'd have to, to create such a lovely flower as yourself." She smiled, and brushed a hoof along the other mare's cheek.
The mare's pink muzzle turned bright scarlet, and she stuttered out, "O-oh, grazie for the.. compliment, but, really, I-I'm not that pretty, S-signora..."
"Oh, don't sell yourself short, dear. And there's no need to call me Signora! I’m no Lady, after all. Call me Poppy Fields, or Poppy for short."
"Lucia. Lucia diSpezia..."
With a smirk, Purple Stripe turned away from their conversation and back to his own thoughts. Like Lucia, he was of (though distant) Bitalian descent, as was obvious in his house's interior design. The frescos and mosaics that decorated the walls and floors of the house were of Bitalian artistry, as were the heavy, luxurious velvet curtains in front of his windows. However, unlike Lucia, his family had adopted the Equestrian Faith long ago instead of the Romane Chiesa, worshipping the distant Harmony and her many divine viceroys, the Athanatoi, in charge of various spheres of life: Sapientia, Lady of Wisdom; Bellona, Lady of War; Gaia, Lady of the Earth; Concordia, Lady of Peace; Mercurius, Lord of Trade; Bacchus, Lord of Merriment, and many others.
Speaking of the Athanatoi, I do believe another guest of mine may be distraught if I'm not there to greet him. With that, Purple Stripe rose from his couch and headed towards the atrium of the house. It was large, but he had made the most of the space; the usual pool of water was sunken into the tiled floor at the center of the room, just beneath a mosaic of seaponies on the ceiling. At the far end of the atrium was the doors to the house, and opposite them, the home shrine to the Athanatoi and the Lares, his ancestral spirits, against the wall. The cabinet that held their images was wide open; only some of the statues were in their proper places, however, as the statue to Bacchus stood on a pedestal by the door, (since any party was automatically under his patronage) on whose head was draped a small wreath of pink flowers. Purple smiled, then touched his hoof to his lips and extended it towards the statue, the proper salute to the Athanatoi, just as a loud knock sounded on the door.
With a smile, he rushed to the door and opened it with his magic, letting it swing open. "Welcome, welcome friends! So glad you could join us!"
Seven ponies stepped through the open doorway, all dressed as well as possible for the occasion.. "Lord Purple. A pleasure, as always." Fancy Pants said with a smile, giving a curt, formal bow in greeting.
"And you, Your Grace." He looked towards the other members of the group, giving them a low nod in turn. “Lady Fleur, Prince Blueblood, Lord Night Light, Lady Twilight, and Misses Petunia and North Point. A pleasure as always.” He gestured towards the atrium. “Please, come on in.”
The six of them nodded in return, heading inside. “You are too kind, my dear Purple,” said Fleur sweetly, giving the Senator a kiss on the cheek, copied shortly by Fancy and Blueblood.
Purple chuckled. "Don't worry, my dears; it’s looking to be a good party so far. You’ll definitely be pleased!" “I should hope so,” said Blueblood with a smirk. “After all, your parties are the only ones usually compared to mine!”
“Just remember I was busy hosting the Bacchic rites when you were still in royal diapers, Your Highness.” Purple said with a gleam in his eye.
"Of course." Blueblood said with a toss of his mane, following Fancy and the others out of the atrium, and towards the dining room.
Purple was a reasonably laid-back, jovial unicorn stallion, compared to the usually stuffy Canterlot patricians whose starched shirts were as stiff as their smiles outside the Senate house. A lot of that had to do with his family, probably. New or less-notable aristocrats usually had a lot more direct contact with common ponies than their somewhat isolationist old patrician counterparts, and were thus warmer and more informal by influence. Bellona’s breath, but Bitalian clergy were less uptight than the ‘old family’ aristocrats sometimes.
Which was one of the primary reasons for hosting this party in the first place. The other was to keep his social standing up, of course, but his main reason was simply to help his fellow elite loosen up, for heavens' sakes. He had to admit it; he just loved watching ponies just relax and enjoy themselves. Some might even call him an R-rated version of the Element of Laughter.
And a good thing, too; after all, the tension that had exploded in the Senate earlier showed quite plainly the whole lot needed a good dose of revelry to make them more amicable. And so far, it's been working fabulously, he mused as he headed back towards the dining room himself.
The sight that greeted him upon his return was quite amusing. Night Light, Twilight Velvet and Blueblood laid on their respective couch, conversing heartily with Fancy Pants, Fleur De Lis and Petunia. Meanwhile, the flirty discussion between the priestess, Poppy Fields, and the dancer had one more added to it, with the presence of North Star on the couch next to Poppy.
This was definitely looking to be a very good night for them all.
“...and so, she nearly fell into the atrium pool, all bleary-eyed and disheveled, from... what was it again, dear?”
“I was at an orgy, mother,” said Octavia nonchalantly, taking a long draw from her hookah before blowing a smoke ring in the general direction of the windows.
“An orgy, right.” Said Atia of House Philharmonica, looking slightly envious of her daughter before hiding it with a smile. She turned towards her son, who was almost identical to her daughter, save for the shorter mane and more masculine muzzle. “Octavian, say something witty. You always seem to have something good for the occasion.”
“Hmm?” the grey colt, almost out of his teens, looked up from his book completely lost. “Erm, sorry mother. I was reading about this rather fascinating incident during the First Hooflene War with Minos and the other city states of-”
“Enough of that,” Atia rolled her eyes, looking towards Fancy and Fleur with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that; he’s always been the bookish type. I bring him to a party, and he finds Purple’s library the most fascinating thing.”
“Well, I’ve always found reading a wonderful hobby, especially when in too crowded an atmosphere, when I was his age,” quipped North Star, exchanging an understanding look with the teenager.
“She’s right, you know,” said Fancy, taking a sip from his cup. “After all, we administrators would be unable to rule without doing plenty of research on the issues we need to tackle. Take the whole granary kerfluffle; pardon me saying it, ma’am, but the fact that the majority of the grain supply should not be several miles from the city, in case of unrest or famine, should be obvious. Nevermind the trouble of having to sell the former granaries themselves; we can lease them to farmers along the river valley, and have our chain of supply even closer to the city so we don’t have to spend so much on transport.”
“But this is Canterlot! Surely the presence of agricultural buildings would put a damper on the tourist industry?” asked Upper Crust, delicately plucking grapes from a large bunch in a bowl before popping them into her mouth.
Fleur scoffed. “I don’t think a few granaries within view of the city limits will discourage tourism unless the millers’ union suddenly decides to go on strike; which I doubt will happen anytime soon.” She nodded towards the leaders of said union further down the table, one of them pounding the table in mirth at a joke Petunia told.
“What a dreadful noise the plebeians make when they’re happy.” muttered Jet Set, his nose upturned as he pointedly ignored the same exuberance expressed by a good number of nobles as well.
“This is music compared to the possibilities. Just you wait until some populist demagogue gets them baying for our blood,” said Golden Gavel darkly, not noticing the way North Star, Fleur and Arpeggio bristled at the comment.
“I think if a few of the more useless members of our class disappeared suddenly, the sky might yet still be above us and the earth still below. A shocking idea, I know,” whispered, of all ponies, Atia, shooting daggers towards Upper Crust and Golden Gavel. She might be a patrician as well, but she was about as fond of the staunch traditionalists as Fancy and Purple were. After all, the bad grapes tended to spoil the whole bushel, in the eyes of the common folk. And made her look bad, by extension. The matriarch of the ancient House of Philharmonica simply couldn’t stand the idea of looking bad.
North Star and Arpeggio nodded fervently in agreement, sharing a look of intense distaste before biting into a pear and an orange, respectively, to conceal their expressions. Fleur just stared over at Golden with a slight frown, anger boiling just beneath the surface.
This was why there was so much tension between the nobility and the plebeians; and oh, how she despised it. The traditionalist patricians all acted like the lower classes were like tame pets, at best; at worst, they were snarling animals in need of control, just waiting to snap at the nearest hoof if angered. Likewise, the common ponies tended to think of the nobility as benevolent, if distant, philanthropists like Fancy or Purple at best; or, at worst, doddering old fools like Golden Gavel that probably wished Equestria had serfdom like other countries. That, at least, was a system that had been immediately abolished once Princess Celestia and Luna ascended all those centuries ago.
Of course, the new gentry and nobles that had been honoured with titles for their services to their country in one capacity or another, like Fleur or the Sparkles, were starting to turn the tide in the favour of the people.
Fleur felt a hoof on her shoulder, and turned her head to see Fancy looking at her with concern. She sighed, closed her eyes, and slowly counted to ten before opening them again, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she surveyed the rest of the partygoers. No fights had sprung up, thankfully; in fact, most of the nobles seemed to getting along well with the other guests. She could hear some of the conversations from down the table quite clearly, catching more than a few snippets.
“Today’s display was actually a good thing, I think; now, if they took that idea and adopted it to the Griffon style of politics, I would certainly attend more often!” said Duke Silversaddle of Appleloosa, obviously rather cheerfully drunk. “They settle their parliamentary disputes in single combat; the losing opponent has to vote the same way as the challenger. My sister’s always telling me to get more involved in politics, and I keep telling her I will when I have the family’s senate seat, and when it gets more interesting!”
“Yes, because it’s not like our family hasn’t been in politics for over 300 years, after all. Silly me, thinking you might continue the legacy and do something beside manage those apple orchards of yours,” his sister, Lady Ambrosia, said with a sneer.
Fleur shoved down the anger rising to the surface again, taking a breath as she buried her head in her hooves. Well, at least the other guests were having fun.
The night might still get better from here, she thought. Now, if I can just enjoy myself without blurting out something in anger later, everything should go smoothly.
As the night waxed on, Fleur, Fancy and Blueblood found themselves moving in a smaller room off the atrium, as well as a couple dozen other of the guests, to get away from the crowded bustle of the rest of the party. The usual couches were set up around the room, with about two or so ponies to each one. Unfortunately, Blueblood and Fancy found themselves at a table directly across from Golden Gavel and Upper Crust.
Other than that, though, it seemed to be going well. The wine was flowing freely, the shisha smoke was sweet and not too thick yet, and the food was as fine as ever. The company, however, was getting less pleasant by the minute.
“So, your Grace, how’re you and your... companion doing tonight? Well, I hope? After all, this is quite the splendid party.” Golden lay on his stomach, delicately taking short draws from a nearby hookah and aiming the smoke so that it drifted towards Fancy’s direction.
“We’re doing fine, thank you.” replied Fancy graciously, ignoring the small clouds of aromatic smoke floating lazily towards his nose. He looked around the room with an admiring smile, taking in the gorgeous mosaic tiles on the floor, the bright paintings on the ceiling and walls, the rich velvet curtains that hung across the windows. “Purple really keeps this place pristine.”
Golden snickered, setting the hookah hose aside, and rose from his couch, walking towards the middle of the room. “Yes, he does.” He said, disdain seeping into his tone. “Not a spot of dirt anywhere. Shame the same can’t be said for you, eh?”
The whole room went silent dead, eyes darting back and forth between each other. Blueblood stiffened, then rose from his couch, followed by Fleur. What did he know, they both wondered. They both knew Fancy didn’t do anything Golden could use as blackmail. Did he? Fleur readied herself to help her lover make a hasty exit if anything nasty went down.
Fancy, however, remained lying on his couch, his eyebrow raised. “Golden, what in Equestria are you talking about? I don’t have any dirt for you to find.”
“What about your little affair with Blueblood?” He said smugly, eyeing the Chancellor with narrowed eyes. He glanced over at Fleur, “Terribly sorry you had to find out like this, but your dear Fancy has been screwing the royal fop over here.”
Fancy froze, then let a smirk spread across his muzzle. “That’s not a secret, you moron. Fleur is perfectly aware of what I do with Blueblood behind closed doors. And likewise, I’m perfectly aware of who she sees behind closed doors.” He nodded towards Fleur, who returned it with a vicious smile in Golden’s direction. “And everypony else knows Blueblood is one of my oldest friends, as well as about my public relationship with Fleur. Look around you! Nopony is surprised.” Golden glanced around to find his audience mostly wearing a rather bored expression. “This is the sort of thing that’s only sensational to second-rate tabloids, not a cause for national scandal. You have nothing on me.”
Golden Gavel was agape, floundering for a response, while Fleur sank back down onto her couch with a sigh of relief. After spending several seconds impersonating a dying fish, he managed to point a hoof towards the grey mare sitting in the corner. “Maybe not you, but what about her? She fucked her brother, after all!”
Octavia choked on her glass of wine, the glass falling to the floor and rolling away, leaving a trail of dark red behind. “How the fuck did you-” She stopped at the looks the other nobles in the room sent her, ranging from shock to indifferent surprise to mild disgust, and shrank back against her couch.
The moment of silence was broken by Atia’s indignant screech. “You did what with Octavian?!” The older mare practically flew off her couch, stopping until she was barely a few feet away from her daughter. “I can’t believe you, you, you... stupid little hussy! He’s just barely of age!”
Octavia finally seemed to recover her voice, her eyes narrowing with anger as she glared at her mother. “Don’t look at me like that, mother! What with your evening visits from Lieutenant Midnight Blossom? What about the time you suggested Octavian seduce his cousin to get a closer alliance with his branch of the family? You’re hardly a paragon of purity yourself!”
Atia kept the same indignant expression, clearly unruffled by the accusations. “First of all, said Lieutenant is a Lunar Guard officer, not some common infantry grunt from the provinces. She’s a perfectly respectable lover, after all, as well as a valuable ally. As for the little debacle with Silver Brooch, need I remind you his branch of the family was trying to destroy us, so forgive me for making a suggestion to flirt with incest instead of potential parricide. As it is, we’re lucky that little feud was nipped in the bud before it could escalate.”
“The reason that feud existed in the first place is because you humiliated his mother in front of half the city!”
“Well, it’s not my fault the bitch overreacted! I was just trying to put her in her place as a lesser member of-”
“Overreacted? Mother, you had ‘Ruby Brooch is a whore’ graffitied over every plebeian restaurant, club, and squalid little dive bar in the city!”
“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it? She’s not a patrician, she’s just a rich whore with a longer pedigree than her butler’s cock-”
Fleur cut them off, rising from her seat with a scowl. “Atia, Octavia. Do us a favour and kindly shut up. We have worse problems than your family squabbles.” Octavia almost immediately quieted, while Atia made a show of attempting to protest, before finally settling down with a beady glare. “Thank you.” She turned to the stallion who had revealed the secret, and began slowly clapping her hooves together. “Congratulations Gavel, you’ve just revealed your trump card to the entire room before you could use it to launch a scandal. How tremendously stupid of you. Tell me, how exactly were you planning to prove this happened? How much do you think it’s really going to hurt us?”
Golden Gavel sneered, eyeing Fleur as if she was a miniscule piece of dirt to be swept from the floor. “I have proof. I paid Atia’s cook to get information on anything sordid, and he delivered.”
“Damn that bastard unicorn! He’ll be lucky if I don’t use his horn as a strap-”
“Atia, quiet. This is not the time.”
“Listen, you jumped-up pleb, will you let me be angry for five sec-”
“No, you may not.” Fleur commanded, shooting Atia another glare until the mare sat back down, looking sulky. “Right then.” She turned to Golden once again. “Alright, so you can prove it. What does it matter? Incest between patricians? We have a half-drunken, sex-addled pervert as a prince— don’t look at me like that, Blueblood, you know it’s true— and he’s still somehow competent and liked. Do you honestly think a minor scandal is going to break the coalition in the Senate? Because if so, you must assume the people are just as indulged in snobbish prudery as the rest of you.”
“It’s not the people I care about. It’s the rest of the Senate. Tell me, how many do you think are going to be on your side once I reveal the rest of the dirt on your coalition, hmm? Oh, and I know there is enough.”
“We’ll just have to respond with dirt of our own, then,” responded Blueblood, looking surprisingly cheerful. “By the way, how’s that wife of yours doing, Golden? Swan Song, if I remember right?” His smile had just the tiniest hint of menace in it. “Pretty hat, gorgeous flank, is usually left at home while you sneak out to Rosy’s ‘House of Earthly Delights’ in a little corner of Point Road?”
Golden stiffened, glaring daggers at Blueblood. “Maybe it was somepony who looked curiously like me you found. You never know what kind of degenerates would impersonate nobility for sordid deeds. Plebs, pretending to be ponies of quality! Funny how these things do happen.”
“Yes, how funny.” Blueblood wasn’t laughing. He just kept the same cheerful little smile with a touch of poison in his eyes, boring into Golden’s. “I think you’ll find what counts as ponies of quality can vary greatly.”
Golden refused to shrink from Blueblood’s unwavering gaze. “Yes, it does. After all, I’m speaking to you as an equal, as if you were, in fact, a stallion of quality, and not a drink-sodden, sex-crazed wastrel that makes whatever funds dearest Auntie gives you disappear.”
Fleur saw what was likely about to happen, as did Fancy, and quickly moved forward to Blueblood’s side, in case he tried to do anything stupid. The prince’s eyes were closed, as if trying to shut out what he was hearing. Golden saw the opportunity, and just continued with vicious glee. “You are certainly not without accomplishments, of course. After all, our navy was sorely in need of yet more undisciplined sots who can almost figure out which way to aim a ship without crashing it. I do remember your crowning achievement was capturing those pirates off the coast of Manehatten. Well done! You managed to do what any captain with a working sense of direction could, and got rewarded with a nice little office in the Admiralty building. I hope the lack of sailors in your office is suiting you- too much masculinity in such a small space must’ve been simply dreadful.” Golden tilted his head a little, his smug, pristine smile begging to have a gap or two in it. “But then again, the feminine role has always suited you better, hasn’t it?”
If Fleur and Fancy hadn’t been at his side, Blueblood would’ve most likely ended up introducing Golden Gavel to the gourmet taste of horseshoes and floor tiles. As it was, he made no sound, his body trembling, his eyes still clenched shut. He wasn’t quite ready to explode, but he was pretty damned close.
Fleur found herself, for once, feeling bad for the stallion, and instinctively a hoof through his mane. “Don’t worry.” she muttered. “We’ll make sure to give him a taste of his own medicine later.” Blueblood still said nothing, but his trembling soon ceased, though she could tell he was still tense. She glanced over at Fancy, who looked torn between hugging Blueblood and blasting Golden across the room. Before she could get another word in, Golden made the wonderfully idiotic choice to open his mouth again.
“Thank you for proving my point, your Highness. I wasn’t expecting dear Lady Fleur to be giving you any comfort, but I suppose the prettiest whores tend to stick together-”
Blueblood’s eyes snapped open, eyeing Golden Gavel with nigh-unbridled fury. “You’ve got a way with words, Lord Gavel. It’d be a pity if your wagging tongue found itself silenced. Tell me, do all ‘stallions of quality’ try to upset their rivals like a petty schoolyard bully with an inferiority complex, or is it just you?”
“Inferiority complex? I’m not the one upset by a few little words. Surely a stallion of such an ancient lineage as yours can deal with a little conversation without making a spectacle of yourself.” He glanced around at the ponies surrounding them, who had by now moved to the far corners of the room to watch. “Well, too late for that, anyhow. My sincerest apologies.”
Blueblood appeared to be readying himself to teach this... pony a lesson, but only just managed to restrain himself. He closed his eyes once more, took a deep breath, and gave Golden the biggest, most blinding smile that could possibly fit his muzzle without breaking a jaw. “Very well. I see I have made a spectacle of myself, and for that, I apologise. I think I’ll be leaving soon- the air here has gotten far too stifling.” Golden sported a victorious grin, knowing he had humiliated Blueblood so badly he had to leave, and raised a cup in a mocking toast. But the prince was not done yet.
“Before we go, allow me to offer you a hug, as a sign of peace. No hard feelings, eh, my Lord?”
Golden Gavel froze, his eyebrows raised suspiciously. Fleur smiled to herself, watching the prince carefully. Blueblood wasn’t going to attack Golden in full view of the public, she knew that much, but this was still fishy. Well, she’d find out what his game was soon enough.
Golden nodded, still on his guard. “Very well. You may do so, your Highness.” But I’m going to make sure there’s no knife to stab in my back, was the unspoken implication.
Blueblood simply smiled and walked up to Golden, pulled him into an overly-enthusiastic hug, and leaned close to his ear. “You dare humiliate me like that again,” he whispered, squeezing the other stallion’s barrel tighter for extra emphasis, “And you’ll find yourself humbled twice as much. Do you understand me?” With that, Blueblood released him, the same painful-looking smile on his face as he looked at a shaken Golden. “Good evening, Lord Gavel. May fortune smile on you.”
“G-good evening to you, too, Prince Blueblood.” Golden stammered out, turning away and taking a quick gulp from his cup. With his head raised high, Blueblood turned around and headed towards Fleur and Fancy, “Let’s go, if you don’t mind. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He gave Fleur a small smile. “After all, we prettiest whores,” He spat the words out with enough venom to poison a cobra, “Must stick together, eh?” Fleur nodded, sharing a brief look with Blueblood. It was a look that said Somepony’s going to pay for that, and I’ll help you do it.
Fancy finally took the opportunity to move to Blueblood’s side, his eyes slightly red. “Blue, I’m so sorry for not saying anything. I didn’t know he was going to do that, and when he did, I-”
Blueblood raised a hoof to Fancy’s lips, a few tears prickling at his eyes but refusing to spill over. “I know. It’s not your fault, it’s that bastard Golden. Don’t blame yourself for this. Just.. let’s go, okay? And tell the Sparkles, the Philharmonicas, anypony friendly the party’s being moved to your house, okay? Think you can manage a dozen or so guests tonight? I’d hate to impose, but I...” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I just need a fucking drink, some good hemp, and pleasant company that’s not going to bitch about me behind my back, alright?” Fancy looked at Fleur with his tell-tale pleading expression, glancing between her and Blueblood. “Come on, he’s had a rough night. Surely we could-”
“No. It’s nearly ten o’ clock! How are we going to make arrangements this late for a whole party?”
“Please, my lily? I’ll make the arrangements myself, and it’ll be a small party. You don’t need to trouble yourself with it.”
“Fine, but you’re paying for it.” Fleur huffed. Secretly, she was happy the party was being moved to a much more friendly atmosphere; but at the same time, she didn’t want to have to deal with the arrangements of food, drink and music this time of night. And she was still smarting from being called a whore just from comforting Blueblood for a moment. After all, she wasn’t exactly fond of Blueblood, even if her lover was.
Still, her sense of kindness won out, and she offered Blueblood a restrained smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that happened to you. Nopony should have to put up with that insufferable little git.”
He gave her a lopsided grin in return, with a little bow added for extra effect. “Not even me, eh? Thank you, Lady Fleur. You are, as always, a lily among thorns.”
She wrinkled her nose, but didn’t brush off the compliment as usual. Instead, she just gave a small nod of gratitude. “You’re too kind.”
Out of nowhere, Blueblood’s muzzle broke into a magnificently wicked grin. “Not as kind as I should, I think. Golden ought to have checked his cup before he drank again.”
Fancy’s brow furrowed, looking slightly alarmed. “Blue, you didn’t...?”
“I did.”
“Blue, you idiot, they’re all going to know it was you when he-”
“My dear Fancy, there are far more embarrassing things than death, and none of them remotely lethal. Rest assured, he will not lose life or limbs at my hand. His dignity, however, is an entirely different story.” He glanced back towards Golden, who was currently chatting with members of his own clique, sporting a smile menacing enough to make a timberwolf cower. “You’ll find out in the morning how. For now, let’s just gather up our friends and be on our way, shall we?”
With that, the three of them, with the Sparkles, the Philharmonicas, and a few others in tow, left the party to begin another one. The night was still young, after all.
Soon enough, the small group of friends had relocated to Fancy’s house instead. Though Fleur was worried it would be in no state for a party, Fancy (true to his word) was able to make the arrangements quickly and discreetly. Before long, the modest frescos on the walls were illuminated by hanging lamps and brightly-flickering sconces, the light sparkling on the atrium pool. It had started raining earlier that night, but the compluvium window right above the pool was shut tonight, so none fell through.
It had been a bit of a hassle to make the preparations on such short notice, but somehow, Fancy got it done: The dining couches were moved into the main living room, with enough room for at least a dozen; the table had been spread with the best cloth, dishes and silverware tonight, and was laden down with food from a caterer who was more than happy to work late if he was paid well; the best wines were drawn from their casks and poured into jugs, carried diligently on trays by Fleur and Fancy’s servants. Fancy had a little bit of trouble acquiring entertainment on such short notice, but thankfully, Octavia had a few musician friends from the Royal Conservatory who were happy to help.
With all that said and done, Prince Blueblood lay back in the middle of his couch with a contented sigh, hashish smoke floating away from his mouth to mingle with incense fumes from the atrium. “Now this... this is much better.” he said, his voice quiet and mellow, handing the small hookah to the next pony over (in this case, Fancy). “No Golden Gavel, not nasty crowd, no noise, good company-” He flashed a bright, happy smile at Fancy, who returned it just as eagerly, “-it’s practically a dream after earlier.”
“Amen to that.” muttered Fleur, lifting her cup of wine to her lips and leaning back on her couch as well, snuggled into Fancy’s right side and on the opposite side of the couch from Blueblood. She had decided not to partake yet, so she was still a little irritated from the events of earlier, however much she tried not to let it show. “By the way, what did you put in his drink, anyway?”
Blueblood smirked, chuckling so hard he had a fit of coughing. “That’s *cough cough* a secret you will *cough* find out very soon. For now, I’ll keep that as a welcome surprise.” He took a sip of wine to help the coughing stop, and cleared his throat. “Believe me, he’ll be thoroughly regretting his insults, don’t you worry.”
He sounded a little too excited about the prospect, Fancy thought. “It won’t be anything too bad, will it?” Fancy asked, draping a foreleg over Blueblood’s side. “After all, we don’t want to almost start a feud like what happened with Atia and-”
“I swear by Bellona’s breath, nopony will ever let me live that one down!” The matron huffed from her couch on the other side of the table, lifting a small hooful of roast walnuts to her mouth. “There are worse things than being called a whore, after all, especially when it’s literally true and they deserve it!”
“True or not, it’s not something many ponies take kindly to, Atia.” snapped Fleur with a sour expression.
Atia looked confused for a moment, then promptly facehooved. “Oh, right. Terribly sorry of me, my dear Fleur. I’d nearly forgotten about those comments at the party.” She offered an apologetic nod towards Blueblood as well. “You too, your Highness. It was very rude of me to imply-”
Blueblood cut her off with a wave of his hoof, his eyes slightly red. “No, it’s all right, Atia, I know you meant no offence to me or her. It’s not your fault, at any rate- it’s Golden’s.” He looked introspective for a moment, lifting his head forward. “I know I’m hardly a model noble, after all; I am, as Fleur said earlier, a ‘half-drunken, sex-addled pervert.’ ”
He felt Fancy squirm next to him, and chuckled. “Don’t come to my defence, Fancy, please; you know it’s true. It’s who I am, and I accept that, with what consequences there may be.” He suddenly clutched his cup tightly in his magic, cracks starting to appear along the stem. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it when arrogant little toads like Golden Gavel maliciously rub it in my face in front of everypony because they know it’ll humiliate me.” He spat, glaring daggers at his cup as if expecting it to burst into pieces by sheer force of will. “He’s damned lucky I didn’t do worse to-”
Blueblood’s outburst was interrupted by a light touch to his shoulder. He turned his head to see Fancy looking up at him with a soft smile, and what was left of his anger slowly ebbed away. “Breathe, my friend.” Fancy muttered just low enough for the prince to hear, rubbing small circles along his tensed shoulders and neck.
Blueblood felt his eyes close half-way, and he sank down onto his couch with another drawn-out sigh of content. “Sorry, Fancy. I...I got carried away.”
Fancy nodded in sympathy, reaching for the hookah with his magic as it made its way around the table. “I understand. Another draw?”
“Yes, please.” Blueblood replied, opening his eyes long enough to bring the hose to his lips, his cheeks sucked in slightly as he took another long pull. The familiar feeling of floatiness spread from his head to his hooves, a sense of inner calm penetrating the remnants of his anger and replacing it with warmth and peace. He passed the hose back to Fancy before exhaling slowly, a billowing mushroom cloud of aromatic smoke floating away towards the ceiling. “Ah.... thank you.”
Fleur, in the meantime, turned towards Atia and gave her a calculating look. “What do you think will happen next, Atia? I don’t think the conservative faction will take kindly to their chief spokespony being poisoned, even if it is non-lethally.”
Atia looked away from her conversation with her daughter, leaned her head on her hooves, and smiled. “Simple, my dear; they’re going to make a move on us in retaliation, whether in the senate or otherwise. Golden will probably be either too embarrassed or too incapacitated to do anything himself, depending on exactly what Blueblood used-”
Blueblood snickered, nearly dropping the cup in his magic’s grip. “Oh, he definitely won’t be showing up for a couple days unless he fancies dying of shame.”
Atia ignored the comment and continued, “So, somepony else will have to take charge. I say we take a leaf out of Blueblood’s book and just poison them all to buy us time to prepare for-”
“Atia, you can’t be serious!” Fancy frowned, stopping his ministrations to Blueblood’s shoulders to stare at her across the table in disbelief. “First of all, that’d be an absolutely dishonourable trick; and second of all, how the hay are we going to poison all our rivals non-lethally at once? The logistics of that plan leave something to be desired, not to mention the morals.”
“I’m with Fancy on this.” piped up Night Light, looking up from his own couch. “It’d look horribly suspect if all our rivals fell ill at once, not to mention there’d really be no point to it! What can they do to us, really? Insult in public or private? Spread rumours and gossip? Try to block our motions in the Senate?”
“They can dig up all our little secrets and use them to destroy us. Because if they do that, I suspect we’d eventually be on the verge of civil war.” spoke up Octavia, looking terribly serious all of a sudden. She looked around at the others, who were all eyeing her with faint curiosity mixed with scepticism. “Just hear me out, will you? The people love Princess Celestia and Cadance, right? And they don’t like the group of patricians who seem too busy being idle or engaged in their inter-family squabbles to do anything useful, right?”
The guests shared a look of slight confusion, but nodded in unison. “Right...?”
Octavia glanced towards her mother, who gave her a sign to continue. “Anyways, for centuries now, things have been stable; The Princesses holds ultimate authority, while administrative and legislative responsibilities are merely delegated to us, right? It’s a privilege we hold, which can be taken away, not an absolute right. We make decisions, she approves them if she thinks they’re fair and vetoes them if she doesn’t. She can at least tolerate the worst of the conservative patricians, because they haven’t always been bad eggs, and some still aren’t. However, we have a new Princess with equal authority who doesn’t understand how the current system works, nor likes or get along with them on principle, and they don’t like her either because she doesn’t allow them the liberties or the control they once had under Princess Celestia alone. So, if somepony wanted to upset the balance of power in their favour, what would they do?”
The room was silent for a nearly a minute, the guests thinking to themselves. Finally, Octavian, oddly enough, broke the stillness, setting his book down on the table. “Discredit all those who oppose them, all the way up to the princesses. They can’t do anything to Princess Celestia or Cadance, because they’re fairly neutral, revered figures. But Princess Luna is new, hasn’t gained a tolerance for the conservative faction, nor they respect for her, and largely prefers force and simplicity over stealth and intrigue; not to mention she’s still got the shadow of the whole Nightmare Moon thing hanging over her in many ponies’ eyes.” A number of them winced collectively; that was still a sore point for Princess Luna, as well as those who had been through Nightmare Moon’s brief reign of terror.
“...And since, for the most part, she seems to back us, if there was a chain of secrets and rumours leading from us all the way to her, her authority would be damaged in the eyes of the populace at large, and she probably would not react as kindly to blackmail as any of us. Worst comes to worst, she’d be painted as a tyrant, the conservatives would clamour for her removal, Celestia would most likely not give in, and there’d be an all-out civil war with the conservatives, with the support of the people they’ve convinced they’re defending from a tyrant, and we’d be outnumbered, discredited, and destroyed.”
A nervous laugh issued from Atia’s mouth, her brow wrinkled. “You can’t possibly think that’ll happen, do you? I mean, Princess Celestia could just strip them of their titles and authority if they try to go after Princess Luna, and take most of their lands for the crown. I mean, a conspiracy on that level is tantamount to treason.”
Octavian shook his head. “Except that would make Princess Celestia look like a tyrant, too, which would mobilise the people against both of them. You’d be surprised what ponies will do if someone can play on their fears to win their support- and most ponies, at the very least, distrust Princess Luna at the moment. If the conservatives can convince a majority of ponies that Princess Luna is still a threat to the country, or at least not fit to rule via some scandal; then Princess Celestia would be considered a threat to their faction as well if she was seen backing her sister instead of the mobs. Then, instead of a small-scale civil war between one faction in the capital and another, worst-case scenario, we’d have a full scale revolution on our hooves; and Bellona knows that’d be an even worse outcome. The country would be in chaos, and we’d probably either have to flee the country, end up with our heads on pikes, or watch as thousands of our fellow ponies die for no good reason.”
“So.. how exactly are you supposed to do that?” asked Petunia, who until now had remained quiet on her couch, in between North Star and Twilight Velvet. She wasn’t a political pony by any means, but she was at least eager to look for a way for the future to not look so... bleak. "I mean, this is an entirely hypothetical outcome, right? This all sounds very 'worst case scenario' to me. We don't actually know what they plan to do, just speculate about it."
“Well, I know the first thing we’re going to have to do, just to be on the safe side.” muttered Fleur, looking around the room. “Any secrets we might have, any scandals we want to keep hidden, we keep among ourselves and make sure not to create any more.” She looked pointedly towards the Philharmonicas. “Atia, no more drastic measures to humiliate your rivals unless strictly necessary. No buts. And as for you two...” Octavia and Octavian withered under her gaze. “No more gods-damned incest. You're not a pair of siblings from some backwater village nopony in Canterlot notices, like Hoofington or Ponyville. Whatever you do, at any rate, keep it discreet enough that no one could possibly find out; especially not any of Golden’s spies.”
She frowned, looking around. “Speaking of which, all of us might want to be on our guard from now on; keep an eye on your servants for any suspicious activity- interrogate them if you must. If they find out anything, offer to pay them double what Golden is so they can’t blackmail any of us.”
“And if that doesn’t work, can’t we just threaten them until they wouldn’t dare comply? Having one’s face posted all over the alleys and holes-in-the-walls of Canterlot with a little message blacklisting them as untrustworthy employees seems fitting enough.” said Blueblood, his cheerful smile a little unnerving at the moment.
“Worst comes to worst, we could always just poison them before we can go blabbing.” said Atia matter-of-factly, before seeing the expressions on her friends’ faces. “What? Like with Golden, it wouldn’t have to be anything lethal; just some kind of vocal cord paralysis agent or something like that should do fine.”
Night Light buried his muzzle in his hooves with a groan. “Atia, what is it with you and poisoning? There are far more subtle and less drastic ways to get things done!”
“Well, it works, doesn’t it?” The mare snapped, letting out a huff of exasperation. “It’s simple, quick, direct, and they won’t mess with you for a while afterwards-”
“And when they do, you might want to start checking your food and drink before every meal, just in case. After all, you can’t possibly expect them not to retaliate in kind; and unlike us, we cannot guarantee their revenge would be non-lethal.” Night Light reasoned, glancing down at his own plate for emphasis. “Actually, come to think of it, we might want to start checking our food and drink from now on anyway, at least at meetings with the other factions.”
“Especially since I’ve unfortunately set a precedent where drinks are concerned, I think that’d be wise.” said Blueblood, looking into the depths of his cup. He looked up with a frown. “When is the next meeting, anyway?”
“Two days, the day before Parliament reconvenes. Ruby Brooch is hosting at her villa.” Atia wrinkled her nose. “Unfortunately.”
“And we’re going to be as perfectly civil as possible. Right. Mother?” Octavia said with an almost painful-looking smile.
Atia scoffed, draping her silk shawl over one shoulder. “Of course. We shall be the paragons of every virtue while we talk with our inferiors. After all. It’d be terrible manners otherwise.”
“So is poisoning ponies, even if they are our rivals.”
Blueblood narrowed his eyes, looking across the table at Octavia. “You have to admit, Golden had this one coming-”
“Not you, her!” Octavia groaned, waving a hoof wildly towards her mother. “Since Mum seems to think poisoning everypony in our way is an ethical way to-”
“I never said it was ethical. I said it was simple, direct, and effective. And as far as manners go, as long as nopony’s breaching hospitality if it happens, hypothetically, no one could prove it was us who poisoned them.”
“Not us, mother. You. We’re not going to poison anypony else. Nor condone it.”
Blueblood smiled wryly, the little bit of eagerness in his tone concerning Fancy and the other guests just a little. “Unless strictly necessary, of course-”
“Blue, don’t you get started, too. I am not going to let you get in the habit of taking revenge in the heat of the moment.”
“Fancy, I swear nothing suspicious will happen to anypony... who isn’t asking for it.” The second part was muttered under his breath.
Fancy narrowed his eyes. “I heard that, Blue.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Blueblood said with a slowly-widening grin.
Fleur was torn between bemusement and concern for Blueblood’s emotional stability, as the others in the room were pointedly trying not to listen in on their conversation. “Blueblood, try to tone down the vindictiveness a tad, will you? It’s not an attractive trait. You don’t want to eventually turn one of those ponies that tries to destroy others for minor slights.”
Blueblood opened his mouth to protest that he would never go that far, but was cut off by Fancy. “She’s right; it’s not a very attractive trait. Besides, you’re better than that- I know you are.” He leaned forward into the crook of Blueblood’s neck, his voice dropped to a whisper. “Show everypony why you’re not like than those overgrown brats in Parliament- please, if not for you, then for me?”
The prince sputtered and squirmed, looking around the room as if expecting to find a good retort written on the walls. Then he sighed, closed his eyes, and muttered, “Dammit, Fancy, you always take her side...”
“I’m not taking anypony's side. I'm just trying to be the voice of reason, and you know that.”
Blueblood looked like he was tempted to roll his eyes, but refrained. “Yeah, yeah, I do. I get it. You're apparently my bloody conscience, now.” he muttered, trying to sound petulant about it but failing when a smile threatened to crack his muzzle.
“Good.” Fancy’s serious expression fell into a more relaxed gaze, leaning back into his previous position. He looked around the room with a genial smile as he went back into gracious host mode, finally raising his voice again to be heard by all of them, “On a lighter note, you are all, of course, welcome to stay tonight. The guest rooms are off the courtyard garden; and if you’re too tired to get that far, there are three smaller ones along the atrium,” He pointed towards doors to the north, south, and east walls of the atrium. “Dinner ends at midnight, and breakfast is served in here at seven, with either tea or coffee of your choice.”
“Got that? Good.” He clapped his hooves together, as more servants emerged from the kitchens bearing more pitchers of wine. “Now, enough politics for now. Let’s get back to the party and enjoy ourselves, shall we?”
Far too soon, the little party had to come to an end. Though Fancy had offered his guests his spare rooms for the night, most had elected to return to their own homes. With the exception of Blueblood, as usual.
And so it was that Blueblood found himself walking along the lonely walkway of the courtyard towards the guest wing, the smell of wine and smoke still lingering on his clothing. There were other, more pleasant scents, of course; such was the good thing about having a courtyard with a garden.
He stopped for a moment, halfway tempted to simply stay out here for the night. He’d found he loved it out here, to his pleasant surprise. It was nowhere as big as the massive gardens outside the castle, what with the roaming wildlife and confusing hedge mazes and endless little groves and pools and artificial streams; but that was why he liked it. It felt... intimate, in a way. Cozily familiar, like an affectionate hug on a winter night or an evening spent dozing in an overstuffed, comfy chair by the fireplace.
Barely noticing what he was doing, Blueblood stepped off the walkway and wandered into the courtyard, finding his way to a lone bench in the corner. It was a cloudless night out, the moon’s light reflected off the shiny marble flagstones that led from one side to the other. A cool breeze blew past him, quite welcome on a hot August night, rustling the flowers and shrubs around him.
There was an informal, artless elegance to the garden, much like the one who planted it. Roses and marigolds alike were planted beside each other; violets shared their beds with primroses and rue with bee balm, all haphazardly clustered together as if the seeds had been scattered at random. Morning Glory and vase vines curled and twisted their way up and around the pillars of the little cloister’s arcade, as if reaching for the moonlight. And scattered hither and thither were the ever-present clusters of lavender, the smell sweet and inviting. He immediately thought of the lavender shampoo Fancy used, the scent usually accompanied by a tender hug from behind, a gentle laugh, warm water dripping down his coat...
Blueblood closed his eyes and leaned back with a sigh, feeling cold despite the summer air. It would do him no good for his mind to dwell too much on the subject of Fancy, he knew. He had what he wanted, after all, didn’t he? He had a good, comfortable life; a position of responsibility; the freedom to bed whomever he wished; and a best friend who showered him with affection, despite having a full-time lover of his own as well. What more could he really ask for?
His mind turned to the garden, instead, in an attempt to move away from that direction. How long had it taken for Fancy to plant it all? Had he done it all at once, or had it grown over time; a primrose here, a cluster of red pansies there, a pink lily in a corner, all on a moment’s whim, until there was the garden seen today?
Blueblood almost laughed at the thought; Fancy was a lot of things, but he’d never known him to be so spontaneous. Everything would have been done with careful elegance that looked unplanned to the naked eye; every trowel of dirt deliberately dug, every seed planted precisely where he wanted it, not a single drop of water spilt from the watering can. That would be so like him, Blueblood thought wryly; even something as simple as gardening done with a delicate attention to detail in mind, though it would be so infuriatingly casual-looking. As if the very idea of Fancy doing something that messy and mundane wasn’t confusing enough, images came to the prince’s mind of the older stallion happily strolling along the paving stones, watering the violets and the roses and what-have-yous. Of course, there was Fleur looking on from one of the doorways as well, smiling that obnoxiously syrupy smile that he himself tried his best to hide every time he visited-
“Enjoying the garden, Blue?” said a quiet voice from behind him, soft and slightly teasing and far too close. Blueblood’s eyes snapped open, his heart fluttering in his chest as he turned to see Fancy smiling at him from a couple feet away, standing in a dim patch of light.
“I am,” Blueblood muttered, looking back towards the garden as he took a deep breath to calm himself. “I like being out here, you know? It’s... quiet.”
Fancy chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling. “My apologies, then. I didn’t mean to disturb you-”
“No, no, you’re not disturbing me,” Blueblood said almost too quickly, biting his lip as soon as he realised how frantic he sounded. He slumped further down in the bench, his eyes fixed on some random patch of pansies somewhere to the right.
Fancy raised an eyebrow, walking around the bench until he was standing beside him. “Are you alright, Blue? You’re not catching a cold or something, are you?”
Blueblood rolled his eyes, rising from the bench. “I’m fine, you worrying old stallion. I’m still young and hale yet.” Secretly, he was kind of glad for his concern, and was suddenly thankful it was too dark to see the faint flush on his muzzle. “Care to walk me to my room, if you’re so concerned with my health?”
“I wouldn’t mind, certainly,” Fancy said with his smile returning as he moved to Blueblood’s side.
The two of them made their way back up to the walkway, the only sound in the courtyard the steady clopping of hooves over marble tiles. Blueblood was happy for the company, of course, if only for a little while.
Soon, too soon really, they’d made it to the doorway of the guest room, the door already unlocked before Fancy pushed it open for him. Blueblood gave a grateful nod, stepping inside before promptly collapsing onto the bed, his muzzle buried in the soft covers. “Remind me why I don’t stay over here more often,” the prince mumbled. “Your guest beds are perfect.”
“Because you have two large houses and a room in the castle?” Fancy said with a grin as he shut the door behind him.
Blueblood turned over with a pout, looking up at Fancy. “Need you go and remind me? Now I don’t have an excuse to just sneak in here some week and hide out in the guest wing until you find me in the armoire or something.”
Fancy laughed, climbing up on the bed beside him. “Pity, that. My wine cellar will never forgive me for not letting you drain it for a week.” As he looked over at Blueblood, his face suddenly became more serious. “Are you alright, Blue? I know... I know comments like the ones at the party really get to you-”
Blueblood waved a hoof, brushing it off. “Fancy, I’m going to stop you right there. I’m fine now, okay? The anger is passed. I just needed to cool down, that’s all.”
Fancy looked unconvinced. “Are you sure? I mean, you seemed pretty distraught about it afterwards-”
“Fancy, I’m fine.” Blueblood muttered with a painfully forced smile. “Can we not talk about this anymore tonight?”
The other stallion frowned, but backed off as asked. “If that’s what you want. I’m just... you know I’m worried for you, right?”
“Yes, I know that,” Blueblood sighed, closing his eyes. “Though I appreciate it, it’s not needed tonight. I’m not some little colt to be taken care of anymore.”
He felt a hoof on his shoulder, and he turned back to see Fancy had moved closer, giving him that ridiculously charming smile that meant he was going to try to cheer Blueblood up. “I know you’re not; and I don’t treat you like one, anyways.” He grinned. “Even if I am older than you...”
“If six years’ difference means I’mstill a colt, then I’m surprised that moustache of yours isn’t turning grey by now, old timer,” Blueblood retorted, already feeling his melancholy starting to slip away, if only a little. He jabbed a hoof towards Fancy’s nose to make his point. “See? I think there are a few grey hairs there.” His muzzle broke into a grin of his own. “And a few more pounds than usual, too-”
He was cut off by a pillow held in a blue aura smacking him square in the muzzle. “Oof! I’ll get you for that, you sorry colt of a dam-” Another well-aimed pillow knocked him flat onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a slightly cross-eyed expression. “You didn’t have to throw so hard,” he pouted, gingerly reaching up to rub his muzzle.
Fancy’s face came into view above him, looking down at him with his wry little smirk. “First one was for calling me old. The second was for calling me fat.” He leaned down until his chin was just touching the other stallion’s, blue eyes meeting blue. “Best two out of three, or do you want to go another round?”
“... I think I’ll surrender while I’m ahead, O wise, ancient sage of the Eas- hey, not the feather! I beg you, anything but the feather!” Blueblood curled up into a mock defensive posture, his hooves held over his head as if to shield himself from the onslaught.
The aforementioned feather dropped to its usual place in the pocket of Fancy’s dressing gown. “Prince Blueblood, begging for something? And ticklish? The tabloids will have a field day.”
Blueblood rolled his eyes, moving his legs back into a more comfortable position. “As if they don’t have enough to print about me already. Or you, for that matter, since you tend to create headlines just by doing your job effectively.”
“And am I doing my job effectively right now?” Fancy asked suggestively, leaning into Blueblood’s side.
“Depends. Was your intention to cheer me up?”
“Yes,” Fancy said bluntly. “Did it work?”
Blueblood’s smile returned in full force this time. “Yes, it did. You stubbornly persistent old codger.”
Fancy beamed down at him, starting to climb off the bed. “Then I consider my job done properly- not that I’d be able to sleep until I did.” He turned to head towards the doorway. “What are friends for, after all?”
A sharp pang went through Blueblood’s heart as he saw the now-empty spot beside him, and he looked towards the retreating Fancy with a slightly panicked expression. “Wait, Fancy?” he blurted out. “Could you... give me a kiss good night? For luck? Y-you know, since I won’t see you until the night after tomorrow, since I’ll be hosting the orgy and later we’ll be in Parliament then and...” Almost immediately, he wanted to slap himself. O Bacchus, Gaia and all the Immortals, why did that have to come out so needy?
Before he could fret about it further, Fancy had already turned around, smiling gently. “Of course.” Blueblood was about to protest that it wasn’t necessary, but never got a chance as Fancy quickly made his way back over to his bedside. As Blueblood turned his head to apologise, he felt Fancy’s lips touch against his, the hairs of his moustache tickling his nose. It was warm, gentle, and far too brief, as Fancy soon pulled away. “Good night, Blue.”
With that, the other white stallion soon disappeared out into the courtyard once more, the half-open door letting in the warm air. “Good night, Fancy,” Blueblood whispered to himself, pronouncing Fancy’s name as if it were a charm to ward away any bad dreams, before his magic pulled the door shut. “I love you.”
Fancy walked back through the darkened hallways of his house with a serene smile, though nopony was up this late to see it. From what he could tell by the dim lamplight, the house was pretty deserted- which was to be expected at nearly 4 AM. With that in mind, he made his way to the doorway of his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
“You were out late. Having a walk in the garden?” asked a familiar pink-maned mare lying on the bed. She was already under the sheets, her eyes bleary and slightly red.
Fancy shook his head, slipping off his dressing gown as he made to climb onto the other side of the bed. “No, I was just checking on Blueblood; he was still out in the garden when I found him.”
Fleur frowned, adjusting the pillow beneath her head as she moved to lie on her side. “You know he doesn’t need you hovering over him, right? He probably doesn’t want it, either.”
Fancy snorted, lying down to face her. “He doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop me from doing it anyway. He’s my best friend, Fleur; if I don’t look out for his emotional well-being, who else will? The guards who are paid to make sure he doesn’t get himself abducted by some squealing fanfilly who thinks she’ll be his bride? His aunts, who are far too busy running a country to be comforting a grown stallion at 4 in the morning? His father, who he hasn’t seen more than once a year since he was a colt, and would probably do more harm than good if he stayed longer?”
Fleur sighed, laying onto her back and staring up at the painted pegasi and clouds on the ceiling as if they would reveal their hidden secrets if looked at long enough. “Point taken. I just...”
“I know, my lily. You’re concerned about me being too soft on him.”
Fleur made a noise that resembled a cross between a laugh and an awkward cough. “Fancy, he poisoned Gavel for insulting him, even if it was non-lethally. I think he can handle himself just fine.” She looked back towards him with a frown. “What if it was you, Fancy, who’d insulted him like that? Do you think he’d stop himself from poisoning you, as well? Or me, for that matter?”
Fancy looked affronted at the very idea. “Don’t be ridiculous, Fleur. He’s my best friend, and we’re all allies. He’s loyal.”
“So was Atia’s cook, until he got bribed enough,” Fleur muttered, before shaking her head. “No, then again, he’d never switch sides for a bribe; he’s already wealthier than both of us combined. You know how vindictive he can be, though; only Atia’s worse than him about that, and you know it.”
“I don’t see you questioning Atia’s loyalty, though,” Fancy said knowingly. “You’re jealous.”
Fleur froze up, before rolling onto her side to face away from him. “Maybe I am. Can I really help it? He’s... he’s everything a proper noble should be. Good blood, good breeding, an enormous inheritance, a family with lots of respect, doesn’t have to get his hooves dirty in the service of the Crown...” Her face was an expressionless mask, but her eyes were haunted. “..never had to kill anypony himself to make sure the nation stays protected. Never had to really stab anypony in the back, never had to poison anypony seriously, and make sure they died, waiting until they’re motionless before leaving quietly...”
Fancy reached a hoof to touch her shoulder, his blue eyes brimming with concern. “I know you don’t like to talk about your years in the Intelligence Service. What’s on your mind tonight? It’s not just Blueblood, is it?”
The mare sighed and shook her head. “It’s not, no. It’s... it’s them. Those damn mares and stallions who get into this stupid cloak and dagger routine like it's a game to them, when it's really just a bunch of petty rivalries over miniscule amounts of influence. Do they honestly care whether such and such is a whore, or so-and-so is fucking their brother or sister? If those three years as a spy for Crown and Country in Mareocco taught me anything, it’s there are important things at stake in the game of politics than reputations.” She punched a pillow for emphasis, her teeth gritted. “And I come back here to Canterlot, with a medal and a baronetcy for my years of service making sure me and my agents weren’t killed, and everypony is so obsessed with what family I come from?” She laughed darkly, her eye catching a picture of a stallion who looked quite like her, with a silver coat instead of white. “If this is what Prance is like, no wonder Père left.” She muttered, biting her lip.
Before she could say more, the sudden feel of hooves on her back drew her out of her thoughts for a moment. She tensed up slightly, unsure, before she felt the warm touch of his magic joining them as well, like a warm towel laid across her back. Soon enough, her shoulders slumped, feeling herself melting under Fancy’s touch. “Ooh, I needed that,” she whispered, her eyes closing almost of their own accord. “Sorry about that little, er, rant, by the way. You know I get a little carried away sometimes on the few occasions I get onto, well, that subject.”
Fancy nodded kindly, continuing to stroke Fleur’s back, earning little delicate sighs from her whenever he got just the right spot. “It’s quite alright. You know you can talk about whatever you need to with me, right?” She only nodded in response, not really able to gather her words at the moment. “Oh, and Fleur? Blue is my best friend, but you know we are nothing more to each other than that. Though you know I go to his bed sometimes, who is it I come home to at night?” She shook her head, knowing it was a strictly rhetorical question. Though she seriously doubted Blueblood’s feelings towards Fancy were simple friendship with a sexual attraction mixed in, she didn’t want to contest the point at the moment. “You, my lily, my Fleur de Lis. It’s you I share a house with, you I lay beside every night, whether you’re feeling fine or feeling awful.”
He leaned down to gently kiss the back of her neck, noting her slight squirm with amusement. “You’re my marefriend, Fleur. And I’m your coltfriend. And as long as I can avoid screwing that up, that will not change.”
“You promise?” she asked softly, unsure, rolling onto her side once more so she could look up at him.
“I promise,” Fancy confirmed, leaning down to kiss her, his lips brushing hers for a moment before she kissed back fervently, wrapping her forehooves around him as if scared he’d let her go.
They lay like that for a little over a minute, before she pulled away, breathless. “I love you,” she whispered reverently, as if speaking to an apparition that might disappear if she looked for too long.
The first thing anypony noticed upon entering into the orgy was sound. Wonderful, alluring, hypnotic music, filling and permeating every corner of the house like a light breeze. Musicians stood in every corner of every room, watching the guests amble about in wonder beneath the dim yellow lamplight as they showed off their talents to the fullest. From one side of a given room, the haunting melodies of a pair of flutes floated languidly through the air like the incense smoke that drifted in and out of the rooms. From another, the strumming of a lyre could be heard, the musician plucking away as if some unseen urgency compelled her. In harmony with her, another played a pear-shaped oud, the slow, bassy chords contrasting magnificently against the higher, rapid-fire strumming of the lyre as the musician swayed in place. And everywhere, surrounding, encompassing, was the omnipresent drums, the low, steady throbbing in time with the hearts of the guests there, an eternal heartbeat in their ears.
All this was the perfect backdrop to the calculated seduction of the other senses that the house provided. All across the floors in every room, where one would normally find cold tile, were spread velvety rugs in rich creams, blues and reds, the fabric soft and sensual to the touch. All the better for what they would be used for later, after all. Food was piled on tables against the walls, the savoury and spicy smells mingling with that of the burning herbs and incense. Most were not eating much, taking only small portions and washing them down with wine, the rivulets of liquid dancing across their tongues leaving them squirming in delight. Whatever wines their host had got for the occasion were clearly superior, some having a strongly nutty flavour, others with subtly fruity notes, some tasting of flowers; but all, without a doubt, perfect.
As ponies lay down either on the numerous couches or on the floor as they waited, they couldn’t help but have their eyes drawn to the walls, the normally bare plaster hung with wide tapestries depicting scenes of drinking, dancing, and considerably less tame types of revelry. A few newcomers blushed at the lurid decorations, the embroidered image of two stallions and a mare sandwiched between them in the throes of ecstasy particularly catching the eyes of a few. Most, though, simply grinned wryly at the newcomers’ expense, knowing that whatever was shown on the wall hangings would pale in comparison to the delightful decadence to come.
The three front rooms of the house were quickly filling up with ponies, at least sixty or so there already, and more were steadily trotting in from the atrium. But there was no sign of the host yet, just musicians, servants who darted from room to room with jugs of wine, and the Maenad priestesses of Bacchus in their sheer violet robes whirling about like dervishes, their chants and uttered prayers almost drowned out by the chatter of the guests. Bits and pieces could be heard, though, the constant refrain of “Ave, O Domine vinorum! Ave Bacche!” whispered in a reverent undertone, candles flickering in their sconces as they danced and leaped past, their hooves hardly touching the floor. The proper offerings had already been made, of course, bunches of figs, grapes, honey and apples piled about a short stone altar in the atrium, before a marble relief depicting masked ponies wearing wreathes of ivy and surrounded by bees. Three jugs of wine stood around a large brazier on top of the altar, not to be touched, as they were for libations only.
Once about a hundred or so ponies had gathered in the house (not counting the ones still waiting in the atrium or the courtyard outside), the mood of anticipation began to get more eager, the newcomers whispering excitedly amongst each other as they imagined what lay ahead. The lamplight grew steadily dimmer, as the incense smoke in the rooms seemed to grow thicker, the thick haze like a fog rising above the sedges of a lonely fen. It wasn’t unpleasant, though; not in the least. In fact, the scent seemed to grow sweeter, spicier and even intoxicating, as the guests felt themselves calming down, a pleasant, warm euphoria spreading from head to hooves as their inhibitions started to slip away. Whatever was in that incense, (and the wine, for that matter) it certainly was having a good effect on them.
This was just a foretaste, though, as the guests who had thought to bring hookahs, pipes and waterpipes took them out, sharing with their neighbours as the servants brought out a massive box filled with various herbs. The guests rushed (as much as they could in their current state) to the box before retiring to their rugs, cushions and couches. The haze became even thicker as the ponies present lay on their backs, sending rings, puffs and curlicues of smoke from their mouths and watching with rapt fascination as they floated away.
Amongst them, lying between a dark brown stallion and a light yellow mare, was Petunia, unsurprisingly. Her eyes flickered as she stared up at the ceiling, floating on the waters of herb-induced lethargy, letting out little giggles as she watched the paintings on the ceiling shimmer and move before her. Petunia shakily raised her cup to her muzzle as she quenched her parched lips, her eyes almost rolling in delight at the oaky, slightly-sweet flavour as the wine flowed down her gullet. She set the cup down and took a long pull of her glass pipe, exhaling with a sigh of content as the room grew larger around her, her heart beating in her chest in time with the pounding drums as the warmth left by the smoke seemed to suffuse her very being. She closed her eyes, a myriad of colours dancing gracefully across the inside of her eyelids. Little sparks of purple burst into existence with every throb of the drums, spirals of red swam past in time with the flutes, while stars of green wheeled about rhythmically with every plucked string of the lyres.
The chanting of the priestesses was growing louder now, their gamboling and leaping speeding up as guests stepped- or in some cases, staggered- out of their way as they worked themselves into a more and more frenzied dance. If they were tiring at all, they didn't seem to feel it- but that was to be expected of servants of the Lord of revelry. The lights of the candles and lamps were dimmed to a comfortable level, the flames like little winking stars against an evening sky before the sun has truly set. The sound of little percussion instruments she couldn't recognise came to Petunia's ears, some kind of timbrels and small cymbals, she guessed. She blinked for a second, staring around in confusion, before giving up and closing them again. She didn't have to know what she was hearing to know she enjoyed it, after all.
Her eyes snapped open as the noise and chatter in the room faded to a low murmur, even the music going silent. Through the central door of the room stepped Prince Blueblood with the smuggest expression she’d ever seen as he surveyed the room. It was the satisfied smile of a stallion who had made something he’d longed for often finally come to fruition, and was seeing the results firsthoof.
He walked slowly but deliberately towards the middle of the room, breathing in the smoke with a slightly giddy grin. He stopped before a cast bronze statue at the base of a pillar, the Maenad priestesses gathering closely around him in a semicircle. The guests who were inclined to move turned their heads towards him, their curiosity impelling them to move shakily forward to get a closer look. Blueblood turned in almost a full circle, taking note of every pony in the room and in the rooms beyond, before spreading his forehooves wide in the orans position, and beginning the standard salutation for these things.
"I call upon loud-roaring and revelling Bacchus, primeval, double-natured, thrice-born, Bacchic lord, wild, ineffable, secretive, two-horned and two-shaped. Ivy-covered, bull-faced, warlike, howling, pure. Hearken to my voice, O blessed one, and with your fair-girdled nymphs breathe on me in a spirit of perfect agape." He paused for a moment, his eyes closed before breaking into a wide smile.
“Friends! Honoured Guests! I welcome you, in the name of revelry and divine hospitality, to the Bacchanalia! Tonight, our inhibitions, our barriers, our masks, shall all be banished away. No more shall we dissemble or cloak ourselves, for tonight, we all are naked beneath the sight of Lord Bacchus, our Liber Pater!” As he spoke, the Maenad priestesses cast aside their sheer robes to emphasise the point. The sound of the drums returned quietly, the sacred mares rising onto their hind legs as they linked forelegs, swaying and sliding against each other, as their hips moved tantalisingly in time with the beat. Their prayers grew from reverent whispers to fervent shouts and echoing chants in unison, the priestesses’ eyes closed as they slipped further into their ecstatic trance, repeating the same phrases over and over. “Chaire Nymfi, Chaire Bakche! Chaire Nymfi, Chaire Bakche! Chaire Nymfi, Chaire Bakche! Evaí! Evaí!”
Petunia began finding herself quickened as well, her lips working wordlessly as her body seemed to move of its own accord, rocking and undulating against those of her neighbours, warm fur against warm fur, hot breath on the back of her neck. The chants became louder as the other instruments joined in as well, the perfect accompaniment to the writhing mass of limbs that moved as with one mind in unison with the Maenads, many hearts seemingly throbbing as one. Petunia felt a blush spread across her muzzle as she found herself between the mare and stallion who had been previously lying on either side of her, their hips grinding against her sides. She could smell the arousal in the room, the spicy musk of the stallions and the more subdued scent of the mares hitting her nose like another dose of herb, her thoughts quickly being distracted by the intoxicating aromas. Sweat dripped from her forehead, the air growing hot, at least to her mind. She gasped as she felt lips on her neck, warm and slightly ticklish, squirming as she was broken out of the trance.
All around her, the rhythmic movements of the guests began to turn more and more sexual, the wordless swaying turning to moaning, gasping and writhing, their fur slick with sweat. Stallions everywhere were slipping out of their sheaths, their growing erections pressed against the closest ponies; mare, stallion, didn’t matter. Only pleasure ruled here, boundless, sensuous pleasure freeing them from all constraints of mind. The mares as well were freed from their inhibitions, their sopping marehoods aching to be touched. Petunia herself craned her neck over to see a pair of mares with their hooves wrapped tightly around each other, letting out little gasps as they rubbed their glistening pussies together, a little pool of juices forming between their thighs.
She was soon distracted, however, as the lips that had previously been on her neck began to move further south, and she found herself rolling onto her back. She looked up to see the brown stallion staring down at her with a lustful smile, drinking in every inch of her body with his eyes. She returned the smile with one of her own, eyes lidded as her gaze found his length. Just above her belly was about a foot of hot, twitching cock, pre dripping off the head as if it were begging for attention. Beneath it hung a pair of the most perfect balls she’d seen in a while, heavy and full of seed just waiting to be spilled on her... or in her, as the case might be.
Her nether lips winking at the very thought, she lurched forward and wrapped her forehooves around the stallion’s neck, pushing him down beneath her. They were so close now, his pulsating cock rubbing against her belly, leaving a trail of pre where it went. Her lips met his, first probing and gentle, before his tongue flicked from between his teeth, and it turned into a full, deep snog. His lips tasted of wine as well, pressing against hers firmly but not forcefully. She could feel every throb of his cock as it slid down her belly and between her thighs, carefully lining up with her pussy. She closed her eyes again, the anticipation almost unbearable.
Unable to wait for him to make the first move, she thrust her hips forward, enveloping the first few inches of his shaft inside her. Pleasure exploded inside her head, blue sparks flashing in her vision as if somepony was strobing a light behind her eyes. She heard him gasp as her walls squeezed around his thick cock. He pulled back a little before thrusting forward, clumsily but accurately. She could tell he was inexperienced, but certainly enjoying himself if the little pants he let out were any indication.
As she got into a steady rhythm, the stallion groaning happily beneath her, the sound of sex echoed all around, the room filled with the slapping of flesh against flesh. Every little sound, from the most delicate little moan to shouts of exquisite ecstasy, seemed amplified in the space, though that could just be the herb affecting her hearing.
The music had shifted now, too, a deep, bassy drumbeat beneath an exotic riff on an oud, rapid notes floating through the air to caress her ears. She squirmed, her walls clenching around the cock inside her again- she’d forgotten how stimulating music sounded when she’d been smoking at an orgy, the experience nearly as pleasurable as the sex. Nearly, she thought with a grin as she noticed the stallion squirming below her as well, his eyes squeezed shut as he panted in pleasure. Instinctively, she slowly raised her hips, his cock sliding out of her inch by inch, until just the head remained inside her. “P-please!” He groaned, thrusting upwards wildly in his attempt to hilt inside of her again. She smirked to herself- sweet Bacchus, it was so hot to watch him like this, practically begging her to keep going.
She dropped her hips back down, earning another hot spark of pleasure from her head to her hooves, and a string of garbled gibberish from the stallion. “Oh gah! F-fuck... mmmnhh...” Petunia leaned forward to kiss his neck, her tongue flicking against the slick fur beneath his chin as he tilted his head back. Without thinking, she inhaled, her eyes closing as she let out a moan. He smelled of sweat and arousal, the scent of heady, masculine musk like a jolt right to her nethers. “Nggh... harder!” He moaned, his eyes open, dilated with lust and staring up at her with a hint of desperation. She eagerly complied, her hips moving faster now, a shudder of delight running through her body every time her hips rocked against his. “Oh gods, Oh gods,” he muttered, wrapping his forehooves around her middle as if afraid she’d leave otherwise.
He was close now, she could tell, every thrust and strangled moan bringing him closer to the edge. She wasn’t quite there herself yet, but she certainly wasn’t going to make sure this stallion wait that long- she wanted him to come, and soon. With as much vigour as she could muster, Petunia worked his cock as fast as possible, her walls squeezing and contracting around his pulsating cock as she slid up and down his shaft with ease. “Come on... c-come for me,” she whispered, her head foggy as she fiercely pressed her lips against his, the kiss sloppy but eager.
He came with a shout, rocking against her as his cum spurted out, so warm and deliciously wet inside her. They were both panting hard now, their movements slowing down to a gentle swaying until they ceased completely. Slowly, she climbed off of the stallion, his slick cock sliding out of her quickly enough. She felt a little pang of disappointment at the sudden loss of a throbbing shaft inside her, having not yet came herself, but knew she needed a little time to recuperate.
They lay side by side now, staring up at the ceiling with equally giddy grins, little drops of pearly cum spilling from inside her onto the carpet. There was no need to worry, though- the night was still young. And there was more than enough pleasures for all, just awaiting them.
After nearly two hours of semi-constant shagging, Petunia staggered her way across the floor, avoiding the writhing bodies here and there carefully. Her head was foggy, the room was swimming, and every part of her ached so good.
She’d been busy tonight; after the first stallion, she’d quickly been approached by a couple of twin mares, an older, grey stallion who teamed up with the first one to spitroast her, and a handful of nameless others she probably wouldn’t be able to recognise again until her head cleared. Her surroundings were starting to spin and distort around her, as if seen through an out-of-focus pair of spectacles, so she figured it was about time to get something to drink. She stepped over a pair she could’ve sworn was the Philharmonica siblings if she wasn’t mildly hallucinating, just catching a muffled moan of “Nnngh, m-make me pregnant, little brother!” as she walked past.
Petunia shook her head as she finally made her way over to the drink table, pouring herself a cupful of ice water and gulping it down as if she’d been stuck in a desert. It was too hot in here, she thought, as she looked around to survey her surroundings. Granted, about a hundred ponies packed tightly together in one space tended to do that, she noted as she leaned against the wall with a sigh.
From what she could tell, the orgy seemed to be picking up pace, the constant refrain of pounding drumbeats emphasising the quick, staccato rhythm of ponies fucking each other’s brains out like there was no tomorrow. The priestesses were the only ones who were not partaking, still in their sacred trance as they shouted out their ecstatic cries of of "Evai!" The incense smoke was thicker now, hanging over the whole proceedings like a curtain of grey haze.
She peered into the fog, trying to make out the shapes of certain ponies in the room as her vision began to clear. There were the Philharmonicas, same as before- so they were actually there, she thought. Off to the right, she could spot the stallion she’d been with first, his mouth currently on another’s cock, she noted with a blush. She couldn't see much else clearly, though, not that she was surprised.
Petunia sat there for Celestia knows how long, not caring much to move, either. Her eyes closed as she savoured the pleasant melodies all around, her breath eventually slowing down to its normal rate as she cooled down, her thirst long since parched by a few more cups of water. She wanted to reach for another pipeful of herb, but she wanted to be at least somewhat sober enough to make her way back home later, since she had work to do in the morning. So she refrained, though she deliberately inhaled a good whiff of the incense smoke instead.
As she was about to get up and rejoin the festivities, she was broken out of her state of calm by a loud cry that didn't sound like pleasure. Her eyes blinked open as she heard the thud of something heavy hitting the floor nearby, and the sound of glass shattering. She turned her head in alarm to see what was going on.
To her right, everything was same as usual; just ponies fucking like rabbits. She almost chuckled to herself- nothing to worry about, probably. Just somepony knocking over a glass or something. But then she noticed something out of the corner of her eye; several ponies appeared to be leaving. She glanced that way, not sure what was going on. To her left was nopony in particular she recognised, just an unconscious white pony being dragged out of the atrium by a couple of burly stallions-
Wait, what?!
Petunia lurched forward, not sure if what she was seeing as real or not. The world was still warped and distorted around her, the room flickering across her vision like a series of photos in slow motion. Her stomach churned, a sudden panic bubbling in her chest. No, she thought, I will not let myself get panicked now. You've got to calm yourself, Petunia.
Slowly, hesitantly, she moved closer, picking up little details as she approached, walking towards the atrium. There was spots of blood on the floor, or at least what she thought was blood, the outlines sharp as a pencil sketch against the floor. An overturned cup lay cracked nearby, spilt wine pooling beneath it, the puddle of dark burgundy obvious against a cream-coloured rug. She gingerly picked it up, turning it over in her hooves. The arms of House Platinum were engraved on the outside of the bowl, the words ‘To Blueblood, from Father’ below them in faded script. She gaped, the gears in her head not turning as she kept turning the cup over in her hands.
Then the pieces fell into place. She let the cup fall from her hooves, rolling away across the carpet. Oh shit, oh shit, that was Blueblood that had just been dragged away! The realisation hit her like a brick to the stomach, and she glanced around wildly, looking for anypony to intervene. But nopony else seemed to have noticed, all too drug or wine-addled and absorbed in their activities to have even glanced this way.
At that moment, Petunia knew what she had to do. She had to get out of here, quick, before anything worse could happen. She had to warn the others!
With that in mind, she made her way back to the edge of the maze of bodies, spotting an exhausted Octavia and Octavian curled up next to each other. Normally, she wouldn’t dare to bother them, but time is of the essence, “You two, get up!” she hissed, prodding them with a hoof.
Octavia rolled onto her side, mumbling tiredly, “Dammit mother, go away...”
Petunia rolled her eyes, poking the other mare hard in the stomach. “Dammit Octavia, it’s Petunia. Blueblood’s been kidnapped!”
That got her up, Octavia practically jumping to her hooves, a little unsteady. “Octavian, get up, we’ve got to go!” she whispered with more than a little panic in her voice, pulling her brother to her feet.
He blinked stupidly for a few seconds, before Petunia’s words finally managed to sink in. “By the Athanatoi, what in Tartarus is going on?” he asked, doing his best to sober up.
“No time!” Petunia snapped, shaking her head. “You two get back to your mother’s house, and fast. I’m going to Fleur and Fancy’s to tell them what happened. You understand?”
"Wait, Petunia, are you telling me somepony kidnapped Prince Blueblood in the middle of a fucking orgy, and only you noticed?"
"Yes!" She said impatiently, stamping a hoof. "The guards seemed to have disappeared, too, and there was blood in the atrium. We can't afford to stand here and think about it- we've got to get a move on, before something really bad happens, if it hasn't already."
The two of them nodded, before the three of them headed into the atrium. As they reached the door, Petunia paused, glancing over at the two of them. "And you two? Be careful. I don't know if they might go after you next, since you're both not exactly sober." Brother and sister nodded solemnly, and stepped out into the open air, the sounds of running hoofsteps echoing across the empty streets of Canterlot.
The sounds of arguing, hysterical laughter, and the occasional loud thump in the room next door did nothing to concern the nine ponies gathered in the atrium of Fancy’s house; they were used to this sort of thing by now, after all. It came with the territory of being in the same house as ponies who kept their political frustrations balled up until they got behind closed doors. All of them were gathered together for their monthly meet-up, idly passing the time while Fancy, Fleur, Atia and others talked shop nearby.
The nine of them had very little in common when they first met, except for one thing: they all had connections in the same circle. Not surprisingly, as Canterlot had a very odd way of managing social mobility; a Patronage system. Anypony who wanted to be anypony in the city had to find themselves a patron from the nobility who would support them as they rose into the ranks of ‘polite society.’ Fancy Pants, Fleur de Lis, Purple Stripe and even Blueblood were frequent patrons of some aspiring, talented newcomer to the city that they took a liking to, or who presented themselves to ask for their sponsorship.
Speaking of which, there was one pony who was conspicuously absent from the usual gathering, but that was to be expected; Prince Blueblood was out hosting an orgy tonight, so nopony expected to see Petunia here. In fact, they would be vastly surprised if she did show up- the horticulturist mare was a devoted Bacchant, after all.
The sound of a glass breaking caused a few of them to turn their heads, but nothing else that implied any particular trouble could be heard through the door. “I’ll bet you fifteen bits they’re fighting about treasury bonds again,” muttered North Star, looking up from her sketch for a second before quickly covering it with her hooves possessively, glaring at a brown unicorn across the table. “Back off, Inky, this is my work!”
Poppy Fields rolled her eyes, the priestess trying her best to peruse her issue of ‘Sacerdotal Monthly’ in peace. “North, play nice. We don’t need a repeat of the last time you dragged me to the last OMA meeting.”
“Yeah, she did embarrass herself juuuust a little bit.” The brown unicorn snickered, looking back at his own half-finished design. “Besides, you’re working on a villa, I’m working on a block of flats. No need to be so jealous abou-”
“I am not jealous, Dreamy J. Ink, so don’t give me that!” North snorted, crossing her forelegs with narrowed eyes. She then glanced over at Poppy with a little gleam in her eye. “Besides, you’re one to talk about embarrassment. I distinctly remember a certain somepony doing their best to play tonsil hockey with that dancer at Purple Stripe’s party- and the filly was Bitalian, too!”
The priestess blushed furiously, stammering on her words as she looked back and forth between an amused North Star and a blue unicorn who looked like he was torn between chiding her and laughing. “Really, Poppy? And here I thought Equestrian clergy weren’t trying to corrupt us poor foreigners to their wicked, heathen ways?” he said with a ghost of a smile.
Poppy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I wasn’t trying to corrupt her, and even if I was she certainly wasn’t complaining. Besides, you’d know all about being corrupted by exotic foreigners, Father ‘I swear I don’t like stallions, except for that one time’. “
The other priest tensed, closing his eyes for a moment. The other ponies in the room stopped their conversations, looking over at the two priests, polytheist and monotheist, with no small amount of wariness. This line of conversation didn’t usually go well. “I told you I don’t like to talk about my tenure in Chicagoat, Poppy. You know-”
“Yes, yes, I know. You didn’t ‘convert’after that, you ‘switched Bishops,’ though speaking as somepony not raised in the Chiesa, I can’t tell the difference, other than being able to rationalise being a non-celibate priest without a guilty conscience, which shouldn’t reasonably have been a problem in the firs-”
“Poppy, we are not arguing about this again. Just because you never felt guilty about, er, those kinds of things doesn’t mean I wasn’t allowed to at one point.”
The priestess leaned forward across the table with a fierce expression. “Dammit Padre, you know how unhealthy that was! You were an emotional wreck when you moved here. I’m not saying you didn’t have a right to feel guilty, and I’m not trying to put down your feelings or say they were stupid. But you and I both know it was better for you in the long run to ‘switch Bishops’ or whatever to a less restrictive group that wasn’t forcing you to keep up the facade of being committed to that stupid rule. Do you disagree?”
“I...” He sighed and shook his head. “No, I don’t. I just... I wonder sometimes what would’ve happened if I’d stayed with the traditionalists, you know? Whether or not I did the right thing, for the right reasons, and not just because I...”
“Padre, look at me. Trust me when I say you are so much better off emotionally without having that weight on your back.” She extended a hoof out towards him. “Now come on, there are far better things to do tonight than think about what ifs, okay?”
The blue stallion nodded and bumped his hoof against hers, a smile returning to his muzzle. “Fair enough.”
The solemn moment was broken by a delicate cough, reminding the two of them that there were, in fact, other ponies in the room. “So. Now that you two have made up, again,” muttered a zebra on the couch across from them. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? Poppy, you go.”
The room was filled with awkward silence for a moment, nopony moving or even seeming to blink. This was mercifully ended shortly by a stammered response, “Well, umm... aren’t the... tulips blooming nicely this time of year? One of my friends from the Temple of Gaia was just-”
“Yes, they are!” interrupted the zebra with no small amount of enthusiasm, leaning forward across the table, positively beaming. “Come to think of it, one of my idol’s best poems was about tulips. I can recite it from memory if you l-”
“Tulips? We’re seriously talking about tulips now, Tayriyis?” sighed a dark purple unicorn laying back on his couch, ignoring the zebra’s pout of disappointment as he sifted through sheets of paper filled from top to bottom with bold, messy hoofwriting. “I’m not drunk enough for this kind of small talk...”
“You’ve had two shots of liquor, Marsh. But I know that’s like a whole bottle for you.” snarked ‘Padre’, adjusting the too-loose spectacles sliding down the end of his muzzle as his mood shifted back to jovial. “You should be reeling like a drunken Shirishcolt by now.”
Marsh grumbled, swatting a particularly annoying fly off the table in front of him. “Thanks for reminding me, Padre. I swear, you get plastered once on your birthday, and you never live it down.”
The other unicorn grinned like a cat that had caught the canary. “Of course not. Where’s the fun in that, Conehead?” This was kind of a running joke with them, ever since they’d taken Cypress Marsh out for his twentieth birthday. Despite having drank before then, he’d still ended up being discovered at the end of the night by a passing janitor, lying out cold on the floor of the bathroom with a lampshade stuck on his muzzle like a dog’s ‘cone of shame.’ To this day, they would never, ever let him live that one down, and brought it up every time he drank, to his constant consternation.
The purple unicorn looked at his bottle of maple whiskey in hoof, setting it off to the side with great reluctance. “Bah, I’m not giving you the satisfaction this time.”
“What a shame,” a green pegasus with a cutie mark of a flashing camera piped up, batting his eyelashes at Marsh. “And here I was hoping you’d grace us with your acapella rendition of ‘The Drunken Trotscolt’ again, complete with dancing!”
“Screw you, Prime Scoop,” Marsh huffed, poking the pegasus in the nose with a hoof. “You know I only do that at Hearth’s Warming Eve parties.”
“Not counting the time you did it at the Summer Sun celebration party-”
“Or when you did it at the New Year’s party-”
“Or on Nightmare Night when you were dressed as a highland Trotscolt, kilt and all-”
Marsh clapped his hooves over his ears. “Alright, alright, I get the point, geez. I sing terribly when I’m drunk.”
‘Padre’ laughed, setting a hoof on the other unicorn’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Marshy, we love you anyway. Even if you do cheat at ‘Rise of Empires’ every time I bring the board.”
“Thank you- hey! You’re just sore because you nearly got your ass kicked by the Ruskyans in Murakoz until the glorious Scandineighvian Empire could come to your defence!”
“Oh please, like you didn’t need my help when they were overrunning Lithuaneigha! You lost three armies before it was my turn, and I had enough gold to build arms factories for you.”
“Hey, they were technically overrunning your coast, too, since you had that little bitty province, what was it, Manemel, tacked onto the end of East Prussia!”
“Only because most of my armies were tied up in the Griffish Isles thanks to your infamy causing a containment war with literally half of the civilised world, in case you didn’t remember?”
North Star shook her head at the proceedings, not following a word of what was being said. The two stallions might as well be speaking a different language once they got into their strategy games talk. Actual politics she could understand, to some degree. “Boys, boys, please. There’s plenty of time for-”
Before she could finish, she was interrupted by the sound of frantic knocking on the door. “Damn it to Tartarus, somepony let me in!” A familiar voice shrieked, continuing to pound on the door as if expecting it to give way. The lot of them looked around in confusion; they weren’t expecting anypony else tonight. But whatever was the matter, it sounded important.
As the other eight rose from their seats, North Star went to open the door, revealing a terrified-looking, very damp earth pony. “Petunia, what-”
“No time,” the mare shouted, her slightly glazed-over eyes fixed straight ahead as she stumbled inside, deliberately avoiding the impluvium in the atrium. “Have to talk to Fancy and Fleur. Trouble at the orgy.”
“Wait one second! What’s going on-”
She spun around, wobbling slightly as she pointed a hoof towards the other mare, her vision swirling around dizzyingly. “North, I told you, there’s no fucking time! I just ran all the way here from Blueblood’s villa, so if you would please get me to Fleur and Blueblood and whoever else is here, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
“Ran all the way from... Wait! You can’t go in without-”
“Watch me!” Petunia galloped past the stunned group of ponies before any of them could stop her, bursting into the adjacent room unceremoniously.
“For the last time, we have to vote to raise the interest rate a little higher if we expect anypony to-”
The sound of the door being flung open caused everypony in the dining room to turn their heads toward the source; a panting, bedraggled-looking mare who looked like she’d had one too many pulls from a hash pipe before falling into a swimming pool. She took deep breaths, just barely keeping herself from sinking to the floor. “Lady Fleur, Prince Blueblood’s been taken!”
“Oh please,” Fleur huffed. “I don’t want to know what position he experimented with.”
Petunia blinked for a second, then promptly facehoofed. “No, I mean he’s been abducted!”
There was a moment of silence in the room, the ponies gathered sharing looks of utter confusion, before what she’d said sunk in. And then the room exploded into chaos.
“Abducted?! What in Tartarus happened?”
“Are you sure you didn’t just see things?”
“How in Equestria did the abductors get past the guards? Those were Celestia’s own guarding his house!”
“Is my little filly okay? Please tell me Octavia got out okay? I swear, if those filthy brutes touched a hair on her head, I’ll have the lot of them exiled to-”
“Everypony, quiet!” Fancy and Fleur commanded right after each other, the two exchanging a look of dismay. Once the shouting had gone down to quiet murmurs, Fleur stepped forward, looking down at Petunia with a penetrating gaze. “Start from the beginning, Petunia. What happened? What did you see? When did it happen?”
Petunia hiccoughed slightly, and backed up against a wall to keep from falling over. She was trembling slightly, taking a few more deep breaths to clear her head before she started. “I was at the Bacchanalia, as you expected, right? Things went normally- er, well, for an orgy, anyways- for maybe... two, three hours? Wasn’t exactly keeping track of time, you know.”
“Petunia...”
“Right, sorry! Anyways, after that, I’d decided to take a break and went over to get some water and clear my head a little. While I was getting some refreshments, I heard the sound of something hitting the floor behind me, and something breaking, so I turned around to look. What do I see but a white stallion getting carried- well, more like dragged- out of the house through the atrium by a couple of other stallions.”
She gave a couple ponies who had raised their hooves questioningly a sharp look. “And yes, before you ask, I can tell the difference between a hallucination and reality; I was smoking hash, not eating cactus.” The two put their hooves down with a sheepish grin. “Now, this isn’t something you normally see at an orgy, so I went over to investigate. There was blood on the floor in the atrium, and a spilt cup of wine that I know belongs to Blueblood. I think he might’ve been drugged, and not of his own volition. After that, I pulled Lady Octavia aside and told her what happened- don’t worry ma’am, she was fine last I checked.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Atia breathed, shaking her head. “At least Octavian knows not to be there. The idea of my poor colt, in such scandalous places!”
Petunia coughed, rubbing her neck awkwardly. “Right... glad for that.”
Atia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Petunia, he wasn’t there, was-”
“No, not that I know of! Anyways, er, then we left the house. She went back home, and I headed over here to warn you and Chancellor Fancy, my lady.”
Fleur had a very grim expression on her face, turning around to face the other ponies assembled in the dining room. “I think it’s time the rest of you went home, if you don’t mind. Atia, I’d suggest you go check on your daughter- make sure she’s home safe.” The mare nodded, rushing out of the room as fast as her hooves could carry her.
“Don’t worry, my little Octavia! Mummy’s on her way!”
Rolling her eyes slightly, Fleur looked towards the rest of the room. “Night Light, Twilight, tell your son, and any other members of the guard, that there’s been a kidnapping with possible casualties.” The both of them snapped off a mock-salute, before exiting with all possible haste. “Purple Stripe, if you would, please gather up what house guards you can and send them to Blueblood’s villa.”
“As soon as I can, Lady Fleur,” he said with a genial nod of the head, turning to leave as well. “Do you need me there in person, or will one of my retainers be fine?”
“One of your retainers will do, thank you!” She called after him, before turning to Petunia, who was currently slumped against the wall. The poor mare was still trembling, looking up at Fleur with a mournful expression.
“I’m so sorry, my Lady... if I’d just reacted faster and wasn’t so absorbed in the orgy, I might’ve been able to stop-”
“Shh. You did fine, Petunia. Most wouldn’t have noticed at all, much less ran all the way over here to warn me.” Fleur placed a hoof on the mare’s cheek. “Go into the guest room and rest for now. You’ve earned it.”
Petunia nodded gratefully, rising shakily to her hooves. “T-thank you, Domina.” With that, she carefully made her way out of the room.
All that left was Fancy Pants, who was currently frozen on his couch, his face a mask of calmness as he stared at the patterns on the tablecloth. Fleur slowly approached him, placing a hoof on his shoulder. “Fancy?” she muttered, noting his tense posture.
Fancy started, looking around wildly before realising nopony else was there. Determining they were alone, he closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath. He reached automatically for the decanter of wine nearby, pouring himself a unusually liberal amount before downing it in a couple gulps, The cup was shaking in his aura as he put it back down with slightly more force than necessary, little cracks appearing along the rim. “I’m okay,” he said a moment later, raising his hooves in a slightly defensive gesture. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me until later. Let’s... let’s just go find Blue right now, okay?”
“Fancy...”
Fancy rose from the couch, a quick succession of emotions flickering across his face. “Fleur, we do not have time to talk about this and you know that. Blue’s been kidnapped, and it’s up to me to find him, and soon.”
She sighed, leaning a little closer. “Not just you, you know. Us.”
Fancy gave her a slightly confused look, as if he couldn’t quite understand what she was saying. “Fleur, just last night you admitted to me you don’t like him because he makes you jealous, and that you think he’s an unstable ally. Why would you want to help me find him?”
Fleur barely stopped herself from uttering a string of very unlady-like words. Honestly, how insufferably dense could her coltfriend be sometimes? She didn’t like Blueblood, but that didn’t mean she wanted him kidnapped or even killed, either. Besides, she’d seen how Fancy had reacted- as much as she might hate the theoretical possibility of Fancy getting hurt by Blueblood, her own inaction would surely hurt him much worse, and far more immediately. “Because, Fancy, whether I like him or not has nothing to do with it. Honestly, did that glass of wine go to your head? He’s a bloody Prince of Equestria; abducting him is an act of domestic terrorism, if not outright treason. And I’m still sworn to protect my country from threats, internal and otherwise.”
She gave him a look that could wither trees. “ And finally, I am not some petty, spoilt noblemare who will let a little jealousy get in the way of doing what’s right, and frankly, I am insulted you’d even-”
She was cut off by Fancy’s forehooves wrapping around her, warm and comforting with just a hint of vulnerability. She half-heartedly tried to continue, but found it difficult to speak into Fancy’s chest. So she just stayed there for a few minutes, nuzzling against him before finally pulling away.
She looked up and saw his eyes were locked on hers, prickling slightly with tears. He was smiling, though, if only slightly. “I know, my lily, and I’m sorry for ever doubting you. Right now, let’s just get down to business, together. Alright?”
“Alright,” she nodded, opening the door to the atrium with Fancy in tow. “All of you, listen up!”
The ponies there automatically turned towards the doorway, their eyes fixed on the two of them with varying degrees of alertness. Fleur headed straight for Cypress Marsh, hating to have to be the bearer of bad news. “First thing’s first, I suppose. I regret to inform you that your patron, Prince Blueblood, has been abducted.”
As the others let out of shocked gasps and whispers around him, Marsh remained silent, his face that of a pony who has been told a truth he previously thought impossible. Finally, he opened his mouth. “That... that can’t be right. Prince Blueblood, abducted?” He chuckled nervously, looking over at Fancy with a hint of desperation, “Come on, she’s joking, right? Lord Fancy?”
Fancy just shook his head. “I’m afraid she’s not joking, Cypress.” As Marsh did his best to process this information, he heard a sharp intake of breath from the pony beside him, followed by an almost inaudible mutter of, “Deus, in adjutorium nostrum intende...”
Marsh’s face fell, his ears drooping. “How... how in Tartarus did he get abducted?”
“We’re not quite sure,” Fleur said, sharing a look with Fancy before continuing, “But I suspect that a small number of Bacchants, or ponies who took the place of them, took advantage of the distraction at the orgy. According to what Petunia told us, they may have slipped some kind of drug into Blueblood’s drink to incapacitate him, took out the guards before they could intervene, and dragged him out while he was unconscious.”
“But that means he could be anywhere!” Marsh blurted out, looking more than a little dismayed. “He could be here in Canterlot, outside the city in a cave, left in a ditch somewhere, already buried-”
“Let’s not jump to worst-case scenarios,” Fancy Pants said brusquely, quite aware of all the gruesome possibilities. He was not particularly in a mood to dwell on them at the moment. “He... he’s most likely still in the city. The gates to the inner city are shut this late, and under watch by the Urban Guard. So they have to be somewhere in or around the Old Quarter, Royal Palace, or Concordia Square-”
“But that’s nearly twenty square miles to comb over! How can you expect-”
A sudden flash of irritation went through Fancy, though he did his best to keep it in check. He knew as well as anypony what their chances of finding Blueblood were, and he frankly didn’t like them. Regardless, he took a breath, forcing the urge to raise his voice down. “Do you think I don’t already know that?” Fancy asked with a sigh of resignation. “I know it doesn’t look pretty. But we are going to find him, if I have to hunt through every inch of this city myself.”
“Fancy...” Fleur said with a hint of warning.
“Fleur, if it comes to that, I will do it. I am not going to let my best friend be taken away by a bunch of criminals and sit here doing nothing.” He said in as level a tone as he could muster.
The urgency in his voice must have been obvious, though, as Fleur instinctively stepped back a pace as if bracing for something. “Fancy, I wasn’t going to suggest you sit here and do nothing. I was just going to say that if you’re going out there, I’m going with you. We talked about this before- no buts. I can handle myself as well as you in sticky situations, and you know that.”
“She’s not wrong,” Tayriyis piped up with a bit of a smirk. “You should’ve seen her in Mareocco- the mare has a mean left hook, at the very least.”
Fleur smiled faintly at the praise, before suddenly realising who had spoken. “Tayriyis? Oh, right, you’re here... “ She automatically moved forward, seating herself on the couch beside the lithe zebra. “Speaking of which, I think I have an idea how to deal with this. Are you up for doing a little digging tonight, or are you out of practise by now?”
Tayriyis scoffed, his grin turning downright cocky. “Me, out of practise? Please, Fleur, you wound me. My love of digging is akin to a dog with a bone.” The zebra snickered to himself, not noticing the way Fleur raised her eyebrow at the statement. “Anyways, what did you have in mind?”
Fleur leaned towards him, lowering her voice to an undertone. “Head out into the streets tonight. Find all the shady, or non-shady, characters you can around the inner city, and tell them you’re looking for a group of stallions who were seen carrying another pony away, or a large bundle, wagon or sack of some kind, between midnight and now. Don’t tell them who’s asking; just tell them they would have been leaving the villas in the Old Quarter, in any direction.”
“And if they don’t want to tell me?” Tayriyis asked, knowing the answer.
Fleur rolled her eyes, glancing towards Fancy. “Fancy, could you be a dear and open my safe? I need the smallest bag.”
“Right away.” Soon enough, a small sack was levitated towards Fleur, landing on the seat next to her with a loud, heavy thunk. She searched through the sack, pulling out a small stack of solid gold and silver coins the size of a foal’s horseshoe. “The gold ones are twenty bits, the silver are ten. I’ll send you with about...” She neatly arranged the coins in a small pile on the couch, before pulling the drawstring of the sack shut. “Four-hundred bits, in case they need any persuasion. There’s two hundred in gold, two hundred in silver, and make sure to show them the silver first.”
“Got it, Fleur,” he said with an exaggerated bow of the head, stowing away the coins in his saddlebags. “I’ll hunt down Blueblood’s captors like a hound on the scent.”
Padre, who had heretofore been silent, couldn’t help but crack a smile. “If you’re a hound on the scent, try not to choke on any bones along the way, won’t you, Tayriyis?”
The zebra was already halfway to the door, but stopped in place before slowing turning around, the same grin plastered on his muzzle. “Padre, I never choke.” With that, he was out the door like a disappearing spirit, a heavy cloak slung over his back as he stepped into the rainy night.
Prince Blueblood was a lost island, floating lazily on an ocean of blackness. No harsh waves were there to disturb him, no storms to batter and chip away at him, no ambitious explorers to claim what was his. He was alone in his sanctuary, safe and sound, away from the changes and chances of his mortal life. He was unknowing, uncaring, in perfect, blissful darkness, wrapped in the folds of its velvety embrace.
And then he began to stir.
The first thing he was aware of was sound. He could hear whispering all around, soft murmurs rumbling in his ears as if they were right next to him. They weren’t saying anything in particular, he didn’t think; or rather, he couldn’t tell. Every time he focused on a particular sound, it faded away, as if they were butterflies and he a giggling colt again.
The second thing he became aware of was pain, a dull, throbbing ache that went from his head to his hooves, every slow beat of his heart making him aware of some new tender spot that twinged in protest. Thick fog filled his head, as if he’d been out on a bender all night.
He bit back a groan, not knowing where he was, nor in any fit state to guess with his eyes squeezed shut. His first assumption was that he’d accidentally taken some kind of heavy sedative and mixed it with alcohol, but he quickly put that thought aside. He would never willingly take a sedative at an orgy. A multitude of other things were fair game, though.
The pain, mercifully, sloughed away as soon as it came, giving him the curious sensation of something being drained from him. A minute later, everywhere but his head was free from pain, and he felt as if a great load had been lifted from his body. Hesitantly, he stretched his legs slightly, making sure they were still in working order, and to his utter relief, they were. Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes and forced himself to take stock of where he was. The room looked like any other basement in the Old Quarter of Canterlot. A nearby torch cast its flickering light onto the smooth stone walls; he could make out a low, vaulted ceiling resting on simple pillars. Craning his neck to the right slightly, he was able to at least make out that the floor, though cold and stone as expected, it was at least dry, clean, and strewn with fresh straw.
Gingerly leaning his weight onto one leg, Blueblood rose slowly to his hooves, wobbling a little before he managed to stand on all fours easily. He felt a sudden fatigue hit him, as if he’d ran a marathon instead of just getting up, and his head was still aching and spinning. He squinted his eyes, his vision blurred and distorted around him. Everything had an odd purplish tint, and shadows flickered and moved as if they had a mind of their own. In the dim torchlight, he was able to make out a door, the only other opening in the room an iron grille through which narrow streams of light shined upon the floor.
It took a few minute of staring blankly at the door for him to realise exactly what sort of situation he was in. But when he did, it struck him like a hammer to the head. I’m stuck here. Alone, he thought, as a sudden terror welled up in him. He knew he was just imagining things, but he felt like the walls were slowly closing in around him, the shadows encircling him like hungry timberwolves looking for their next meal. He swallowed, glancing around in hopes of finding an escape. But there was none. It was only him here, alone with his thoughts and his fears and his drug-addled imaginings. At least, until he heard the voices again.
Blueblood knew these were real, as he heard them getting closer and closer to the room, as if somepony was walking down a hallway outside. Wait, someponies- there was more than one voice. At least a dozen, from what he could tell. He struggled to move closer to the door, every step winding him a little more as his head throbbed in protest. Eventually, however, he got close enough to make out words, though it took him a little bit to understand them. Their mumbling turned out to be, in fact, quiet chanting.
Chaire Selene Ischyros, hês apo aiglê gaian helissetai uranodeiktos kratos apathanatoi'o, polüs düpo kosmos orôren aiglês lampusês; tekmôr de brotois kai sêma tetüktai. Chaire, anassa, the'a leukôlene dia Selênê!”
The first thing that registered what that they were using Greek, the language of Mystery cults all across Equestria, including the Bacchants. The second was that he understood what they were saying, every word. And the third was that he was stuck here, drugged and abducted, and whoever was outside was almost certainly responsible for it. Terror gave way to furious anger as he grasped that the very ponies who had taken him from the Bacchanalia were most likely right on the other side of that door, freely singing hymns to some gods he’d never even heard of while he languished in a makeshift prison cell. He growled, the sound unusually loud in the small room, and pointed a hoof towards the door. “Váll' eis kórakas! Get in here you worms, so I can know who I have to buck into the next world!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
The chanting faltered, only to be replaced by the sound of loud, heavy hoofsteps getting closer to the door. Blueblood stood his ground, though, glaring daggers at the door. He didn’t care if he’d probably just alerted the whole group that he was awake, and pissed them off on top of that. All he wanted to do at that moment was see his captors before he gave them a black eye or two. It didn’t occur to him that he was outnumbered, and in no fit state to fight. All that mattered was that he’d been fucking drugged and abducted like the victim of some horror story torn from the headlines, and he would not let himself go meekly to whatever they had in store for him. “Come on, I haven’t got all night!”
The door began to slowly swing open. Blueblood began to channel magic into his horn to prepare a spell, an instinct he’d followed since foalhood. But something was wrong. The magic wouldn’t come. The familiar sensation of energy flowing into his horn wasn’t there. It wasn’t as if he was too distracted to direct it; it felt as if it that energy, that vital link between his horn and his will, was severed. No, no, no, this can’t be happening! Not now, of all times!
Frustrated, Blueblood tried again, and again, only to find his attempts were fruitless. His breathing was starting to speed up, exerting all the effort he could as he tried to focus. But nothing happened. Not a faint glow, flicker, even a tiny spark. Scowling, he glanced up to see the blurred shapes of his captors walking into the room. “I wouldn’t try that, if I were you. You’ll only exhaust yourself.”
He glared at the shapes of ponies in front of him, counting the outlines of about six or seven. “You... you did this to me.” The rage that had been bubbling up beneath the surface suddenly rose to a rolling boil as he started forward, his legs moving almost of their own accord. “You fucking bastards! I’m going to kill you- ACK!”
Just as soon as he broke into a trot, his legs betrayed him, sending him straight down to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Pain exploded across the inside of his skull, another wave of fatigue hitting him like a punch to the gut. He was vaguely aware of the sound of hoofsteps getting closer, his eyes squeezed shut as he lay gasping on his stomach. “I’m afraid any sudden movements will hurt you right now. The merasha takes at least six hours to wear off.”
Blinking rapidly, Blueblood looked up to see where the voice had come from, his eyes flickering from the brightly polished horseshoes, to the legs hidden within the folds of a white robe, all the way up to the face staring down at him. All he was able to make out was dark indigo eyes, staring coldly down at him. The rest of the pony’s face was hidden behind a golden mask, tiny rubies and sapphires glittering on the forehead. “Merasha... what is...”
Suddenly, it clicked; he’d heard of it before, at least in passing. It was a drug designed specifically to tranquilise unicorns and keep them from casting spells for a certain period of time. But he’d only ever heard of it actually being used in myths and stories from millennia, the drug being illegal in Equestria ever since the end of the Lunar Rebellion. “Who are you?” he asked quietly, his shoulders slumping back as he stared up at the stallion. His anger was still bubbling, of course, even more than before. But some part of him knew there was no way he could fight back successfully in his sorry state, as much as it stung him down to the very core of pride. Damn this infernal drug. Damn this stupid cult. Damn this... this loathsome stallion, staring down at me like I’m some kind of corpse to be dissected to sate his curiosity.
The stallion laughed coldly, his expression unreadable under the mask. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to tell you that? All you need to know is that we are your captors, and you are not leaving this place until you swear not to reveal what happened here.”
Blueblood snorted, the defiance still in him rising back up to the surface. “So you abducted and drugged me so I could swear an oath not to tell anyone that you did it? How dreadfully convenient.”
A second later, he blinked in confusion. “Wait... what do you mean ‘what happened here?’ I just woke up, and so far the only thing I’ve noticed is I’m drugged, held hostage, and being watched by a bunch of Greek-speaking cultists- who aren’t very good at keeping yourselves quiet, mind you. I could hear your chanting from outside the door. I swear, you must be the most incompetent captor in charge of a so-called ‘secretive’ cult I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. And trust me, I’ve ran into a lot of secretive cults; comes with the Bacchant territory.” His brow furrowed for a moment as he thought back to exactly what they’d been chanting earlier. “Speaking of which, who’s ‘Helios’ and ‘Selene?’ Last I checked, Aunt Celestia and Luna rule the sun and moon, and they’re no divinities. Immortal, yes, but not divine.”
At the mention of the names of the two deities, the assumed leader of the cultists froze, then glanced back towards his fellows, who were shrinking back under the force of what he assumed was a glare. “You idiots! You didn’t soundproof the door first?” Blueblood couldn’t help but smirk a little to himself. His abductors were clearly not as smart as he had given them credit for at first. That was certainly encouraging.
“Err, High Flamen, sir, we didn’t think he could speak-”
“He’s a hierophant in the Bacchic cult, of course he could speak Greek!” his captor growled, his horn glowing a threatening red. “Next time we close this door to conduct the rites, soundproof it first! Or you’ll never be anything more than an acolyte in the cult, understand?”
“U-understood, High Flamen,” another squeaky, masked stallion stammered. The stallion hesitantly cast the spell on the door, the faint sound of chanting no longer audible.
If Blueblood was in any condition to make any sudden movements, he would facehoof at the sheer incompetence of his captors. This... this had to be some kind of ridiculous revenge scheme, right? It had to be. He mentally ran through his list of enemies and/or recently offended acquaintances. Can’t be Ruby Brooch, that’s Atia’s feud. Jet Set and Upper Crust? Maybe, but this isn’t their style. Too expensive for them, anyway, after that mining bubble burst. Golden Gavel... it’s probably Golden.
The group of ‘cultists’ was still quarrelling when Blueblood finally interrupted. “Erm, excuse me, but I’m still lying on the floor here. I know this is probably some kind of sick and elaborate joke, okay?” He paused for a moment, grinning a little as he realised he’d unmasked this charade for what it was. “Golden Gavel put you up to this, didn’t he? It’s all right, the game is up. You’ve had your scare, so we can all go home now.”
The room went silent, as the leader of the cultists turned back to him, slowly approaching with a menacing gait. “I can assure you, Prince Blueblood, this is no joke. And if it is a ‘game’ we play, it is not us who are going to lose.”
Blueblood shakily stood up again, looking the other stallion in the eye best he could. “Oh, come off it. There’s no need to pretend anymore. I mean, really, chanting hymns to gods that don’t even exist should’ve been my first clue-”
The prince’s world exploded into a red haze of pain once more as a hoof collided with his muzzle, sending him slamming into the nearest wall again. He groaned, gritting his teeth as he fought through the pain to rise to his hooves once more, while his captor shrieked, “Blasphemy! You wretched reprobate, how dare you blaspheme our Lord and Lady!”
Blueblood did his best to brush the dirt off his coat best he could, before turning to glare at his captors. “Okay, now I’m really angry. Seriously, you’ve been found out. This joke is over. I don’t care how much you were paid; this is a little too far, even for revenge. I’ll admit, you’re wonderfully convincing actors, but the curtain is down and the stage is empty. So, for the love of Bacchus, Gaia, Sapientia, Mercurius, Janus, Camina, and anyone else I’m missing, let me go home, or I’ll-”
“Or you’ll... what, exactly?” The leader muttered sardonically, not really expecting an answer. “Yell at us to ‘give up the charade?’ Insult our gods? Try half-heartedly to attack us, only to end up as a messy stain on the floor? Try to cast a spell again until you either pass out again, or finally realise you’re not going anywhere? I’m sorry to disappoint you, mighty heir of House Platinum, but you are quitehelpless right now.”
Blueblood wanted to believe this was just an elaborate joke, he really did. But this... this didn’t look like it. This was revenge in its most cold-blooded form, he thought. These ponies weren’t going to just give up and leave him once he found them out. They were going to keep him here until he complied with their wishes; and there was nothing he could do about it. So, he decided to turn to the next most appropriate option; stalling for time.
“So, er... forgive my earlier, er, blasphemy,” he stated cautiously, noting the tense posture of his captor relaxing slightly. “I seriously was not aware that your gods existed. Who are they?”
The cultist leader just kept the same cold stare as he moved a little closer. “We will not tell you until you swear not to reveal-”
“Oh, confound your secrecy!” Blueblood snapped impatiently. “I already know you worship some sun god called ‘Helios’ and some moon goddess named ‘Selene.’ I want to know why. Why do you worship divinities for that when our Princesses have been doing the job just fine for the past two millennia?”
“Because they are usurpers.” The leader hissed, getting uncomfortably close to the prince’s face until he could feel spittle hitting his muzzle. “They are usurpers to took away from our race, our bloodlines the privilege to raise the sun and moon. The privilege granted us by divine writ. Us, the unicorn mages of the Order of the Golden Dawn, not the alicorn heretics who dare to call themselves the ‘rulers’ of the Sun and Moon. Us, of the ancient Houses that ruled the land until two alicorn fillies from outside our land managed to convince Equestria that we were not needed anymore.”
His eyes grew furious behind the mask, as if remembering some past slight that still wounded deep. This was personal, for him. “That we were... obsolete, relics of a past where one monarch ruled and the many houses reigned over their lands. We tried to show the ponies of Equestria otherwise, but we were outmatched; it took over five hundred of the finest mages of our order to raise the sun at dawn and lower the moon, celebrating the sacred rites of our religion to aid us. But it only took those two mere fillies who had barely grasped their own power to do the same.”
Blueblood raised an eyebrow at that. “And it didn’t occur to your ancestors that, maybe, your gods had blessed Celestia and Luna with those powers?”
That one earned him another blow, this time to his side. He doubled over, winded and gasping for breath, before his captor roughly grabbed him in his magic and shoved him against the wall. “Do not. Suggest. Such utter heresy. Again. Understand?” He whispered into the prince’s ear, the sound as unsettling as a knife scraping over stone. Blueblood nodded weakly, falling to the floor as the other stallion released him. “Now, I’d love to chat a little longer, but I’m afraid we’ve stalled long enough. Will you vow to never reveal the secrets of our faith, and of the events that have and will happen tonight? In exchange, we will initiate you into our ranks and let you go free.”
The prince pretended to contemplate the idea for a few minutes, his eyes closed. There was no chance in Tartarus he was actually going to go through with this. If this was a revenge plot by a scorned enemy, as he suspected, they were certainly not going to let him go anytime soon, regardless of whether he swore secrecy. After a moment, he opened his eyes, looking up with a placid smile. “Maybe. Your hymns are good, at least. Exquisite poetry, really- Orpheus and Homer couldn’t do better themselves. I know a few poems that are better, though. Want to hear them?”
The cultists looked very, very confused, muttering amongst each other before looking to their leader for help. “Poetry? Don’t try to change the subject, Prince Blueblood, will you or will you not-”
“A cultist once kidnapped a prince/ But he was a trifle bit dense/Pedicabo ego/vos et irrumabo/But the cultist did not even wince-Sons of Dis!”
Blueblood found himself slammed into the wall again, his legs dangling in the air as a ring of deep red magic encircled his throat, squeezing his windpipe threateningly. He choked and sputtered, little spots of light flashing across his field of vision. Just as he was on edge of blacking out, the grip around his throat relaxed, leaving him to fall to the hard floor again. This time, he knew he didn’t have the strength to get up, so he settled for propping his head up on his forehooves to stare up at his captors. His blazing eyes met those of the cultist leader, cold and dangerous. “You are very lucky we need you alive and intact,” the leader said quietly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Had anypony else defied us so, you would be dead by now. Or gelded.”
The prince visibly paled at that threat, scooting back against the wall as if he thought he could protect himself by getting away. Now gelding was one of the worst things they could possibly think of, as it was a punishment that hadn’t been used for millennia; and only then for rapists and traitors who were seen as too dangerous to set free, but not enough to execute. The thought struck terror into him, almost instinctively sinking to the ground in hopes of protecting himself. It wasn’t just the thought of losing something so intrinsic to his being that scared him; it was the sheer humiliation, the shame associated with being subjected to that kind of punishment. If they were threatening him with that... he knew they meant business.
He was so absorbed in his instinctive fear that he almost missed the last part of the leader’s sentence, “...however, seeing as we are forbidden from shedding blood within holy ground by our religion, you will not undergo that.” Blueblood visibly relaxed, his tensed shoulders dropping to their normal posture as he allowed himself a small smile of relief. “Do not smile yet, you disgrace of a princeling. There are many, many other methods of persuasion at our disposal that do not involve shedding blood. And none of them pleasant.”
His smile quickly faded, replaced by a dawning realisation that these ponies were going to make him swear to secrecy, one way or another. And they, too, had realised by now that negotiation would simply not do it. He blinked, unable to believe it had come to this. All this violence, all these threats, all this elaborate setup, all over a stupid prank at a party? The idea was just so... so petty.
It wasn’t just that, he thought to himself. Maybe... maybe if Golden was behind this, this was his way of trying to convince him into joining the other faction. His faction. That... that had to be it! They want me to betray my friends... to betray Fancy. He could see Fancy in his mind’s eye now, staring at him in disapproval.
No. Hell no. I won’t do that. He felt a hot sensation in his stomach, as if he’d swallowed molten lead. He glanced down to see his hooves were trembling; but not with fear, no. Not at this moment. Blueblood had had enough of this stupid elaborate revenge plot, and frankly, his anger was starting to overpower his fear, and even his sense of basic self-preservation at the moment. The simmering rage that had been cooled by terror was slowly reaching a simmering boil again. And he was ready to just let it all go.
So, steeling his nerves, he raised his head proudly, looked his captor squarely in the eye, and said, “I am not going to swear to secrecy, I refuse to be initiated into your precious cult, and there is no fucking chance of me joining you. I know what you want- you just want me to switch sides. Well allow me to retort. Fuck. You. Do your worst, but I will never, never betray my friends and allies like that.”
The cultist leader did not even flinch, nor show any other sign of being surprised. He simply shook his head, and turned to face his fellow cultists. “I’m sorry it has to come to this. But you will join us. Even if we have to break you first. Hold him still,” he commanded. Four of the cultists scrambled to obey his orders, their horns glowing as tendrils of magic wrapped around Blueblood’s limbs.
He struggled against his bonds weakly, before the merasha kicked in again and he went limp. He was truly helpless now, he realised grimly. Immobilised, barely conscious, and completely alone, he was trapped. And nopony was going to come looking for him. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of anything that could distract him from what he knew was to come. Think of Fancy, he thought, clinging to that thought as if it were a lifeline. I’m in the garden with Fancy. I’m leaning into his shoulder while he strokes my mane. It’s just us, the flowers, and the warm sun on our faces. He’s wrapping a foreleg around my back and I nuzzle into his shoulder. I’m-
Blueblood bit back a cry as he felt a burning in his side, a faint sizzling sound in his ears as his heart thudded a hundred miles a minute. He whimpered, the smell of burning fur choking him. He dared to open his eyes a little, only to see the bright red end of an iron rod hovering a few inches from his body. Gods, he could feel the heat from it a foot away. “Will you join us now?”
He shook his head and shut his eyes again, unable to hold back the all-encompassing, visceral terror of what was happening. It wasn’t the pain itself that scared him; it was waiting for the next dose. He had absolutely no idea what they were going to do next, what fresh pain he would be subjected to. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and be somewhere, anywhere else. And they knew that.
Don’t let them see you’re scared, he thought. You’re stronger than this. Can’t... can’t let them see I’m weak. He focused on Fancy again, forcing himself to focus only on him. I’m not here. I’m warm and I’m happy and safe with him. We’re together in bed, snuggled under the covers. I can smell his cologne, sharp and masculine and intoxicating. He has his forehooves wrapped around me, his muzzle against the back of my neck. His breath is so warm- “AGH!”
His next scream echoed loud enough for ponies to hear from miles around, the cultists outside the door grimacing before going back to their worship. If anypony sympathetic was listening to his cries, they certainly weren’t going to help him.
Fancy Pants had been sitting and waiting for the past three hours, glancing back and forth at the door as if expecting his best friend to walk through it at any minute. After the third hour, he’d had enough. It was time to turn to the divinities for help.
With that in mind, he stood before the lararium in the atrium of his house, the flames from a small brazier the only light in the room. His head was bowed, a dark grey shawl draped over it in the form of a cowl as he muttered the phrases he’d prayed a hundred times. “Be thou well, Mother Camina. May your flames always guide us to the Athanatoi. May all be well on this night in my house.” Incense was cast on the brazier, sweet smoking rising almost instantly from the coals. “Father Janus, opener of the way, arise. May this incense honour you this night.”
He bowed deeply, kissing his hoof and extended it towards the shrine in salute, where the two-faced figure of Janus stared at him quizzically from a carving above his head. He knew this rite by rote, but never before had he been so invested in it. With slightly trembling hooves, he lifted a two-handled cup of wine, slowly pouring the contents onto the coals of the brazier, watching as the flames rose up a little before returning to their usual height. With a sigh, he handed the cup to a servant, who disappeared with it to somewhere else in the house.
He was completely alone now in the room, the rest of the household already either gone to bed or in other rooms. It was best that way- he wanted to, no, he needed to do this himself. Bowing deeply, he placed a small cake of spelt flour, a sprig of lavender from his garden, and a gold ring with his family crest on it on the altar of the shrine. “Concordia, Lady of Peace and Order, refuge of those in danger or distress, I offer you this wine, this cake, these flowers, this ring. I pray you, I beseech you,. I beg you to hear my prayer, and be favourable to my request. I ask for blessings upon dear friend, Blue.”
His voice trembled slightly, despite his best attempts to remain calm and solemn. “May, wherever he is, he find comfort and peace in the midst of trials. May he find light in the darkness, may he find rest and quietness in the midst of distress. May he be found quickly and brought home. And if he is...” Fancy choked slightly, the thought hard for him to even imagine. “...if he is dead, may Dis swiftly give him an honoured place amongst his ancestors. If he is returned to us alive, I will rejoice and have a proper offering dedicated at your temple. This I vow to you.” He kissed his hoof again, raising his head. “I pray, by you and all the Athanatoi, that all will be made fortunate.”
He inclined his head one more time, before turning around with a sigh. “It is done.”
“Let’s hope Concordia gets the message, then,” a voice muttered from nearby. Fancy just nodded, turning to see Fleur watching him from the doorway to the study. “Speedily, I imagine.”
“How long have you been there?” he asked tiredly, removing the cowl from his head and setting it aside.
“About ten minutes now. Your pacing could’ve worn holes in the tile.”
“Can you blame me?” He muttered rhetorically. “It’s been nearly two hours now, and Tayriyis isn’t back. I can’t help but wonder...”
Fleur quickly closed the space between them, nuzzling under his chin. “Shh, Fancy. Enough of that. We will find him. Trust me when I say Tayriyis always gets the information I need.”
Fancy felt his tension subside a little, but was still on edge. “If you say so,” he said with a shrug, trying to stay positive. “It’s just... hard, you know? Gods only know where he is, how he is, who captured him...” His eyes were fixed on the doorway at the far end of the atrium, staring as if the sheer force of his will would cause them to open and Blueblood to appear. “I can’t believe this happened to him. Dammit, I’m... I’m supposed to look out for him, and look what happened! Abducted at a fu-” He stopped the curse short, just barely able to restrain himself. “...at an orgy.”
“Fancy, you can’t possibly blame yourself for this mess...”
“I can, and I am.” He said sharply, wincing at the look that flashed across Fleur’s face. He closed his eyes, letting his expression settle into a calmer one. “I know you’re trying to be reassuring, but I don’t need it right now. So please, let me be hard on myself, for once. I’ll survive a little guilt.”
Fleur nodded, though he could tell she wanted to protest. Her face was set like flint, but her eyes were slightly watery. She swallowed. “I... I understand. Just remember who else is at fault when we’re going to hunt down the abductors.”
Fancy laughed, the sound too loud to his own ears. “Don’t worry, I do remember. And I intend to make sure they pay for it.” His voice was a whisper, low and deadly and promising an unhappy end to the perpetrators. Fleur was a little unnerved, as she’d never seen him this... viciously protective before. “Nopony hurts my best friend and gets away with it. By Invidia, they will get what’s coming to them.”
They stood in silence for a while, waiting, watching as the time ticked by agonisingly slow. Just as Fancy got to his hooves to stretch a little, he heard a loud knocking on the door. Relief swept over him like a wave breaking on the shore, as he sprinted towards the door to unlock it. “Come in, please!”
A second later, a slightly dishevelled zebra made his way inside, slamming the door behind him. He was grinning from ear to ear, despite being clearly out of breath. “I know where he is,” Tayriyis said between breaths, looking at Fleur with pride. “It’s the old Mysteries villa in the Quarter, Domina. The one that’s been abandoned for a century. You get everypony together, and I can lead you to it.”
