Celestia stood just in front of the door between her actual private quarters and her public private quarters – the area set aside for her to entertain guests in a more private, intimate setting without actually inviting them into her very bedroom.
It was time. Fancy Pants would be waiting for her in there. Why was she nervous about this? He should be the one nervous about meeting her! She was a princess.
But she didn't quite feel like one right now. She felt like a silly little mare about to approach an eligible stallion without any clue how to successfully seduce him. “Twilight,” she whispered, “I don't know about this. Do I look acceptable?”
“You look magnificent.”
The reassurance from Princess Twilight felt good, even if it was predictable. Celestia had asked her to visit just before the meeting with Fancy Pants for just such a reason. Somehow, deep inside, she'd known that she would need support before she could open this door.
She took a deep breath. “And Cadance has seen to setting the table and selecting the entrees?” If anypony knew just how to set the mood for a business meeting in order to steer it in a romantic direction, it would be the Princess of Love.
Princess Twilight hesitated. “I...” She glanced back and forth. “Actually, the makeover took so much time, we got here so late. I haven't had enough time to look over the preparations that Princess Cadance made. But I'm sure she's done it perfectly. We both know we can count on her to do everything she can for you.”
Celestia nodded. “Okay. It's time.” Actually, it was well past time. The appointment had merely been for 'evening', but it was nearly night now: almost too late to call evening. She had no idea how long Fancy Pants had already been kept waiting on the other side of that door. She couldn't delay it any longer.
She reached out to open the door. Princess Twilight dipped away out of sight. And then Celestia finally saw what waited for her on the other side.
Fancy Pants had been sitting at the small table, looking listlessly up at the crystal chandelier, but the moment he noticed the door open, he shot up out of the chair and gave her a deep bow. “Your Highness.”
The lighting was subdued, and Celestia's normal oblong table had been replaced by a quite small, circular one, scarcely big enough for two. Its frilled linen tablecloth was bare, save for the shining silverware, two tall candles, and a single red rose in a slender crystal vase. She should have known Princess Cadance would put too much effort into making it intimate.
“Please, please, none of that,” she told him. Of course he would have to make a show of royal respect, but that wasn't how she wanted their time together to go, not at all.
When he rose and finally got a good look at her, his eyes went wide. His monocle dropped down and dangled on its chain from his waistcoat. “P-princess, you're...”
She smiled gently – and hopefully with a bit of mystery – and began to slowly step forward. “Good evening, Fancy Pants. I trust that— Gaah!” She'd trodden on her 'wet' mane and tripped. She went down hard, sprawling onto the marble floor in a mess of pastel mane. Her rump stuck straight up in the air, her slicked-down tail drooping down from it like the saddest victory banner ever.
Fancy Pants rushed to her side. “Princess! Are you hurt?”
Her cheeks flushed hotter than the core of the sun – and she would know – but she was otherwise unhurt. “I ... I'm okay.”
She rose back up with what little remaining grace she could manage. Then, taking very particular care, stepped off of her own mane and resumed her slow walk to the table. She had to stare down at her unshorn-fetlock hooves the whole time, just to ensure she didn't trip again. Of course, she was still blushing, so her downcast eyes only made her look all the more embarrassed.
Fancy Pants took notice of this, and he tried to reassure her, “You have my word, Princess, that word of this will never leave the room. I'm well acquainted myself with what it feels like to have one's gaffes publicized, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Please, don't worry about anypony hearing of this.”
Ugh, to be patronized by him! But at least he wasn't laughing.
“And if I may be so bold as to say...? That new mane-style of yours is, well... It's very intriguing, to say the least.”
Celestia looked away from him. “It's hideous, isn't it?”
“No, no! Certainly not!” He moved around her to be able to see her face beyond the drooping mass of her mane. “It's very fashion-forward, and the lengths you've taken it to are, well ... charming.”
“Do you really think so?”
“It's already very fashionable. I dare say, if you wore your mane like that in public, I'd soon be hard-pressed to find a single mare in Canterlot who didn't also adopt the wet mane look.”
The quirk of phrasing made her ears perk up. “Is that ... something you're often trying to do, find single mares?”
“Oh, no. Heavens, no!” It was Fancy Pants's turn to blush, and seeing him like that made Celestia feel a bit better about herself. He turned toward the table. “Well, I mean, I'd given myself up to lonely bachelorhood long ago, but recently my daughter, Fleur, has been pushing me toward finally finding somepony... I've made a few inquiries, but nothing serious. I'm not certain it will amount to anything.”
Wow. This was turning out better than Celestia had any right to hope for. If only she could keep the conversation on this track, it might just lead to—
“But we'd better be getting down to business, shouldn't we? I'm sure you're far too busy to be occupied with the romantic pursuits of a silly colt who's too old for the dating game. Shall we begin with discussing the preparations for the Masquerade Ball?”
Suddenly, Celestia felt as deflated as her mane. Just when she thought somepony might think of her in a different way, there he was seeing her only as 'the Princess' again. She gave the same sort of silent sigh she often did, the kind that none of her little ponies ever seemed to pick up on, and then she carefully stepped over to the table and sat down.
The moment Fancy Pants was seated as well, a bevvy of servers rushed in from a hidden entrance. How long had they been watching? They laid out an elaborate meal for two, complete from the seared asparagus on a bed of pasta to a pair of little heart-shaped raspberry torts sprinkled with flecks of edible gold. The servers filled two generous-sized glasses with wine and left the bottle before fleeing wordlessly back into their hiding places.
Celestia winced at how blatant the display was and made a note to herself to chastise Princess Cadance – this was supposed to be a business meeting that would turn romantic if things went well, not a cheesy date for two!
But if Fancy Pants took any notice of the amorous connotations of the dinner or the setting, he studiously pretended not to. He smiled warmly, tasted a bite of the asparagus, and complemented the palace chefs. And without taking any further notice of anything on the table, he launched into his initial purpose. “Now, as you know, the Masquerade Ball is a fairly simple affair, and there shouldn't be too many surprises this year, since we plan to be very traditional this time around. But you should know that we'll be starting the ceremonies with a rather unusual...”
Celestia sighed again, then nibbled on an asparagus stem. She had been to at least a hundred of these balls, and while there were things she needed to prepare for, she could safely trust a bored and half-conscious part of her mind to take note of it all. In the end, her appearance there would be flawless, as always. But the greater part of her was focused on something more immediate – did Fancy Pants, even for a moment, see her as a mare? As a 'single mare'? Could he see her that way? But as he went on and on about costume themes and timetables, she more and more despaired of ever getting through to him that way. She had to act, she had to steer the conversation in that direction – no pony, not even Fancy Pants, could ever be expected to take that first step toward her. She would have to do it herself.
Interrupting his monologue, she reached a hoof out toward him. “Fancy Pants, may I ask you, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to ... what might you be looking for in a mare?”
He looked down at her hoof, then up at her, then down again. “P-Princess, you're—”
“I know, I know. I'm being incredibly forward. And I don't want you to take this the wrong way, nor do I want to abuse my station. You are completely free to deny me, to refuse to even answer my questions. None of it will ever be held against you.”
“But, Princess! Your—”
“Please, no. I don't want you to think of me as 'the Princess' right now. Please just tell me, one stallion to one mare...”
He stared at her, aghast. “Princess, your ... your fetlock is in my wine!”
Celestia looked down at the hoof she'd reached out toward him. Her trailing unshorn fetlock was indeed in his wine glass, deeply in his wine glass, and its luxuriant fur was greedily soaking up the dark red liquid.
Startled, she yanked it out. Her wine-soaked fur splattered nearly half a glass ... straight toward Fancy Pants. The glass tipped over and splashed the remainder into his lap.
Celestia froze, her wet hoof upraised and dripping wine down her foreleg. “Fancy Pants... I am so sorry about this. Please, let me call in the servants, and they'll do their best to, um...” She knew that it would take hours of work to get stains like that out of his white fur, not to mention her own.
“No, no, don't bother them.” Fancy Pants slowly rose from the table. “If we've discussed the Masquerade Ball in sufficient depth, then perhaps I should be off? I could... Well, to be frank, I would benefit greatly from a shower and a change of clothes right about now.”
She lowered her hoof, planting a wine stain on the tablecloth. Twilight had coached her on asking him if he'd like to stay once the dinner was over, but none of those lines seemed at all appropriate right now. Even as her sharp wits came up with a substitute – 'Why don't you come and share my shower, Fancy Pants?' – she knew that it wasn't the time for such things. The evening hadn't gone well enough to justify it. That would make her look desperate, it would come off as incredibly tacky.
Instead, she nodded. “I'm terribly sorry about this, Fancy Pants. And if you'll allow me, I hope to make it up to you sometime. But yes, I'm sure I am fully prepared for the Masquerade Ball now. You have my blessing and my sincerest apologies.”
Giving her something between a nod and a bow, and looking surprisingly regal despite the wine still dripping from him, Fancy Pants lit up his horn and teleported ... presumably back to his own suite where he could get cleaned up.
Celestia growled in frustration. These makeover ideas had completely ruined her chances! “Twilight! Twilight, get in here right now!”
No answer. Maybe Princess Twilight had left as soon as the dinner began, to avoid eavesdropping. Or maybe she had run away, laughing, as soon as her mischievous plans had been set firmly in motion. Had she planned all of this? It wouldn't be impossible. Twilight Sparkle was a very meticulous planner. Oh, she would have some very stern words with Princess Twilight once she found that pesky little alicorn!
One of her servants rushed in at the sound of her shouting. “Your Highness,” the mare said, bowing low. “Do you require anything?”
It took a moment for her to simmer her rage down to a level that wouldn't easily show on her face. “Thank you, Dew Drop. If you'd please, could you order a bath drawn up for me? And please inform Princess Twilight that I wish to speak with her as soon as possible.”
The mare nodded dutifully and ran off. Celestia knew the bath would be waiting for her by the time she made her way to her private bathing room. She wondered if this wet mane treatment would be more difficult to wash out than red wine...
Her cheeks went hot again. Her whole body felt uncomfortably warm. If only she could wash away the memory of this night, make it as if it never happened. It was almost enough motivation to send her searching for Starswirl's time travel spells, and let causality and the continuum of time be damned.
But no, it was just a little embarrassment. After living for thousands of years, even someone as graceful as herself had to bumble enough to be familiar with embarrassment ... and to know that it would pass in time. Why, in a few hundred years, hardly anypony would remember this silly incident.
Still, though... The lost opportunity stung.