Canterlot Mountain held its splendorous city out on a marble foundation, as one would offer an audience a sight of small exquisite ivory art, held in the palm. And rightfully so, for Canterlot city was the heart of the Equestrian kingdom, beating with culture, bleeding with diverse arts, praised for its alicorn magics, and a millennium forged prestige that seeped into the very stone nobles would walk on. Gold adorned every building, gilding and flowing freely like the fresh waters running from the mountain top.

But on the body of the mountain were other marble constructs. Vincent would stand and watch, close but not drawing too much of the spotlight. There was an old villa, the white stone recently starting to crack despite attempts of refurbishment, settled neatly into the mountain face. A garden stretched from the steps to the cliff face, bright and lush, an abundant in tall flora. A main path lead to the dock staircase, diverting to lead to the entrance to the establishment. The decorative gates were new, contrasting the old walls fencing the entire area.

Vincent found himself on duty as the prince’s personal guard, at one of those frivolous events celebrating the completion of some noble’s (Sugar Shift, owner of a leading sugar transportation company) personal air yacht. Yes, that alone was tiresome, but there were plenty of reasons as to why today was to be interesting.

The dock, if one must be insultingly humble about their current location, held a prestigious heritage. It was the first, an entire side of the mountain reserved for royal airships or perhaps exceptional members of society dedicated to helping Princess Celestia’s subjects thrive. Very exclusive, historically iconic due to launching the first airship, and offered a rather splendid view of eastern valley.

Save for the last part, the rest was trivial exposition to Vincent.

Later in the day, the prince would attend a favourite opera of his, Knight lost, Lady found, at the royal opera house. An excellent performance. There was less to worry about in the private royal booth from which the prince would enjoy the show, given that anyplace frequented by rulers had the tightest security known to ponykind.

As for the here and now?

The dock itself was simple, but large; the steps descended to a viewing platform currently fit to occupy a small soiree. An extravagant lilac ship floated by, anchored to the lower platform where guests were filing back up the stairs, gazes locked on two of Canterlot’s most popular stars. Prince Blueblood lead his entourage, a stallion who swooned mares from afar (and irritated up close), funded numerous charities (after the dramatic dilemma of keeping coin versus his moral compass, a quickly resolved matter), and was of course a royal bachelor. His word could be law, his demeanour walking the thin line between entitled noble gentlestallion and respected tantrum thrower.

Vincent did have a different opinion of His Majesty than others, and the prince knew it. It’s why they were close, why Vincent was the one to safe guard him. Vincent owed him that much and more.

As for the other…

She certainly knew how to entertain a crowd of Canternites as they flocked around her, an impossible task in and of itself. Yet she pulled it off with every gracious smile, polite curtsy, stylish accessory, and self-tailored dress to grace her form. A gem unearthed in the greatest city in the world, bringing tittered laughs and sparkling conversation.

Miss Rarity Belle, the ivory and midnight-purple unicorn that slapped cake in his lord’s face.

He was beside the table that Blueblood would be seated at in the shade of tree. He had leant over the railing, one gloved hand on the rough marble surface if he needed to spring over to intercept somepony from reaching the prince. He was fully garbed, as per usual, his masked stare lingering on anypony who stared back. This was his first sighting of the lady. Word travelled and he took note of the baggage it brought was not the same as what Vincent had heard. Shrill harpy criticising all? Charming silver-tongued fashionista. Bit-grabbing succubus? Element of Generosity, reportedly attending only charity events. Bog-stenched and fungal faced?

Oh, she was fair and beautiful—no stallion, or mare, would deny—and looked as if she could have stepped out of the stone that made Canterlot the jewel of Equestria. Purest of whites clothed in a frilly yellow dress, patterned and pressed in a grand design lost to his mind and tongue, but made all the more gorgeous as her voluptuous form was framed by the sunlight. The incorporation of red ribbons drew the eye to her back and neck, in turn the regal coiffure of hers that arched gracefully over the side of her face, and tailed over the opposing shoulder.

And the prince flubbed up a chance with her? Vincent shook his head. Nothing new in regards to what Blueblood expected of a dame after his eye, and from what the knight knew of the gala, she was more than the prince could handle. Heck, the vile rumours he heard of Miss Rarity was but a speck compared to the glowing praises he heard elsewhere. He simply never dismissed anything before a first encounter.

He turned his attention back to his charge, who had finished shaking hands with another noble before heading directly to his table, his pleasant visage dropping to an exhausted eye roll. He never spared expenses in appearance; he was groomed with a golden coif, his horn waxed, and his white tuxedo tailored by the finest hands with the finest silk. Polished like the marble of the castle halls and handsomely sculpted by the divine craftsmanship of the Fates, he was. Most Canternites were extravagant and the prince lead the herd in that department.

With the careful motions of a stalking insect, Vincent’s hand drew into his inner breast pocket and dragged out a sliver flask. The crimson contents were then carefully poured into an awaiting crystal glass on the table, Vincent never having looked directly to it. He scanned the social gathering for any approaching servants or spying eyes.

It was disrespectful to drink your own beverage on such an occasion, but Vincent knew the prince would need familiar taste to settle his mood. And quite frankly, Sugar Shift had an abysmal wine selection. So to protect the pride of both parties, he was swift to put away the flask before anyone noticed.

The prince arrived with a weary shake of the head, a look of disgust pointed to a stain on his horseshoe.

“My auntie blesses Mr. Shift with a glorious evening and he can’t even manage to tend the garden to prevent mud from staining her nephew’s platinum shoes!” He huffed with indignation, looking to Vincent with perplexed disbelief. “How, during a heat wave, does he manage to do that?!” he hissed.

“What a mystery.” Ser Vincent replied with a tone of indifference, tilting his head and tapping the base of the wine glass. “So soiled shoes spark this foul mood. I must say Your Highness, this is not like you.”

Blueblood raised a brow as Vincent gazed up through the crown of the tree, humming before looking back.

“Though in hindsight, it could have been in the realm of possibility.”

“Please, Vincent, you can directly address me by the title of Prince Blueblood,” he replied, grinning and lifting the glass to his lips. “We’ve known each other long enough, surely… hence why I don’t reprimand your remarks as I should.”

As he began to drink, shuddering at the pleasant taste, his guard folded his arms.

“Then forgive me, Prince Blueblood, for not believing your complaint about mud being sincere nor honest.” The prince eyed him over the rim of the glass, charming blue eyes meeting Vincent’s beneath the mask and hood. Vincent never had much to hide from the prince, and he had absolute trust in the stallion. Finally, Blueblood lowered the glass to the table, no longer appearing as tense as a cornered albino python. With a sigh, Prince Blueblood glanced between Vincent and the guests, careful to not reveal the stained wine glass.

Vincent could easily spot the problem. She was spouting liquid gold for the guests to relish in, all eyes on her and wishing to be with the type of pony everypony should know. He shifted his gaze to the prince as he looked back.

“I wished she never returned,” he spat harshly, swirling the wine in the glass.

Vincent ignored him, fully aware of what transpired at that infamous gala. And, despite His Majesty’s persistent recount of the event, managed to uncover what exactly had occurred. As much as he trusted the prince he knew the stallion was prideful and so undertook small investigation of his own. It was not difficult to come to the unsurprising conclusion. He instead returned his gaze to Rarity and noted something peculiar.

“Is it me, or is she trying to… leave?”

Even from here he could spot the strain in her smile. She shuffled due to lack of space, joking and laughing, migrating towards the gate, across the grass. She had the others so wrapped around her finger she was leading them off path and to the exit of an event a royal was attending.

She needed out. And fast.

“Wonderful!” The prince chirped, a beaming grin gracing his features. “Oh, the Fates are finally kind to me. You should hear the drivel these plebs come up with just to earn my attention-“

“I regularly do.”

“-but for them to both curry favours for me and Rarity is downright taxing. If not for announcing this brief interlude, I don’t know how much longer I could have lasted!” He finished in wide-eyed terror, three-digit hand on heart. He downed the remainder of the drink whilst Vincent remained silent.

The prince practically thrived on attention but died when he had to share it. Meanwhile, Miss Rarity had bid enough adieus to make the word sound estranged, and grinded to a halt. She was still trying to leave, but politeness and high society was ever so demanding. Vincent couldn’t help but sympathise.

“Would you like for me to escort her off the grounds, allowing you to return to mingling whilst I organise her transport?” The relieved smile of the prince reached his perked ears. He rested a hand onto Vincent’s shoulder.

“I would, Ser Vincent, indeed I would.” He placed the now empty glass back onto the table before turning to take a seat, waving over to a now-surprised servant handing out refreshments. “Thank you for your service and then some.” Vincent nodded before striding past, making a bee line for the group.

Quite frankly, Blueblood was handling this entire affair with the etiquette of a pouting child. Most mares would be put off by his behaviour that night, and wander off in disappointment. The fact that this mare not only stood up to him, but pointed out how terrible of gentlestallion he had been, made her a legend in the halls of Canterlot Castle. Personally, Vincent held both an ounce of respect and resentment to how Miss Rarity handled the situation.

Of course, had he’d been there his intervention would have been swift.

His steps were not to hide his presence; the rustle of felling grass beneath his polished boots tipped off the swivelling ears of those closest. They turned to face him, eyes widening, mouths slackening, monocles leaping, before parting with hushed whispers.

“It’s him!”

“Ser Vincent?”

“He moves?!”

“Don’t get in the way or he’ll strike you where you stand, Claude!”

The comments were easily shrugged off, like the needles of the were-porcupine, and in fact, he revelled in the knowledge that he was both respected and feared. The former helped, he preferred being civil… but the latter was certainly a reserved bonus. The small crowd quickly took notice and he was granted a view of Miss Rarity from behind when they parted, her tail stylishly curled. When the guests fell silent, after the quick intakes of air, she seemed to notice all eyes were on something behind her. Mainly him.

She spun around, her eyes level with his shoulder. They shrunk as she gazed up to him and he looked down on her. She did after all throw cake in the face of the prince. Delicate features of angelic proportions graced her, from the pert muzzle to the sapphire eyes, all twisted to relay her startled expression. He wasn’t here to reprimand her actions, nor compliment her bravery months ago, but rather to kindly offer a way out.

“Oh my,” she managed almost breathless. She quickly cleared her throat, eyeing those around her for support. It was long established one didn’t intervene when Vincent, Prince Blueblood’s right hand knight, arrived. “Can I help you, darling?” She was back to polite smiles and dazzling demeanour.

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“Can I help you, Miss Rarity?” Vincent inquired as he held the parasol out.

“My word, Ser Vincent!” Miss Rarity chimed, trotting over as gracefully as her dress would allow. She wore a similar attire to what she had before; it was blonde hued, dancing between white and gold in the light, and was fastened around the waist by a striking indigo buckle-belt. She could still shoot a perfect smile. “Whatever brings you to this neck of the woods? Do knights truly appear before distressed damsels or have I read one too many novels?”

He huffed in amusement as she giggled, pausing to pamper her mane. In all the years he had known the prince, Vincent doubted he could never have made a bigger blunder than not making an effort at the gala.

“Duty, unfortunately.” His simple reply earned a small scoff as he returned her accessory. Her magic was regal blue, wisps of cyan dancing around the handle and her filed horn. She rested the parasol on her shoulder, casting a shadow upon her alabaster fur. Her smirk faltered as her eyes studied him, his masked gaze noting how she was idly spinning her summer brolly.

“Dear me, whatever happened to you?” she inquired, concerned lapis eyes locking onto the scars in his attire. She bit her lip and shook her head, tutting as she reached out to hold up his sliced lapel.

“Duty… unfortunately.” Rarity could feel the smirk in his voice, generating a small grin of her own. She was about to give the large bite mark on his shoulder a thorough inspection when his hand gently pushed hers away, leaving her a little self-conscious. “Sorry Miss Rarity, but I’ve been dealing with ponies invading my space all morning, particularly from Miss Dash and Miss Pi – I mean, Pinkie Pie.”

“Ah.” Her flat reply revealed how much she understood easily enough, if her gentle smile hadn’t conveyed that already. “Say no more, I’ll leave you to recover.” She stepped back, the parasol spinning on her bare shoulder at a slower speed. “If you’d like I can patch up your attire, if you’re not too busy doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

The invitation was warm, and had these just been duds cobbled together then perhaps he may—and he couldn’t stress any more—may have considered it. But that would involve staying in contact longer than necessary, which will likely lead to him having to explain his attire. And why he really needed it. Not that he would honestly say. Still left him uncomfortable.

“It’s not simple hardened cloth,” he replied as he raised the scorched glove to stroke the clawed lapel, “I had it soaked in a resin to make it flame retardant, top tier stuff.” That sparked an interest in her eyes.

“Alchemy attuned? Not enchanted?” she asked with a ponderous tilt of the head, “Mind you, for non-unicorns it is a worthwhile investment at the cost of the diversity of spells compared to enchantments through unicorns. Longer life span and stronger potency too if I’m not mistaken, then again I so rarely enchant my fabrics and dresses beyond refitting and seaming.”

‘Well colour me impressed.’ If impressed was the colour green he’d be the visual embodiment of the sentiment, as is, he could only jerk his head back as if being taken by surprised. He had a… different way of displaying that emotion.

“That’s correct, Miss Rarity. A long life span is rather crucial when out and about.”

“I’ll bet,” she laughed musically. She then tilted her head once more, eyes subtly scanning past his shoulders. He could never forget: ponies were staring. “So what really brings you to Ponyville, Ser Vincent?”

“A few crates of arms and armour went missing. Four were moved to the town hall but five were reported, I’m off to retrieve the fifth now.” He moved his gaze away from her for a moment and settled on the curb.

Rarity was then subjected to strange ticking noise of sorts, leaving her blinking in confusion. He brought a hand to his chin by which point she heard the faintest of mutterings. That’s when it occurred to her that he was making those wet clicking with his mouth – he was thinking.

“Fluffersky?” The first thing he said that was audible and it made no sense. “Flubbersty?” With a perked brow she spoke.

“Dear, is something the matter?” To her surprise his masked stare shifted sharply back to her, a pregnant pause in its wake. And just there, if she looked hard enough, there was the faintest glow of gold beneath the hood, dying out as he replied with dignity bolstering his voice.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Rarity, it’s been a long few days so I tend to let slip my thoughts from time to time by this point. Still, it doesn’t excuse me.” He inclined his head but Rarity still waved him off with a knowing grin.

“Oh come now, even I’ve been victim of the effects constantly working brings. Fortunately I have a cure to keep the wrinkles at bay: a day to myself at the spa!” Vincent noted how her eyes glazed over with a dreamy expression, a sigh of admiration and adoration escaping her unlady-like, slouching form. “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without it.”

“To each their own,” he replied, not even considering asking for further details. Ever.

“What is that you are having trouble with, Ser Vincent?”

“Actually I’m having difficulty recalling who first found the crates,” he started, before realisation managed to squeeze a small groan from him, “but I don’t know where I can find them because it never occurred to me to ask.” He rested his hand along the snout of his mask and shook his head. Really? Such a recruit error. This was definitely going to be the last mission all weekend.

“Well, who are you attempting to find? I may be able to help, it is a small town and most wind up in my boutique or the spa sooner or later—I know practically nearly everyone.” She offered with a shrug. It was certainly generous of her, but it was the name itself that was the problem.

“Something along the lines of… Fluttershine…”

“Fluttershy!” Her exclamation was cheery but with grace, her smile seemingly broadening. “Marvellous! I did wonder what she and Applejack were up to a few days back. I take you’ll need an escort?” He only nodded before she clapped her hands together. “Well, shall we be off?” She added as she strutted past.

“Miss Rarity, you don’t have to, I only need a few directions.” He replied whilst stepping to follow behind. Ponies were giving her a wide berth as if she had her own protective bubble they dare not stain. She was a few steps ahead and cast a coy look over her shoulder.

“I know, but my dear Opalescence is under Fluttershy’s care, poor little thing had taken ill, and I can’t bear to be away for any longer.” She continued her stroll, Vincent not far behind. “Besides, I recall you doing something similar a year ago at Sugar Shift’s soiree. I’d like to thank you for looking out for my sake back then. Come along now!”

With no other choice Ser Vincent marched behind her, weary step after weary step. He’d instantaneously noticed something about the crowd, however; they parted for her. Not as in to avoid collision, but rather to form a barrier around her as found in snow globes and their contents. All greeted her with kindness, some stallions looking back to ogle her primed and curled tail. That was when Vincent would walk past. The crowd’s attention quickly being drawn to him and with admiration turning to shock and nervous eye-to-mask contact.

It carried on this way until they reached the outskirts of town, a comfortable silence due to the distance between the two. Pebbled pavements gave way to rural paths, branching out to tamed grassy areas, reserved for the park and a few extravagant shops and housing. He certainly spotted a few places worthy of sightseeing, offering a good view of the town.

'Maybe… if I find the time…' A good hobby of his was to find a sight worth revisting – travel was an unavoidable part of a knight’s occupation, so why not have a reason to look forward to revisits? If not the ponies then the place? His thoughts were drawn to Miss Rarity when she slowed to match his pace, coming alongside him.

“I imagine your attire is less conspicuous in any other location save town squares, but I can’t fathom as to why it’s so… excessive.” She commented, cocking her head away to look up to him with gentle smile. “I recall you wore the same outfit at that party, I’m curious, do you attend all social events like this?”

“Yes.” He said simply, dampening her expression.

“All of them? Surely you jest.” She laughed him off, but when he slowly craned his head to face her, he saw her smile did not meet her eyes. When she stopped they then widened, as if some eldritch abomination had been walking alongside her all along. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m there to protect the prince, not look pretty.” He replied, albeit more curtly than he intended. Other than the increase in rotation to her parasol, the downward flicker of her ear, she still look as if he had admitted to kicking puppies for fun.

“But what do you wear when you’re not protecting the prince? When you’re off-duty?” He gave a jingling shrug.

“Nothing too impressive I assure you.” He turned back, an errant thought crossing his mind: what kind of pony chose to pursue fashion? “Mostly the less armoured version of this- Miss Rarity?” To his surprise, the mare was balking at him, eye twitching.

A tailor could make clothes for the harshest of winter, for certain, but who decided that stylising, trimming, and stitching cloth in a certain way was to bear the image of that era? Art, it seemed, came in all varieties. Paintings always had three artists; the painter to capture an image of the pony; the architect to house the pony in their social standing; the fashionista to show how important that pony was. All caught in one image.

What would one make of a knight in a less than majestic, heroic outfit? Ponies were naturally unclothed so why was it important for knights to wear anything in the first place when off-duty?

“You wander around Canterlot like that?” she finally said, shaking as she approached.

“Wandering implies I’m lost or without direction—I assure you I know every inch of Canterlot and make quick trips to wherever I go when necessary.” Vincent’s mask followed her as she sauntered past, shaking her head as if what he had said was truly incomprehensible.

“Will you at least allow me to fix your coat?” she asked (or pleaded, the jury was out) over her shoulder, “A simple spell would have you right as rain, your mask also.”

Vincent brought his gloved hand to his muzzle, trailing down the hairline crack that reached from between his eyes down to the lip. His primary finger lightly tapped the snout; his mask, though metallic, was thin – a solid thump from a beast might be enough to shatter his frontline defense if he was careless enough. He lowered his gloved hand, his sight trailing it down as it flaked and peeled in the air little by little. Perhaps a touch up wouldn’t be so bad.

“I have spares,” he stated, balling his hand as he looked back up to her, “And though not cheap I can always replenish stocks. It’s not necessary.” He strolled up to her, extending a hand past her. “Your consideration warms me, but please… I’m on duty. First and foremost.” She sighed before nodding.

“Of course, this way.” The disappointment was evident in her tone and her features, from the small pout, the wilt of her ears, and faintest of whines. He rubbed the back of his hood as she gazed forward, a modicum of regret nestling in his gut. He wouldn’t change his mind.

“If you’re worried about me catching a glimpse, don’t worry, I pride myself on being professional,” she continued as she lead them across the bridge, looking up to him. “I do have a changing room if you wish to keep up that mystery you shroud yourself in.” Looking to her, he noted the playful smile tugging at her lips.

“That mystery does not have an appealing answer, Miss Rarity.” His voice was soft, touching a melancholic brand of acceptance. “You can say I wear this because it does make me easier on the eyes… and nerves.”

“Oh, I see…” Rarity replied with realisation lightly laced in her tone, the spinning parasol almost stopping. So his appearance was damaged to such an extent? Where all this dress was deemed important to get by? Pitiful, yes, but he clearly functioned, clearly lived. She frowned as her summer umbrella regained speed—surely this was not a self-confidence issue?

“I don’t see why that affects my offer, Ser knight, honestly.” She commented with a shrug and a practised smirk. “I have been working in fashion long enough to learn how to treat all my customer’s needs, and I can certainly handle not peeking when I return your repaired tenue.” Her Prench accent was a little strong, he noted. She turned away, tilting her head up and obscuring his view with a careful manoeuvre of her brolly.

“There’s no need to wound me so, hmph!”

Vincent lowered his head, reaching up to massage his eyes before quickly cancelling the motion. With an amused huff he regarded her with a tilted head.

‘Face of Equestria’s finest.’

“If you spare me the theatrics… and promise absolute privacy… then maybe before I leave and after I return to Pinkie Pie, then I shall book and appointment.” She quickly revealed herself, dazzling eyes and a sly smile pointed at him.

“Don’t take too long now, I’d hate to have my image of knight’s shattered by one keeping a lady waiting.” She tittered. Quite frankly, it was going to take as long as it takes, her say or otherwise, to find these crates. The unicorn then regarded him with a questioning glance. “I hope you don’t mind me prodding further but what business do you have with Pinkie?”

He simply shrugged, his voice a warm delight.

“She has cake.”

Author's Notes:

Remember folks, likes, favourite, and comments are all great votes of confidences as well as opportunities to voice your likes and dislikes! Thank you to all who have read so far!