The Rose Palace was a beautiful place, a garden of roses of every variety spread over dozens of acres of land on the tallest hill in Merrie proper, sheltered from the worst of storms by the surrounding hills and ringed by streets that meandered off into the rest of the heart of the city, and disorganized enough that there were usually guides for tourists hawking their ability to show off the famous gardens and surrounding area.

While the palace proper was hardly enormous, it was hard to tell where the gardens ended and it began.

For Rosemary, ostensibly one of the nobility that could have claimed a room or suite in the palace itself, it was a place that she was almost wholly unfamiliar with. She knew how to get here and there within, but the faces she saw were strangers’ faces, and the ponies that seemed to know all about her were little more than passing acquaintances from the few galas she’d actually attended with Rosewater and Carnation.

The halls were wide and brightly lit, open for most of the year to the outside, the stained glass windows that descended for the winter stowed for another two months in some cellar or basement somewhere on the grounds.

She held the summons, a red letter sealed with the bright pink wax of the Rosethorn family crest, in front of her like a talisman against interruption. Interacting with the ponies that made their home here was the last thing she wanted. Hedonists to a one, the stallions and mares that crowded the halls were in a perpetual haze of some pleasure or another; wine, sex, scent, or all three.

They were the Rose Highguard at the top, the ponies that avoided true hedonistic tendencies only because Roseate required them to remain clear-headed when she needed them. Then came the palace guard, who could only indulge off-shift.

Finally came the goons, the ponies like Rosejoy—Roseate’s chief goon—who reveled and partied, rutted, drank, and sniffed themselves into oblivion until they were needed to do something low that Roseate didn’t want tied directly back to her since she could blame it on their hedonism even as she fed it.

They leered at her from their pillows and couches, too early in the day to descend into sex and pleasure, but not too early to be lazy and try to look pretty to capture the interest of a passerby.

She ignored them and marched up the stairs to her aunt’s office on the third floor. Invariably, it was where she conducted her business.

Just as she approached, a stallion that had once had a fancy for her—an unrequited interest since he wasn’t interested in anything more than the sex—stepped out of Roseate’s office, his cock still partly unsheathed and dribbling a single thin streamer of semen.

He saw her, and his flaccid member twitched and started stiffening again. “Rosemary,” he said, his voice husky with lust.

“Is my aunt still occupied?” Rosemary asked, ignoring him and his intent. He did have an impressive cock, but Trestle’s kindness, his tenderness in and out of bed, were more attractive to her than a member.

“Just with cleaning up the rutting I gave her.”

That she gave you, you mean. “Fine. Go clean yourself up, Rust.” Of course he would be one of Roseate’s hedonists. And of course Roseate had found out about his infatuation, and talked him into rutting her right when she was scheduled. A power play meant to discomfit her.

“Maybe you and I—”

“No, Rust. I’m not interested.”

Rusty Rose gave her a chilly sneer, but pranced off, cock bobbing. No doubt off to clean himself up and then brag about the noises Roseate made—noises that were as much lies as every other noise that came out of her mouth that wasn’t a threat.

That he’d been kicked out meant Rosemary had to step carefully to avoid the little beads of come on the stone floor, and even more carefully to avoid the ones on the carpet. The room smelled like sex, strongly enough for the sex to be magically enhanced.

Rosemary covered her nose with a simple clean air spell and breathed a few times to get the scent out of her nostrils and faced her aunt as she cleaned herself languidly on a pile of pillows beside her desk, her vulva on full display and still damp from being rutted.

“Rosemary,” Roseate said warmly, lying even with her tone, “I’d almost forgotten that I had you scheduled for this morning.”

“Take your time, my lady,” Rosemary said, giving her a modicum of privacy by pretending to study the paintings around the room. All of them were of Roseate save one of Rosewater. It had dust on the upward facing surfaces while all the others were clean and shining. There was no doubt she’d dragged it out from somewhere just for this meeting as a reminder of who was at stake.

It, too, was a calculated reminder. This was a threat, and not a lie. Roseate would use her to hurt her own daughter.

“I know Rosewater helped you on your last assignment,” Roseate began without preamble. “If you’re going to be useful to the city and our struggle against those who would take away our right to mate and make love as we desire, you need to be stronger, Rosemary.”

Rosemary stood there, eyes fixated on Rosewater’s portrait. Regal, her mane in a style she hadn’t worn since before Carnation was still there, proud of bearing. Both of those proved she was her mother’s daughter and ignored the heart that lived inside her. It was the still picture of Rosewater as Roseate wanted her to be: chill, perfect, and uncompromising.

“Your cousin cares only for your short-term happiness, not your ultimate well-being, Rosemary. She doesn’t know the struggles of fighting this war like I do. She doesn’t remember the strife Prim Cord put our city through.” Roseate rose and affected a limp that she didn’t have at other times, though she did have a small scar on her hip. “We need soldiers, Rosemary.”

“I understand, my lady.”

Roseate flicked a look at her and sat down behind her desk. “Your mother told me she understood. She lied to me. She undermined my efforts to keep our ponies safe, Rosemary.”

Quivering rage surged up her spine, setting her teeth on edge.

“I can’t have soldiers that lie to me, Rosemary, just like I can’t have soldiers that can’t handle a simple mission on their own.” Roseate pulled a scroll from her desk and slid it across the desk, nodding to it. “Nonetheless, you did make it to Damme and back, and I have a task that’s too trivial to hand off to another of my daughters.”

‘I have a task that’s too dangerous for my other daughters.’ “Yes, my lady.”

“You have two weeks to complete this job, Rosemary. Surveillance, reconnaissance, preparation, extraction. Details are in the scroll.” Roseate waited until Rosemary had finished reading the details, then sat forward. “If I find out Rosewater has aided you at all on this task, Rosemary, I will consider it insubordination, and I will have you exiled.”

“But—”

“Your cousin can’t protect you if you disobey a direct order. You are neither married nor a parent. Her guardianship does not cover gross insubordination.” Roseate was quiet as she delivered the ultimate threat, the chill in her soul creeping into her voice. “I will exile her as well, law be damned. Nopony disobeys my orders, Rosemary. Do you understand?”

It was hard to form words around the pit of bile in her throat. “Yes, my lady.”

“Good. Understand that I do this for the good of the city, Rosemary. I don’t do this out of a sense of malice. I need to protect my ponies, and insubordination is not conducive to protecting the ponies of Merrie.” Roseate nodded to the door. “You have your task, and the conditions for success. I have another appointment soon.”

Dismissed, chilled to the bone and wanting to vomit, Rosemary fled.

The only answer Rosewater got about what Roseate wanted was a single phrase, ‘tight-rope’ before Rosemary disappeared into her apothecary workshop part of the estate and sealed sound away, effectively telling Rosewater she needed to be alone for a while.

She tacked a quick note to the door, telling Rosemary where she would be, and retired to her own office, enspelling the wards to keep out sound as well and settled in with a scroll and paper to keep her mind occupied and not think about what thing Roseate had demanded of her.

It would require her to move forward more quickly with her plan with Collar, and perhaps seek out some contingencies beyond the simple expedient of fleeing the city. She had a cache of bits outside the city, safeguarded by one of the Deerkin clans that meandered north and south yearly, but that would, of necessity, throw her lot in with bandits and others and she could then only win against her mother by brute force of arms and encourage regime change through conquest.

Not that she had any illusions about how Celestia would take such an act of savagery. It would be a gamble, and far more dangerous than she wanted.

Her better option lay across the river and ‘failing’ in an infiltration into the palace itself. Perhaps even to negotiate her own way out of prison and into a better placement in both Damme and Merrie.

For such a thing to happen, she’d need to see Rosemary safely in asylum. Collar had offered it for her, but it was a thing that would also strip her of her titles and inheritances, just as it had for Cloudy Rose.

She tapped the dry nib of the quill against the page and flowed magic out through the tip, outlining in invisible thoughts the plan that might happen and erase them if the thoughts didn’t quite align before she put to words what she wanted to pass to Collar for their next meeting.

First, she needed eyes on Rosemary. His spies would already be watching her every move, so it wouldn’t seem strange for them to keep an extra close eye on her. Whether or not he would actually pass her intelligence, or simply keep it to himself…

Is that even relevant? Rosewater let the magic fade from the page and sat back. If he kept an eye on her, and if she could extract some promise from him to keep her safe…

“No.” Rosewater shook her head and wrote out the first sentence to the letter in magic, read it, and enchanted the ink into a fine mist that was drawn down into the letters, then continued.

Dear Lord Collar,

I trust that this missive will find you in good health and fine spirits, but I already have some information to trade. If you agree to a trade

The door to her study swung silently open before a tentative hoof reached past the sound barrier to tap at the floor.

Quickly, Rosewater stowed the letter in the desk’s locked drawer and touched Rosemary’s hoof in the same spell. She didn’t dare drop the silence spell yet. It would give eavesdroppers the idea that something important was going on if she dropped it and raised it again.

Rosemary swallowed as soon as she came in, her ears flat into her mane, her lip caught between her teeth. “How do you do it?”

“Keeping secrets?” Rosewater asked softly.

A little nod settled some of her tension.

“By understanding the cost of not keeping them. Feeling the cost of not keeping them, Rosemary.” A glance to the side at the portrait of Carnation hanging on Rosewater’s office wall served well enough to show her point. “There is a cost to every choice we make. Carnation knew that better than I did. She made her choice, and I think she knew she was going to make that choice for a long time.”

“The… choice to disobey Roseate?”

“The choice to… yes.” Rosewater closed her eyes and her mouth over that secret. Somehow, Roseate had known it, but knowing it about her mother would only put Rosemary in danger. As much as she wanted to share it, the burden had fallen to her to carry on. “She chose, Rosemary. I chose, too, when I fought my mother to keep you here.” You could have gone with her, been safe from all this.

And left all her friends behind. Her culture. Me.

“You have a choice, too, Rosemary, and unless I gravely misunderstand my mother, it means I can’t help you with your next task.”

Rosemary startled and stared at her. “How… did you know?”

“I understand her better than she thinks I do.” I hope. “I’m still here, Rosemary. She can’t stop you from seeking comfort and reassurance from me, and I will stop her from carrying out whatever threat she levied on you.”

Rosemary didn’t meet her eyes for the span of a few breaths, then flicked a look at her and back to the floor. “Exile.”

Rosewater pursed her lips. A duel, then, to prevent it, with Roseate more prepared and perhaps even guessing at the depths of her talent and the degree to which Rosewater had honed her understanding of it in the past six years. It wouldn’t be a duel she would be guaranteed to win.

“I won’t fail,” Rosemary said softly. “You won’t have to fight her.”

“You’ll do your best, but not everyone succeeds, Rosemary. Even I didn’t.” Rosewater took a deep breath and cleared her mind of the worry, drawing out a blank scroll. “Have you heard any rumors about town?”

It took Rosemary a moment to shift tracks, her eyes clearing as she blinked at the sudden change in subject. “Lots,” she said at last, then pursed her lips and shook her head. “Nothing about Roseate except the usual stealing husbands and wives that somepony heard from a second cousin’s third wife’s aunt’s dog. Oh. And a large order of stamina candies. Er, larger than usual. From Rosie, to a pony she’s pretty sure takes everything he buys straight to the palace.”

Rosewater’s eyebrows ticked up a notch. “Really, now.” That would mean she would be moving within a couple of weeks, before the candies grew stale and the magic that filled them burned out. “That is useful. What varieties?”

“A few different ones. Citrus Circus, Amazing Almond, Fiery Freesia.” Rosemary flicked her ears at the last one. “That one… maybe they’re planning an orgy?” Rosemary asked, chewing her lip briefly. “It's the end of harvest soon.”

“And pray, Rosemary, when was the last time that Roseate held an orgy open to the public?” Rosewater shook her head. “She likes her toys kept close, not shared. Besides, the White Rose Bath House has one planned for next week. And they didn’t buy any stamina candies. Orgies aren’t meant to be lasting affairs. They’re meant to be joined, to be entered, and then to sink into the laughter of wine and sleep and wake on the morrow with friends to clean up the mess.”

“Don’t tell the bit about an orgy lasting to Rosie…” Rosemary flicked her tail aside briefly.

“Ah, but Rosie’s ‘orgies’ are for friends only. Tell me, after you have a candy, what do you do?” Rosewater sat back to listen, curious.

“Well… I suppose you have a point. We talk. Fondle and kiss a little, some mutual masturbation. But mostly talk.” She cocked her head, pulling at her lip. “I suppose the candies are more for the body and mind than the passion. I can only get so excited in a day before I have to sleep, candy or no.”

“Passion is a mental state,” Rosewater recited from memory the Vrije’s views on sex, “and it is a necessary state to be in to find the fullest joy in life. To exercise passion in one part of life, is to exercise one’s passions for the rest of life’s joys.”

Rosemary chewed on her lip for only a moment. “And the Tussen Twee states, sexual passion is a finite resource, separate from professional or artistic passions, and must be guarded and given only to the closest of hearts.”

“Ah, but that ignores that artistic and professional passions can be sexual in nature, especially for the professional artist, the author, and the playwright.” Rosewater tipped her head to the side. “What then for them? Do they run out of passion and die early because they have no more to give to life?”

Her daughter’s ears sagged briefly, then righted. “But so many do die young. Or younger.”

“Is that true, or is it that the young, passionate writer, artist or playwright dying young sticks in the mind far more than the aged one who passes on after living a full life, filled with passions more completely than one who only had the start of life to look at?” Rosewater raised a hoof and tipped an imaginary scale up and down. “We mourn more for the loss that takes a youngling before they can reach an age where their passion for life can burn to its fullest than we do for a white-mane whose life’s passion has burned long, slowly diminishing as the wick runs out.”

As a philosophical question, death came up often, and Rosewater was pleased to see Rosemary did not fall to tears as she contemplated the idea. Her ears did tick back briefly, as would be expected of anypony with a heart, as Rosewater’s own had done when she first encountered the conundrum in the Tussen Twee.

“Primline was a passionate pony, Rosemary,” Rosewater said gently. “He mourned the loss of any young pony, and there were many in his age, with plagues and fighting following the Collapse after the Battle of Two Nights. He wrote the Tussen Twee in his latter years, filled with grief, and I fear that his teachings gained much popularity because of the state of affairs when he published it. Every young death ate at him, and you can see it in the other works he authored. The artists most of all.”

Rosemary nodded, tears now filling her eyes, but she closed them and let the tears trail down her cheeks only briefly before she lifted her head. “And Rosethorn had the opposite reaction to the same time. He saw the world falling apart because ponies were closed to each other, that they huddled in small groups, uncertain of the future. His reaction was to open his heart to every pony that came to him for help, and take them in, love them and care for them. Not to cling desperately to one pony alone, for too many single ponies were lost. But to cling to every pony he could, that the loss of one might not break him, as it had Primline.”

“They would be ashamed of us, could they see us now.” Rosewater shook her head slowly, sighing. “They had been the best of friends.”

The next day, after a good night’s sleep and a dinner at the Rosy Glow Tavern that she tried, and failed, to drag Rosewater out for—the hermit claiming that she had things she needed to plan for—Rosemary felt like she was finally ready to actually start on her task instead of worrying about it how she would fail every other second.

Rosewater’s note on her bedroom door that morning helped as well.

Be true to yourself, above all. We will find a way through this, come what may.

The first thing she needed to do was confirm everything on the scroll. Roseate had likely lied every step of the way, trying to trip her up and make her fail. The last task had been meant to get her captured by the Dammeguard, she was certain, and had only avoided that because the pony tailing her had been Cloudy.

Of that, she was certain. Any other pony would have hauled her in by her tail and not given a care that the only edict she was breaking was the curfew—which only applied to Dammers anyway, and then only as a caution.

Also, all of the information on the paper was suspect. The address, the name, and especially the enticements. None of them could be trusted to be accurate. Nevermind the difficulty in acquiring that specific information, Roseate herself would have likely made up the ingredients at random. And the address might be a Dammeguard intelligence operative’s house for all she knew.

She could plumb Rosie for information, but that might leak out in supposition, conjecture, or Rosie herself looking for information for her. As much as she wanted to ask, doing so might put Rosie in danger, or her business—too much asking about for information about sensitive subjects might put her on a watchlist or harm her trust with store owners.

Or she could try and appeal to Roseate to get access to the intelligence reports she needed to complete her mission. That route would be near as dangerous for different reasons, far more obvious. Roseate could simply give her fabricated reports, or outdated reports. The best case on that path would likely be Roseate simply denying her access.

That left her to gather the information on her own.

She chuckled as another thought took hold. She wasn’t on any ‘Arrest on Sight’ lists like her cousins and aunt were. Yet. She could go down to the docks, cross over, and find out for herself.

And maybe run into Cloudy Rose by accident.

She did not check with Rosewater.

The Dockbridge was the most heavily trafficked bridge in either city, being how most goods got to the greater number of deepwater docks, and how the few ships that called Merrie’s three paltry docks home got goods from Damme—most of whom called Merrie home, and a few that were no longer welcome in Damme for one reason or another. Cargo Manifest had gotten his start on the Merrie docks that way, having peeved off the Damme harbormaster enough to earn Roseate’s favor.

It was almost always busy, even well past the hour that most of the other bridges were effectively locked down to traffic. Bits moved, after all, and they didn’t much care how high the sun or moon was in the sky.

However, Rosethorns were an exception. From Roseate down, and only excepting some minor cousins like Rosethorn Seed—who often had legitimate business in Damme when he could be bothered to pretend not to be lazy—they were all villains in the eyes of the everyday Dammer.

I really should drop by the Garden this week… it’s been too long.

She waited in line patiently while the midday stream of commerce made its way across the bridge checkpoints, first on the Merrie side for a cursory inspection and logging of who went across, and the more extensive customs inspections on the other side. Coming the other way, a steady stream of traders and sailors bearing goods and packages passed through the Merrie checkpoints with only a check over a bill of lading and a collection of taxes and tariffs.

“Really?” Rosewood Kiss said when she came up, raising a brow. “Rosemary, this isn’t a good idea.”

“Kiss, it’s nice to see you. How’s your family? Seed still lazy?” She pouted at him and fluttered her lashes. “I don’t suppose there’s a reason you’re assigned to the Dockbridge today and not the Rosewine?”

Kiss rolled his eyes and glanced to the side. “Look, Rosemary, just don’t, okay? Not today. They’re riled up for some reason.”

“But I’m not on any lists. I’ve barely even visited Damme except for galas and the occasional festival.”

“That’s not going to stop them from at least holding you, Rosemary.” Kiss glanced around her and sighed, then waved her past. “But… that’s probably the worst they’ll do, and it’s ultimately your choice.”

Rosemary pursed her lips and nodded. “Trust has to start somewhere, Kiss.” You say as you prepare to go on an open espionage mission.

“Carry on.”

She joined the queue to reach the other side, drawing more than a few looks from Dammers coming over for shopping or, more likely, to meet friends. The common ponies of both cities found the barrier between them more malleable than it had been in a century or more.

Before she’d even made it halfway across the wide bridge to the broad, round halfway point, the Dammeguard had clearly flagged her as a ‘Pony of Interest’ and the stone guardhouse to the side had been roused to produce a pony with sergeant’s wings on their lapel, a pretty silver-maned and gray-coated unicorn with a wary look about her.

Following her was a pegasus stallion with a courier’s light cloth garb and finery.

The guards at the incoming side of the flow of traffic stepped up to her before she could cross the threshold into Damme proper.

“Come with me, please, Rosethorn,” The mare said, glancing at the guard and waving them on to continue checking traffic.

Ears flat, Rosemary followed, though she could have bolted across the bridge. ‘The worst they can do is hold you for a while.’ That was assuming they followed their own laws equally. “I… haven’t done anything wrong,” she said as soon as she stepped into the shade of the guardhouse’s awning.

“Corporal Pridewing, please go fetch the captain,” the mare said. “We have an infiltrator.”

“Excuse me!” Rosemary huffed, snapping her tail. “All I’ve done is cross the bridge. I’m not on any lists! I know. I’ve never even been involved in this stupid conflict!” She stamped a hoof, trying to act indignant and affronted even though she was trying to infiltrate. Just… not the usual way.

“That’ll be for the captain to decide, Rosethorn,” she growled, and glared at the corporal. “Did I stutter? Go fetch the captain!”

“Aye, ma’am!” The pegasus took off and winged off to the northeast, toward the Prim Palace, telling Rosemary enough about where the Captain had her office during the day.

“Um. Hi!” She waved and bobbed her head. “Look, no magic. I’m not veiled. I’m just looking to visit the docks.”

The mare shook her head. She was a pretty mare, silver coat of coat with a dark gray mane that made her seem almost monochrome aside from her dazzling purple eyes. The impression faded somewhat with the glower she leveled at Rosemary, and didn’t say anything.

“I’m Rosemary.”

No response.

“My mother is Carnation?”

“Is she your mother or isn’t she?” the mare shot back.

“Well, she is, I’m just wondering what it takes to start a conversation with you.” Rosemary hesitantly sidestepped closer to her. “What’s your name?”

No answer still, and only a glower, but she didn’t sidle away.

“I thought I would come over during the day and do some shopping. There are things, I hear, in the marketplace that I can’t buy in Merrie.” Rosemary raised her nose and sniffed as a wagon passed by. Neutral hay smells covering for a deeper perfume. The branding on the barrels marked them as one of the cartels that ran on Cargo Manifest’s ships. “You should check those barrels.”

Rumors of Cargo’s exploits, or claimed exploits, had reached her ears multiple times already. She wouldn’t shed even crocodile tears for costing him a wagon… if the mare would listen to her.

“Why?” But the mare touched the shoulder of one of the inspectors and nodded at the wagon.

“Because I’m trying to uphold your laws while I’m in your territory,” Rosemary said, smiling brightly and cocking her head, letting her mane bounce against her neck. “I’m honestly not here as an infiltrator, sergeant. I’m just a curious mare looking to expand my horizons.”

“Platinum,” the mare grunted. “Prim Platinum.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss… missus? Platinum.”

That quip earned her a sidelong look. “I have no interest in flirting.” Platinum raised her head and looked around, then dropped her head. “Rosemary.”

Ah, but you do. Rosemary held back a smile and nodded gravely. “Then I’ll stop.”

“Why are you here, anyway? You had to know this was going to happen.”

Rosemary smiled just a touch, just enough to show her teeth briefly. “Me? I’m trying to see where my lover goes for sales on every other day.”

“Lover, eh?” Platinum chuckled. “Not just friend.”

“Well, no. Rosie’s a sweetie. I couldn’t let her only be a friend. And she wouldn’t let me either.” Rosemary clucked her tongue. “I don’t know how you can get by with just one lover.” Not entirely true, but she had no interest in pursuing a single pony or being monogamous with anypony just yet.

“Easier than it sounds,” Platinum said, then raised her head again as a shock of pink mane, crowned by a silver circlet, rose briefly above the crowd, foreleg shading her eyes as she looked ahead. “There’s the captain. Better have your explanation ready.”

The captain, Captain Pink if Rosemary remembered Rosewater’s lessons on the military hierarchy of Damme correctly, made her way through the crowds at a brisk pace, less smashing her way through than her very presence commanding that others step aside, her mien nearly regal in its intensity, and her bright, Prim blue eyes sharp as she took in Rosemary and her guard.

“Sergeant,” the Captain said in a steady voice, “Corporal Down said you’d caught an infiltrator. Please, explain why you think this mare is an infiltrator.”

Rosemary stared at the sturdy earth pony, her tail flicking as she endured another look of cool command, and licked her lips.

“She’s a Rosethorn, ma’am. Her sisters—”

“Cousins,” Rosemary said with a cough, ears flattening briefly as she ducked her head. “Apologies, sergeant.”

Captain Pink spared her a glance, then gestured for Platinum to continue.

“They’re spies. She’s looking for information on her next target.”

“Next.” The single word from Captain Pink’s voice carried a threat with it as she turned her attention to Rosemary. “Did I hear that right, Lady Rosemary?”

“Y-you know my name?”

“I know the names of all of the notables that might enter my city, my lady. It is the duty of an officer, or one hoping to earn an officer’s bars, to know not only the politics of the situation, but to know all of the players in the game.” She spoke softly, genially, but neither warmly nor cooly. “Answer the question.”

“N-no… I mean, yes, but… I’ve never used scent magic in your city, nor been involved in any of the raids. I-it goes against what I want to do, your… er… my…” Rosemary swallowed and backed up a step, her ears and tail lashing. “Captain.”

“What is it you wish to do, young Rosemary?” Captain Pink asked, her eyes boring into Rosemary’s, as if the very act of staring could provoke a confession.

“Rosie Night!” Rosemary blurted. “She sells candies up and down Confection Row. They are, um… well… they’re somewhat scented, but they’re largely for contraceptive purposes, you see. Or energy. Or just because they taste and smell good.” Rosemary backed up another step and bumped into the guardhouse wall. “Really. I just wanted to see where she goes for work instead of hearing it from her.”

Please don’t see through it.

Captain Pink turned her attention on Sergeant Platinum. “And you, sergeant. What evidence do you have to support your statement?”

To her credit, Platinum didn’t turn resentful eyes on Rosemary. Instead, she hung her head and shook it. “She’s a Rosethorn, and I thought—”

“To insult the daughter of one of the kindest mares I have ever had the pleasure to meet,” Captain Pink said stiffly. “I had the honor of being the Lady Carnation’s escort to more than one gala, Sergeant, and while Rosemary doubtless doesn’t recall me, I let her ride on my back while her mother danced with Lord Dapper.”

“Wait, what?” Rosemary gasped, stepping forward and pressing a hoof to Captain Pink’s shoulder before she knew what she was doing. “You knew my mother?”

“Intermittently.” The captain looked down at the hoof on her shoulder, then up at Rosemary. “Please forgive my guard’s brusqueness. I’ll have words with her tonight, in private. For now…”

Rosemary danced back, holding her hoof to her chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Sergeant, please finish out your shift and meet me in my office when you’re done. If I’m not there, you are to wait until I arrive.” Captain Pink raised a hoof to salute. “Dismissed, sergeant, and corporal back to your posts. Lady Rosemary, with me, if you please.”

“Ma’am?” Rosemary took a hesitant step closer, then another. “Sorry, I’m not going to be arrested, am I?”

“Broken any laws? Any locks?” Captain pink raised a brow.

“N-no. Not that I’m aware of.” Her ears flicked back and she rose to show the heart mark. “This isn’t a crime?”

“Standing up straight? No.” Captain Pink snorted. “Your cousins and aunt wouldn’t be on our arrest lists if they hadn’t broken laws. That,” she said, reaching up to tap Rosemary’s chest and the heart mark on it, “is not a crime. Now come, I’d like to see what the mare I let ride on my back grew up into.”

“C-captain Pink?” Rosemary stuttered, ears flat, blinking away tears. “Why?”

“Because I’ve heard more about you than you may think, and I still remember that silly filly who could barely string two words together wanting so desperately to join her mother.” Warmth bloomed in the smile Captain Pink gave her. “You seem cut from a different cloth than the rest of your family. I’d like to know whether that’s because of your mother or the company you keep.”

It’s more because of her than you think. She couldn’t say that. Rosewater had asked her to keep that so under wraps that she wasn’t sure if she could unwrap it herself even in her own mind.

She nodded towards a large tavern with a sign depicting two alicorns with horns locked and wings outstretched. “Come on. The Two Sisters has a decent fare. If simple. I trust that’s acceptable?”

“Acceptable?” She laughed, her voice cracking. “Stars, Captain Pink—”

“Pink, Miss Rosemary. I’m not your commanding officer. Thank the stars and all the heavens.” Pink chuckled and pushed open the door, holding it open for her. “It’s been a while since I could have lunch with somepony who didn’t feel like they had to salute before every bite.”

The inside of the Two Sisters fell silent in a wave as Rosemary entered, ears slicked back as whispers followed when the closest got a look at her muzzle and breast. She almost backed out again, but Captain Pink pushed her ahead and stepped out in front of her.

“Hey. Quiddit. She’s with me today.” Pink shook her head, flashing the silver circlet. “Table for two, Lilt, if you please,” she said to a nearby mare with an apron around her neck.

“Captain.” Lilt, a mare with a peony blue coat with a flaxen gold mane tipped her head to focus on Rosemary. “Are you okay?”

“Lilt…” Captain Pink rubbed at her muzzle with one foreleg. “Please grant me the belief that I can take care of myself with one little Rose. Look at her. She barely comes up to my chin.”

“Yeah… but you’re, er… tall.” Lilt flushed, an interesting color that turned her almost lavender coat fully lavender. “I’ll get a table ready, Captain.”

“Thank you.” Pink turned to Rosemary and nosed her to follow the mare. “Changing attitudes starts at the bottom, and you and your mother helped to change mine. I hope you don’t change.”

That seemed like a veiled warning if ever there was one. “I-I’ll do my best, Captain, but life is change.”

“It is, and it is not.” Pink said, following closely enough to whisper. “Some change is welcome, some change is not. All must be accepted as happening or about to happen. And adapted to or resisted.”

“That’s remarkably philosophical of you.”

Pink waited until she was seated at the table Lilt had readied for them, then took her own seat and bobbed her head. “I’ve been trained in philosophy as much as a noble. It comes in useful from time to time, being able to argue a point effectively rather than shout at it.”

Rosemary decided to go out on a limb and test her. “Rosewater told me that our families’ ancestors would be ashamed to look on us now.”

“She wouldn’t be wrong.” Pink otherwise didn’t react to either Rosewater’s name or her apparent familiarity with her. “You don’t need to test me, Rosemary. I know quite a lot about you. And you know how. You’ve been waving to my spies and blowing them kisses.”

A nearby stallion coughed on his drink.

“It’s amusing to think of their blushes,” Rosemary said with a wink at the stallion, who was blushing a fine shade of pink. “And they really can’t complain. I’m not the one watching me all day, every day.”

“A fair point. I can’t complain either, because it amuses me, too.” Pink chuckled. “I don’t need to tell you we’ve taken an interest in you. And the only reason you’re on the other side of that table right now is because of a certain somepony who vouched for you.”

Rosemary’s heart caught. “I-is… Is she okay? I’ve heard nothing since—” She cut herself off. She’d almost blurted what her mother had told her.

Pink didn’t seem to mind not hearing the rest. Or already knew it. “She’s fine. Were you really her lover?”

“Almost bonded.”

Pink raised on eyebrow. “Oh, that does tell me quite a lot about you. And her. But enough about the past. Why’d you come here, Rosemary?”

“Rosie Night. She comes here a lot to sell her candies.” She chuckled, flicking an ear. “The contraceptives are really popular over here.”

A mare behind her coughed. “Er… how much?”

“A bit for two in Merrie. I don’t know what she sells them for in Damme. It’s part of what I’m curious about.” Rosemary cocked her head. “She and her family offered me a bond. I’m curious to see what the family business is like, if I’m to help out. Trestle and Velvet do a lot, but I think I could help with some of the other ingredients, too. Better quality. I already sell her a lot of rosemary she uses in some of the sweeter candies.”

The mare coughed again, this time almost choking.

“The plant, I take it?” Pink asked, a grin on her lips.

“Of course the plant. I would never sell myself to her. I give myself to her freely. And she to me.” She parted her lips in a grin showing teeth. “And to Trestle, and to Velvet. Why, just the other night, the four of us—”

The mare fell into a coughing fit, the fake coughs almost turning to real ones.

“Rosemary, you shouldn’t tease too much.”

“Fine. I’ll behave like a good little Rose.”

Pink sighed, rubbing her muzzle, but smiling underneath it. “I have reason to be very afraid. But I like you. Try not to make me not like you.”

Rosemary swallowed, nodding. “I-I won’t.” The mission burned in her mind. It would most definitely make Pink not like her if she found out.

“You shouldn’t have anything to worry about. You seem very sweet. Nothing like your cousin.”

Rosemary swallowed. “You know I live with her. How bad can she be if I live with her?”

Pink smiled, shaking her head. “Ponies aren’t always who we think they are, are they?”

No. They’re not. She longed, not for the first time, to tell somepony their secret. She closed her eyes, instead, and bowed her head. Roseate couldn’t even suspect or the dream would end. Already, she could feel like she was waking up from one, and the reality of the waking world, glimpsed through brief flashes, terrified her.

“No. Not always.”

Collar sighed and slapped the report against his head again, then glared at Cloudy as she came in, an eyebrow quirked.

“You asked for me?”

“What in the blazes of Tartarus is your lover up to?” he asked, tossing the report at her.

Cloudy read it, chuckled with a strained smile. “Doing what she does best. Confounding expectation and custom. Captain Pink met her and said she was courteous to a T, for a Rose anyway. Also, she was kind, and left without causing more of a stir than she usually does.” She held up the report in a crooked foreleg. “Am I supposed to be able to read her mind when I can’t even go see her without making everything, and I do mean everything a thousand times worse?”

“And I thank you for your forbearance. Negotiating this… thing with Rosewater is going to be tricky enough.”

“I don’t trust her. She left behind vials of scent she could use to ease your mind, Collar. Are you certain you kept that filtration spell up the entire time?” Cloudy peered into his eyes again, checking them for the notable sign of dilated or contracted pupils when they shouldn’t be.

“I don’t either. She’s got plans and plots, and I know her goal now. I’m certain she wasn’t lying about that. But I don’t know whether she was being honest about wanting to court me like you have.” Collar tapped the report. “If she’s anything like Rosemary, then….”

“Don’t rely on that.”

“I’m not. And I’m not going to give her the chance.”

“If she’s being honest,” Cloudy said, pushing a hoof against his shoulder, “why not?”

“Because we talked about this, Cloudy. It would never be accepted in Damme.”

“And in Merriedamme?”

The name of the city after the war ended and both cities became one, either contentiously joined by conquest or peacefully through either joint agreement or marriage. He had a strong feeling that Merrie would resist being subjugated. Roseate kept on pushing the idea that Damme wanted to take away their freedom to love, their polyamorous marriages, and their sprawling families.

What they didn’t seem to know was the reason Lace had proposed the family exclusion was precisely because she didn’t want to see those large families broken apart when she still hadn’t been certain of her Reformation.

“You need to think of what happens after the war, Collar,” Cloudy murmured. “Will you let us keep our way of life? Will you even adopt some of our ways?”

“I’m not sure I can do that, Cloudy. I need to keep in mind what my ponies will and won’t accept from me.” Collar sighed and shook his head, shifting the paper around on his desk and trying to imagine the mare who’d caused such a frustrated message from Priceless.

There were obstacles to accepting her as a mate beyond the fact that it would be with a Rosethorn, and a polyamorous one. There was her age, for one, ten years his junior even though she was an adult and had been for four years in Damme, there was a stigma to age gaps that didn’t exist in Merrie. Or didn’t exist like it did in Damme from what Cloudy had told him.

“The language you’re using suggests otherwise, Collar,” Cloudy said, breaking into his reverie. “You’re not saying ‘I can’t accept it.’ You’re telling me Damme would never accept it.” She tapped his shoulder. “But if you want this war to end in your lifetime, Damme would have to accept it. Merrie will never capitulate if a part of the agreement is losing their individuality. Our individuality.”

She was right. “There’s a problem with that logic,” Collar said, leaning against the table and settling in to think. He enjoyed these philosophical discussions with Cloudy, even if they sometimes shattered his conceptions. “I’m only the heir to the ruler of Damme, and all of my legitimacy comes from my mother, and her power comes from the trust her ponies have in her, and in how they think I am upholding her tradition.”

“Does that include monogamy?”

“For the Primfeathers, Manes, Coifs, and Yards, it does. They control a lot of the commerce and influence a lot of the opinions of our ponies, Cloudy. They’re already upset enough that I haven’t chosen one of theirs to court.” He snorted. That was an understatement. Wing Primfeather had been none-too-subtly pressuring his mother to look to the small stable of Primfeather mares who were still unattached. “If I were to even start to look like I was going to court Rosemary as well as you, there’d be an uprising.”

“I think you’re exaggerating.” Cloudy shook her head slowly. “Thirty years of the Reformation has taught your ponies that I’m not evil, Collar, and they’ve already put together that I’m not monogamous. Rumors of my ‘infidelity’ are all over the city, even if the names of the ponies I’ve been close to are still secret.”

“And yet even you have gone monogamous since we’ve gone public.”

“Because I’m afraid of how my appearing to be polyamorous will affect your relationship with your friends and how ponies look at us. That it wasn’t something you chose to accept in our relationship.”

“I did choose to accept it, Cloudy.” She’d come to him after they’d started ‘dating’ in private, little moments together as ostensibly commander and subordinate, something that didn’t have as much meaning in Damme, and asked him if she could have a night with another mare she’d had a previous relationship with. He’d been shocked, and they’d had a long talk afterwards, but…

“I know you did.” Cloudy leaned forward, eyes fixed on his, and kissed him gently on the lips, then more forcefully, a heat spilling from her into him, then fading as she leaned her head against his neck. “I love you, Collar, and I don’t want to hurt you with my desires, but I don’t want to give them up, either.”

“I don’t want you to give them up.”

“You know, then, what that means, Collar. I still want to marry Rosemary.” She glowered at his grin, then smiled and nipped his neck and butted her head against his chin. “Smartass. But I do. I want to marry her. And I want to marry you. In Merrie, in Merriedamme, that shouldn’t be a problem, should it? I should be able to marry both of you if you both consent.”

Would I be able to consent?

He didn’t have to answer that question right away, thankfully, as a pressure against his security and silence spell announced a visitor. A raised brow silenced Cloudy’s next volley of assaults on his conceptions.

It was two letters brought by a guard. One from his mother and bearing her crest, the other a red letter from the Rose Palace. He opened his mother’s first.

Collar,

Please take care of this request from Roseate. I leave you with full discretion on how you want to handle Glory’s negotiation for her return. I still do expect you to pass any details of the negotiation to me for final approval, but I will expect you to hammer out any corrections, rather than expecting me to suggest a solution.

With Love and trust,

Lace

He passed it to Cloudy and studied the last. It was on the official Rose Palace letterhead, complete with the gold-chased cradle of thorned roses with a unicorn horn rising from the pair reminiscent of the wings of an alicorn spread wide.

Lord Primline Collar,

I am writing to set up a meeting about returning my daughter to me, and I would like to set a meeting at the treaty office to discuss the opening terms of a treaty-bonded negotiation.

Further, pursuant to the treaty, I would like a letter from my daughter regarding her treatment and the status of her injury. I expect this as quickly as possible, tomorrow morning.

Yours,

Baroness Roseate Rosethorn

It was her right to request it as a parent, and as long as it wasn’t unreasonable, a request or a demand for communication with a parent or child was sacrosanct under the treaty, and whether birth or adopted—a requirement added to the treaty for Merrie in the earlier years of the post-treaty conflict—no parent could be kept from talking to their child.

“What time is it?” Collar mused, looking up from the letter and considering the grandfather clock in the corner of his office.

Cloudy glanced at the window. “Getting dark, but I don’t doubt Glory would be appreciative of some company. Though… I can’t recall Poppy’s visitation schedule.”

Rosewater looked up from her reading in the sitting room, ears perked as the sound of her mail slot opening and closing without any preamble or warning from her warding of the front door.

A spell delivery, then.

Rosewater sighed and glanced at the book in old Dammerlandic, her written copy of Rosethorn the Wise’s original words, and the translation sitting on the table in front of her, ink drying from her latest bout of translation work.

It wasn’t like she was in the middle of a word, and she was working only on attempting to properly interpret the language through five hundred years of dialectic shift and not let what she had learned about him and his teachings color or cloud her translation of the work true to the word.

“Rosemary?” Rosewater called out, still loath to leave off this passage.

No answer came, and vaguely Rosewater recalled that she’d gone out for a visit with friends that night. A dinner party and possibly an orgy, but after receiving her still unknown mission from Roseate, she’d been more reserved, afraid almost it seemed, even though it’d only been a day or so.

“Fine…” Rosewater carefully marked her place and set the journal down before getting up, stretching, and found herself surprised at how late it actually was.

The mudroom was silent, and a peek out the peephole told her that even the gang of goons that practically lived in the cart stall across the street were gone. Whomever had left the message had made sure it wouldn’t be noticed.

Plain paper envelope, scentless save for the crisp, faintly astringent smell of still-drying ink, told her it was a Rose, and quite possibly one of her cousins or even a hidden sympathizer among her sisters. Somepony who’d noticed Glory’s absence and Rosewater’s minor change in habit and put the two facts together.

The freshness of the ink on the page spoke further to urgency, and the contents sent a chill through her.

The jaguar stalks a strange jungle.

Rosewater spent only a few seconds considering the implications before she snatched up her stalking cloak and her two standby enchanted Citrus Circus.

Roseate was going after Collar.

She didn’t know, but she knew that was what was happening. Somehow, she knew Rosewater had her sights focused on him.

And she was going to take him away before she even had a chance.

Author's Notes:

It's hard to think up a note for this chapter. A lot gets set up here that will come to fruition in the future, and some more exploration of the world and its history as well as a closer look at Rosemary and her impish impulsiveness.

Also, Roseate is just the worst. I have a hard time writing her, honestly, because she's just... that bad. Tyrant level + medieval times + power over ponies.

It also came up a bit during editing that exile really isn't that bad of a punishment, and honestly, it's not the end of the world.

It's not death, no, but there's a reason why it was used so often, especially in city-states like Greece. Being exiled carries with it a stigma, and it can be hard to set up in a new place with that stigma attached to you. As well, it cuts you off from someplace that (in these character's cases) was your home for your entire life. All your friends, loved ones, possibly even potential spouses, plans, wealth, and property... all gone. Unlike the Greek exile, which was for ten years, this is a permanent exile. There's not really a place to include that in the story other than hinting at it (which I think I have already) so I thought I'd make that, and the reasoning for it being so onerous, explicit.