It was strange waking up to the pleasant afterglow after a night with somepony. No blood on the bed sheets, no strained muscles and throat sore from screaming, no bruises, cuts or burns pinging you as a reminder of the night. Just a floating feeling of fulfilment, body still drowsy from sleep as relaxed and pliant as the soft bed beneath me. I felt like I was sixteen again.

By the time he woke, I had already slipped away through the servant’s passages into my room, and I was into my second set for the morning, sitting on my haunches and balancing a spell on the edge of my horn.

The transfiguration matrix of the spell was just barely incomplete, ready to be released, as I kept it almost-cast, changing the weave pushing against its desire to erupt from my horn as fire or steel, poison or ice, studying the complex interactions of the magical weave--

There was a noise at the servant’s door

I moved with pure reflex, months of training and practice crystallized into a singular form, my spell scattering apart and jagged shards of it launched in the direction of the intruder, turning furniture to ice where it hit it and the rest stabbing into his shield.

Coming out of the roll I punched with my magic, extra ‘oomph’ in the last stretch of the spell to kick through the iced-over shield, made brittle by the half-spell I launched. What could have been a mortal strike relaxed an instant before it hit him, turning from a blast into a wet blanket of dispelling magics, extinguishing the aura of his horn and dowsing any spell he’d try to cast, pulling him down into the ground and sweeping his hooves from under him. Before he had touched the floor, my magic was already on him, falling like a hammer from above and binding him like a steel garrote on his neck, ready to snip at a moment’s thought.

I caught the tray, coffee pot and toast that I kicked off his hoof, every droplet frozen mid-flight and placed into the cup on the tray, almost as an afterthought. Then I took a long, easy breath.

In and out.

My magic swept around for the last time, scanning for threats and ambushes and flickered out, released in every direction as I relaxed, taking off my blindfold.

“Well, if that is your greeting, then there will be no more morning coffee for you, young lady”, Fancy said dryly, eyeing the deadly spell on his throat with tired wariness.

“Pish-tosh” I shrugged, snatching a toast off the plate “Don’t be a baby. I wouldn’t hurt you… unless you ask nicely.” I released his binding with a flick of my tail to his nose.

“Do you do that every morning?”

I nodded. “Have to. I don’t do my sets for one day, and I can feel it. I skip two and the Princess will see it. I skip three and the whole of the Canterlot court will be abuzz with how Princess’ prize student can’t cut the mustard.”

He stood up and poured a cup for himself, transforming the chair back to its natural form with an aside spell, before sitting down. “Hardly looks like something the Princess would teach.” He noted.

“But it is. This month it’s transformation and transfiguration. I just have my own approach to practice.” I looked at him, and stretched, showing off the languid motion of the body and the subtle rise of the tail. “Unless the lord wishes to occupy me with some other morning exercise?”

He smiled - a pensive sort of smile, no doubt brought by a memory of the vigorous exercise of the night past.

“In a manner.” He moved the coffee towards me. “We need to plan.”

So much for my fun time.

"You did good work last evening--”

"If only that I knew what I was doing," I said sarcastically.

"We need to get you to see the Idol. That is what our associate demands -- to see how it can be extracted or-" the shine of his horn became almost visible, and the smell of wild roses hit my nostrils again, "-- to see if it can be disabled somehow."

"So how does the princeling come in here? And all those things that I said?"

"Well, I'm courting you---"

"I noticed." I showed my teeth. "Though I thought it was the reverse."

"--as far as everyone else was supposed to know," he finished, ignoring my interjection. "And the recent altercation has put an end to it."

"...okay," I said, carefully. "And the point of that was?"

“Pleasant the snaffle of Courtship, improving the manners and carriage;
Though a colt who is wise will abstain from the terrible thorn-bit of Marriage.”

"Spoken from experience, I take it?"

"Quite so," the Count was unabashed. "I like my little indulgences far too much to get tied down." He looked at me, "I hope that is not something you..."

'Me -- married! To the posh Canterlot lordling, no less. I snorted. That would be the day!

"Well, why then? All the pleasantness aside, I assume the whole spectacle was not just for your amusement."

"You heard our common friend: 'Blood will have blood'. Only the King and his sons can get to the Idol, and we need to manufacture a reason for the boy to take you along. This is how Miss Bluette was accepted to the flock of King Guto -- he was quite taken with her, and thus, when she had asked to stay in Griffonstone, he had taken her to the Idol, though whatever defences they had, and there she gave her oath on it. Whatever it did, it marked her, made her one of his subjects rather than our Princess’s."

I nodded. I've seen that mark, like a cold scar left by griffon-claws.

"So that's what we're doing. If you follow my commands, the young prince shall bring you to the Idol, and there... well, there you'll have to figure something out," he waved vaguely with his fan. "Evaluate how we can take it for the arimaspi or see if it can be disarmed somehow."

“As to the mission -- you'll need Dame Strawberry for the next step," I gritted my teeth remembering my little humiliation at her hoof. "and you'll start by apologizing--”

“I do not apologize,” I interrupted the lordling. “Not ever.”

“Well you’ll have to make an exception,” The Count waved away my protest, “We really need--”

"No."

"Miss Shimmer, you're being unreasona--"

"I am not apologizing to her!" even the pronoun felt sour in my mouth. "I will not look weak in the eyes of those--"

“Miss--”

"She humiliated me! Threw me out like a filly needing a timeout!"

"There are rules to the game of politics, Miss Shimmer, not unlike rules of war or magic. You came in expecting -- wanting -- a fight, armed and engined for the same. Lady Leaf merely obliged you, though in her own way and in the field where she has the advantage. You cannot fault her for that."

"I do not apologise." I refused. "Apologies are a sign of weakness. And I. Am. Not. Weak."

"You're damn right that it is a sign of weakness!” he exploded, bashing his hoof thunderously against the table, “I need -- we need -- for you to show weakness. Art of war is the art of deception, and politics is just extension of war through other means."

For a second we stood against each other until finally, I nodded.

“You will apologize to Dame Strawberry. I will tell you how, and you shall do so, exactly as I tell you. Because that’s what the mission requires. Because that’s what we agreed to.”

"Fine.” I sat down. “I'll apologise to Lady Strawberry if that's what it takes.”

"The Sun is above, Miss Shimmer." He too had returned to his seat and his food, sounding almost apologetic. "Above what we want or don’t want."

"I said fine, and I’ll do it. But what will you be doing meanwhile, milord?" I asked, still irate, "there's still a war to be stopped."

"I shall be assembling my allies." he shrugged, "and see if the older Prince's attentions can be diverted from Equestria, and towards better goals."

"That's not enough!" I tried to argue.

"Subtler means, Miss Shimmer, subtler means. And you'll have your chance later -- as we have agreed. Now dress up -- we have a lot of visits to make."

So we had. I gritted my teeth and swallowed my objections. I would play dress-up for the lordling, and I would regurgitate the words he fed me like a good little filly, if only to see him fulfil his part of the bargain.

I knocked. Three sharp raps, hoof against the wood. No turning back now.

A few seconds later the green mane of Dame Strawberry had appeared in the crack of the door.

“Sunset,” she opened the door fully, stepping out, “what are you doing here?”

I peeked behind the door. Cakes and savories, a steaming teapot, a couple of featherbrained noblepony fillies in their frilly dresses. Dame was having a tea-party, and I was very much not invited.

"I wanted to apologize," I said. The words felt rotten in my mouth, but I rehearsed them enough that they came out easily. "For my behaviour in the meeting. I was wrong to speak out of turn and to say all those things, and I'm sorry."

Her face softened. I would not have noticed it, if I weren’t told what to look for -- the tiny crows-feet wrinkles smoothing by a shade, angle of brows a touch less sharp, tightness in the cheekbones releasing. She nodded, and stepped aside, inviting me to her room.

“It’s fine, honey. Come in,” she waited for me to come in and settle on the couch."Do you want some tea?" As if by some hidden earth-pony magic teacups and facny plates were produced almost before I found myself seated. "Cake?"

I took a token sip, and a token bite, accepting the hospitality. I didn't want to eat, but to do otherwise would've been rude. "Are you alright? I saw you with the Count yesterday. What happened?"

She wasn't feigning her concern -- I could recognize that now. She wasn’t picking at what she thought was my wound, or trying to humiliate me in front of the other nobles -- she genuinely cared if I was fine. That almost disarmed me.

But then again, I had hurt good ponies before. That hardly should stop me now.

"Oh." Eyes downcast, tone sheepish, hooves nervously twisting the fan hard enough to make the spokes creak: my pose was all weakness and vulnerability, just as the Count made me practice. "No, it's -- it's all fine. Lord Fancy just, er, took me by surprise, is all."

The featherbrains behind the Dame exchanged their glances, and I could almost feel their smirks and their fake-pity. I wanted to kill the lot of them.

"Do you want me to talk to him? If you don't feel that what he did was OK..." Dame Strawberry trailed off uncomfortably.

"No-no-no, please, there’s no need. It was just a simple misunderstanding, and already apologized." I reached for the snuff-box, and took a sniff, taking the edge off my anger with the instant clarity of the betel. "We've already made up, " I added. "Vigorously."

That last part wasn't in the script: I just wanted to wipe the smirks off their bitchy little faces. It worked like a charm too, as they blushed and stammered, envy, curiosity and mild disgust.

The Dame frowned, whether at my crassness or my newly acquired habit, I couldn't tell, but she said nothing.

“Why are you here, Sunset? You didn’t come just to apologize, did you?”

"The party you’re planning," I said. Strawberry looked at me, surprised. "For the Griffons. I know you did not invite me. I want to come." That wasn't right. That wasn't the intonation or the words the Count had taught me. It was way more.. me.

Well, at least I got to try it my way, to see if I could've done it without the wily lordling's tricks.

"You have to let me attend."

Her expression hardened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sunset, honey,” she said carefully. “The situation is very delicate, and I’m not sure if you are…” she waved vaguely with her hoof, trying not to offend me.

Anger, hot and thick, rose from within. That brainless little---

No.

That would not do.

Control little princess, her voice hoarse and deep. Speak not, lie hidden and conceal, Miss Shimmer. the Count's voice joined hers.

I wanted to take another sniff from the snuffbox, still in my magic, but instead I breathed, and pushing my anger away, I said the secret words the Count had given me, recited like a magic spell. "Lady Strawberry, please. I think I can help, and I promise I’ll be at my best behaviour. I know we're not friends, but we are on the same side, and you're the only one who can help me."

"...are you sure, honey?"

It was like magic -- 'Master words of the ponykind' the Count had called them. Not a spark has left my horn, not a thaum of magic energy has moved, and yet the pony before me changed her expression as if enchanted. It was a secret thing, a true magic of unicorns, more potent than thunders of Cloudsdale and blizzards of Griffonstone.

"Yes!" I shot up."I can help. And the Princess, she expects..." I sighed, “I need to do better. To be better. Please?”

The truth had always made for the best sort of lie.

The last of the crow's feet wrinkles in the corners of her eyes smoothed out, and slowly she nodded. I had her.

"You promise you will behave properly?"

"I promise." I nodded eagerly. "I just want to help out. I'll be nice, and I'll not pick any fights. I just want to talk to Galad again. "

"Well, then, welcome to the planning committee. You can help us prepare the party." She poured me more tea. "I believe we were on the topic of streamers."

I ground my teeth so hard it's a miracle my molars didn't crack, forced my lips into a smile and prepared to discuss the streamers.

"Hey!" Pinkie jolted up with a start and fiercely wiped away the drool from the corner of her mouth. "Streamers are important!"

“Yeah.” Sunset sighed. "Yeah. They are. I actually learned quite a bit about proper party planning from that little talk. Dame Strawberry was really good at it.

“Still, back then I was young and stupid, and so I was very relieved when Gwyr came for me and, having learned way more about the ribbon-placement and balloon-arranging than I ever cared, I finally could slip away."

"Lady Shimmer," Gwyr waved at me conspicuously. "It's time. Come."

It was the hour, then. I put the last streamer in its place, and looked at the Count.

He shrugged, true to his word. "Go, Miss Shimmer. I promised I won't hold you back, and I will not tell the creature, and I won't. I’ll cover for you with Dame Strawberry too."

"The Princess is worth dying for." It sounded so pretentious when I said it, but I said it nonetheless. It was true, after all. "She is."

"Quite so."

Well. I had my permission, if not quite a command, and that would have to suffice.

Standing up, I gave a curt nod to the Count and followed Gwyr, through the guest-stairs and into the closed-off little corridor with an almost invisible door at the end.

"A servant's passage?" I was getting better at identifying them and learning the vast web of Gormenghast's tunnels was promising to be quite useful in the future.

"Aye." Gwyr dismissed my interest with a wave of his wing. "It leads up to the Convocation." He shot a furtive glance up and down the corridor before leaning to me to ask in urgent sotto. "Do you have it?”

I nodded.

"Down there" - he pointed to the door a floor down from with his wing. "From there you can get to the galley. Don't attract any attention until you have an opportunity to speak."

"Don't worry." Whatever the Count said, this would work. It had to work. We had all the cards -- all the scrolls, at least, and neither Gideon nor arimaspi knew what we were about to do, so they would not be ready. "It'll work."

It'll work. There would not be a war. And then... I forced the thought away, by taking another sniff from my snuffbox. ‘Then’ didn’t matter. The war would be stopped, the arimaspsi would stay in the prison, and, well, that would be that. That was the right choice - the quick choice.

He nodded, and his claw gripped my shoulder for a second before he fluttered up, to join his brother.

I looked at him as he flew, joining the flock of Griffonstone, and then I made my own way down. Be determined and advance, as they said. The warrior's way is found in...

I touched my left shoulder -- a reminder of lesson past -- and stepped in, trying not to jostle anyone, keeping my face down, and cloak tightly closed.

There were a lot of griffons -- Two rows of them, the floor and the galley, all stuffed full of the griffon peers, coming to see what their Prince had to say.

There was a stark divide between the two: the floor below was all silver and gemstones, greying feathers and quiet, intense stares. The true nobility, peers in their own right. By law, theirs was the voice of the convocation. Up here, on the galleys were the younger ones, Gideon's equals in age or about that, his coterie and the future of Griffonstone. What they lacked in jewellery and wisdom they made up in vigour, pushing on each other and cheering when Gideon stepped to the small speaking podium.

“Griffons.” Truly he was their Prince: His words silenced the crowd, old and young waiting for his word. “We have been robbed.”

"We sit here on a rock at the edge of the world. Watching. Growing dull, growing cowardly, growing old and weak and content.

"HAVE WE FORGOTTEN?"

His stentorian voice, amplified by the blast of cold air, boomed through the hall, and the thing, the nigh-invisible power behind him grew wider, enveloping the room.

"Rotting on the inside, and pushed, constantly pushed by the same little ponies, by their smiles and their parties taking our pride. Taking what makes us eagles, makes us lions. Their poisonous politics of peace.

"And it all is based on a lie!"

He shook the scroll, letting it spill from his claw down on the floor.

"Ponies sit on land that's ours. Growing fat off the rich soil of the continent, playing with gold and with gems like children's toys, while we are left with nothing but empty lead.

“These lands were ours! These lands were conquered by our King, by our blood, by our claws. Taken from us by the little ponies, when they had the Power and we yet had none, with threats and lies and promises.”

"It is time we go wWest and take it back. Back me, griffons, and together we shall take what is ours, together we shall claim our birthright!"

The crowd in the gallery stirred in their seats, raising their voices in support. Like one large, restless animal, they moved and stretched growling and rumbling.

"The war!"

"Take back what’s ours!!"

"Let us go!"

"To the West!"

"What say you griffons?"

The older lords looked at each other, suddenly placed on the spot, jostling each other with their wings as the crowd behind them grew more restless by the second.

"If I may be permitted." Finally, an elderly griffon struggled to his feet in the front row close to the stage, his wings unfurling slowly.

“Speak," Gideon allowed, "if you so wish." His tone implied that this wish would be unwise.

“Thank you, Your Highness.” His cracking, wispy voice was absurdly small after Gideon's stentorian call. It barely carried, and even I had to strain to hear it, “If I may—” he began.

“Speak up!” called someone from the back. There was a ripple of laughter.

The griffon cleared his throat and tried again. “Your Highness is a bit premature,” he started, "We've had a long history of alliance with Equestria," finally he had found his footing, and began talking... well, not smoothly, not with his hoarse, almost cawing voice, but at least he settled for some sort of mentor-like tone. "Trade treaties that our economics rely upon, the common weather programmes..."

"Are we then to forget what is ours?" the prince's voice was like a lash. "Because of trade agreements? Because little ponies are just so nice that they deserve to take the land we bled and fought for?"

“That’s not… I mean, if Your Highness would let me continue…”

"Go on." the Prince stared at the griffon long enough that he almost reconsidered. Almost.

"Now as to the war itself," he started, "it would be a hard proposition. The ponies have an army--” the chuckles ran across the galley, "and weather teams that outnumber-"

"Coward!" someone shouted my right. "Afraid of the little ponies!"

I gripped the scroll tighter under my cloak.

“Are you even an eagle?”
“Craven!”
“Crow!”

Words tossed about, sneer and mockery, like bouncing off each other, growing louder, growing angrier.

"Order!" from below came a loud voice, covering the young ones sneers and cheers. "There will be order in this room! Have you no self respect? Have you no pride, griffons?"

"Even to this,” he pointed at the scroll in Prince’s claw, trying to assemble his last, best argument. “Your Highness bringing this document to us so suddenly. We’d need to probe it, examine.” he coughed a few times. “Look in the archives. Perhaps the claim had been paid," he offered, "we don't know--"

"I do!" I rose, dropping my cloak and revealing my colours. Now was the moment of my triumph. "It has!"

The griffons buzzed with surprise.

"You speak out of turn little pony," Gideon said, his wing rising in Surprise and his eyes narrowing when he found his brother in the crowd. "This is a Griffon matter."

"And you will listen to me!" I jumped down off the galley, a long, magic-assisted jump that made my knees scream with pain on the landing, but I pushed against it, scrambling to the centre of the stage, turning back to the audience. "Here!"

The scroll unfurled right in their gasping little faces.

"Your claim has been paid, and paid in full," I said, throwing my heavy argument in their beaks, the crowd rippling with growls and whispers. "The Idol of Boreas -- all you are, all the power you possess, it's been your payment from Equestria. There is nothing that Equestria owes you any more."

The buzzing in the room turned to shouting, as everygriffon, back row and front, spoke at the same time, shouting over each other.

"What?" eyes widened, wings in Surprise.

"No!" denial, voices raw with outrage. "How dare--!"

"Perhaps--" doubts and apprehension, ruffled feathers, wings in Confusion.

“Remove her!” demands and questions mixed into a confused cacophony.

"Order!" older griffon's shouting drowned out by the roar from the galley, "We have to--"

"Starswirl made your Kingdom a Power.” My voice barely covered all of theirs, even though I was shouting. “Celestia's pittance made your King. Is that not a payment for you? is that not enough?!"

And with that, the crowd went silent. Deathly, perfectly silent, hundred of griffons looking at me with their eyes, as their minds processed what their ears heard.

The Prince snatched the scroll from me, staring at it blankly. He had nothing - nothing to say, his whole strategy destroyed.

But something wasn’t right -- he did not look defeated. There was a twitch of his claw. His wings rose, angling above his back, and his tail lashed against his side. "No," He said. "It is slander." His claws twisted, ripping the scroll apart. "A fake!" he halved it again.

"No! Give it back!" I moved against him, gathering my magic, but I might just as well have attacked him with a child's toy. A wave of his wing and a blast of cold air rammed into me like a freight train, throwing me against the wall.

"That’s all this is," he threw the tatters of my best argument flying to the ground, “a pathetic little pony lie!”

The pieces fell, swaying like leaves in the wind. Without, a sudden lightning ripped the sky like a magnesium flash, thunderless and silent when they touched the ground.

Trembling, the old griffon rose again. "Will your Highness not consi—"

"I will not."

Gwyr cleared his throat. "Brother, if I may first exa—"

"You may not.”

Silence sat over the council chamber. Once again, Gideon surveyed the faces of the Lords and Ladies of Griffonstone.

"Glory.” He said, swiping his gaze across each of them. “Eternal glory and deeds of renown without peer. Or a content stupor at the edge of the world, sated by the lies of little ponies. Decide now, griffons." There it was, the subtle pull of the power, setting my teeth on edge, making the Prince seem more than just flesh and blood and magic. It filled the room, making everything brighter and more stark, griffons straightening their backs and unfurling their wings, eyes burning with fierce ambition. "If you're worthy of that name."

The galley crowd rumbled, low, threatening, angry. Demanding.

And one by one the lords stood up to cast their votes. Their shadows grew long, in the dusk light, and there was but one thing they could say:

"Aye!" the younger lord declared first, jumping eagerly up. “To the West!”

"Aye."

“Aye.”

"Aye." Claw after claw raised in the air, and the island of those who held out grew smaller by the second.

"Wait!" I forced my body up, trying to stop it, to stem the tide of agreement before it would sweep the room, "Stop! You must listen!”, but my voice was too small, and I had nothing, nothing to make them listen, nothing to make them stop. ”Please!”

If I still had a heart it would’ve sunk in my chest, as I saw my hopes dashed, with every vote. What was that power that sent them to deny logic, self-preservation and even their own word? Fear or duty, or faith in their Prince? Or was it just that damned griffish pride again at play here? I looked into their eyes, but I only saw a reflection of myself and their Prince.

"Aye," Gwyr was last to speak, but just like the others, he raised his claw. "We are with you, brother."

The Prince spoke some more. It was rousing, sure, but I was not listening. I sat where I stood, dumbstruck and lost until the meeting ran out, and the griffons began to leave.

I picked the tatters, fumbling like blind, even as Gwyr walked past me.

"I... I am sorry." He stopped briefly by my side, his wing gesturing regret before he hurried again to follow the other griffons.

"It was bravely done, Miss Shimmer." The Count put his hoof on my shoulder as I left the room. "But it was a doomed effort."

"It's not over yet," I growled, shrugging off his grip. "There's still the King."

"Miss Shimmer!" the Count shouted helplessly, as I trotted away, but he did not pursue me.

The view from the tower where I found the King was as vertigo-inducing -- no parapet or border separated the small terrace from the sky and the long, long fall down the side of Gormenghast wall, and the steep rocks below. The stone was slippery with recent raain, but the storm that started while the Convocation was in session, has already passed.

The guards stopped me before I reached the King at the rim of the roof.

"Your Majesty!" I raised my voice, straining to reach him through the howl of the sharp, cold winds. "May I speak with you?!"

He did not turn toward me, just gesturing something -- condescension? permission? -- and I was allowed to trot up to him, and take my own look down the parapetless wall. He dropped some birdseed down the walls, and the ravens gathered below cawed greedily, delighted with the sudden feast.

“Vile birds,” I noted. “To be distrusted even under the best of circumstance.”

The King kept looking at the birds as I spoke. “They’re honest. They want food, and they care for little else. Sometimes I find that refreshing.” He sounded tired.

We stood together for a while, the King and I, watching the simple beasts and their simple desires. The sky grew darker, rumbling with the unscheduled storm.

“The Prince will fly out again tonight, won’t he, Your Majesty?” I said quietly. “Taking the Winds to the West.”

He nodded absentmindedly, still concentrating on his birds.

"You knew. You knew about that and about the convocation. About the whole thing."

Another nod.

“You could stop it.”

“Perhaps I could, Lady Shimmer. Perhaps I couldn’t. But either way -- I won’t.”

“Why!?” I asked, stomping my hoof in desperation, “Why not? You know what it costs, you know what it will lead to!”

“It is the nature of the eagle to sharpen his claws, Lady. Even a King can’t go against it.” He sighed. “You’ve seen them there -- so young, so full of energy, so proud. Even if I would order them to stop this foolish plan, even if I had the power to make them listen -- they’d just come up with another scheme. This way the illusion is maintained: The King orders--” He dropped another clawful of food to his pets, “And the eagles obey.

“For us, mere mortals, all power is thus, Lady: no more than an illusion based on consent, coercion and trickery. For the illusion to be maintained in Griffinstone, Equestria shall have a war.”

“But--”

“Enough.”

He did not raise his voice or unfurl his wings. It was just the tiniest measure of power in his voice like a blast of cold wind that cut off any arguments -- he was the King and I was just a little pony, and I have overstepped the bounds he allowed.

I bowed stiffly, and with a wave of his wing I was excused and my last, desperate hope for peace was extinguished.

The Count was right: nothing I had could’ve stopped the war. And as I trotted downstairs, I swore to myself, with an oath dark and terrible: if the price for Griffon King’s power was a war in Equestria, then the House of Grover would fall.

I came back to the Count’s quarters, still fuming.

“By all means, be my guest Miss Shimmer,” he said nonchalantly as I barged in and plopped into one of the armchairs. “Drink my wine, eat my bread… don’t fill up though, I have ordered a dinner for us to be brought here.”

I stared him down when he suggested wine, but he wasn’t joking -- it was merely a formula of hospitality. I sighed and moved towards the table.

“I have warned you,” he didn’t say while he arranged the plates and the cutlery. The Dogs brought the food, and I poured wine, keeping my silence as well, as we settled to eat.

I took a small bite, examining the flavour. It was delicious -- succulent artichokes complemented perfectly by the tangy sauce and the sweet rose oil -- and none of the bitter notes of wormwood and almonds at the back of my tongue.

My efforts have not escaped the Count's attention.

"Don't take a bite off the side, Miss Shimmer," he recommended. "Try a different part of the dish each time. The poisoner might learn your habits, and leave a part of the dish untouched for your first taste."

"It seems evading poison is more of an art than poisoning, milord." I smiled a strained smile and followed the advice, selecting a bite at random.

"There are spells and techniques to test for poisons if you're willing to learn," he shrugged. "But there is a better method."

I ate another forkful and gesturing for him to elaborate.

"Watch for the poisoner, Miss Shimmer, not the poison. Know who has access to your foods, who has the knowledge, the means and the motive. Watch for their face when they offer food, at the dilation of their eyes and the redness of the tips of their ears: the signs of fear and guilt. Most poisoners fail due to their delivery, not their alchemy."

"So the first rule of testing for poisons is awareness?"

"Precisely."

He took a sip of his wine. I took another bite of the artichoke, this time choosing a bit at random.

"So, I never had a chance to ask - how did you find Bluette?" the Count asked. "I met her in the old Kemeli village, you know," he boasted. "In Samakh province almost by the Urusian border -- a dancer for the local sheikh, if you can believe it. We travelled back to Equestria together, and she was quite a sensation, back in the day. Though she was never content to sit in one place, always seeking for something. I never quite found what--"

"Why?!" Unable to tolerate the idle prattling any longer, I threw the fork at the plate, "Why did it not work? How can he use one scroll to start a war and then declare the other one fake? Why does anyone listen to him? It makes no sense!"

"You've insulted their pride, Miss Shimmer.” He sighed, setting his glass and story aside, and not in the least surprised by my outburst “And if there's anything more bound to aggravate a griffon it's an attack upon his pride."

"I didn't--"

"You very well did." The Count interrupted me. "To say they've been paid like common merchants, to say that their most prized possession is but Equestrian pittance... you hurt their pride, and that is something no griffon shall accept. And at the end of the day that was not what doomed your effort.

"Then what--?"

"It's not about argument or legalese or which document is true or not. It’s not even about the feelings or emotions or a wounded pride -- not directly. I could have given you words to say sweeter than honey and make your voice smoother than olive oil, and you still would have failed.

“It's about the griffon -- in the end, it's always about the pony or the griffon or the yak in question. It’s not the document that started it, not even the arimaspi’s scheming, for all the creature thinks of itself. Defeating them meant nothing.

“It is the Prince himself who wanted the war. He needed it, he put his everything into it. He can no more just stop than his bull friends can stop mid-gallop -- if you put a wall in his path, either the wall must break or him."

"I played it as if it were a game," I said, understanding finally the words I once was too stupid and priness-y to comprehend. "I still believed that if I followed the rules, if I made a good argument, scored enough points, the other side would pack up and go home in good graces. But this is not a game, and power is what matters in Griffonstone.”

"Quite so."

"And since the prince has the power, then we shall need to break him," I said grimly.

The Count laughed for a moment before he realized that I was not really joking.

"Err, no, Miss Shimmer, merely redirect. Have you seen nothing in the corrida our young friend demonstrated? We wave something colourful to attract his attention, we make the noise and distractions, and then we make sure that all that youthful energy is directed in the less... destructive path. Subtler means, Miss Shimmer, much like subtler pleasures, often prove to be the best."

He sighed, and took a sip of his champagne, enjoying the food and the drink, before he concluded.

"But we will need allies, and I will need more time. And I'll have to write a lot more letters after we’re done with the lunch."

“I’ll get us some time,” I promised. The plan, my own, not the Count’s, was starting to form in my head, a thing of sharp moving parts, silver and lead. “You do your part.”

Lived the famous Griffon King  .
Fierce he was and swift of wing,
And when scarcely more than twenty
Wrought his neighbors wrongs aplenty.
Aging now, he changed in mind,
Would give up the warlike grind
For a life serene and festive.
But his sons, now growing restive,
Caused the grizzled King alarm,

Griffon fairytale