when you're sitting on the throne

Of all the horses she could have run into, it had to be him. Of course it did, because why wouldn't it be? Irritation flared, clawing at her chest and setting her lips into a harsh sneer.

"You again," she nearly seethed, displeasure on full display as she pinned her ears back into the ivory tangle of her mane. "Was I not clear enough for you the first time round? Do I have to reiterate?" Their last encounter had been less than amiable, and she'd told him where to stick his flirtatious words in no unclear terms. She was willing to do it again if needed, although it would be strange ― telling men off was nothing new for the spotted woman, but running into them again after definitely was. Her already sour luck had continued to decay, and in some part of her mind, Marceline wondered if Fate was finding some sort of entertainment from making her downright miserable. Wasn't losing her title, her home, punishment enough?

Apparently not. She'd give her left hoof to be able to go back home at this point. Still, there was nothing to be done about that, and she was nothing if not resourceful. Leave it to the had-been queen to get herself out of a pickle, especially if it involved a slippery-looking stallion.

But then he spoke again, and his words managed to give her pause. The hard set of her lips softened as she considered his offer, resignation setting in the more the reality of her situation faced her. He really was her only hope of finding water. Besides, that quid pro quo type of exchange was nothing new, and she knew she'd be a fool not to just go along with it. Her mouth felt as dry as the dunes that surrounded them. Dehydration would set in quickly here if she weren't careful, and death would be swift on its heels. Dying of colic seemed a very unpleasant way to go ― far more unpleasant than just complying with the golden stallion's request. Plus, she was dying to get this sweat off her.

Marceline squinted against the harsh yellow-white glare of the sun, copper eyes finding his face. Now that she was getting a better look at him under the bright desert light, she realized he wasn't half as bad looking as she'd initially thought all those months ago. Apparently the wan green atmosphere of the Lagoon had done little for his appearance.

At least he had something going for him.

"My name is Marceline," she finally introduced herself. The speckled mare almost didn't bother to ask his name, not finding him nearly interesting enough. But she had a well-developed sense of self-preservation, and she knew he was far more likely to comply with any requests of hers if he thought she was interested in what he had to say, or who he was.

And besides, maybe he could actually prove to be a little fun.

Irritation turned to amusement, a roguish gleam appearing in the gold-brown depths of her eyes as she said, "I trust you won't fail to tell me yours on the way to―" whatever passes as an oasis in this forsaken place "―your watering hole?"

five. appaloosa-friesian-selle francais.
strawberry roan leopard. sixteeen hand.
no home and no children. by pippa.