1 Atrum Initium

Far to the southwest of Equestria, past the dusty badlands of the Mild West, beyond the Buffalo Lands and Appleoosa, through the soaring, jagged peaks of the Silent Reach, across the Amarezon jungle, amidst the rocky hills and scrubland that filled that region of the world, lay the Imperium of Midnight. Nopony from Equestria knew of this dismal place, akin to a dark mirror of the peaceful and joyous kingdom they enjoy. The ponies of the Imperium went about their daily business without smiles, moving around patrolling soldiers and avoiding eye contact with them and the Imperium’s other agents. The sound of lives and property being broken was common, background noise to the daily grind. It was a place of hardship, fear, and suffering, all of which was for the amusement of its sadistic Emperor and his two sons.

The Imperium had not always been such a grim place. Before a young unicorn had fought his way into the palace, using his dark magic to assume the throne as Emperor Servus Opifex, the Imperium had been a much kinder place. While many still remembered the days before his reign and actively resisted Emperor Opifex, most ponies did nothing more than live their lives as best they could. The peasants said the Emperor had once slain an alicorn, whose bones now decorated his throne. With such raw magical might and such evil within his heart, few remained who believed anypony could ever dethrone the Emperor—that it was better to live in fear than to become the next example of futility to your friends and family.

That was what Rare Luck believed at any rate. She was a unicorn who lived within the palace of the Emperor’s eldest son, Prince Bluesteel. This did not make her important. Rare was not an advisor, the prince’s chef, chamberlain, Captain of the Guard, or even a legionnaire. Rare was just one of the scullery maids on the kitchen staff and not even a freepony who happened to hold that lowest of jobs within the kitchens. She was a slave. Rare was perhaps the least important pony within the palace, and her life was little more than hard work from dusk till dawn hauling buckets of hot water to the kitchen, scrubbing tables and floors, disposing of all the kitchen’s waste, and washing pots, pans, and dishes all day every day. Her work was demanding, but at least she was left alone by the rest of the kitchen staff most of the time.

It wouldn’t have been such a bad life, but three years ago, a servant had been ill and so Rare had taken the prince his midday meal in his place. She had tripped, spilling the food onto her master. Bluesteel was every bit as cruel as his father, and ever since that day, he had taken a particular delight in adding misery to Rare’s life. To avoid his wrath Rare had taken to sleeping on the unused landing at the top of the palace’s northern tower.

There was not much room, just enough to set some barrels up to keep her small bed of hay and the small cloth bundle of her worldly possessions out of view. Few ponies ever came all the way up the north tower anyways, as the top landing only existed because of somepony’s mistake at reading blueprints all those years ago when the palace was being built. It was within this refuge that Rare plotted the ways she could escape from her hellish life.

The first few rays of the morning sun poked through the cracked shingles of Rare’s hideaway, a single ribbon of light washing over her dusty red coat and forming a halo around her mint-and-turquoise braided mane. After a few short moments of the sun’s warmth washing over her face, Rare slowly blinked the sleep from her eyes, her mismatched honey and grass green eyes quickly narrowing in the light. She spent a few moments lying still, enjoying the comfort of her hay before slowly twisting to her hooves to stand. The sun was up, so the kitchen fires needed to be lit. There was no time for any delay.

Rare hopped over the barrels that concealed her bed. The click of hoof on stone echoed through the tower as she descended the steps with practiced ease, spiraling down several floors with dizzying speed. Arriving at the ground floor, Rare stepped into the hallway before ducking into a servant’s passage so as to not bother any noble who might be awake at this hour. The passages were spread all throughout the palace, and even at this hour, Rare passed a number of other ponies hard at work with their own dawn duties. They didn’t speak to her, nor she to them. Nopony on the staff wanted to risk a conversation that might delay them even a minute.

The kitchen wasn’t too far from the north tower, which suited Rare well, as her list of tasks clearly stated that she was to light the ovens before anypony arrived to cook the day’s meals. As she entered the large high-ceilinged room that was the palace kitchen, Rare looked over the long preparation tables, which sat in a line in the middle of the room, hoping that someone might have left her a quick meal as someone on the night staff had on occasion. Seeing nothing, she sighed and moved to the first of the kitchen’s three brick ovens, peeking into the ashes of the last fire and hoping for a coal. Not even a hint of red was left in the coals, and a quick glance showed that the kitchen’s wood box was out of firewood as well. An entirely new fire would have to be lit today.

Fortunately, the firewood was kept in a small garden along the palace’s wall, just outside the kitchen’s other door. The iron hinges creaked as Rare gave the door a slight push with her magic. Hopefully she wouldn’t be asked to oil them later. The woodpile was kept close to the door, along with a large splitting axe that was needed to split the cut logs into burnable pieces. An earth pony had held this possession before Rare, and she often wondered how he had managed to split the firewood without any magic. It took Rare a fairly long time to split enough logs for all three ovens, and there was only a six hour or so supply, so she would have to split more later.

The strain from levitating the axe, moving the logs, gathering the split pieces, and putting them into a small cart for moving the tinder had already given her a headache. As she pulled the cart of firewood back into the kitchen, a smug melodic voice greeted her. “Hello there, Rare, slept in a bit today?”

The voice belonged to Patchcoat, one of the prince’s tutors for magic. The tall stallion’s grey-blue-and-black spotty coat and white mane were a welcome sight to Rare; the warlock was arguably her only friend in the palace. She quietly continued working, levitating wood from the wagon into each of the ovens on her way to load the kitchen’s wood box with the rest. Patchcoat preferred to talk at ponies instead of with them.

“Busy as usual,” Patch said, opening a cupboard in search of his morning snack. “I was talking to Steel the other day about you again. It is remarkable just how long that pony can hold a grudge.”

Rare sighed. Maybe if Patch stopped talking about her, the prince finally would forget. While the warlock kept rummaging about for sandwich ingredients, Rare searched for the kitchen’s flint and steel—it had a knack for getting lost. A few moments into her search, Rare heard Patch’s tsk-tsk of disapproval from across the kitchen. “Are you still using that silly thing? How will I ever get Steel to make you my assistant if you don’t display any magical aptitude? Light it yourself.”

“But the flint is right here,” Rare replied timidly, pointing to the tool laying half under the wood box. Ever since Patchcoat had noticed every member of the serving staff always asking Rare to look for things when they went missing and had learned it was because her special talent was finding places and things, Patchcoat had wanted to use her abilities as his assistant. Unfortunately, he had first asked Prince Bluesteel the same day Rare had spilled food all over him.

Patchcoat waved a hoof, his horn lighting up with a blue-black glow as he levitated the flint and steel onto the table behind him. “You don’t need it. You are not an earth pony, Rare. You are a unicorn. Sure, you may be another pony’s property, but you are still a unicorn. Light that fire.”

He wouldn’t leave her alone until she did, Patchcoat never did, and she still had the rest of her morning takes to do. “Ok.” Rare closed her eyes, Patch had showed her how to conjure fire once before, so she should have been able to do it again. A golden glow washed over her horn as she concentrated on the magic. How had the spell gone again?

“Relax your mind,” Patch said, “Fire is power, but you have power over it. Feel the park of warmth within your heart, fan it, give it a little air, let it burn.”

“I remember.” Rare grunted as a bead of sweat rolled down her face.

Suddenly the faint smell of smoke filled her nose. Opening her eyes, Rare saw a single gold flame dancing on the logs slowly that faded to orange as her flame bit into the firewood, slowly becoming little more than a mundane fire. A soft smile spread across her face. Magic was hard, but the little bit of power felt very nice.

“There you are! I’ll have you organizing my study yet.” Patchcoat grunted. He turned and floated a chunk of bread and a dollop of butter from the cupboard, holding it at head level just to his right as he began walking out of the kitchen. “Why don’t you light the others yourself as well? Show off some spellcraft, make yourself too valuable of a slave to be stuck in the kitchens. Don’t waste opportunities to improve yourself by using mundane tools.”

Well… I suppose I should try something at least, Rare thought to herself as she turned to the other two stoves. She wouldn’t have been the first slave to have been given a different job thanks to magical talent; she remembered that two years ago, two of the maids, who had been practicing magic, had been given to the army. She didn’t want to be a soldier, but with Patchcoat continuously asking for her, maybe that could be avoided. The thought cheered her up a little. Sure, Patchcoat just wanted to use her, but that would be better than—

“Rare! Breakfast is in two hours, and I see only one stove lit,” a mare’s voice angrily bellowed from behind Rare. She knew that voice well—it was the head cook. Rare had no idea what her name was, but the older mare demanded her staff call her “Miss.”

“Yes, Miss! Sorry, Miss!” Rare yelped, quickly moving to the second fireplace, and with a gulp, she closed her eyes to summon a flame. Fear quickened her casting but also made it sloppy, and a short burst of golden flame washed over the firewood, biting in and quickly setting the stack ablaze.

“You can magically light fires and are still unable to get the ovens lit on time? I have never seen such laziness in my life.” Rare winced. Miss only spoke to her at all when there was an important function that day. Stress rolled downhill in the kitchen. “His Majesty is coming to check on his son’s progress as a mage today, and I will not have your laziness and failures get me in trouble! The Emperor will be taking lunch here, so the second you get that fire lit, you are to wash and peel enough lettuce to feed at least forty ponies. I’ll have more for you to do then. Sunrise is still ill, so you will be making the salads… Oh, take stock of the garden before you do the lettuce. I want only fresh ingredients today, and I’ll need to know what kinds of salad I can make before I can come up with a proper entrée.”

“Yes, Miss,” Rare replied as she quickly sparked the last oven to life. The Emperor’s visits were always an ordeal; everypony in the palace could practically taste the tension in the air up to a day after he left. Even worse for Rare, Sunrise was still sick, which meant that she would be serving lunch today in Sunrise’s place, and dinner too, as the Emperor usually stayed overnight.

Taking stock of the garden took more time than it normally did for Rare. Lighting those fires with her magic right after splitting all that wood had given her a pounding headache. The numbers had kept slipping right out of her mind, and the names of plants refused to be recalled. In the end, Rare had to go back inside and get some parchment and a quill to write down an inventory of sorts. By the time she came back into the kitchen, ready to do the lettuce, Miss had already served breakfast to the nobles and staff. Piles of dishes sat next to the sink, waiting to be scrubbed clean.

Rare groaned at the sight of the dishes, slowly trotting over to them with the inventory scroll in her mouth and her ears drooping. “Rare, stop for a moment,” Miss’s voice ordered.

Rare turned her head, wincing as the motion prompted a throb from her headache, Miss’s blue-furred face filled her vision, a strand of her mint-and-pink mane hanging over her face, lips pursed in a concerned frown. “I’ll take that,” Miss announced, taking the scroll with her hoof and putting it on the table. “I made you a meal. Eat it, you look exhausted. I won’t have you underperforming from hunger.”

Rare’s eyes followed Miss’s pointing hoof to a mug of water and a small bowl filled with a simple salad. “Thank you, Miss,” she gratefully whispered trotting over to the small meal, quickly pouncing on the food.

It wasn’t a bad salad—the lettuce was a little old and the onion a touch bitter, but there were tomatoes in it, and the cheese tasted quite fresh. She had not eaten anything this nice in quite a while. It was a good treat, and the water went a long way to soothe her headache. She didn’t spend too much time eating; there simply wasn’t the time to truly enjoy the meal. Sure enough after only a few minutes, Miss was giving orders, her hooves busy moving pots and utensils for later use as she prepared the kitchen for the Imperial Luncheon.

Over the next five hours, Rare’s hooves and magic were constantly occupied. Dozens of pots and pans needed to be scrubbed between each stage of meal preparation. Miss needed help preparing enough of each ingredient to make enough wild-mushroom risotto to feed twice the expected attendees. A full chickpea salad needed to be made to accompany each meal. Midway through cooking, Miss decided to include another entrée as an option for those who might want it, which meant that two different side dishes needed to be prepared as well. Making matters worse, the prince’s legion was out in full dress uniform for the Emperor’s visit, and with Sunrise gone, somepony had to take them their lunches.

Fortunately, the legionaries’ meals were simple: some bread, a little butter, and some water. A meager meal to be sure, but a little hunger was said to keep a pony alert on a long shift in the hot sun. So when enough prep work had been completed, Miss filled a small cart with the guard’s meals and Rare hitched herself to it. She pulled the cart through the grounds, giving each guard his ration as she found them. The palace was a huge place, but Rare knew its white marble floors, plaster-coated fresco and tapestry-decorated walls, and vaulted ceilings like the back of her hoof. Besides, there were only twenty guard posts within the palace.

Of course, there were also meals to deliver out on the grounds as well. Fortunately, nopony was posted in the large gardens surrounding the palace or the orchard. This meant that Rare only had to pull her cart down the main path to feed the legionaries mustered along the path to the gatehouse for the Emperor’s visit, then make a circuit atop the outer wall to finish her task. She had reached the gatehouse, and had just floated a bundled ration to a legionnaire she assumed was barely a colt and was preparing to pull her cart up the steps when a voice called out, “Royalty approaches! Legion, atten-shun!”

There was a thunderous clattering of hooves as the legionaries scrambled to form ranks, the equites quickly forming a tunnel of plate armor and raised lances immediately in front of the slowly creaking open gates, the regular legionaries grouping up into their centuries and forming a long hallway of dipping banners displaying the Emperor’s personal crest alongside Prince Bluesteel’s own emblem. Rare gulped, the legionaries had trapped her directly in the middle of the path!

What do I do? I can’t jump over the soldiers. That would leave the cart in the middle of the path. Rare’s heart beat fast, skipping the occasional beat as a deep panic began to take hold of her.

The gates boomed as the ironbound wooden doors thudded into the stone. The Emperor stood directly on the threshold, his personal entourage a pony’s length behind him. Nopony would know the evil within the Emperor just by looking at him. His eyes were a warm golden hue, his coat a soft dusty grey; his black mane and tail were rather striking but nothing too unusual. His horn was fairly large for a unicorn, almost comically so. If it wasn’t for the silver circlet, which rested across his brow, the long, flowing white-and-gold embroidered cloak, and the shining, blued Damascus-steel plate mail, which rested beneath the billowing cloth, Emperor Opifex could have been anypony.

The Emperor’s boots scraped the stone threshold as he entered the palace grounds, entourage pulling two full wagons after him with a century of Pegasi bringing up the rear dressed in field plate and armed for war. It looked like the Emperor had been out expanding the Imperium again. His eyes scanned over the ranks of assembled legionaries, stopping directly on Rare the second they turned on her. Rare felt as if she were nailed to the spot as he stepped closer, each stride seeming to move more and more slowly until the Emperor was but inches from her. His golden eyes seemed to cut into her as he asked in a voice akin to the smell of honey and bitter almonds, “Does my son have so little respect for his father that he sends a slave to greet me at the gate?”

Rare gulped and quickly looked around; there was only the Emperor, his entourage, the legionaries, and herself. “N-n-n,” Rare stammered

“Speak up.” A magical spark raced from his horn and struck Rare’s neck.

The spell burned like fire for an instant before a feeling of being immersed in water replaced it, snapping Rare out of her fear-frozen state. “No, Your Majesty, I was simply bringing your legion their midday meal, sire.” Her left forehoof kicked at the ground nervously.

The Emperor’s face twisted into a thin, sickly grin. “I see. Well, I hope he has been more attentive to my wishes in his studies than he has been to showing me the proper respect. Carry on with your task, slave. A soldier is useless to me when he is hungry.”

Rare bowed low and stepped aside as quickly as she could, holding her breath until the Emperor had entered the palace itself and the legion broke formation to resume their duties. A few of them came up and quietly took their meals as Rare shook with shock and elation that she had not been simply blasted aside.

“You are a brave one, girl.” An equite said as he took a meal from the cart. “Lucky too. His Majesty appears to be having a rather excellent day.”

Rare looked up at the soldier’s visor slit. She couldn’t see any part of him under the armor, and he looked almost a statue. Talking to him felt safe. “You can say that again,” she said with a shaky laugh.

He gave her a nod and, with a quick spell, unhitched the cart. “I will have a legionnaire bring this back later. Unless I am mistaken, you belong to the kitchen staff and they are down a mare. Our Emperor will be wanting to eat after traveling, and if we can keep his good mood going, perhaps he will have us transferred to the front… Well not you, pity that.”

“Yes, sir!” Rare gulped, realizing that the day was not even half over and she still had far more tasks to perform.

Rare galloped directly back to the kitchen and was immediately given a laundry list of tasks to accomplish by Miss—everything from helping place meals to moving and setting tables. If it required any heavy lifting or a lot of work at once, Rare had to do it, as that was the price for having magic in this kitchen. Miss was also hard at work setting up trolleys for serving the various dishes in each course of the meal, checking on the soups to be sure they were cooked properly, and polishing the good silverware. There was so much to do that Rare scarcely noticed when the lunch actually began.

Somewhere between her levitating the appetizers onto the table and getting the trolley with all the drinks, the room had filled with all manner of nobles and high-ranking legionaries.

The Emperor and his son were seated next to each other at the center of the longest table with their staff seated around the two opposing corners of the C-shaped arrangement of tables. Everypony was dressed in fine clothing or armor, hushed conversations echoed around the dining hall, and the clink of glasses on cloth-covered wood filled the air. Rare moved along the lines of ponies, offering each the selection of wines and pouring glasses for everypony, each filled glass bringing her closer to the Emperor. Will he remember me? Rare wondered nervously as she drew closer and closer to the ornate wooden throne upon which he was seated.

Soon enough, Rare was close enough to overhear the Emperor’s conversation with Prince Bluesteel. “You certainly have kept your legion in line. I am not disputing that, but I did not have a son just to gain another commander for my legionaries. I had you to try and find an heir for my conquests, not just to raise some colt,” the Emperor said in a calm tone, spitting the last word like a venomous snake.

“I understand that, Father, but what more is there to being you than commanding the legions? If I desire something, I tell them to do it and they do it. It’s as simple as that.” The prince scoffed.

The Emperor’s lips parted in a thin grin. “They do ‘it’ not because you gave them an order, but because I ordered them to obey you. I have invested twenty years, and you have only learned how to use the fear of me to command by proxy. You know nothing of the running of an empire; you cannot even run your own house.”

The Emperor pointed with one hoof to Rare. She froze quickly, heart starting to pound in her chest. Her eyes focused on the Emperor as everypony else watched the prince in horror, realizing what this Imperial visit was truly about but missing something small that Rare did not. A faint gold aura washed just over the surface of the Emperor’s horn before moving to the tip and spiderwebbing off, connecting everypony in the room for the briefest of instants. Rare blinked, her expression changing from fear to confusion. What was that? A spell? I don’t feel any different, she thought as the Emperor resumed speaking.

“This slave not only served meals to all of the guards in you palace but also set up the dining hall for our luncheon, preparing most of the food we all are eating as well. Your kitchen is running on but a skeleton crew, as is your cleaning staff, your gardeners can barely keep your grounds from being overrun with undesired plants, and many of your guards are posted in locations so useless you may as well sleep in an open field. You have allowed the well-oiled machine of a household I gave you to fall into a state of barely functioning garbage, all because it would hurt your pride to ask me for more slaves. You put your pride before your own power, and if I had said nothing you would continue to do so until this house could not run at all. Even a blind filly could see you are not capable of running an empire, let alone fit to inherit mine.”

The prince sneered and started to retort, “Maybe I can run my palace with less slaves by working them harder. Not everything works the way you—“

“If you stress a sword too much it breaks, then you must buy another sword. You only lose wealth by abusing your tools. Now be silent, I am nowhere near done!” A gold aura engulfed the Emperor’s wineglass as he levitated it over to Rare. “Dandelion, chilled,” he ordered in a calm tone. Rare quickly filled his glass and stepped back from the table as far as she dared. The Emperor’s gaze turned to Patchcoat, who was seated four places past his son. “Warlock, come here.” As Patchcoat trotted over his saddlebag caught on the chair of the pony to his left, the button tearing off with a loud rip.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Patchcoat replied, eyes looking to the ripped bag for a moment with a flash of irritation.

“I am willing to bet that my son has let his education fall into as much ruin as this palace,” the Emperor mused, moving his glass to his lips for a brief sip. “I ordered you to learn sorcery, both for war and for general use. I even graciously provided you with a fine tutor. Without this warlock training my magically talented legionaries, I have noticed a drop in battlemage quality. You will show me if that price has been paid in vain or not. Warlock, put a block of ice as large as eight ponies between the tables.”

“As you wish, sire,” Patchcoat replied, giving a quick bow before facing the center of the room and with one quick pulse of blue-and-black mana and a sound like a dozen panes of glass cracking, a massive block of ice formed at a slight angle between the three tables, vapor pouring off its surface.

“I don’t see—“ Prince Bluesteel started.

“How surprising, you do not see. Crush it into pieces no bigger than your hoof.”

The prince’s eyes widened in a mixture of fear and confusion. “What?”

“The ice. Crush it with your magic. Not one piece is to be bigger than your hoof.” The Emperor’s eyes narrowed, each word taking on a more menacing tone then the last.

Bluesteel gulped, standing up from his chair with a squeak of wood on stone. He took a half step back, as if to flee, before leveling his horn at the ice and closing his eyes in intense concentration. A pale gold aura enveloped his horn as he summoned forth his magic, beads of sweat quickly pooling on his forehead until, with a crack, the prince fired a beam of energy at the block, the spell striking the ice and blasting a melon-sized chunk out of the side.

“Pathetic.” The Emperor scoffed even as the prince fired a second beam, and a third, each one breaking off a little less than the last. “Warlock, do you think you can even hope to educate this colt?”

Patchcoat was quiet for a moment, his face expressing a good amount of doubt. “Sire, I have trained many warlocks, battlemages, sorcerers, and even ordinary legionaries for you before. I can train your son as well… but if you permit me, my failure up until now has been solely because you have not given me enough power over him. I cannot force him to learn like I could with all of my other students.”

“I see.” The Emperor nodded, taking a sip of his wine before glancing at the prince, who fired another bolt at the ice. “Be quiet, colt, the adults are talking. I do not suppose that other than permission to strike him and authority over his slaves and servants, you will require anything else?”

Patchcoat nodded. “Yes. The slave serving drinks there, she has a remarkable talent for discovering the places others have lost things, and my divinations have shown she has a fair amount of magical potential. I have been asking your son for some time now to sell her to me so that I might make her my assistant. However, he rather enjoys toying with her, so not only have I not been able to do so, but giving her to me would be just the personal blow required for a parental punishment to start whipping the colt into shape.”

For a split-second the web blinked into view again, Rare’s eyes spotted a tiny spark race from the Emperor to the prince. A small grin formed on the Emperor’s face, as if he knew something no one else did. As the spark faded into his coat Prince Bluesteel’s eyes blazed, the gold aura around his horn flaring brightly as it formed a blazing mass of fire. “I will not have this peasant in authority over me!” Twisting his head, the prince pointed his horn at Patchcoat, and a head-sized bolt of fire streaked towards the warlock!

Patchcoat quickly threw up a shield, the golden fire slamming into the thin blue bubble, which deformed under the blow. A second bolt of fire lanced from the prince’s horn, and the Emperor’s smile remained as the second blast tore through the bubble, the flames quickly eating through Patchcoat’s clothing and the flesh underneath. Patchcoat screamed in pain, his shield collapsing as he staggered to the side, throwing a quick blue bolt of mana at the prince which was quickly engulfed by the enraged prince’s third bolt of fire, which arced through the air, striking Patchcoat’s head and exploding in a gold-and-black flash. Patchcoat was thrown across the room, his clothing and bags falling off his back as he tumbled through the air, striking the wall with a sickening crack before landing on the floor as a mess of charred flesh and broken bones.

The dining hall erupted in a chaos of panicked ponies’ screams of fear. Several lesser nobles dove under the table while a group of legionaries quickly formed up around the Emperor and others moved to block the exits to the room. Rare sprinted towards a tapestry on the wall, hoping to hide behind it, only to trip over something and fall to the marble floor, sliding in a half circle. Sitting where her hoof had kicked it, just within her reach, was the object she had tripped over, a thick leatherbound book with arcane runes covering the spine. Patchcoat’s spellbook!

“Legionaries, seize my son,” Rare heard the Emperor order over the chaos in the room.

No one is paying attention to me, Rare realized, everyone is watching the prince! Moving as quickly as she could, Rare got to her hooves and picked up the spellbook with a hoof, walked to the drink trolley, and slid the book onto the lower shelf, where the white cloth hid it from view. Rare’s eyes quickly scanned the room, a look of fear on her face. Please let no one have seen that… she begged.

The prince winced suddenly, shaking his head before giving a startled yelp as four of the Emperor’s equites tackled him, pinning him to the ground and wrestling him into a submission hold. “Let me go!” he bellowed as the Emperor calmly sat back down, taking another sip from his glass.

“You are a pathetic fool, colt. Had you taken your studies seriously, you could not have been so easily manipulated into providing me with some amusement.” The Emperor chuckled softly, setting his glass down on the table. “It is good to see that you have some ability with magic despite your distaste for learning. Still, you have killed a valuable member of my nobility. Everyone not holding my son down, please return to your seats.”

A hush spread over the dining hall, and ponies slowly moved back to their seats one by one, turning their gaze to their meal and avoiding looking at the Emperor or the prince with any more than a quick, nervous glance.

The prince’s expression was awash with terror as he looked up at the Emperor’s face. His mouth opened to speak but the Emperor spoke first, “You are my son, so I will give you one single chance to change. You have six months to learn how to run your house, master battle magic, and learn how to properly be my subject. Now, because I cannot let murder go unpunished, Centurion.”

Hearing his rank, the legionnaire holding the Prince’s left foreleg stood up, raising his right hoof in a salute. “Sire!”

“Take my son into the yard and have him flogged. Seventy lashes as befitting a murderer. Continue even if he falls unconscious, and when you are done, throw him into his dungeons.”

“Yes your majesty.” The Centurion nodded to the other legionaries holding the prince, who quickly picked him up with a spell and marched him out of the room, the prince’s pleas and screams of rage echoing off the walls as they faded into the distance. “Legate, find my son’s captain of the guard. Order him to let him out of whatever cell he is put in after three days. That should be long enough for him to realize that I am serious.”

A tall, green-armored unicorn seated to the Emperor’s right stood up, bowed, and left the room. Every other pony slowly left the room as well, one or two at a time. Rare wondered if she should leave too and had just begun to push the trolley towards the kitchen when the last pony left the hall. It was only herself and the Emperor calmly eating his chickpea salad as if there wasn’t a corpse behind him.

“Slave,” the Emperor’s voice cut across the room.

Rare squeaked. She turned to look over her shoulder. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Tell the cook to bring out the next course. I am quite enjoying this lunch today.”

Rare nodded and resumed pushing the cart, each step bringing a pang of fear that the spellbook would fall from the cart. She just had to get to the kitchen, stash the book atop the cupboards, wait until night, and get the book to her bed… Oh gods why did I take the book? I am so dead if anyone even thinks I took—

“Oh yes,” the Emperor’s words shattered her thoughts, “about that little item you have in the trolley there.”

Rare’s eyes widened, her knees shook, and her ears turned rigid. He knew!

“Keep it. Anything you do with that dusty old tome will simply amuse me. Of course, I am sure you know what happens if somepony else finds you with it.”

The Emperor’s amused chuckling followed Rare’s terrified steps out of the dining hall and stuck with her even as she lay tossing and turning that night, stolen spellbook hidden under her mattress.

Author's Note

Thank you Dracofalcon for the editorial and proofreading help! I have changed the paragraph format from indented to returns based on user feedback. Please help me make reading my work better for you by pointing out other things I could do better.