How Spike Kinda Sorta Maybe Married a Changeling

by somatic

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Princess Cadance, Spike, Comedy, Queen Chrysalis, Romance, Sex, Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia, Slice of Life
Length: 19504

Spike doesn't understand what went on, either. All he knows is that several thousand bugs call him "daddy" now.

It was supposed to be a routine flight over the desert, just a relaxing trip to stretch his wings out. He'd done it a thousand times before.

This time, it wasn't so routine.

Sex tag is for innuendo. No clop.

Part of the Hellpiercer 'verse, but knowledge of that story is not required. Reading the direct prequel How to Hug a Five-Hundred-Foot Tall Dragon is advisable, however.

Published 2016-05-26 02:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-01-09 20:42:13 UTC

1: Celestia Needs Reading Glasses

“And in conclusion, the Duchy of Trotsworth declares the Stratocracy of Featheringston to be stupid rumps.”

“Your majesty, the Stratocracy of Featheringston respectfully denies that accusation, and counters that the Duchy of Trotsworth picks its snout!”

That was not, of course, what the diplomats were saying. Nonetheless, it was what Celestia heard, hours at a time in her dreaded Day Court. Your majesty, this. Your majesty, that. Sanction this, sanction that. Declaration of aggression, movement to condemn; just fancy words for schoolyard bickering. She felt like a teacher overlooking a class of unruly foals.

What were the Duchy and Stratocracy arguing about? Oh, yes. Water rights to a stream. Not even a river, a stream. And in the process, both parties had managed to offend the other’s honor.

She let out a long sigh, and a few observant guards could swear they saw the sunlight dim a little.

“Will the princess please acknowledge that the Featheringston diplomat licks boogers?”

“Motion to denounce Trotworth on the basis of its smelly flank!”

It was going to be a long day. So long, it seemed like she’d started hallucinating. That drift of green smoke coming through the window looked almost like…

“Guards! Cancel Day Court, Spike needs my help!”

The golden-plated soldiers pushed the diplomats out of the throne room, still throwing insults and notarized documents of displeasure at each other.

The smoke quickly coalesced into a thick parchment scroll, large enough for a dragon to scrawl on. Spike never did write much lately, or send telegrams, or even pop on that newfangled contraption—what was it called? Tuberphone? Telephone?—so any message from him was cause for celebration.

Gripping the letter in her aura, Celestia brought it before her eyes. And squinted. Heavens, Spike’s handwriting truly had degraded since he stopped sending Twilight’s reports for her.

You are cordially—Celestia thought that said “cordially,” though honestly it could just be a scribble—invited to the marriage of Master Kenbroath Gilspotten Heathspike…

“Oh, that’s Spike!” He rarely used his full name, but it did lend an air of formality to this… wedding… invitation…

Whisper-quiet came the words “My son is getting married.” Guards had to strain their ears to hear her.

Celestia rose up quick as lightning, her throne shaking a little from her movement. This time, she shouted. “My son is getting married!” Again. “My son is getting married! Guards, inform the royal bakers! We shall have a jewel cake! Nay, a thousand jewel cakes!”

She cantered from her throne, almost bouncing on the crimson carpet. Twirling in the air, she exclaimed, “Married! I’ll have grandfoals!”

Her forehooves rubbed together as she landed with a thud. Glancing about, she muttered “Stars know Twilight was never going to give me any.”

Another bouncing step. The floor quivered a bit under her weight—she had packed on a little belly in the last millennium, she admitted.

“Wedding bells are ringing, ding-a-ling-a-ling! Oh, guards, tell the royal choir to prepare a few love songs! No, recant that order! Prepare all the love songs!”

Princess Celestia bounded up and down the Canterlot corridors, her sing-song voice ricocheting off stained-glass windows and crystal chandeliers. Diplomats and politicians scurried out of the way of her gold-shod hooves. The royal dietician tut-tutted as she saw the cracks Celestia’s bulk left in the floor.

“Princess, what is the meaning of this?”

The alicorn grabbed the dietician in her wings. “Don’t you know, Waist Line? My Spike is engaged! And that means…” The princess’s smile broadened into a vast crescent, exposing all of her carefully-polished teeth.

Ms. Line waited for Celestia to continue.

“It means wedding cake!” Her eyes bulged in glee, almost as wide as pancakes—and Celestia was known for eating very large pancakes.

“Princess, in the interests of your health…”

The alicorn scrunched her snout against Waist Line’s. “My little pony, in the interests of your not being banished to the moon, I advise you allow me this moment of happiness.” She dropped her, letting Line twist in midair to avoid falling flat on her back.

“My son is getting married!”

As she trotted through the statued hallways in parental bliss, she saw a lone Lunar Guard sprinting for her.

“Princess! Luna awoken!” he squawked. Batponies like him had never quite got the hang of regular pony speech.

Celestia smiled. “Oh, wonderful! She’ll certainly want to hear of this!” Away she bounded, letter trailing her in her magic.

“Luna! Luuuna! Letter from Spike!”

Slowly, slowly, the nocturnal princess shuffled out her door. “Eugggh.” Her eyes flitted between closed and open until she gathered the strength to fully wake up. “Celestia, need we remind you that the Princess of the Night sleeps in the day? What is the purpose of this commotion?”

“Spike’s getting married! There’ll be a wedding and cake and it’s your turn to buy the present!”

“Married.”

“He sent us an invitation. Here, look!” The aura around the letter switched colors as Celestia passed it into Luna’s magic. From the shadows of Luna’s room, another Lunar Guard brought a pair of half-moon glasses.

“Mmm.” Luna glanced over the parchment, spectacles perched on her snout. “Did you read all of this, dear sister?”

“Well, no, not entirely. Ever since he grew so large, Spike’s writing has been rather difficult to read. Honestly, I saw ‘wedding’ and stopped there. Why, is there something else?” Luna saw panic in Celestia’s eyes. “Don’t tell me they’re eloping and we won’t be able to go!”

The moon princess shook her head. “The truth is far more dramatic than that. Did you read far enough to learn precisely to whom Spike is engaged?”

“Well, who is the lucky mare? Is it someone we know?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Flurry Heart, maybe? They are about the same age… Or perhaps he’s smitten with that lady dragon, the one with the funny face?”

Luna arched an eyebrow. “Her name is Crackle, and I doubt it would be diplomatically prudent to describe her as ‘funny-faced.’”

Celestia was undeterred. “Is it a mare at all? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind! I may be five thousand years old, but you’ll find I’m quite progressive. Though it will mean they’ll need magical assistance with making those grandfoals…”

Luna’s face was expressionless.

“Oh, tell me! I need to know what sort of wedding we should be planning, and more importantly, what kind of grandchildren we’ll be having!”

“Mhmm. Well, as the only pony in this family who is not ashamed to admit that I need reading glasses, I can tell you who Spike’s so-called ‘lucky mare’ is.”

“Ember, maybe?”

“No.”

“Could it be…”

“Sister, please give me a chance to speak.”

Celestia shut her mouth and sat down. Luna took a deep breath, exhaling a long sigh. Her magic adjusted her glasses as she read out the long list of noble titles.

“Our son by adoption, Master Kenbroath Gilspotten Heathspike, Savior of the Crystal Empire, Brother of the Princess of Friendship and Protector of the Realm, is engaged to none other than Her Royal Protuberance, the Majestic and Ever-Pregnant Queen Chrysalis of the Changeling Horde.”

For a brief instant, the sun fizzled out.

Author's Note

If you're curious, Master Kenbroath Gilspotten Heathspike is Spike's full name from G3.

2: What.

Slowly, slowly, consciousness returned to Twilight. Her eyesight was a bit blurry at the moment, but judging from all the crystals around her, she was back in her castle. One hoof went down to scratch her rump—it felt like it had a splinter.

“You know, Spike, I had the most awful dream. You were…” She froze. “And I was… and the changelings…”

No. She was not in her castle. She was in a cavern, she was huge, and a five-hundred-foot tall dragon had his neck bent over her.

That dragon had some explaining to do.

Twilight started to rub her eyes, before her flailing forelegs almost crushed a battle tank. “Oops, sorry.” Her horn flickered as she reattached the turret. “Just… just glue that back on, okay?”

With great effort and no small amount of physics calculations, she clambered her way upright, shattering a few more gems while she was at it. Finally, she was level with Spike, violet eyes looking into emerald.

Spike could swear a few blurts of steam came out of her ears. “So, um, I’m sorry you couldn’t make the wedding, but their weddings are kinda a rush, so we’re planning on having another pony-style ceremony so the family can come, and…”

“Spike.” Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips drawn thin.

“Uh-huh?”

“What.”

A nervous grin crawled onto Spike’s face, looking like it did not want to be there. “Suppose I should start from the beginning, eh?”

Spike’s wings cantilevered out from his sides as he glided over the desert, warm winds lifting him higher. A thin stream of dragonfire leaked from his nostrils, pointing him towards a particularly juicy gem deposit—the spell was an adaptation of Rarity’s.

The breeze was strong, carrying the magical traces of jewels to his nose. Unfortunately, prime gem-hunting weather was also prime sandstorm weather, so Spike kept an ear pricked for any camels or ponies who might be in need.

The blowing dust didn’t bother him, though it did mean he’d have to take a bath in the ocean before Twilight’s birthday. He still didn’t have a gift for her, of course. He could go back in time and get Starswirl’s autograph… no, wait. He’d done that three decades ago.

Book? Nope, banned from the bookstores. It wasn’t his fault that parchment was flammable.

Something handmade? Maybe a decorative ashtray? Some macaroni art? Twilight would love it, of course. She’d love anything from Spike, no matter how lame it was. Twilight was cool like that.

Spike sighed, whipping the sand around him into vortices. He needed something awesome, something… not an ashtray. She didn’t even smoke.

He needed…

Spike heard a yelp coming from below. Worry about Twilight later. Ponies were caught in the sandstorm, and from the sound of it, there were a lot of them.

He started to call out to them, but decided a screaming dragon would only make the situation worse. Dust parted around him as he dove, a quick adjustment to his gem-seeking breath turning it into a life-signs detector. Powerful wings cleared away the storm as he searched—there! A small band, totally in the open. Didn’t they know these deserts were dangerous?

“It’s okay, guys, I’m here to help!” Hoping they wouldn’t run away from him, he braced himself against the wind and strode over.

They were… a bit darker than the ponies he was used to, to say the least. One of them had an injured leg—well, they all had injuries, but this one looked serious—and the others tried to shield him with their wings, clicking and whistling in a language Spike barely recognized. He doubted they could run away if they tried.

“Uh, hey.” Sand pelted Spike’s back as he stood between his new friends and the prevailing wind. “You okay?”

One of them shook his head. Her head? Spike couldn’t tell.

“We are injured, O Stupendous Lizard! The Que—mother will be most displeased!” They rubbed their wings together, making a sound somewhere between a hiss and a snap.

“Do you… know the way home?”

Two of them spoke at once. “Yes, yes! We remember well the path!”

“Well, that’s… good, then.” Should I report this? Spike wondered. They certainly didn’t seem dangerous. Then again, looks could be deceiving… especially in their case.

He couldn’t just leave them out here, could he?

Yes, he could. But he wouldn’t. Some of them looked little older than foals, for heaven’s sake.

“Hmm. It’s too stormy for you to walk, and in this weather, you’d probably fall off my back if I flew you around, so… you know what, just huddle up tight and we’ll sit it out together.”

“What is this, ‘sit it out?’” Simultaneously, they all raised their eyebrows.

“You know, just wait for it to be over.” Spike saw comprehension dawn on their faces, though it was a bit tricky to read their expressions.

The injured one spoke first. “Ah. That is what our… mother tells us to do when the others go on rai—trips to the bazaar.” Another chirped beside him. “Yes, Mother tells us that often, because we are stupid and get in the way of the infiltra—merchants.”

“Uh-huh. Merchants. Right. Just… just curl up a bit, and I’ll wrap my wings around you.” The shadow of his scales fell over the huddling mass, but he saw one of them had a quivering lip. Or as close to quivering as it could get.

“What’s wrong, little guy?”

“Does the vast serpent plan to devour us?”

“What? Me? No, I… wasn’t planning on it. I don’t even know what you’d taste like.”

Another of them spoke up. “Our flesh is reminiscent of termites, with undertones of spruce and raspberries. It would pair well with…” A sharp jab silenced him.

A taller critter apologized for him. “He wishes to be a waiter in a suckling establishment. He does not realize that is impractical.”

Spike’s eyebrows wandered heavenward. “A what now?”

“Place where nourishment is prepared.”

“Restaurant?”

The others huddled together, clicking and chirping. One of them scratched notes before they turned back. “Yes. Res-taur-ant. That is the correct term, which we knew beforehand and in no way have written down on flashcards for future review.”

“Yeah. Okay, then. Storm’s about to clear, so I’ll take you back to your hive once it’s over.”

They clicked. “Hive? Whatever do you mean, O Scaled One? We are but humble ponies…”

“You guys forgot your disguises. You’re literally just standing around with bug wings and bug eyes.” He didn’t have the heart to tell them that one of them was also still wearing his Hive 453 Reunion t-shirt.

A moment’s pause. “Oh.” As one, they let out a low moan. "The Queen always told us we were slow! All we wanted was to go out and bring her something pretty back! But we failed! We failed!” Black oil dripped from their eyes.

Spike didn’t know what to do, an occurrence that was becoming disturbingly frequent. “Hey, I’m sure she’ll forgive you… I hope?”

Their eyes locked onto his. “That is what we fear!”

“What?” Spike said ‘what’ quite often. He had gotten used to it back when Twilight kept spouting magical technobabble at him, and it since had become one of his trademark phrases.

Twilight. That’s right. He still needed to get a present for her. And these changelings needed someone to take them back home.

There hasn’t been a scientific article on the changelings for centuries—Spike knew, because Twilight would have been jumping and shouting with glee for months if there had been. If I could get insider access…

“You know what? I’ll take you home and make sure you’re safe.”

The black critters, as small to Spike as ants would be to a pony, swarmed over his back and chirruped directions as he carried them to the hive.

Queen Chrysalis could not see him coming, but not for lack of trying. Her eyes wandered over the desert, hoping to catch a glimpse, a glint of carapace… nothing but blurs.

“Those fools have been gone far too long. Always skulking off, like mother doesn’t know best… what is it, Asaf?”

“Hrrk!” The drone’s voice came out strangled by fear.

“Speak up. I know you can.”

“They’re… right above you, my queen!”

Chrysalis felt the sand quake as something massive planted four clawed feet upon it. Wings released gusts of wind as they furled up, forcing her to blink away the dust. She sensed pheromones in the air, scents she had been tracking for a while…

There was another beast there as well, but Chrysalis would deal with him later. Fear pheromones dripped from the drones, but they often were fearful when someone came to apologize to her.

“Ah, it seems my idiot children have come flying back with their tails between their legs. Sneaking out of the hive again, are we?” She flicked her head around and chirped a few words, dismissing some of the swarm that gathered around her. From the little Changeling Spike knew, it sounded like Disband the search party.

The changelings crawled on their knees to her. “Yes, Queen. We are most worthless, Queen!”

“Hush. I care not for your… Reza, what is wrong with your leg?” She sneered at the wounded changeling.

Note: drones have names. Twilight’d want to hear about that.

“We were running through the desert, running from bad ponies, and they chased us, and I tripped, and I hit my knee on the rock, and I could barely see it because of all the dust, and I… I… I’m sorry!”

“Silence!” Despite the sandstorm, her voice was clear. “Get up!” Venomous green haloed around her horn.

“Queen, I can’t…”

“You will if I say you can.” She caught the changeling in her magic, dragging him up onto his hind legs. “A broken nymph is no use to me…” Spike saw her mouth open, each sharpened tooth spotless and white. He started to move, but…

The mouth closed around Reza’s injury. Spike heard slurping, sucking, a nimble tongue working its way into every crevice, then a sound like a toilet coming unclogged as Chrysalis pulled her lips away. Green slime oozed from her mouth and from Reza’s injured leg.

Correction: Reza’s formerly-injured leg. Wherever the slime crept, black armor resealed itself, blood flowing back into its veins.

“There. All better, Reza. You know I told you to stay in the hive where it’s safe.” A hoof caressed Reza’s carapace, making sure the chitin had healed correctly and no extra holes had formed.

Her eyeslits narrowed. “I simply do not want to imagine what might have happened if this dragon had not…” Two quick twitches from her snout. Yes, that was certainly a dragon’s scent.

Eyes sprung open again. “Dragon! Changelings, there is a dragon in our midst! Quickly, stay behind me! Your queen shall deliver you from—”

“Uh, Chrysalis, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt your children.”

Chrysalis paused, one hoof crooked, her legs taut and ready to charge. Fire seethed under her skin as love reserves flooded her horn.

“Say again?”

“I’m not going to hurt them. I brought them back, didn’t I?”

“Yes. No doubt you forced them to lead you to me! Drones, prepare the catapults!” Changelings scurried around black trebuchets, machines that looked like they were built of molted exoskeletons.

“No! No, I don’t want to hurt you! Not right now, at least.” Spike shrugged his shoulders, sending tremors through the ground and disturbing a few drones sleeping in the tunnels below. “I would like to see your caves, though. For research.” For Twilight.

Chrysalis sniffed the air a few more times, flicking her tongue to lick up the pheromones. “I do recognize that smell. It’s been a long time, Spike.” He would keep his word, if her memory was correct.

And either way, he could be useful. His fluids would breed many strong drones… Yes, she was the Queen of Love, and a king like him could give the hive what it needed.

The fire cooled. Her horn dimmed. “You sheltered my children as if they were your own.” Her lips curled up. “Probably let the cripples suckle at your own udders, even. Odd. Dragons are rarely so…”

One of her drones chirruped next to her. “What was that, Asaf?”

“I said, males do not possess udders, my Queen.”

“You sure?” Gears turned in the Queen’s insectoid mind. “Ah. Well, that would explain why my stallion disguises have met with mixed results.”

She lowered her hoof, staccato clicks informing her drones to let the dragon pass. Changeling claws brushed away sand and unveiled the camouflaged entrance to the hive.

“Come, dragon.” Her tail flicked, leading him closer. The scent of insects and slime almost overpowered Spike’s enhanced senses, but he persevered. For Twilight.

Behind them, the sun set on Spike’s last day as a bachelor.

3: Tight Squeeze

Everything was sticky. The walls were sticky. The floors were sticky. Spike was sticky. Every component of his anatomy adhered to every other part, popping and smacking with wet noises as he trundled down into the abandoned mine.

The formerly abandoned mine, that was. Drones scuttled to and fro, scratching hooves working to clear away the dirt, while a few experts shaped cast-off chitin into buttresses and supports. Green muck covered everything, and mold covered the muck.

It was a tight fit, but the tunnels were first dug for heavy drilling equipment, so, with effort and a bit of lubrication, Spike could squeeze through. He stopped to scrape a smear off his claw. “It’s a, um, nice place you’ve got here.” Take notes for Twilight.

Chrysalis responded, not looking back at him. “It suffices. Of course, we will be able to expand the caverns for you.”

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing, Spike.” She led him further down, past the aphid farms where drones extracted what little love they could from lesser insects. It was a bestial sort of love, only a basic admiration for edible sap, but it could sustain a changeling. Barely.

Many voices had fallen silent since her defeat at Canterlot, a failure she still felt. The enduring drones did what they could to bury the irreparably-wounded in the hive, hoping that one day their queen would have enough love to wake them from their trance. As yet, she had not.

They put their faith in her, but she had earned it, hadn’t she?

“This way, Spike.” Her horn lit the sloping path, reflecting off gel and shining carapaces. The light was all for his benefit, of course—changelings were used to walking in the dark, another fact that Spike stored away in his brain.

The layout made little sense to him; pathways arched in random directions, some routes blocked by solid black plates. Insects of all shapes and sizes crawled, trotted, and flew—most looked like the ones from the royal wedding, but some had eight legs, some had two horns like a minotaur, and some bore humps like camels.

“Where are we going?” He ducked to avoid an egg sac above him.

The queen turned, tongue tasting the air. “We are going to feast!”

Spike gulped. His fire could probably fill up the whole cavern if it needed to…

One of the drones chirped a few sentences. Chrysalis’s eyes widened. “What?” She looked back at Spike and cleared her throat. “It seems our pantry is somewhat depleted of conventional food, however, so it may be a brief delay before we can feed you.” She came closer to Spike, almost brushing against his scales. “Unless you like slime?”

“Oh, um, no thanks.” A brief pause. “That’s okay, I’ll just… take notes, I guess.”

“It is very scrumptious slime. One of my drones says it is redolent of applewood and turpentine.” She walked forward, one hoof wrapping around a drone and bringing him along with her. They exchanged rapid-fire clicks, almost too fast for Spike to understand. What little he did catch went like this:

“Food… restaurant… feed big scaly oaf.”

“Restaurant… we know this word.” Spike heard a murmur of approval through the swarm, as well as a few hushed whispers. “Restaurant… restaurant… restaurant…”

“Go, stupid drone.” He buzzed off, trying to avoid the queen’s icy stare.

She swore they were not so moronic, back when they had enough love to eat. Oh, blame the drones, why don’t you, Chryssy? And whose fault is it that they’re starving?

Chrysalis shook her head to force out the voice in her mind. “Yes. Feeding time. Gather the drones, Asaf.”

The feeding area resembled an old step pyramid set in the center of a natural cavern. Stalactites drooped down from above, dripping mineral water on the slime and the seething conglomeration of changelings.

Chrysalis took the steps with practiced ease, moving around the places where the stone had fallen away. Four guards flanked her, their armor scratched and worn. Finally, she reached the top and gave an awful shriek. As best as Spike could tell, it was the call to feed. Soon, the changelings answered.

They followed her up the steps, mouths probing for her warm sea-green belly. Spike saw her grimace as each drone came to suckle from her. Wings rose to shelter her face as she looked away from them, and something black dribbled from her eyes.

The feeding took halfway to forever, changelings climbing the steps in groups of eight, drones carrying any nymphs too small to walk on their own. They took only a few drops each, then descended back into the swarm. Finally, there were no more coming.

But there should be. “Reza, I did not feel your mouth on my teats. Where are you?” The queen’s eyes tried to scan the surging crowd of changelings, but she did not see the wounded nymph. “Reza!” Her teeth flashed.

“Here, my queen.” Still limping, the nymph stumbled out of the horde.

The queen’s breath was ragged and forced, but she attempted to sound authoritative. “Even an imbecile like you must know that nymphs need their nourishment.”

Reza’s ear fins flattened as his head lowered to the ground. “My queen, you have already offered up your love to heal me. I do not want to take…” Chrysalis’s frown grew.

“Shut up! I told you, you are no good to me weak! Now come, feed on your queen’s bounty!”

The nymph clambered up the steps to her, dragging her recently-healed leg. A darting tongue reached out to the queen’s body before Chrysalis’s foreleg pulled Reza in closer. She sucked in air through her nose as the bug began to drain her love reserves even drier.

It seemed like the queen’s ‘bounty’ wasn’t as bountiful as she made it sound.

She tried to hide it behind her wings, but Spike would bet anything that Chrysalis gave the nymph a quick nuzzle. Softly, she muttered “Someday you’ll be strong, Reza.”

A trio of drones rushed forward to help her up. She teetered on her legs for a moment, trying to regain her breath. Eyeslits strained under the effort of staying open, but she managed, barely.

Her tongue tasted the air—healthy odors. The swarm was fed. She had a dragon to attend to now.

More chirps. One of her sprinters had made it to a pony restaurant, seduced the owner, and darted back with as much food as he could carry. Garnish with a few gems left over from the mine, and it would be a delectable—if not exactly dragon-sized—meal. Of course, a little extra boost might do it good as well…

She clicked an order and the sprinter ran into the pantry, grabbing slimy bottles with his horn and squelching the contents onto the food. Out he came, platter balancing precariously on his back, rushing to Spike.

“Stop!” The sprinter’s legs locked up as he heard the queen’s voice. “Our guest is a noble dragon, and would not deign to eat with his hands as peasants do!”

Spike raised a claw. “Actually, I’m more than happy to…”

“I did not ask your opinion! Drones, craft utensils!” Spike gagged a little as corpulent bugs, grease leaking from cracks in their chitin, vomited up dark slime and began to shape it into a dragon-sized knife.

Then a soup spoon, a teaspoon, an array of forks, and finally a dainty butter spreader. Queen Chrysalis almost smiled. Her drones had finally taken her etiquette lessons to heart. A glow from her horn hardened the slime, and green magic carried the utensils to the dragon along with the food.

Spike looked down at the meal. He doubted it was acquired… ethically, but he was hungry, and those jewel burgers were calling to him. Grasping a slime fork in his oversized claws, he took a bite.

It was fantastic. The toasted hay complimented the labradorite perfectly, flavors sparkling across his tongue as he took another munch.

“You know, most ponies would pair the hay with sapphires, but this really brings out the earthy texture of the burger. My compliments!” One of the bugs smiled and chirped something that sounded like “I told you I could be a waiter!”

“And the sauce!” From the edges of the burger dripped an electric green pesto. It tasted like pure life, mixed with sunshine. Spike couldn’t get enough. It was delicious! It was… the same color as the gunk that leaked from Chrysalis’s nipples.

Spike’s mouth hung open in mid-chew. “Uh, Chrysalis, what’s…?”

The queen came closer, rubbed her warm chitin against his scales. “It’s made from love, of course. From my… personal stores. Would you like a little more?”

“Um…” He could swear her nipples were smiling at him. “No.”

She sneered. “Suit yourself.” Drones surrounded her as she turned away, not noticing Spike’s faint gagging.

Another burst of chirps. Spike felt something shift in the changelings, their eyes turning to him. The queen spoke, lips pulled back from her fangs. “Drones, it seems our guest has finished his meal. You know what to do.”

The changelings crowded around him, wings buzzing like power saws. Spike started to prepare his dragonfire.

“Hey, wait, I thought this was just—” They came closer. “—just a visit. What are you doing? Stay ba… ba… ahhhh.” One of the drones jumped on his back, kneading his muscles with strong hooves. A sextet of larger changelings massaged his shoulders, while the smaller nymphs licked the sand from between his scales.

“Aids digestion,” the queen muttered.

“That feels… gooood.” He felt rough tongues, probing into all the little crevices he couldn’t reach and scraping out gunk. One of them found an old Daring Do action figure stuck in a crack.

“Hey, I thought I lost that!” The drone licked it clean, fixed a broken joint with some slime, and returned it to Spike. “Thanks, uh…”

Chrysalis answered. “A5AF-5671. Asaf, to his friends.”

So, changeling names are just shortened—“A little higher, get that… ah…”—versions of their acronyms.

Spike craned his neck to the drone. “Well, thanks, Asaf.” He felt a little gasp go through the horde. “Uh, this doll… erm, collectible action figurine was my favorite toy as a—yeah, right there, that’s the spot—as a hatchling.”

He chortled, knocking a few drones off his back. “Whoops, sorry, guys. Just thinking, I was a hatchling just like you once. Guess I have more in common with changelings than I thought.” He saw a grin flash across Chrysalis’s face as she stepped closer. Her tongue ran across her chapped lips, moisturizing the little wounds she’d suffered from sandstorms.

The queen’s tutors had told her ponies smiled to put others at ease. They failed to mention that this did not work when smiling meant exposing rows of fangs, each of which had a hollow core capable of injecting potent aphrodisiacs and tranquilizers.

Yes. This dragon would do. With him, her children would never know hunger again. They would feed, they would suckle, they would grow.

“We do, Spike. Drones, bring him the crown.” Spike heard shouts of glee from every changeling in the room. They chittered something to themselves, but Spike couldn’t decipher it.

He stopped playing with his doll long enough to talk to the queen. “The crown? What’s going on?”

Chrysalis tossed her mane back. “Why, all that’s left is to formalize the marriage, of course. Unless you’d rather elope? We could…” She stopped when she saw Spike’s gaping mouth and horrified expression. “What? You’ve done everything a prospective husband would on a date.”

A drone flew up to straighten the queen’s tiara. “No creature would enter the hive of an enemy without a conquering army beside them. You, however, came alone.”

She continued. “You call my children by their familiar names, names used only by relatives. A stranger from another hive would have called my son A5AF-5671, but you did not.” She gestured at the action figure. “You accepted a gift from my brood, without first checking to see if it were booby-trapped. That is a sign of trust, and trust is the foundation to any relationship, is it not?”

Spike raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, except that all of my prior relationships were built on lies and deceit, but let’s ignore that for now.”

Hornlight refracted from her wings as she flew up to Spike’s eye level. “You have eaten our food, tasted of the love from my own stocks. Why, you’ve come as close to suckling from my side as any creature of your considerable size could.” Her hoof caressed his snout, Spike’s breath whistling through the holes.

“It is clear that you do not hate me. By process of elimination, you must love me.” Behind her, a trio of drones scurried forward with the crown. “By changeling law, you are my rightful husband.” She saw the confusion in his eyes. “Think of the good we could do! Why, with a dragon’s help, we could grow our drones to a giant’s size!”

Spike gulped. “I don’t know…”

She ran hooves and wings over him.

“I just don’t see how…”

Black oil crept from the corners of Chrysalis’s eyes.

“But… your hive has not exactly been the greatest ally of Equestria.”

“That could change! We’re changelings, that’s what we do!”

Was she… crying?

“Um, I’m sorry, Chrysalis, but…” Wait, what was that about growing the drones? The glimmer of an idea flickered through Spike’s brain. That… that could be a pretty good gift. All sentimental and sappy, and I know Twilight loves snuggles.

“You know what? Fine. Bring the crown.”

Spike felt a growing pressure as thousands of drones hugged him at once.

“Um, Chrysalis?”

“Call me Chryssy.”

“Why does the crown have eyeballs? And why is it winking at me?”

4: Twilight has a Really Huge Butt

As Spike recounted the tale of his impromptu wedding to Twilight, her eyes grew wide, blinked in confusion, squinted in disgust, and stared in utter bewilderment. Her eyes also grew smaller as the spell slowly wore off, though not fast enough to save a few gemstones from the princess’s prominent posterior.

“Oops,” she said with a shy smile as she crushed another sapphire. “In my defense, this is a very cluttered cave.”

“Yeah. It’s a hoard, it’s kinda supposed to be cluttered. With priceless gems.” Spike winced when he saw the shards of precious stones embedded in the alicorn’s augmented aft section.

Twilight’s magic scratched her behind absentmindedly as she paced back and forth, her hoofsteps quieter and quieter with each inch she shrank. “So that’s it? You married her… to get me a birthday present?”

Spike twiddled his claws. “Two presents, actually. I’m sure you’ll want to publish a paper about this.”

A smile arced across her mouth as Twilight considered the ecstasies of writing a research paper. The smile broadened a bit more when she thought of the cute not-so-little dragon who’d got her the raw data she’d need. “That’s… really sweet.”

Spike grinned.

“And incredibly stupid.”

Spike frowned.

Twilight was smaller now, only a few dozen feet taller than usual, but her pacing had quickened to a furious trot. Her eyebrows knitted together and neck muscles knotted. A lone strand of hair sprung free from her bangs.

Spike knew that expression. Somewhere behind those violet eyes, thousands of thoughts raced through her head. Thanks to his magic, there was finally room for them all.

He could imagine what she was thinking: What will Celestia say? Does changeling law permit divorce? Do I have a book on the subject? Is that a diamond lodged in my derriere?

Spike could answer the last one; it was actually a colorless topaz, and it was really jammed up in there between her cheeks. As for the rest, he had no idea.

“Spike, what are we going to do?” She wasn’t looking at him, her mind still floating somewhere in Twilightland. “How are we going to tell the others—how are we going to tell Cadance?” She screwed up her face in her best imitation of the pink princess and tried a frankly awful impersonation of her voice. “What’s that you say, Twilight? The baby dragon I foalsat is marrying my archrival?”

Her hoof found her face. “Oh, Spike, oh, oh, Spike. What have you done?”

A most unwanted voice answered her. “Married me, of course.”

Emerald and amethyst eyes swiveled frantically around the room until they settled on the dimly glowing form of Queen Chrysalis, traces of green magic lingering around her. “You should be more impressed, purplish one. I am the most eligible bachelorette in the Badlands.” She snorted. “Granted, I replaced all the other contestants with my drones, but that only goes to show my impressive organizational skills.”

Spike and Twilight shook themselves out of their stupor. The princess was the first to speak. “Chrysalis! How did you get here!”

The queen shot Twilight a look like a schoolteacher explaining basic addition. “Shapeshifter. I’ve been here for hours.”

As if on cue, the nearby battle tank flared green, the treads becoming two tired-looking drones, the detached turret a rather bruised changeling, and the barrel a long-necked nymph. The rest revealed itself as a few pieces of painted cardboard, leaving the utterly-befuddled pony driver to trot away on his own. Spike heard him mutter “But what was the joystick, then?” as he shook his head.

Twilight’s horn shimmered slightly as she readied a few defensive spells. “And how many of my royal guards did you drain on the way here?”

“One… dozen. Maybe, I don’t count my calories.” She paid barely any attention to the still-shrinking princess, instead filing her hooves with an emery board. Little flecks of black chitin accumulated on the floor of Spike’s hoard.

Chrysalis tilted her eyes at Spike in what she thought would be a foxy wink. It ended up looking more like a cicada experiencing a seizure.

Spike scratched where his collar would have been with an unsteady claw. “Uh, hey, Queen Chrysalis. Long time, no see…”

Twilight stepped between them. “Oh, no you don’t, Chrysalis! You are not going to seduce my baby brother—again!—with your womanly wiles!”

The queen cocked an eyebrow. “Again? I already did, you shriveling prune!” As she spoke, Twilight shrank a little more.

Spike tried to butt in. “I think we should keep this civil…”

Twilight ignored him and raised her voice to compensate for her reduced stature. “Who’s a shriveling prune? You’re older than me by a least a thousand years!”

“And with age comes experience in the feminine arts! I guess those diamonds in your buttocks are your attempt at seduction?”

Spike raised a claw. “Actually, they’re colorless topaz, commonly confused for…”

A burst of lilac magic expelled the offending crystals from Twilight’s rear. “Those were purely accidental! Stop distracting us from the point!”

“Oh, and what is this point? That I am an exceptional wife and mother who any dragon should be honored to marry?” The drones chittered happily at her ‘exceptional mother’ phrase.

“No, that you’re… you’re a wanted criminal, for stars’ sakes!” Twilight swept her hoof out for emphasis, almost shattering another gemstone.

“Well, a royal pardon would solve that, wouldn’t it!” Two nymphs checked a tome on Equestrian law to back up her statement.

“I’m not going to pardon you just because of your relationship with my brother! You should be ashamed of yourself, using his romantically frail heart for your vile purposes!”

Spike tried to squeeze between the two bickering royals. “Hey, who are you calling ‘frail?’”

Whatever they would have answered was drowned out by a magically amplified voice. “Princess Twilight, you are needed in Canterlot!” A scrawny cream-colored guard stood somewhere below, shouting into an enchanted megaphone.

“Can’t it wait?”

“It is a matter of utmost urgency, princess!”

Spike saw anger build up in Twilight’s throat, before it vented itself in one long groan. She rolled her eyes and shouted “Fine! Spike, keep an eye on our unwanted guest!”

He wanted to scream “Wait!” but magic warped her away before he could manage more than a strained gurgle.

Don’t leave me alone with her!

A squad of changelings gathered under Chrysalis, linking their bodies into a exoskeletal throne for their queen. She crossed her legs as she sat, another drone flipping open a dogeared book of romance tips. “So. Spike. Do you enjoy long walks on the beach?”

5: Seriously, There Was a Buttload of Tentacles

Twilight shook her head to clear away the memories. That tentacle monster… it was no wonder Celestia needed her help. So many flailing arms, so many… probes. But that was in the past now. The rift was sealed, the horror dispelled to the Dungeon Dimensions where it belonged.

The other princess was still out there, helping the Ponyville guards burn away the leftover ectoplasm with her solar flares. Twilight saw bursts of fire through her castle’s windows, searing severed tendrils with a sound like deep-frying eggplant.

Ugh, eggs… Millions of eggs, all white and gushy and warm, had spilled out of the creature when she stabbed it. A few got stuck in her mane, and then they started hatching, and then they confused her for their mother, and then the suckling started…

It had been a long day.

It was going to get longer. Twilight slipped her battle armor off, lilac magic clutching it as she teleported it back to the blacksmith for repairs. Scratched hooves followed the path they’d followed many times before, winding through gleaming corridors of her castle. The Castle of Friendship, they called it.

Appropriate, then, that it would be the final resting place of her best friends.

Doors opened before her, receptive to her magic, as she spiraled up skybridges and stairways to the pinnacle of the castle. It had expanded over the years, tended to by Spike like it was one of the gems he used to grow for Rarity. After he left, Cadance had offered her assistance, but their gemnasts could never match a dragon’s talent.

The room at the peak of the castle’s keep was his magnum opus, built like a cathedral with high arches, vaulted ceilings, and soaring buttresses, all fortified by impenetrable diamond. Twilight’s horn flashed as she opened the last set of double doors and stepped inside.

“Hey, girls.”

Five stained-glass windows looked back at her, their eyes seeming to follow her as sunlight streamed through. Beneath them, mummified in opaque crystal, lay the bodies of the Bearers. All around them, medals, awards, statues and paintings, reminders of the time they’d spent together.

There were flowers, of course—magic kept them fresh forever, but Twilight still made sure to change them out every once in awhile. Rarity loved variety, after all. It simply wouldn’t do to have flowers that were out of season. And Fluttershy… her last wishes included a desire to see her critter friends again, so Twilight would take Angel’s great-great-and-so-forth-grandchildren up to meet her. They tended to eat the flowers, too.

Twilight stepped into the center, her horn flaring once again. Lilac magic leapt around the funeral chamber.

The room was a masterwork, with thin holes and fluted pipes running through the walls like a church’s organ. When the wind blew just right, Twilight could swear she could still hear her dead friend’s voices, their laughter, their…

“Dear, I must say, your mane is simply a wreck. Have you been conditioning the way I showed you?”

… comments on her style. And she’d be correct, of course. Some small piece of their souls still lived on, bound forever to the Elements, and thus bound to the Tree of Harmony, and finally bound to her castle. Their bodies may be buried, but their friendship wasn’t.

“Yes, Rarity. Saving Equestria does tend to ruin my coiffure, though.” She tried to copy her friend’s ostentatious accent.

“Well. Perhaps maximum-hold manespray would help?” The white unicorn in the window moved a little, glass shards rearranging themselves.

“I’ll be sure to give it a try,” Twilight answered with a chuckle. Right now, Rarity was the only one awake—animating the windows and letting the girls speak was brilliant magic, but also very draining.

She cleared her throat. “I’m afraid I’m not just here for a social call, though. There’s been a… development in Spike’s life.”

Rarity’s expression dropped when she heard the tone of Twilight’s voice, fragments of eyebrow furrowing. “Whatever do you mean?” Suddenly, the glass screeched as it halfway-shattered and reformed itself into an image of an aghast unicorn. “You don’t mean he’s dying, do you? Quickly, to his side! We must save…”

“No, he’s fine, Rarity!”

The window slowly returned to normal. “Oh. Whyever did you have to make it so dramatic, then?”

Twilight rolled her eyes. “He’s fine, it’s just… he’s getting married.”

Rarity smiled, glass stretching across her snout and forming little vitreous dimples in her cheeks. “Oh, he is? That’s wonderful, darling! You’ll have to hold the wedding in the castle, of course. It would be simply unforgivable for me to miss little Spikey-wikey’s special day!” A glass hoof gestured around the room. “I’m sure the other girls will be thrilled too, once they wake up…”

She tried to step closer to Twilight, but the window couldn’t move, only imitate motion. Rarity instead placed a hoof beside her mouth, as if she was whispering a secret. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what you’ve done with the glass and the crystals and all, but Rainbow truly needs her beauty sleep.” Rarity glanced askance at the slumbering mare, her mane a disheveled mass of multicolored glass.

For an instant, Twilight grinned, but she soon remembered the complication of the wedding. “Yes, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you all again…”

“I say, it’s positively been ages since his last visit. Oh, wedding gifts!” Again the glass cracked and reformed, this time into a bashful smile. “I don’t suppose you could help out a bit with those? Being a piece of castle decoration is not exactly gainful employment…”

Twilight brushed away her concerns. “Yes, yes, gifts will all be taken care of. But there’s another problem.”

“You want me to design the dress! Oh, Twilight, you didn’t even have to ask! Why, I’ve already worked out patterns for the one hundred, seventy-three mares I thought Spike might marry!” Rarity leapt to the top of the window, making space for the glass below to render her fashion notebook. In a quieter voice, she continued. “And a few suits for the five dozen stallions I saw potential in as well!”

“Rarity, it’s not that…”

She didn’t listen, glass clicking and popping as it slid around. “So here’s the dress I made for Ember—it’s fireproof, of course—and this one’s for Flurry Heart—tell the Empire we’ll need a thousand of their finest gems, by the way…”

“Rarity!” Twilight shouted for the first time since she’d entered the chamber, her voice echoing off the crystal walls.

Slipping off her reading glasses—Twilight could never figure out why a unicorn made of glass needed reading glasses, also made of glass—Rarity looked down at her. “Dear, you know I admire anyone with a strong interest in fashion, but yelling isn’t the best way to express your opinions. Oh! Is it Luna? I always said she needed to find a good stallion… er, dragon!”

“Rarity, it’s not Luna, it’s not Flurry Heart, it’s not…”

“Could it be Torch? I have a kilt designed…”

“Rarity, it’s…” In a voice as clear as the crystal statues, she spoke the name.

Halfway across Equestria, Spike tried to think of conversation topics that did not involve shapeshifting, abducting ponies, or assaulting their emotions with foul magic.

“So, Chrysalis, do you… enjoy tea?”

“I do enjoy licking the tears off of children. Does that count?”

Somewhere in the distance, Spike could swear he heard a posh scream.

6: Stupid Horse Puns

“Fillydelphia… no. Trottingham… abysmal. Canterlot… been there, done that. The couple’s suites were not to my liking.” Chrysalis listened as her drone chittered off a long list of cities. Another nymph filed the queen’s horn with her teeth, while a third massaged her neck. “I don’t suppose you have any locations in mind?” She tried to smile at Spike, though it came off as more of a predatory grin.

“Huh? What?” Spike swiveled his head to face her. He had been lost in thought—partly about Chrysalis, but mostly about how many gems Twilight had destroyed. “Locations for what?”

The queen rolled her eyes. “Our honeymoon, of course. It is traditional in pony society to honeymoon, and since I am making the extra effort to abide by your quaint practices, I want one. Now, perhaps Mareami?” Spike heard a sound like a flute as Chrysalis’s snort forced air through tiny holes in her snout. “Why are all their cities named after stupid horse puns? Would it kill them to add a little racial diversity?”

She waved a foreleg at a drone, almost knocking away the nymph giving her a hooficure. “Daca, remind me to rename the first city I conquer Cicadago. Or maybe San Antonio.”

To tell the truth, Spike didn’t love Chrysalis. He thought. Sure, she had a way of livening up any conversation, but the whole child-abduction thing and the wife-stealing and the… whatever else changelings did kinda put a damper on the relationship.

But he’d said he’d marry her, and he was nothing if not a dragon of his word. He was a bit drunk on love slime at the time, and surrounded by an army of drones, but wedding vows were wedding vows, after all, and she did give him a pretty great gift for Twilight.

If he could just keep this up, he might even be able to get Celestia a present, too—a peace treaty with the swarm.

Spike rubbed the back of his neck nervously, almost squishing a few drones. “Oh, whoops. Sorry, guys, didn’t notice you back there.” He refocused on the queen. “Listen, have you considered… not conquering Equestria?”

Chrysalis dismissed the other drones around her. “What, and merely mesmerize the civic leaders into obeying my every whim? Mind control magic on that scale would be a challenge, but it would mean I wouldn’t need to send any of my children into battle.”

“Um, no. I was thinking more along the lines of… leaving them alone.”

She scratched her chin with her jagged hoof. “Hmm. Yes, we bide our time, train in secret, then once your bodily fluids have enriched my drones, my—I mean, our—army will be unstoppable, and all Equestria will know the power of the changelings!” Her foreleg came crashing down onto the cavern floor, twisting as if she were crushing a small animal.

Okay, so maybe peace treaties were a bit premature. “Chrysalis, er, Chryssy, do you really need to invade at all? You said it yourself, ponies are full of love, and pretty forgiving, too. Maybe we can try not fighting each other?”

Her eyeslits narrowed, before her expression suddenly softened. As if she was explaining a basic concept to a foal, she responded. “Spike, we tried that once. Walked straight in, no disguises, into one of those pony towns.” She gazed at something a thousand yards away, eyes unfocused. “Do you know what happened to Hive 453?”

Spike shook his head.

“No, of course not. Not like it matters to your kind.” She took a deep breath, chitin snapping a little as her belly expanded. “One of the more foolish hives, too stupid and too starving to pull off successful raids.”

Chrysalis took a few steps forward, still looking far past Spike. “They needed to try something else. The idiots revealed their hive, dropped their disguises. They did everything they could to make amends—offered their magic, their strength, their mastery of massage techniques.” Another snort. “They would have let the foals suckle at their own teats. And what did the ponies do?”

Spike twiddled his claws. “Uh, welcomed them with open forelegs?”

Her jaw clenched. “The ponies said we were plotting something, said it was not in our nature to be anything but villains. For a few days, they tolerated the nymphs, but they did not feed us. Nopony would consent to having their love ripped from them.”

A chitinous hoof scratched out vague patterns in the dusty floor. “One drone went mad from hunger. He fed on a single couple, just a little, just to fill up the gnawing hole where a changeling’s heart should be. What did the ponies do next, Spike?”

She answered for him. “Torched them, all of them. Forced them back into their tunnels, threw down fire and scorching sorceries, and sealed the exits with boulders.” The drones around her shuddered. “You know love burns, Spike? I hear we make very good kindling.”

The dragon started to reach out a wing to her.

“Even from my own hive, I could hear their voices. My drones could barely burrow there in time to save what was left. We still haven’t gathered enough love to heal all their wounds.”

Spike’s claws clenched into a fist. “Princess Celestia would never allow that! Villages out here in the Badlands aren’t technically under Equestrian law, but I’m sure if anypony tried that again she’d—”

“What? Let us feed on her citizens? She may be able to protect us from angry mobs, but we are ravenous wolves surrounded by raw meat.” Magic boiled in her belly, pops and hisses of steam escaping from fissures. “You expect us to restrain ourselves? For what, so we can starve a little longer?” She sat down on her haunches, crossing her forelegs and curled her lips into a grimace. “No, Spike. We will not make peace. It is not in our nature.”

The dragon drew closer. “Some ponies are like that, but not Twilight! Not Celestia! We don’t do the whole burning nymphs alive thing!”

“No, that’s right. You would turn me to stone, banish me to the moon for a millennium, or confine me to whatever the trendy method of arcane imprisonment is? Do you know how long my children would last without me?”

Spike folded his wings over her. “Chryssy, we forgave Discord, and he’s been causing trouble for much longer than you have!”

The queen coughed as a bit of black oil dribbled from cracks near her eyes. Her wings folded around her, their thin membranes a poor substitute for soft feathers. “Not all monsters are lucky enough to have a stupid buttery pegasus befriend them.”

Spike exhaled a gusty sigh. “No, but sometimes a stupid scaly dragon will do.” He laid his head on the floor, curling his neck around her and letting the dragonfire in his throat warm the cold-blooded queen. She hesitated, then leaned against him, her drones following suit and nesting along his spines.

Half-muffled by his leathery wings, he heard a few chirps, then the sickly voice of Chrysalis. “I’m still going to conquer the world. It’s my only hobby.”

“We’ll talk about it later, Chryssy.”

“Couples are supposed to try out each other’s hobbies, yes? So you should…”

“Don’t push it.”

Author's Note

Yeah, sorry, not a happy chapter this time. Hey, my bio does say I write fluff and sadness. Guess this story has both.

I wanted to call this chapter The Crying of Hive 453, but I decided that would be too much of a spoiler for such an obscure literary reference.

7: Fourth Place

For a while, Chrysalis wouldn’t stop talking about bodily fluids. It was just fluids this, fluids that. Drone, fetch me some fluids. Yes, these are particularly useful fluids. She droned on and on…

Heh, droned. Spike chuckled at his own joke, making the nymphs on his back leap into the air in fright.

Now, however, the only sound Chrysalis made was a snore like a buzzsaw greased with honey. “Uh, Chrysalis? You alright?” He tried to face her, but she was so wrapped up in his wings, he couldn’t find her.

One of the changelings answered him. “The queen sleeps.” Expertly, he maneuvered past the folds of Spike’s skin, hefting scales above him as he pushed through to the drooling queen. Little ribbons of spittle dripped from her open mouth, teeth bared in a lazy grin.

The drone skittered over to her, making sure her oily belly rose and fell calmly. A hoof checked her temperature. “She slumbers soundly, for the first time in many moons.”

Spike lowered his voice. Since she was pressing against his belly, it was hard not to wake her. “That’s great. Listen, I…”

“She has not slept this well since the time she gorged herself on orphans’ love.” The drone looked wistful as he remembered that glorious raid. “She was like a little nymph, so satisfied with the…”

A gentle push with the spur on Spike’s wing cut the drone off. “Ooookay, not really helping me convince Celestia she’s redeemable. I need to go to Twilight’s castle now, so do you think you guys could, um, handle her?”

The drone nodded. “We will watch over our queen.” A quartet of changelings crawled from between Spike’s spines, lifting Chrysalis on their backs and toting her free of the dragon’s encircling wings.

If he tilted his ears just right he could hear her mumble in her sleep. “Oh, yes, Celestia… hrrgk was a changeling all along… all part of my snnrrk master plan…” She turned over, drones hastily scuttling around to form a pillow for her.

Spike slithered across the floor, no easy feat given the thick carpet of writhing changelings that covered it. He didn’t know where they’d all come from—though now that he thought of it, Chrysalis did seem like she was a little pregnant when she first arrived.

Once he had passed over the last of them and clambered through the entranceway, he stood for a moment in the sunlight. His scales, freshly licked by the nymphs, shimmered like emeralds—though that was partially because they were covered in emerald dust.

Spike would have to give Twilight some lessons in controlling her booty before he used that magic again.

Rising thermals buoyed his wings open, a resolute surge lifting him into the air. He followed the current northward, scales slicing through the Badlands dust storm. Wind rippled past his spines, sounding almost musical. Almost like screams, actually. Like there was somepony—

“Oh, whoops. Sorry, I thought I got all the changelings off my back before liftoff.”

A quick detour to set the terrified nymph back on solid ground, another apology, and Spike took off again. The storm soon cleared away, replaced by miry gasses of the Hayseed Swamps. A few flustered weather pegasi flittered out of Spike’s path as he plunged down to catch another windstream, the dragon letting loose a quick shout of glee. He never got tired of flight.

Five short lances of fire obliterated the clouds the pegasi were trying to clear away, and over his shoulder he heard their shouted thank-yous as he pressed on.

Spotting a train headed out of Dodge City, he flew low to greet it, the tips of his wings almost sweeping the ground. Fillies and colts rushed to the window to watch him glide over the cacti, puffs of smoke from his mouth imitating the tooting train. He’d become quite a popular dragon in the last few centuries.

Another almighty flap took him back into the rivers of air he rode, trains and towns shrinking to dots beneath him. Before long, he saw a beacon of rainbow light calling to him.

Twilight’s castle had grown since it first sprung from the Tree of Harmony, thanks mostly to Spike’s tender loving care—although Twilight did sometimes have to remind him not to eat the atrium.

Now, it had long branches, multicolored leaves like a forest in autumn, and thick gemstone roots that would hold fast in any earthquake or invasion. He’d modeled it after Golden Oaks, and made sure to leave plenty of shelving space for Twilight’s creepy obsession with books.

Seeing him coming, the royal guards hastened around to prepare. Like a rosebud blooming, the crystal armor around Spike’s landing pad opened. Gongs and trumpets heralded his arrival.

“Announcing Master Kenbroath Gilspotten Heath…!” boomed a soldier.

“Yeah, yeah, we can skip the formalities this time, Golden Arrow.” Spike folded his wings as he landed, barely squeezing into the landing pad. He’d need to expand that soon. Or go on a diet.

He tilted his head to the soldier. “I’m here to talk to Twilight. Is she here?”

A sweeter voice answered. “I’m afraid you’ve just missed her, Spike.” The pink alicorn trotted through the doors, crystal pony attendants flanking her on either side.

“Announcing Princess Mi Amore Cadenza of the…!” the soldier burst out again.

“We know,” answered Spike and Cadance in unison.

The crystal ponies gave lavish bows at the sight of Spike, one of them offering up thanks for his saving the Empire. Again. By Spike’s count, he’d rescued them from certain destruction fifty-seven times—fifty-eight if you include the debacle with the moose.

Spike rumbled “You’re welcome” to them, his throat a bit clogged from dust after his trip through the sandstorm. “Sorry, just let me…” He hacked, coughed, and ahem’d, expelling the clod of dirt from his airways. “There, back to normal,” he spoke in his normal voice.

Unfortunately, his attempts to clear his throat ended up dousing the crystal ponies in several pounds of sand. “Uh, sorry, guys.”

Cadance’s attendants didn’t seem to notice his apology. “He coughed on me!” exclaimed one with a high-pitched yell.

“I said I was sorry…”

The pony leapt for joy. “Spike the Savior of the Empire coughed on me! I’m never going to wash myself again! Oh, the boys will be so jealous!” Spike swore, if that pony screamed any higher, he was going to shatter himself. Could crystal ponies do that? Could they shatter like wine glasses?

“You know, that’s not… really… healthy…” The pony scampered off into the corridors, no doubt looking for a camera. “Cadance, I know the Spike Fan Club is alive and well, and that’s great, but maybe you should do something? Though I suppose I’m one to talk about obsessions…”

Cadance flicked her tail, her fur glowing with a magical sheen as she shielded herself from the dust. “Yes, well, the Church of the Glistening Scale has become a rather influential religion up in the Empire. At least he’s not one of the radical Spikists.”

“Oh, okay, that's…” Spike stared. “Wait, ‘Church of the Glistening Scale?’ They worship me?”

“A few do. I mean, after you saved us from the ever-present threat of icy death, you attracted quite the fandom.”

Spike lowered his head to her, no easy feat given the tight confines of the castle’s landing pad. “Yeah, about that. Have you ever considered, maybe, not building your entire city in a land so cold it takes magic just to stave off frostbite? Or at least getting a backup Crystal Heart or something? Stealing it is like, a biannual thing for villains.”

Cadance giggled. “Silly Spike. Everypony knows my empire completely trusts my love magic to keep them from freezing. Why else would they shower me with gifts and devotion?”

“You sure? ‘Cause the…”

The princess drew closer, her face a hard frown. “Perhaps you misheard me. Gifts. And. Devotion.”

“Oh, um. Okay.”

Cadance moved back, acting like nothing had happened. “Twilight just hopped on the teleporter to your cave. She took a lot of notebooks with her, so I’m guessing she wants to do some research.” Another flick of her tail. “But that’s not why I’m here, of course.”

Spike fiddled with his wings. “Uh, yeah. Why are you here?”

Her smile broadened as little hearts burst into her eyes. “To help plan the wedding of course! And the bachelor party. I am the Princess of Love, after all.”

Well, that was it. No way to put it off any longer—he’d even left Chrysalis’s name off the invitation he sent to the Empire, made it look like a printing accident. “Yeah, um, sorry I haven’t told you yet, but the bride is…”

Cadance waved a hoof. “Chrysalis, yes. Admittedly, she was only in fourth place in the marriage bracket I made for you, but…“

Spike almost let a little flame escape his gaping mouth. “Wait, you’re okay with this?”

“Oh, it was a little shock when Twilight informed me—I was betting on Ember, personally—but I got over it. Now, for the bachelor party…”

He held up a claw to silence her. “Hold up, fourth place? Who was in third?”

Another dismissive wave. “Discord, of course. Now, back to the party. My Love Academy has many eager students willing to…”

“Discord?” Spike’s voice made the castle crystal shake.

“Yeah, Big Daddy D as we call him at the Academy. His guest lectures are always a hoot—especially the one with the owl.” She covered her mouth with her hoof as she breathed a little oh, my. “Now, I’m sure you’ll want a few dragons at the…”

“Love Academy?”

Cadance nodded her head, her crown jiggling a little. “What? Twilight gets to have friendship students! And now that Shiny’s gone, I have to keep busy somehow!”

Spike’s jaw scraped the floor for a moment before he managed to close his gaping mouth. “Okay, yeah, busy, that’s… okay. Um.”

“Spike, I’m the Princess of Love. It’s my royal duty to explore all the ways, methods, and positions ponies—and dragons, of course—enjoy love.” She brushed up against him. “But more than that, you’re my good friend, and I want to make this perfect for you. Let me handle the wedding while you deal with the bride.” Cadance smirked. “And take notes. The Academy’s courses on insectoid romance are pretty sparse.”

The dragon retched. Somewhere in the distance, a crystal pony bottled some of the vomit and put it in his shrine.

“Um.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. If you let me plan the bachelor party, I promise there’ll be more gemstones than you can eat.”

His eyes sparkled. A challenge. “I don’t know, I can eat a lot of jewels.”

Cadance smirked. “Believe me, I’ve been saving up for just this moment.”

“I don’t know. It would be kinda weird having my old babysitter there…”

A thought entered Cadance’s head. She had given a lecture on this kind of thing. “Good weird? Because I could dig up my bedtime storybook from when I foalsat you and Twilight and I’m sure the palace craftsmen could build a crib for you… if you’re… into…” Her peppy voice faded a bit as she looked at Spike’s gradually more horrified eyes.

She shook her head and tried to regain a little of her regal stature. “Right, no, too weird. Well, with all the resources of the Crystal Empire, I’m sure can give my little baby nephew the night of his life.” She tried and failed to pull the thousand-ton dragon into a hug.

“See, talking like that does not make this any less weird.”

8: Spike Really Wants to Eat the Castle

Spike took wing again, leaving the groveling crystal ponies to their strange rituals. “Bless us, Emerald One!” they cried as he took off.

Much as he enjoyed the idea of having fans, he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to head a major religion. After all, he’d seen what cults could do when Twilight got herself one; quesadillas were still contraband in several provinces.

He glided around the castle spires, his lazy path taking him under diamond arches and between soaring towers. Spike had grown them, so many centuries ago, tending to the blossoming crystals with gentle gusts of fire and mineral water baths. They were his finest creations, his masterpieces.

And so Spike had no qualms about biting off a little bit of roofing. Hey, that bathroom needed better ventilation anyway.

The castle shuddered as he rested his prodigious claws on a flying buttress, like a crow perching on a wire. Twilight might not be here, but there were some girls he still needed to say hello to.

Carefully, like a master surgeon, he slithered his head through the open door of a balcony, his long neck sliding over the castle carpet and between filigreed statues as it moved with impeccable grace.

“Oops. Sorry, I’ll pay for that. Whoops.”

With peccable grace.

Getting his fat skull to the funeral chamber was no easy feat, but Spike managed. Somewhere behind him, his serpentine spine snaked through several dozen yards of hallways, forcing guards and diplomats to crawl over him just to get to the bathroom. Their hooves felt like tickles.

His dextrous tongue opened the doors into the chamber, and a final push with his neck shoved his oversized head in. After hastily licking up the evidence of the chandelier he’d shattered, he took a moment to look around.

Dappled light fell in through the stained-glass and gemstone windows, scattering in kaleidoscopes over his scales. Each crystal came from Spike’s personal stash, tended to with care in his choicest volcano gardens. Carnelian for Applejack, delicious yellow sunstone for Fluttershy, rose quartz that matched Pinkie’s coat so well Spike could swear the gems were fur, and cyan sapphires for Rainbow, a perfect complement for the spectrum of stones that made up her mane. Last and best was Rarity’s flawless fur, fashioned from the largest diamond Equestria had ever seen.

They looked perfect, as lively as glass and stone could ever be. Why, they looked so good Spike could almost taste them, and when the light struck just right, he could imagine running his tongue along them and dragging them into his mouth, the most delectable jewel feast he’d ever…

No, that would not be a wise decision. Why did Spike have to make his friends look so edible?

The magic behind it all was Twilight’s discovery, and if she wasn’t already a princess, figuring it out would certainly have made her one. Making the windows and letting them move and smile was Spike’s, though. Nopony knew gemstones like him.

Their glass bellies rose and fell in hushed harmony, little cracks and crinkles the only sounds in the chamber—except for the bunny family that was nibbling on carrots under Fluttershy’s window.

“Hi, Archangel.” The leader of the bunnies shot Spike a nasty glance. He’d never been able to get them to like him. “Listen, you think I can have a few minutes with the girls?” Archangel rolled his eyes and led his flock of tufted furballs out of the chamber.

The girls were all sleeping—they did that a lot, nowadays. It was one of the unfortunate realities that came with being dead. Spike focused his firebreath, feeling magic boil up in his gizzard. A helix gout of sparkling smoke shot from his mouth, splitting into five surges and aligning perfectly with the channels cut into the crystal walls. The blaze funneled itself into pipes and turbines, elaborate machinery extracting the magical essence and flooding the room with energy. It was a good thing Archangel had left, or he and his gang would have been flambéed.

It was a marvel of engineering, and one that let Spike bring his friends to life just as well as Twilight could. One by one, they opened their eyes.

“Heya, sugarcube.” Applejack doffed her hat and gave him a quick nod.

“Oh, it’s so nice to see you, Spike.” Fluttershy pushed out her forelegs and raised her rump like a stretching cat, extending her glass limbs and letting out a soft little yawn. “Rarity told us—”

A voice like a thousand helium balloons overrode Fluttershy. “You’re getting hitched! Oh, there’s gonna be a party and a cake and there’ll be dancing and…”

“Sheesh, Pinkie, you’re screaming loud enough to wake the dead.” Rainbow was still half-asleep, curled up on her moonstone cloud, feathers rustling in a nonexistent breeze. Her back arched and popped, the shifting crystals sounding like gunshots. “Ahhh, that’s better.”

Rainbow flipped lazily over to look at Spike. “Heard you got yourself a mare, big guy.” Her face briefly flexed into a frown. “Though she is a bit… different,” she rasped.

Fluttershy shot Dash a look that could melt rock. “Rainbow! I’m sure Chrysalis has changed since we last… er, tried to save Canterlot from her. Why, she’s probably all reformed and pleasant now.” She looked at Spike. “She is, isn’t she?”

“Um…” Spike didn’t answer for a moment. “Well, she still kinda wants to conquer Equestria, but… baby steps, I guess?” The windows did not look impressed. “Hey, it’s a process! I’m sure she’ll be down to just one orphanage a month soon!”

The windows gazed on, but one answered him.

“Well, I, for one, am happy our dear friend found love!” Rarity spoke for the first time since Spike had entered, her shimmering hoof pushing a box of glass tissues behind her. If Spike were less distracted by her mane, he’d have noticed the crystal tears on her cheeks.

Spike stared for a second, then shook his head to clear his mind. The gemstones that made up Rarity’s incorruptible body were the most decadent jewels that ever saw sunlight—it was hard to tear his mind off them, and even harder to convince his stomach not to eat them.

She spoke again. “Girls, may I have a moment with Spike?”

He felt the pull on his magic lessen as the others said their till-laters. The light in their windows faded, their manes cementing themselves in position and their feathers no longer rustling. Only one remained awake.

“Yes, Rarity?” White light from her window played across his eyes, sparkling like gemstones.

“It’s good to see you again. I say, Twilight truly needs to enlarge this room. If you get any bigger, you won’t be able to visit at all!”

Spike couldn’t chuckle, for fear of shaking the castle. “Yeah. I missed you girls. Listen, about the marriage…”

“Oh, Spike, you don’t have to try to spare my feelings. I know you had your crush, but you’re a big, strong dragon now, and I’m… well, not exactly a lively mare anymore.” The glass restructured itself, the image warping to make it look as if Rarity was extending a hoof to him. She wasn’t, of course. Still just a window.

“It’s not that. I’m not really sure if I can say I—” If I can say I love her like that. “I mean, Chrysalis and you didn’t really get along…”

“Oh, dearest, don’t cancel on account of some old nag like me! I want you to be happy, darling, and while there may be—” She coughed. “—a few somewhat-less-insectoid mares I would rather you courted, anypony who makes my Spikey-wikey happy is a good friend of mine.” Rarity raised an eyebrow in contemplation. “Anypony? Anybug? Is that offensive? Oh, dear, my etiquette books never covered this.”

Her crystal mane flowed in the wind, or at least in an artist’s impression of wind. She’d always been Rarity Diamond, but her name was literal now.

“Rarity, I’m not sure you understand.”

“Oh, hush. Don’t worry about me, worry about your wedding plans, and your cake selection, and your dresses—oh! The dresses!” Her eyes widened, flooding the room with more light. “If only I could be there to sew them myself! What a tragedy, what a tragedy.” Glass hooves wiped away glass tears.

She muttered to herself. “Be strong, Rarity, be strong. For Spike.” Turning back to him, her eyes looked sheepish. “I do have one small question to ask, dearest.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“Well, um, I just have to know…” It was hard to tell from the window, but Spike could swear Rarity bit her lip. “It is a mite embarrassing. Promise you’ll not repeat it?”

Spike half-nodded, knocking several priceless ornaments to the ground.

“You see, Spike, it would mean a lot to me if… I simply must be aware if…”

“You can tell me anything, Rarity.”

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. Ruby blush spread across her cheeks. “I don’t mean to pry, but would Chrysalis ever… you know…?”

Spike looked on in blank incomprehension.

“Will she ever be taking my form when you—? I’d consider it quite flattering… if it pleased… Oh! I’m so ashamed!” The light left her window, leaving Rarity locked in her vibrant blush and Spike wondering just what had happened.

9: Chrysalis Does Interesting Things to a Sensitive Portion of Twilight's Anatomy

The air crackled around Twilight as she stepped into Spike’s cave. The amplifier in her castle let her teleport here easily—more importantly, it let her bring along several dozen research notebooks, a pallet of parchment, and enough quills to make an entire taxidermied parliament of owls.

“Spike?” Her voice echoed through the lightless cavern. She didn’t hear his snores, or the rustling of one of his dragon-sized comic books, or even the raucous beats of his in-cave sound system.

“Spike?” A shard of chitin crunched under her hoof as she stepped forward. “Spike!”

Nine rings of sparks launched from her horn, hovering into the emptiness of the cave like stars in the sky. Searchlight beams ran along the walls, illuminating nothing but black exoskeletons and glittering gems. Her dragon was gone.

“Chrysalis!” she yelled with fire in her eyes. Winds howled around her as thunderbolts crackled to her command. “What have you done with Spike!”

She heard Luna’s voice behind her. “Spike is alive and well, Twilight.” Powerful wingbeats stirred up dust around them both.

Twilight whipped around to face her, storms still gathering to defend her. “Princess, you’ve got to help me! Chrysalis has…”

“You know, I prefer queen.” Green veils fizzled around Chrysalis as her disguise dropped, Luna’s midnight blue coat giving way to unrelenting black carapace. Her dark hoof brushed back scratchy insect hair. “Did I get the mane right? It’s always tricky for me.”

Any further remarks were cut off as Twilight slammed into her and tackled her to the ground. “What did you do with my dragon!” she shouted at her pinned-down victim.

“Oh, fine. Be that way.” Chrysalis hooked Twilight’s hoof away and pulled herself up. “He’s fine, just left for some fresh air or whatever.”

Twilight jabbed a foreleg at her. “A likely story!”

Chrysalis was expressionless. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Like he would leave a wanted criminal alone and unguarded!”

The queen started to circle the alicorn. “Well, he did. Check for yourself, or do you need me to teach you that spell?”

Twilight sent feelers through the ley lines, casting around until she felt an immense magical presence at her castle—even from miles away, she could recognize Spike. He was safe.

He was stupid. Again.

Twilight sat down in a huff. “So. You didn’t do anything evil this time.”

Chrysalis’s gunky lips tried to imitate a smile. They failed. “See, I’m a good pony! I can be trusted on my own or with small children or in a orphan—”

Twilight glared. Chrysalis slurped away the drool that formed whenever she thought of orphans.

“What?”

Another huff from the princess. “Well, I was going to get Spike to help me take notes on your species, but I suppose I can do that myself.” As much as she hated Chrysalis, she liked scientific journals more.

Quills came to life with lilac sparks. “So, with your permission, I’d like to interview you for the latest issue of the Royal Unified Magibiological Procedural Society’s journal.”

Chrysalis looked heavenward as she mulled that over. “The RUM…”

“Don’t mention the acronym. The founder lost a bet.” Twilight refrained from mentioning that she was the founder, and the bet was with Spike. She had always had a sneaking suspicion that he’d cheated at that game of Go Fish.

Twilight felt the weight of thousands of bug eyes falling on her. “So, may we begin?”

The queen answered. “Why, whatever do you want to know about us?”

Twilight gulped. “Currently there are some holes in our…” No, no, don’t mention the holes! Could be a sensitive topic… Are they sensitive? What would it feel like if I… “Some, uh, gaps… er, I mean, missing pieces…” She hastily reshuffled her notes. “In our body. Of knowledge. Body of scientific knowledge. About your holes. I mean, bodies.”

Insects chittered. Chrysalis licked a particularly nasty-looking gash on her side. “You want to know more?” Her tongue, still green with unmentionable liquids, ran along her chapped lips. “Oh, I’d love to show you.”

“Okay. Um.” Parchments orbited Twilight’s head, moving in an elegant choreography of notetaking. “Science, yes. Let’s start with the…”

Chrysalis cut her off. “Bodily fluids, yes, let’s start there.” Ignoring Twilight’s carefully-prepared plan, she forged on. “I wish to extract a certain substance we changelings hold quite dear. With it, we will…”

Crimson blossomed on Twilight’s face as she coughed. Chrysalis came up close to her, moist tongue tasting the air. “What is it, sister-to-be? Are you ill? My drones will excrete a bed for you posthaste, and I shall…”

“No! No, I’m fine, it’s just… fluid. Ew.”

“Oh, nothing to be ashamed of. We breed with the viscous substance your kind produces so readily.”

Twilight’s incandescent blush made war with her desire to learn. “You, um… wait. So whenever you need to spawn a new drone, you need some of this… fluid?” Ink spread across her parchments. That’s not like normal insects. Given how many drones are in this chamber alone, she’d need...

A slide rule clicked as Twilight calculated. Carry the two, that’s… a lot of gallons…

Thankfully, Chrysalis diverted her from that particular line of thought. “Not all drones need to be fertilized, no. But if we wish to create a particularly nimble drone, we slather the egg in pegasus secretions.” Bits of spittle flew from her mouth at the word slather. “A strong drone, earth pony secretions, and so forth. A dragon would make for particularly glorious hatchlings.”

“Uh huh… let me just…” Twilight switched out her quill for a fresh one.

“I recall harvesting a bit from that red stallion in Ponyville ages ago. Big Mac, you called him. Oh, he was big indeed.” She smirked. “Where it counted at least. His long…”

The quill snapped in Twilight’s magic, her eyes blinking hard as she tried to clear away the images in her mind. “You, you did, you…”

“Oh, yes. Enough fluid for a dozen nymphs to wallow in.” She stretched her forelegs out. “It makes for a brilliant hooficure, by the way. I’m sure my drones will be able to give you one if you want.”

Her parchments shivered in their lilac auras as she forced herself not to think of little innocent Spike and this monster, doing acts she’d only read of in the very special part of her library, the one she never let Spike reorganize. Even the card catalogue was off-limits.

Chrysalis came closer, her breath ruffling Twilight’s mane. “Yes. It always was easier to harvest from stallions. Why, those fools love to smear it all around, don’t they?”

Twilight drew her forehooves around her, wings trying to cover her face. “You… That’s… Spike… Big Mac… Wait. Stallions are easier? Wouldn’t they be the only source of, erm, fluid?”

Chrysalis’ chitinous eyebrows cracked a little as she raised them. “Whatever do you mean? Why, even you have some delicious secretions, right there in your—” A snaking tongue sprung from the queen’s mouth and forked into Twilight’s nose “—emmm, nostrils.” It came out with a thin sheen of mucus.

Twilight recoiled, wings snapping out from her sides as she flew up. “What! Why! Ew!” Her hooves shot to her snout, probing to see if Chrysalis had planted any nefarious spores in her sinuses. “Why did you do that?”

“Only demonstrating the more aggressive means of acquiring the fluids. Mind, your cavities aren’t quite as deep as Big Mac’s, but you’ll do.”

Hooves still firmly clasped over her snout, Twilight slowly drifted back down to earth, horn flaring with a quick shield spell just in case. “You mean the…”

“I can barely hear you with those ugly hooves over your face. Maybe if you had some fashionable holes in your chitin, you could speak through them, but…”

The alicorn considered for a moment, then lowered her hooves as she kept her distance. “The secretion is—”

“Mucus, yes. Why, what fluids were you thinking of?”

“Oh. I… I… nevermindgottogo!” Hooves pounded the ground as Twilight scampered off, red cheeks bright enough to light up the room. Chrysalis coughed in the dust she had thrown up before turning to a drone by her side.

“Well, what did she expect? Blood wouldn’t suffice, and neither would saliva. Asaf, what other bodily fluids do stallions have?”

Drones are physiologically incapable of blushing, but this one did a passable imitation.

10: Spike Really Hasn't Ever Been Properly Educated About His Own Body And Honestly He's As Confused About This as You Are

Twilight sailed through the skies, several battalions of soldiers staying behind to guard Chrysalis. Her interview, while scientifically fascinating, had left her rather flustered, and collating her notes would take a while.

Twelve more wing beats and she touched down on the castle balcony, books and quills floating behind her in a trail of her magic.

By now, her guards had learned to leave her alone instead of giving her the full ‘Huzzah, the princess has returned’ treatment every time she landed. Instead, they simply took her books and scientific luggage off her hooves, one of them giving her a quick message. “Princess Cadance is here, your highness.”

Twilight stepped through the double doors into the castle. “You don’t need to call me ‘your highness,’ Golden Arrow. I helped your daughter with her school paper, for star’s sakes, I don’t think we need to be formal.” A few blips of magic straightened out her papers and tagged each one for proper placement in her research archive. She offered a few thank-yous to the guards before speaking to Arrow again. “Now, you said Cadance is in the castle?”

He didn’t need to answer. The pink princess trotted out to meet Twilight, wearing an outfit that was… interesting. And latex.

“Um, hi, Cadance. What’s going on?”

The former foalsitter was chipper as always. “Oh, Twilight! We’ve just been planning Spike’s bachelor party; it’s great fun!”

Twilight blinked. Bachelor party. Well, her little dragon would have to grow up someday. “Well, that’s, um…”

At that instant, a crystal pony galloped towards Cadance, his outfit labeling him as a student in her Love Academy. “Your highness, the minotaurs ate all their edible loincloths and we can’t find a Prench maid outfit that will fit the Smooze!”

Twilight fainted.

Ponies often walked around with no clothes on. This, Spike was used to.

Yet somehow Cadance’s love scientists had found a way to design costumes that made ponies seem more naked, as if their clothing actually reduced their modesty below what could be accomplished with simple nudity.

The unholy combination of socks, garters, and fuzzy articles of miscellaneous apparel, by means unknown and incomprehensible to Spike’s mind, managed to transcend nakedness and enter an entirely debauched realm of sensuality.

There were mares and stallions, zebras and dragons, dancing seaponies in oversized fishbowls—a distant descendant of Maud Pie had even provided a few scantily clad boulders. If Spike squinted, he could distinguish a cloud of breezies. His eyes weren’t good enough to make out what they were doing with that dandelion, but he was sure it was lewd.

A few griffons flew overhead, doing terrible things in interesting positions.

Spike decided that this would be a bad time to tell Cadance that Twilight had never actually given him the Talk.

While he didn’t understand most of what was going on, he knew enough to recognize that this party was the work of a masterful planner. A very crazy, slightly obsessed planner who Spike suspected was not using her godlike powers in the most beneficial way, but masterful nonetheless.

In fact, the only party planner better than her would be—

Spike’s ears perked as he heard an impossible sound. If he didn’t know it was impossible, he’d have almost believed it was…

Pinkie Pie spronked around the corner, a keg of cider bouncing on her back. “Hi, Spike! Sorry I’m late!” She giggled in a way that suggested she herself had imbibed quite a lot of that keg. “Heh! Late! ‘Cause I’m dead!”

The pony pranced around Spike, who became progressively more bamboozled with each squeaky boing. “Uh, Pinkie? I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you… a window now?”

“Well, of course, silly billy. I’m not really here, I’m just an alcohol-induced hallucination.” She waggled her tail at the keg. “Seriously, this is powerful stuff.”

“But I haven’t even had a drink yet!”

“But you will, and this is special cider.” Pinkie contorted her hooves into air quotes as she spoke. “It gets you drunk before you drink it!” She merrily hopped around the dragon, little bubbles popping from her mouth. “I’m like a pink elephant, ‘cept I’m not an elephant! But I am pink.” She stopped moving and rolled her eyes backwards into her head, examining the inside of her own body. “Yep, I’m pink! Just checked.”

“How…?”

“Special cider.”

“But…”

“Spike, I’ve been saving this for your big day since I first met you. Stop questioning it and take a sip.”

The keg was barely as big as as the tip of a fang—a dragon of Spike’s size could drain the whole thing without it technically qualifying as a sip. Still, it seemed like it meant a lot to Pinkie.

“Or a quaff. Or a guzzle. A drinkeroo? A slurple? A…” Pinkie invented several new terms for ‘drink’ by the time Spike finally managed to wrap his claws around the keg and pop the stopper out of its bunghole.

Pinkie chortled. “Heh. Made you read bunghole.”

Spike looked baffled. “What?”

“Nothing. Just take a drink.”

Something blacker than black and sweeter than pie dripped out of the keg. It was only a tiny drink by Spike’s standards, but he could already feel it buzzing in his brain and destroying his liver.

“Wow, Pinkie, this tastes really—”

Spike woke up with an icepick of a headache.

“Cadance, why are you wearing a Smarty Pants costume?”

“Um…”

“And why am I slathered in hollandaise?”

“Uh…”

“I’ll go see if Twilight knows any spells to erase photos.”

“Good idea.”

11: Bad Dragon (Kids, Don't Google That)

The grass glimmered as magic swept away the shrapnel of last night’s party, confetti floating up and away into recycling bins. Unicorns hastened to and fro, casting clean-up spells while pegasi flew overhead, busting any storm clouds that might impede the wedding preparations. Somewhere in the distance, Cadance fussed over musicians. In the middle of it all, surrounded by workers and expended party cannons and all the furor of marital organization, sat a single dragon.

Little streams of smoke sneaked their way up from his lungs, tunnelling through his sinuses and terminating at his nostrils, where they wafted away from him and transformed into spiralling rings. Spike had gotten very good at blowing smoke rings; there was not much else for him to do right now.

Oh, he had tried to help, but after he set the second pagoda ablaze, the workers had told him they’d rather he not. And then there was the fiasco with the food… in retrospect, the caterer should have realized it was a bad idea to put the jello next to the Smooze. Somedragon could make a mistake.

No, there was not much for a giant mountain of scales to do around here.

He blew another ring of smoke, a real whopper that looked more like a succulent donut than anything else. Just the ring was about to dissipate, he saw a little purple alicorn fly through it, flanked by a quartet of guards.

She touched down by Spike’s side, a bit of magical amplification helping her voice carry over the sounds of wedding preparation.

“Hi, Spike.”

The dragon looked her over from the corner of his eye and nodded in reply. “The wedding’s pretty soon, if you haven’t noticed. They had to move the date up; something about a prophesied return of the dark gods happening on the old date. They thought it would mess up the weather.”

The alicorn drew closer, not quite knowing if she was supposed to try to embrace him with her wings or just stand there, off to the side. “Again?”

“Yep.” A long pause, the only sounds the hissing of helium balloons inflating and bounce castles erecting. Spike had a distinct feeling Pinkie had given some input to the wedding planners. “You got the wings wrong.”

The alicorn’s ears perked. “What? What do you mean, Spike?”

He craned his neck to face her, her small body just a tiny reflection in his vast eyes. “When I was still a baby dragon, we rode into battle together. Some monster or other, buncha teeth, eyeballs, you know how it is. Long story short, I got scared and I accidentally scratched her wing—pretty deep, too.” Spike let out a puff of smoke. “Normally, it would have healed by now, but something about dragon magic made it leave a scar, even on an alicorn.”

The alicorn squirmed on her haunches before her horn haloed with acid light. Her purple feathers burned away and revealed translucent gossamer wings, the drones standing beside following her lead and dropping their disguises as well.

“A scar, you say?” asked Chrysalis.

If any of the wedding planners saw her transform, they were too busy to notice. Spike rumbled a answer. “She tries to cover it up, but I can always tell it’s there.” Gradually, he cantilevered his tail up to let a few ponies set up a kiddie pool for the seaponies. “Probably something sorcerous about it. I… and I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

The queen drew slightly closer, her throbbing belly pressing against his scales. Spike could feel half-hatched larvae squirming around in there. They writhed as Chrysalis muttered “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not really, no.” He saw her brows slightly warping in what Spike presumed was a crestfallen expression. “I mean… look, you haven’t exactly been the best pony in the world…”

“Because we’re not ponies,” she hissed. Spike felt anger in her, a sudden surge in her body temperature.

“Well, yes, I know that, but… ”

“But what?” Chrysalis turned away from him, wings making a slight warbling noise in the wind.

“Chrysalis?” Now that she had taken a few steps, he couldn’t feel her oily body through his scales.

“Spike, what if you had teeth meant for tearing flesh instead of grinding gems? What if you had a gut that could only digest meat and bones, and a hunger for thinking prey?”

The dragon shifted his weight uncomfortably. “What are you talking about, Chryssy?”

“You lived in a library, surely you read the fairy tales. Dragons who would eat ponies, crack open cottages like eggshells and lick up the foals inside.” Her eyes narrowed as she remembered her past. “They weren’t just stories to frighten fillies into eating their vegetables, you know.”

Spike coiled his neck closer to her. “Right. When Twilight found me reading those books, she said I stayed up the whole night crying. I kept trying to show her that I wasn’t going to be like the bad dragons…”

Chrysalis snorted, her drones chittering around her. “You know what happened to those ‘bad dragons?’” She drew her wings closer, a sudden gust of wind chilling her cold-blooded body.

Spike rifled through his extensive memory. “Celestia and Luna destroyed them… well, petrified them, anyway. The Elements seem to like turning things to stone.”

Another snort from the queen. “Typical.” she growled. “Can’t even bother to mention the one time we helped them.” She cut Spike off before he could ask “What?” again. “We defeated them, my drones and I, and yes, your beloved princesses.” Chrysalis looked up at him. “The dragons were a threat to my food source, as well.”

The drones swarmed around her as she spoke. “We buried them in sand and wrapped them in slime, so they would never wake from their stone sleep.” Chrysalis perked up a bit as she remembered. “You know, they—my drones, I mean—adapted the battle into a play.” Her holed hoof reached out and snagged a nearby nymph. “This little one played me in in last year’s performance. He was almost adequate.”

The nymph glowed. Coming from the queen, “almost adequate” was high praise. Just as he was about to hug Chrysalis, she pushed him away and turned back to Spike. “What was I talking about?”

Spike stared for a moment. “Uh, dragons?”

“Yes, dragons.” She blinked as she got back on track. “Spike, what if you couldn’t eat gems? Or hay fries, or whatever insipid things ponies stuff their faces with? What if you were a carnivore, like the ancient dragons? A feral beast, more animal than…” Chrysalis swatted the air in annoyance. “… than thinking being. What do you think the ponies would do you?”

Spike drooped his wings over her, shielding her from the commotion all around. “You’re afraid they won’t forgive you.”

“We don’t even have hearts, and you want us to be kind? You realize our only talents are subterfuge, deception, and seduction, right?”

“That’s not true! You’re also good… massage technicians? And…” Spike felt a few drones nestling into his leathery wings. “And… uh…”

“Child abductors,” Chrysalis purred.

“Uh-huh. Maybe let’s stop talking about your talents, Chryssy.” Spike sighed, sending two drones tumbling through the air. Curls of smoke filled the insides of his wings. “Look, you want the ponies to forgive you—”

Chrysalis waved smog away from her mouth. “It would make infiltrating their society much easier.” Spike glowered. “What?”

Another sigh.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I suppose my swarm would be a little safer if we didn’t have to worry about ponies with torches and pitchforks. For my children’s sake, I would accept their forgiveness.” A drone contorted itself into a chitinous seat as the queen plopped herself down on her haunches. “You were saying?”

“You need the ponies to forgive you. If you want us to go through with the wedding—”

Chrysalis cut him off again. “You know, I gave you the crown and everything. We’re already married.”

Now it was Spike’s turn to roll his eyes, no small feat given that they were as large as swimming pools. “—in a ceremony that was not legally binding under Equestrian law, which is what’s going to matter going forward. As I was saying, if you this wedding to happen, you’re going to have to apologize. It’s the first step towards reconciliation.”

Actually, it was the twenty-second step on the Changeling-Pony Reconciliation Strategy Checklist that Twilight had made for Spike, but he felt it would not be prudent to mention that.

Chryssy drew herself up taller and tilted her nose in what would have been a regal and commanding pose, had she not been sitting next to a living mountain of dragonflesh. “Changeling queens do not apologize.”

“No, but Equestrian princesses do.” Spike saw her flex her eyebrows in confusion. “Twilight’s brother, remember? I’m technically a prince, and it’s my responsibility to watch over anypony—” He caught himself. “—anyone near my den in the Badlands.” A gentle twitch of his wings blew away another billow of smoke. “Mostly that means rescuing stragglers from sandstorms and trying to convince newcomers that I’m not going to eat them, but I guess everyone needs somedragon to watch over them, every once in awhile.”

He heard a little “pardon me” behind him and hoisted his rump. Somewhere near his buttocks, a workpony pushed squeaky-wheeled cart past him.

“You marry me, you’d be a princess.” He thought for a bit. Princess of slime? Princess of dampness? “The Princess of Motherhood. Stars know you have plenty of experience.” He gulped. “I mean, you’d get to be princess eventually. We’d have to address the whole child abduction thing, first, you know.”

Chrysalis gathered her drones around her, gingerly lifting her haunches off the changeling below her. “Celestia would allow it?”

The drones trembled as Spike’s chuckle rumbled the earth beneath them. “You underestimate her desire for grandchildren.” He settled back down, saying “You care for your children, I can see that.” Spike quickly glanced away. “Though sometimes I wish I didn’t,” he muttered, thoughts of suckling insect mouths and unpleasantly-moist anatomy intruding into his thoughts.

“What?”

“Nothing, nevermind. Point is, you protect the ones you…” Spike hesitated. Love was a loaded word around changelings. “… you protect your subjects, and do a great job of it.” He started to reach a long claw out to scratch beneath his chin, but a drone saw what he was doing and beat him to it, itching him with a haloed horn. Spike murmured in pleasure—he could get used to this.

Once the drone was done, Spike took a breath and continued. “There’s good in you, a lot of good… buried very deep, but it’s there. That’s why Celestia and Luna thought I could save you.”

Chrysalis, who had for the past moment been pacing a circuitous path, stopped and shot a sideways glare up at him. “Saved? What are you talking about?”

Spike shrugged. “Yeah. We like redeeming ponies, it’s kinda our thing. We did Nightmare Moon, Discord, Sombra when he came back to life, Flurry Heart after she turned last century… Even Tirek’s therapy is going pretty well. He's only eaten three psychologists so far. Really, you’ve been the only one we couldn’t fix. It’s a bit of a black mark on our perfect record.”

Chrysalis’s jaw tightened, and her drones began to chirp in rapid tones. “So that’s what I am to you?” She whipped herself around, wings stirring up eddies in Spike’s smog. “A black mark, something to fix?”

“Chrysalis? What’s going on?” He drew his wings closer around her, contracting them into a teepee, but she pushed past.

“What, were we an assignment?” She rammed a hoof in his titanic face. “Been plotting this for awhile now, have you? Been threatening your little friendship record, have we?”

Spike recoiled, his wings spreading up and out as his neck arched over her. “No, it’s not like that!”

“And you’re not like us at all.” The queen and her drones melted into green flames, emerging in pony disguises. They cantered away, and one by one, he lost them in the crowd.

Spike mentally flipped through Twilight reconciliation checklist. This was most definitely not on it.

12: Spike Makes a Crude Gesture

The queen’s throat heaved. Rivulets of black oil seeped from her unfocused eyes, dribbling disgracefully down and pooling in her crevices. It felt like she’d been crying for days… nine months and thirteen days, to be exact.

“Really did it this time, Chryssy. Found a dragon with a heart that might just be big enough to… what? Make up for the one I lost?”

Around her, Cadance’s armies of organizers surged and swelled like waves, mopping up last night’s lewdness, erecting pavilions, and replanting the rose bushes, deflowered in the debauchery.

“Like he would be any better than the last prince!”

Her disguise had flickered and faded away long ago. In this bustle, there was no need. Everypony was too busy trying to stop the yak guests from obliterating the castle to care about a lonesome changeling.

“I’ve tried forbidden magic! I’ve tried wifenapping! And Mr. Right… or, at least, Mr. Good-enough flaps right up to my door, and what does he do?”

Her body shuddered with sobs. Then shuddered some more as Spike’s feet made minor earthquakes around her.

She felt his landing before her tear-blurred eyes could see him, and blindly she tried to slip away into the crowd. Before she could go far, a leathery wing that smelled vaguely of mayonnaise fell like a curtain in front of her.

“Queen Chr… I mean, Chryssy, wait!” Spike’s voice drowned out the distant sounds of rehearsing musicians. “You know I didn’t mean it that way…!”

The queen muttered something miserable, voice muffled by her hooves as they worked to clear the grime from her eyes.

“‘Scuse me?”

She slumped back onto her haunches. “Well, what did you mean, you… you… dumb lindworm!”

“I…” A deep breath, a sigh. The wedding’s photo booth collapsed from the gust. “I meant we’ve failed you, Chrysalis. We haven’t reached out to you as much as we should have. We should have helped you!”

“Helped me how? Try to wean me off lovestealing? Gussy me up in pretty rainbow colors and parade me all around as your reformed changeling?”

Her voice rose and cracked, tidal shocks of emotions surging through her throat. “Oh, it worked fine for Thorax, didn’t it, till…” Her legs flailed as she choked out sentences. “We can’t live on leftover love forever! He couldn’t!”

Chrysalis stood. “We’re predators, Spike. You’d understand that, if you ate meat like a real dragon. We take, and we drain, and we exhaust, and if we try to 'share the love' or whatever insipid slogan your reformation squad has adopted, we fail. Even we can’t hide who we are.” Her eyelids closed, dark veins visible in the morning light. “Sooner or later, we always fall.”

“You do not know what it is like to rule them. I hear my nymphs scream for food, until they grow up stunted and learn they will never get enough. We have learned to be hungry.” Spike tried to slip a word in, but a sudden snort and a stomp from Chrysalis silenced him. “And now you come along, you, the dragon who’s thwarted my plans and starved my hive a hundred times with your heroic ways and your good deeds and your unconscionably irritating habit of stopping me from abducting orphans!”

Spike raised a claw. “Well, okay, that last one is…”

“Do you know how much love you can squeeze from an orphan? Disguise yourself as their dead mother and you’ll have enough to feed a hive!” Chrysalis rose onto her hind legs and aimed a kick at Spike’s haunches. “And you have to drop in with your fire breath and set them all free!”

Her wings whirred at a dragonfly’s pitch. “And now, and now that I’m actually trying to make this love thing work, what do you do? You ruin it all!” Slowly, slowly, she drifted down to earth. “Is it too much to ask for someone to love me for me?”

“Well, not being yourself is kinda your special magical power,” Spike interjected.

“You know, when I was a filly, my father told me all stallions wanted was a hole to stick it in! Well, look at these!” Her perforated limbs flung open wide, sunlight streaming through the grimy gaps. “Take your pick!”

Spike’s jaw worked wordlessly.

“Granted, I never learned what the stallion would do with the holes. Mother started blushing and made him stop before that part.”

The dragon sucked in a moment’s breath. “Wait, you mean you’ve never…” An uneasy cough rattled the ground. “You know, Twilight gave me the, uh, 'birds and the breezies' talk—erm, handed me a book about it, I mean—when I was twelve.” Spike still had fond memories of that book. That lavishly illustrated book. “I don’t suppose you’ve… Have you… Y’know?”

Two dragon fingers curled into an O, and slowly, Spike’s claw thrust back and forth into it as his blush grew ever more explosive.

The queen gazed on with uncomprehending eyes. “I have no idea what you are talking about. My mother ensured I received only the best tutors in my fillyhood, but breezies were considered an inferior race back then, and rarely studied.”

“That’s not the point… I mean, there are things that a momma and a papa pony… or, I guess, a momma and a momma, don’t want to be exclusionary, or a papa and a papa… look, they take their…” The claw-thrusting grew in speed and magnitude. “And they really get it in there… And they… Hold on.” The thrusting came to a sudden climax and stopped. “When you were a filly? Don’t you mean nymph?”

Caked in grunge and oily tears, Chrysalis’s eyes rolled. “No, Spike. I mean filly. Little baby ponies, truly abominable things. I shudder to recall I ever was one.” In a huff, she slumped against his flank, forcing Spike to contort his neck to face her.

“Chrysalis, we always thought you hatched out of an egg, or maybe spawned in the dark pits of Tartarus or something. What are you talking about?”

A hoof wiped grease from her noise. “I can only remember bits and pieces—these holes run straight through my brain, you know—but I used to be a pony.” The breeze whistled through her perforated side, a second harmony to Cadance’s distant orchestra. “Some thousands of years ago, they loved me.”

Green fire swallowed her, and for a moment, she was young. Vibrant fur, iridescent in every color, spread where once cracked chitin formed; wings stretched out in feathered glory, prismatic pinions catching the sun and scattering rainbows across her face.

A face that rotted away as Spike watched. Soon, her disguise eroded to nothing.

“There were statues of me, you know, commissioned by my mother. Maybe if I’d kept one I could remember what I looked like.” She breathed out, the last of her camouflage faded.

“But how did you… change?”

Chrysalis didn’t seem to notice. “The tutors said I was a prodigy at alchemy. I still know the recipe—a tuft of cloud, a bright rainbow’s glow…”

Cogs spun in Spike’s mind. The only recipes he could remember were for gem-related baked goods.

Chrysalis’s voice quavered like an angry child’s. “I gave everything for him, became anything, broke my body and warped my soul to every whim of his tiny, little, shriveled heart! Like I was a doll!” She tried to swallow the rising emotion in her throat. “And now, you come to me, want to make me one of your projects! A trophy, a toy for your collection?

She lifted her eyes to his, green gazing into green. “I’ve been a toy before. Toys break, they go out with the trash, they’re forgotten!”

“Chryssy, what are you talking about? What…”

She launched a knee with enough force to make the dragon wince. “I was born from poison!” Her hoof cracked a scale. “I was tortured by love!” Spittle flew from her jagged lips as she drove blow after blow after blow into Spike’s side. “I… I can’t even remember my mother’s name! But I still see his face, that sickening, worthless, dead face, that face I loved, that face I lost…”

Her strikes fell slower and slower, the tempo of her rage flagging.

“You know nothing about me. You know… nothing.” She slid down, wings dead in the air, hooves splintered and worn.

“No, I don’t.” Spike curled a wing around her, dappled light shining through the thinnest pieces of skin. “But I’m a good learner, if you’ll willing to take on a new student.” A deep breath warmed the ersatz tent.

Whisper-quiet came the reply. “I would be a thorn in your side for the rest of your life.”

“Good thing these scales are tough.” He pondered. “Actually, you did kinda leave a bruise back there, but as long as you’re a metaphorical thorn it’ll be okay.”

She nestled deeper into his immense bulk, scales scratching against chitin. “You’d be an idiot if you thought my story could have a happy ending.”

“But maybe you can have a new beginning.”

Chrysalis’s nose scrunched in disgust. “Stars, that’s cheesy. And I know cheese.”

“Well, that’s the high quality clichés you can expect with me as your husband.”

Poisoned princess and friendly dragon together, they stayed silent for a moment, until the queen spoke again.

“So you know how sometimes big events have children’s choirs? There’s an orphanage down the mountain from here and I’m thinking…”

“No.”

Author's Note

I'm back, bitc... horse friends. And I love you all, so very much.

If it's not clear, "a tuft of cloud..." is the recipe for love poison. This is one of my many, many headcanons about Chryssy's origins, and I'll probably be exploring one of the other ones in another fic someday.

13: This Was Going to Be the Last Chapter, But in the Interests of Getting Things Out in a Semi-timely Fashion I Shortened it and Transformed it into the Penultimate Chapter

The orchestra swelled.

Spike loped down the aisle, his girth flattening a few of the more centrally seated guests. Twilight strode beside him, a wing wrapped around his thinnest claw in the closest approximation of an embrace she could manage without the buttocks-related difficulties of Spike’s growth spell.

“Spike, why is your crown ogling the ushers?” whispered Twilight.

The changeling regalia warped slightly, its amorphous eyeballs boiling to its surface, popping, and reforming elsewhere.

“Don’t really know. Sometimes it whispers to me, but I’ve learned to ignore it.”

Scraping bits of the Smooze off his tail, Spike passed under a colossal flower arch and reached the front, where Princess Cadance stood. A squadron of changelings flanked her, black tears dribbling down some of their perforated cheeks. A few of these mares of honor instinctively bowed to their new king.

Then came the bride. Voices of the children’s choir--rented from an orphanage by Chrysalis’ request—harmonized as the processional climaxed.

Her dress, a diaphanous shroud of spider silk and lace woven together by Equestria’s best tailors, caught the starlight in a riot of color. Opalescent gemstones, crystallized from the Queen’s own slime, hung on every silken strand, all placed under Rarity’s watchful, glassy eyes.

Buttressing the bulk of the vast train, four changelings followed, their behinds leaking with white ooze. Spike jumped to the conclusion that they must have shapeshifted into spiders to produce the silk, that the white ooze was its remnants, and that he did not want to consider that any further.

Swathed in this elegance trotted none other than… Princess Cadance.

The camouflaged bride looked around, saw the other Cadance before her, and sighed. “Force of habit.”

A flare of witchfire dropped her disguise. Soft pink flesh gave way to hard-edged exoskeleton and bubbling slime, causing most of the wedding guests to recoil slightly, and the few who were into that sort of thing to lean in closer.

Her hooves scraped against the red carpet, dark stains forming where she walked. Suspicious fluids dribbled down her throat, fluids that an astute eye might gather had more to do with orphans than was entirely acceptable in high society. On the groom’s side of the aisle, Celestia contemplated if she could somehow detonate the bride and still have grandfoals.

Cadance’s—the real Cadance’s—smile stretched from cheek to rosy cheek. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to…”

Chrysalis—the erstwhile Cadance—butted in. “Look, this is not my first rodeo. Can we…”

“Hey!” A bull in the back yelled.

“No offense to our bovine guests. Can we skip the formalities and… what’s the pony term?”

Spike chimed in. “Get on with it?”

“Yes, get it on. Well, Cadance?” Chrysalis licked her lips, a serrated tongue sopping up the remnants of fluid.

“And gut all the pomp and ceremony?” The princess shrugged. “I used to think you couldn’t rush true love, but Shiny proved that wrong, know what I mean, girls?”

Chrysalis did not.

Cadance’s smile deadened. “Uh, so, um, yeah. Do you, Spike, take this… bug to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Chrysalis butted in. “He does. I do, too.”

The princess raised an eyebrow. “You take yourself to be your wife?”

“That could be arranged. My drones are very skilled shapeshifters.” One of her bride’s mares approximated a blush. “But I don’t think that’s legal this far north.”

Cadance nodded sagely. “Right, so… do you, Chrysalis—”

“Queen Chrysalis.”

Spike rolled his eyes, a colossal endeavour and one he feared he would be repeating quite a lot once he was truly hitched. He cast an askance glance at the castle’s windows, where far above his old friends watched the… Wait.

“—take this dragon to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The windows should be riots of stained glass, but for some reason they looked empty, nothing but bland quartz.

“By the power vested in me by myself, I now pronounce you…”

“If you would so kindly wait a moment, darlings!”

Rarity’s voice, crystal clear, came from down the aisle.