A figure clad in silver and velvet trotted down the torch-lit hallways of Canterlot Castle. Guards bowed low as she passed their stations, until she reached the large, oak door at the hallway’s end. As one, all ten of the soldiers guarding it bowed and stepped aside. A faint blue glow surrounded the door, and it rolled open on silent hinges. Queen Willow Wisp of Equestria nodded, then stepped through the threshold.
“King Goldbough?” she called into the dim room. She took a step forward. “Husband?” Moonlight streamed in from the open balcony door, along with a gently blowing autumn’s night breeze that ruffled curtains and whistled past glass. “Goldy?” she asked, peering out onto the balcony. Her ears pricked at the soft murmur that rose in response.
She trotted out into the night. The moon was large and full in the sky, and a thick blanket of stars surrounded it. The land below was dark, the buildings of Canterlot indistinguishable from the rest of Equestria far below. A stallion sat with one hoof against the marble railing and stared out toward the horizon. His golden mane fell over the rich red cloak that covered his back, and a long grey horn pointed toward the sky.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked, stepping closer. She suppressed a shiver as another cold breeze blew past. “You will catch a cold if you aren’t careful.”
Goldbough shifted, and his cloak whipped in the wind, revealing a dull grey coat beneath. He sighed, still looking out across the city. “Somepony tried to poison Chancellor Luna today.”
“And I suppose they were unsuccessful?” the queen grumbled. She trotted up next to him and sat, their sides only inches apart.
“Of course. They never seem to eat in public.” The king’s eyelids drooped, and his head slumped forward. “Nopony would have noticed the attempt if the Chancellor had not offered the poisoned drink to one of the council pages.”
Queen Willow grimaced. “Is the poor colt all right?”
A sigh. “Yes, though the physicians say that he will most likely be weakened for the rest of his life. The poison did a great deal of damage to his insides.”
“And the poisoner?”
“He is being held for questioning.” The king shrugged limply. “His fate has yet to be decided.”
The queen tensed, her muzzle wrinkling. “And what decision are you favouring?”
He swallowed. “Willow… it really is not my place—”
She turned, finally facing him directly. She sneered. “Whose place is it, then? The chancellors’?” She pointed a hoof at his unadorned head. “The crown is yours, husband. It does not belong to those winged unicorn sisters.”
“Well,” Goldbough muttered, “perhaps it should.”
Willow Wisp froze.
“They have done more good for this kingdom than either of us have.” Goldbough dropped his forehead to the cold marble of the railing. “More than any single pony has.”
Willow was silent for a moment. “And yet… they seem to attract quite a bit of violence. The crossbow bolt last winter… the ambush behind the council house… and now a poisoning attempt.”
Goldbough inhaled. “Neither chancellor has demonstrated anything but goodwill toward the ponies of this nation. They are not to blame for this… rift in Equestria.”
“Oh? Then who is to blame?” She regarded him with piercing eyes. “The royal family? You and I?”
“No,” he snapped, then sighed. “But it is our responsibility to protect Equestria. Even from itself.”
The queen’s eyes widened. “You speak of revolution.”
“We must consider the possibility.”
King Goldbough stared back toward the horizon. The queen’s gaze wandered skyward, her eyes reflecting the silver glow of the full moon. Her jaw clenched.
“And is it not the chancellors’ responsibility to protect Equestria?” she growled. “If they are so benevolent, then why does it fall to us to defuse this situation? It seems to me that they are happy to sit and watch Equestria tear itself apart around them.”
The king swallowed. He turned his eyes back toward his wife. “They have yet to fail us. Not once.” He gestured out over the railing. “For over one hundred years they have gifted Equestria with their wisdom, and we have prospered.” He shuddered. “I do not believe they would fail us now. But…” he looked back at her with tired eyes, “these ‘royalists’ are dangerous. I do not know if there is anything the chancellors can do to assuage them. But if there were no royals for them to represent…”
The queen quietly stood and glared down at Goldbough. He didn’t meet her gaze. “This excessive humility does not suit you. The stallion I married was proud of his heritage.” Her eyes narrowed. “The royal family has been the backbone of Equestria for generations! Never have we cowered in the face of adversity, or ignored the plight of our citizens!”
“I am proud, Willow—”
“Do you think Luna considers herself a servant of Equestria, as we do? Would Celestia stand on the battlefield and fight to defend our home, as our parents did? As your mother did?”
The king shot to his feet, his muzzle inches from his wife’s. “Do not confuse my humility for shame, Willow!” His eyes burned with barely controlled anger. “The ‘royal family’ is a relic of an age when ponies needed authority more than peace. That age is not now.” He snorted. “Did you know that I have taken to locking myself in my study during the day?” The queen’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Once the messengers found that they could not speak with me, they began delivering their missives directly to the chancellors.” Queen Willow opened her mouth, but Goldbough continued, a sarcastic smirk on his face. “Apparently the government has been unprecedentedly efficient this past fortnight.”
Willow took a step back, her eyes darting back and forth. She exhaled slowly. “So what do you plan to do? If we are as unnecessary as you say, then what can we do to quell these royalists?”
Goldbough slumped, all of his enthusiasm draining away. “I do not know. But something must be done.”
Willow was staring past him, muttering to herself. “Even if we publicly abdicated, one of our cousins would claim the throne. The royalists would make sure of it. And even if we could somehow dissolve the entire royal family at once, it would most likely spark a revolution immediately.”
“I know,” the king whispered.
The queen chewed her lip and stared back at him. “However,” she said quietly, “there are not any… ‘alicornists’, so to speak.”
Goldbough raised his head, squinting. “What are you implying?”
“Only that the ponies who support the chancellors hardly seem like revolutionaries. If the chancellors were removed from power,” she raised an eyebrow, “something that is entirely in our purview to do, then the royalists would be satisfied.”
The king scowled. “You are right. Removing Celestia and Luna from power would certainly please the royalists. But at the cost of two of Equestria’s greatest assets. Do you want to show Equestria that the royal family will concede anything out of fear?”
“Ah yes, because dissolving the royal family to prevent revolution simply radiates confidence,” Willow shot back.
Goldbough blinked, then he hung his head. He stepped forward and lifted a leg up and around her shoulders, pulling her in close. Willow leaned forward, meeting his lips with her own.
“I am sorry,” the king whispered. “This kingdom deserves a stronger king than me.”
A warm smile found its way to Willow Wisp’s face. “You are always thinking about the good of Equestria. You are even willing to sacrifice your inheritance to protect its citizens. If that is not the mark of a strong king, I do not know what is.” A light laugh escaped her muzzle. “Besides, if you were strong all of the time, what weight would be left for me to bear?”
Goldbough pulled away. “No, you are right. I let my principles cloud my judgement.” He turned toward the door that lead inside. “Come. I will start drafting some restrictions on the chancellors’ power. Perhaps we can strike a balance.”
Willow lit her horn, and the king froze as her magic wrapped around his tail. “Not so fast.”
He turned around, puzzled.
“I do not like what these royalists are trying to do either.”
Goldbough tilted his head. “But you said—”
“I do not believe the chancellors are blameless, no,” she broke in. “But perhaps there is another way.”
He frowned. “The royalists will not be satisfied with anything short of a complete re-emergence of royal power. If Celestia and Luna retain any potency…”
The queen pursed her lips. “The royalists only object to the chancellors because the sisters are not of royal birth, yes?”
He chuckled. “That is what ‘royalist’ implies. Where are you going with this?”
Willow licked her lips. “There is precedence for the crown to adopt… wards, correct?”
“Not for several generations, but yes, it has happened.”
A catlike smile crossed Willow Wisp’s face. “Then this is what I suggest we do. We will publicly declare our displeasure with the extent of the chancellors’ power. We will strip their station of its importance, and resume our place as leaders of Equestria.” She hesitated, but Goldbough gestured for her to continue. She grinned. “At the same time, we will express our responsibility for these two poor, parentless ponies, and adopt them into the royal family.” A light was dawning in the king’s eyes. “How far down the line of succession would that place them?”
“Below our grandchildren… and their children… and possibly even their children after them.”
“So a few centuries, then.” There was a sparkle in both their eyes as the queen spoke. “But in time…”
“They would be crowned as rightful rulers of Equestria!” Goldbough tapped a hoof on the balcony floor. His face screwed up in thought. After a moment, he laughed. “So we would lose our most valuable chancellors, and the royal family would vanish eventually anyway? Is that not combining the downsides of both our earlier plans?”
“Think of it as a gift to our great-great-great-grandchildren. We will bear the weight for now, and Equestria will have its brightest days ahead of it.” She smirked. “Assuming the chancellors are as competent as you believe them to be.”
Goldbough’s face was once again turned to the heavens. “Can you imagine it? Alicorn queens.” He glanced back at his wife. “It doesn’t sound quite right, does it?”
“Princesses, perhaps?” Willow said, laughing. Goldbough rolled his eyes.
They drew together again and stared out across Equestria. Without taking his eyes off of the sky, Goldbough spoke. “I will prepare the requisite speeches tomorrow. You should go and discuss this with the chancellors. The last thing we want is for them to start a civil war.”
“Oh, no.” Willow Wisp rounded on him. “I am not going to subject myself to that. You go and meet them, and I will write the speeches.”
Goldbough groaned and covered his eyes with a hoof. “But their voices are so irritating! Why must they always shout? It is positively deafening.”
“You fancy yourself a ‘strong king’ do you not?” Willow whacked him in the ribs with a hoof. “Be glad that they at least do not speak in ‘thees and thous’ like our infernal cousins insist upon doing.” She settled back against him.
“That is a tradition I would be happy to see die.”
