“He’ll be fine,” said Blueblood, peering through the telescope. “He’ll definitely be fine.”
Shining Armor let a griffon’s spear crack against his magical shield. The sound echoed through the arena, making Blueblood flinch. Before the griffon could blink the shield snapped outward and then closed back in like a net, encapsulating him in a harmless bubble.
The Margess scoffed as she peered down into the gaping pit of the arena, opened like a sore into the earth with all the blood and stink to match. “He’s putting on a good show, that’s for sure,” she said, twisting a lock of her light purple mane around the tip of her hoof. Blueblood could not tell if she was bored or interested by the sight of Shining Armor’s martial prowess. “However, I think the fifth round will give him trouble. They usually bring out White Tusk by then. I hope they do. He is making shorter work of the plebeians faster than most competitors.”
Blueblood coughed loudly, trying to keep air going from his lungs to his brain; this contest kept making him hold his breath. He didn’t mean for the Margess to hear that. Ever since Shining Armor had acquiesced to the lunatic demands of the Principate, he couldn’t seem to get a good breath in or out of his lungs. If Celestia or Luna, or heaven forbid, Cadance find out what he had allowed Equestria’s most valiant captain to do…
“It is good to hear a sponsor who actually stands by their fighter, of course,” the Margess murmured, reclining back into her cushioned chair. Satin silk hissed over her shapely hips like restless snakes. “One finds it difficult to stay excited by about the fourth round.”
Blueblood glanced around the stands. The crowds had already diminished by half, and the contest wasn’t even close to complete. But who could blame the ponies of the Principate for getting distracted, even from the harsh spectacle of blood sports? Not even the greatest palaces in Equestria came close to the unrestrained extravagance the Principate lavished on its nobility. Every surface was gilded in gold or covered in polished marble, every hard edge smoothed by velvet cushions and organic, flowing architecture. Servants from a dozen different races scurried back and forth, eager to please every whim of the Principate’s noble families. And this was just seating for the arena.
Of course, the Principate had paid dearly for their riches, but not in gold or silver. The Principate was hungry for much, much more.
“He is the Captain of the Royal Guard and has faced worse than griffons and minotaurs,” Blueblood replied with a confidence he did not feel. “He will be fine.”
His heart leaped into his throat as Shining Armor ducked a swing from a griffon’s claymore.
The Margess peered at him through slitted eyelids. Her ruby-red eyes seemed to gleam, and Blueblood pressed his face against the telescope’s lens just to avoid looking directly at them.
“It is a wonder you Equestrians have survived for so long,” she wondered, “if griffons and minotaurs even register as troublesome to you.”
“We are not all as blessed,” Blueblood said with practiced diplomacy, “with the presence of such a stern and uncompromising protector as yourself, your Ladyship.”
“And your Princesses, they are not… stern?” the Margess said with a dismissive roll of her hoof.
“They are what they need to be, nothing more, nothing less,” Blueblood said quietly. He tried to look her in the eyes to say that, but only managed as far up as her neck. Her shapely, elegant neck. Yet her curves teetered between attractive and uncanny. Every part of her was shapely, as though it had been shaped. Molded, carved from unflinching stone. It was awesomely pitiful.
“Do come away from there, Prince Blueblood,” the Margess sighed, clapping her hooves. A team of griffons brought a palanquin, and she slipped from her chair onto another bed of cushions. The Margess had wings, but Blueblood hadn’t seen her use them since they arrived. “Shining Armor is a fine specimen to watch, but he will be distracted for quite some time. Let us retire to the upper levels. You may still watch the fight from up there, if you are so invested.”
“One can hardly not be invested in the fate of one’s friend,” Blueblood said with stoic resolve, hefting the telescope on his back. As long as Shining Armor was down there, he wanted to keep one eye on the action. It was his head as well as the Captain’s on the line if they failed.
“He’s not even trying to hurt the other competitors,” the Margess said with languorous indifference as her servants took the air, hovering several feet off the ground. Blueblood had to admire their control; he barely heard the flapping of wings. “He’s just putting them in bubbles. Hardly the most imaginative method of incapacitation.”
“Well, nopony ever said the Captain was chosen for his wit,” Blueblood said with a chuckle he had to force through his too-tight throat. “His cutie mark is a shield, not a razor.”
The Margess made a condescending tsk. “You Equestrians. I can assure you that will not serve him well in later rounds. White Tusk once slaughtered a basilisk by pulling its guts out by its tongue.”
Blueblood shrugged. “And Shining Armor once defeated an evil wizard by chucking his wife off a balcony. Which is more believable?”
“And you believe in Shining Armor? More than one sponsor has cheated in favor of their champion. I have often encouraged it to help even the odds.”
“Shining Armor believed in me,” Blueblood said, straightening his neck. “That was enough. When we went to Yakyakistan, he confessed I could do nothing right, and I confess I wasn’t sure I could either. But he stepped aside and put his faith in me. I can only do the same for him. And as a plenipotentiary for Equestria, I will not represent our great nation by stooping to foul play. I believe in what we came here to do.”
The Margess tittered behind her hoof. “Oh, Prince Blueblood, it does not matter what you believe. What matters is what happens. And White Tusk happens to be the Principate’s premier champion.”
They made it to the open veranda at the top of the arena’s circle. It was clogged with ponies, hippogriffs, minotaurs, even a young dragon or two, some of them wandering back down the path to the palace looming overhead, arched windows leering like the eyes of a giant at the ants swarming below. Others peered over the rim of the veranda, down into the pit. Not a single one of them dared to look up and acknowledge their ruler among them.
“Look out at it all, Prince Blueblood,” the Margess said with a grand wave of her hoof. She tossed her head, her mane cascading down around her eyes. “Everyone here knows the value of service and sacrifice. It is beyond doubt what I have accomplished here. It is without question that I have gathered a dozen nations under my banner, it is utterly inconceivable that my power should be challenged. You come to me with your lofty vision of a changing world, of somepony as powerful as myself groveling and scraping for forgiveness before your Princesses? You can believe whatever you like. You can believe that Shining Armor will prevail over my champion. You can believe that I will loosen my grip on power and cease my harrassment of your ships. You can believe that the bond between one pony to another is stronger than the bond between myself and my nation. But it will not avail you. I am the mover and shaker of this entire continent. I am yes and no.”
“You’re a loony,” Blueblood muttered. He flagged down a servant and took a glass of champagne.
“Thank you, Silver Step,” he said. The stallion jolted, as if shocked to be recognized, and withdrew before the Margess’ gaze stayed on him too long.
Blueblood downed the champagne in one quick gulp. He needed liquid courage more than he liked to admit. “Did you even know that pony’s name?” he wondered. “Do you know the names of anyone here?”
“I know the names of the ones that matter,” the Margess stated coolly. “I hope you are not basing the legitimacy of a ruler on whether or not they know the names of a serving staff two thousand strong.”
“Of course not,” Blueblood said, waving for more drinks. A minotaur came this time, who had to kneel down so Blueblood could swipe another glass. It shook in his hoof as he slugged that one down too. “Thank you, Rocksteady.”
“What are you trying to prove?” the Margess whispered. She squinted at him, and from the shade of her palanquin, he saw her eyes were definitely sparkling. He felt the cloud of magic pressing in all around, caging in whatever spells he might be preparing. But her net found none, because Blueblood was too utterly terrified to even think of trying something more brash than talking. Talk was cheap. Talk was effortless. Talk was all he had, apart from the word ‘Prince’ in front of his name. And what was a Prince who couldn’t talk like one?
“You were insulted when the Princesses did not turn up in person, weren’t you?” he asked.
“If I were insulted you would not be standing here,” the Margess said, bristling.
Blueblood shook his head, as though greatly disappointed. “No, you were not insulted, of course not. You were depressed." He flagged down another servant, threw back another glass of champagne. No, wait, he realized those were spirits on the way down. “Thank you, Harvest Dream,” he said, trying to cough politely.
“Your lordship,” the demure mare whispered, hiding a smile behind her mane as she retreated.
“The Princesses,” Blueblood said after he stopped his heaving, “are not going to meet with you, Margess. In fact, I hope they never do. I would not want them to stand in the same room as you, not because I fear for them, or fear for you. It is because you remind me entirely too much of myself in my younger days.”
The Margess opened her mouth to speak, but Blueblood just kept going. Behind him the crowd gasped at something in the arena. White Tusk had just been brought out, apparently.
“If you were insulted we wouldn’t be standing here,” said Blueblood, “but here we are. In lieu of the Princesses, you wanted whatever audience you could get. So you threw this lavish feast. You called for games to ‘honor’ us, but you haven’t even shown me around to a single one of your nobility. You don’t care what they think of you. You don’t care what I think of them. You want the Princesses and the ponies who have done such… unbelievable things to stand up and take notice of you.”
“How dare you,” the Margess hissed. “Presuming you know somepony like me.”
“I know you because I used to be you,” Blueblood said, shrugging as he let the wine glass drop from his hoof to shatter on the stone floor. The noise echoed and drew some stares. They seemed affronted at the brashness of the Equestrian upstart, but really Blueblood had just thought Harvest Dream was still standing there with her tray to catch the glass. He was terrified. The cloud of magic pressed in tighter, invisible yet terribly tangible. The Margess seemed poised to crush him like a grape.
“Look at you," he said. "You even gave yourself wings. But you are no alicorn, your Ladyship.”
Now the Margess stood up, feathers ruffling and wings snapping out to their full length. She lunged from the palanquin and reared to her full height. Blueblood gulped. She was about as tall as Luna, and only about half as fearsome, but that was like saying a lion was half as fearsome as a dragon.
“I am no alicorn?!” she thundered. “I am the lifeblood of this kingdom! I am its beating heart! Behold!”
She turned and extended her hoof. A massive thrumming noise vibrated through the bones of every attendant, and everyone present save Blueblood was forced to their knees by magical compulsion. The griffons bearing her palanquin squawked as they were tossed to the ground, their carriage collapsing. Blueblood stood still and awkward amidst a sea of prostrating creatures.
“Could your Princesses fight me when one of their servants cannot even withstand my power?!” the Margess bellowed. Her shout echoed into silence.
“But they won’t fight you,” Blueblood whispered. “They don’t want anything to do with you. Just like nopony wanted anything to do with me, and all the cakes and all the demands for open doors will do nothing to change that. You can try to compel them… but you’ve already failed to compel me, or Shining, or any of the Princesses to do your bidding.”
The Margess huffed and stomped her hoof, but she said nothing else. She didn’t need to. The vapors of blood-red magic streaming from her eyes told Blueblood he was dancing on the edge of a very explosive death.
“But I’ll tell you this, your Ladyship,” Blueblood said, daring to turn his back if only he did not have to see the raging ball of death looming over him, “the reason I and everypony else in Equestria will never bow is simply because you are powerless to us. Not because you can’t destroy me with your magic. But because that isn’t what you really want to do at all, and what you want out of us is impossible to get. You said it does not matter what we believe, only what happens. And if you wish to escalate the tensions between our nations, you can definitely try and see what will happen. I don’t know what that is, but I don’t think it will go very well for you.”
He calmly set up the telescope at the edge of the veranda balcony, but only because he held it in such a tight grip it almost broke in his magic. Then he peered downwards, where the arena had mostly gone silent, what few spectators remained gawking back and forth between the action and the sound of their ruler screeching like a harpy.
In the pit, Shining Armor and White Tusk stood before each other, staring one another down as they shared words nopony could hear. As they watched, White Tusk planted his spear in the ground, and the great minotaur calmly sat cross-legged on the arena sand. The other bubbled competitors watched in stunned silence.
Blueblood made a satisfied grunt. At least one thing had gone right today.
“White Tusk! That coward,” the Margess hissed over his shoulder. “I should kill him right now.”
“Mmm. Yes. You should,” said Blueblood. “It would be a mighty spectacle, wouldn’t it?”
He folded up the telescope again without bothering to see what happened next. “But, you know. We won’t be here to watch. All this alcohol is going to my head.”
