Vanhoover was the home of the great citadel that overlooked the unending salt plains, as well as the last vestiges of the old royalty. The sky around the sprawling city was thick with massive spiralling plumes of dense black smoke, flakes of shiny metal fluttered in the air down from the sky, the dense chaff a consequence of Vanhoover’s industry. As Sunder and Steorra were escorted through the city, he saw scarcely few ponies who didn’t have black soot on their coats. In the streets, malnourished colts and fillies wandered unaccompanied, and from a glance, Sunder saw their misery in their eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to look overlong at anything here. It reeked of decay, sadness, and of a society broken. The small relief any worker got was, in the end, their source of decaying lungs and early deaths. Tia was obscured by thick black smog, but whilst it served to alleviate the heat slightly, it was a constant reminder to those that lived here they would never be out of the shadow of death and labour. The guard served multiple purposes, and each one of them was essentially a petty king or queen of the post they were assigned, having free rule to dictate over every citizen in the city should they choose. Whilst they wandered the streets, Sunder noticed that the common folk would avert their eyes whenever the guard passed them, too afraid to even look their way. A system of raising morale amongst the guard, as well as making sure the working class were obedient to the whims of those in power. Sunder had been to Vanhoover once before as a young stallion, and even after nearly twenty years, it was still a stagnant cycle of sorrow he had come to lay his eyes upon so very long ago.

Adorning nearly every building was the banner of the royal family, a platinum circlet on a field of blue. It was simple and betrayed an elegance nowhere to be found in the city. The Royals have said to been around since before the doom that sundered the world when supposedly Tia and Na would swap places in the sky. Sunder believed it hokum of course, but he couldn’t deny there was a time when the present was good enough for elegance to flourish in the last city of the Royals. Now, it was nothing more than an elaborate hovel, with gutters pungent with the smell of shit, and orphaned foals left on the streets to die.

He kept Steorra close to him, silencing him with a stern stare whenever he opened his mouth to speak, glancing at one of the guards just in time to just see him look away. He knew he couldn’t have fought them off, so he acquiesced to being escorted to the palace as 'guests’. He didn’t know why they didn’t just skip all pretences graciousness and just state clearly what they were. You didn’t need shackles to be a prisoner.

From not too far off the dual marble towers of the palace came into view, tops obscured in smoke, large gaping cracks in the once smooth stone spanning the entire length of obelisk like constructs. In the middle of the two large spires, there was a fortress, an abominable construction of marble, stone, and metal. A haphazard joining of materials to keep it standing over the millennia, a large gaping maw of a gate at its front, and Sunder could see the twinkling of eyes in almost every crenel - of which there were many. Fear and paranoia were a seed in the mind of the Vanhoovans. It was how they ruled their pitiful ‘kingdom’. Sunder knew of the Western hordes that crossed the salt sea. They hadn’t been seen in centuries, but the memory of their pillaging and plundering of the land was unearthed constantly, reminding the common folk both in the North and South of the only thing standing between them and the horned beasts.

The captain, adorned in his purple plumed helmet, lead them through the portcullis-like entrance of the castle, nodding up to a couple of guard ponies atop the bastions as he walked sauntered through. Sunder read pomposity in the stallion, it seemed to encapsulate his entire being. His chin was kept at a constant tilt, and he never once glanced toward anypony that he deemed beneath him and he carried himself as if his steps were not on flattened dirt, but as if the entire world was his carpet. Sunder dealt with his type before. They tended not to live very long…

The interior erred on the side of ‘nice’, Sunder wasn’t a fantastic judge of aesthetics. The lack of windows left the entire interior dim with only the flickering flames of torches and high hanging chandeliers to light their way, dried candle wax on the stone floor. The contingent hoofsteps echoed in the wide hallways, occasionally muffled when they came to walk over a frayed carpet, which was messily strewn around covering the floor like patchwork on clothing. Sunder found that there was something to admire the dedication they kept at keeping up the illusion of a time long passed, even if he thought it was complete lunacy. “Guard your tongue,” the captain warned, keeping his eyes forward as he leads. “Do not part your lips nor teeth unless commanded to by the Queen.”

Sunder glanced at the captain a wry expression. “She expectin’ us?”

The captain, again, refused to look anywhere but forward. “Always,” he replied curtly. “And do not refer to the Queen as anything but. To do so is to disrespect the Queen, and an affront to us.”

“Duly noted.” I’m surprised his head isn’t plastered in her shit, it’s so far up her ass. Sunder looked down to Steorra and the back up. “How long the Queen have us in her company.”

“That is for the Queen to decide. It is simply my task to bring you to her,” he replied.

“You said the Queen wasn’t expecting us. How could you have been tasked with it?”

“Duty,” he replied simply, and left it at that.

Duty. Is that what he calls it? He would’ve scoffed aloud if he didn’t want to risk bringing ire upon his son, the young colt didn’t appear afraid, but Sunder knew better.

The deeper they went into the palace the more the wide halls seem to narrow on him, the further in he went the more and more he felt them tighten around his neck, choking him. He contemplated an attempt to flee with Steorra, but he knew that the attempt would leave him maimed and imprisoned or killed. Either would only delay what they had in store for his son. A small piece of him was optimistic, despite his overwhelming cynicism. Perhaps their intentions were not as malevolent as first impressions would imply, but Sunder thought this extremely unlikely.

The captain stopped before two golden doors that spanned the entire length of the wall, two less extravagantly armoured stallions flanking either side of them. He turned to face Sunder for the first time, staring at him with thinly veiled contempt, his magenta eyes looked like blood in the dim light. “Keep your posture straight, your eyes aligned with the Queen’s, and no speaking unless ordered,” he instructed with a snap. “The guard will not tolerate any disrespect toward her majesty.”

“I understood the first time,” Sunder replied drily. “Just get this over with. We have a journey to make.”

The captain smirked. “You will not want to be out of the Queen’s presence once you’ve lingered in it.”

“That so? Sounds to me we’re not going to have the choice whether to leave it or not,” he speculated, arching a brow.

“True,” he replied simply, and his curtness began to annoy Sunder.

The doors began to open, being pulled from the other side by unseen figures Sunder assumed were there. He squinted his eyes at the light as it streamed through the crack, the dichotomy of brightness between the hall and what came through the door caught him off guard. Walking in, the sheer scale of the room looked as though it would collapse in on itself at any given moment; the distance from the entrance to the adjacent side would leave a more unfit pony winded. Monolithic pillars were erected to hold its foundation, with a gigantic crystalline ball dangling from the middle of the ceiling; light sparkling from the gargantuan orb, filling the entirety of the room in a light just shy of being too bright and possessing an uncanny warmth. The room was also eerily quiet despite its size, aside from the sound of footsteps echoing off the smooth tiled stone. Seeing Steorra’s eyes wander in wonderment alleviated some of the tension on his shoulders, but did nothing to curb his guard, of which he was steadfast.

Near the end of the room, they reached a raised pomp, coming to stop at the bottom of a small set of stairs; the throne at its peak. Elaborate and wide, silver or platinum, and beneath a canopy - one made of purple silk - a grand throne lay. It was an elaborate throne for its sitter, a decadent piece of furniture covered with throw pillows for the monarch to drape across. Stopping before it, the captain prostrated himself at the bottom of the stairs, his head pressing against the stone. Sunder looked awkwardly to the colt, and mimicked the gesture, casting an eye to Steorra to do the same.

“Guests,” Sunder heard a feminine voice speak, delicate on the ears, soft as feathers. “It had been so long since we’ve been graced with such a privilege, Anvil. But these aren’t dignitaries, traders, or the false nobility. All I see are a colt and a stallion, a bit rough for wear to be anypony of significance, wouldn’t you say?”

“My Queen, if I may speak, I bring not just guests. But a mighty prize, your highness. A true rarity in the world, more valuable than any diamond or ore,” Anvil spoke in a near pantomime, rising to his hooves. Sunder wondered if he should do the same, but the guards flanking remained in the gesture of submission.

“And what is this prize you speak of, Anvil?” Sunder head the Queen reply sceptically, the shift in tone was subtle. Hard to tell her voice was so low.

“A unicorn…” he hung on the reveal, like an amateur show-pony.

The silence lingered in the air for several moments, as if time had come to a stand still.

“Rise,” the Queen commanded, and Sunder complied; looking up at the monarch on her throne. She owned a pair of almond shaped sapphires for eyes, a long elegant bounty of blonde flowing locks that fell like a cascade down her neck, a stark white coat and a pretty face; her attractive body draped over several cushions. She possessed a beauty that was unlike any other mare he had seen, and with that, he knew she commanded the loyalty of many, he knew she was dangerous. Her crown was nothing more than a glorified circlet, with a hole for in the centre of her forehead, for the horn that wasn’t there. “A unicorn, in my midst? I am truly fortuned. Actually, there hasn’t been a true unicorn present in this throne room for quite some time, and thus I am living in history unfolding. Whilst their blood is in my veins, I lack certain… attributes. Thank you, Anvil, for this gift.”

“I am honoured to be in your gratitude, my Queen,” he expressed his graciousness, bowing low to the floor, almost appearing on instinct. Sunder rolled his eyes.

“Now you,” she directed toward Sunder, her head at a slight tilt. “The unicorn colt was born of your seed?”

Sunder blinked, arching a brow. “Yes… your majesty. I am the colt’s father.”

“A Northern father, but Southern colt? My, my, a surprising sight. Does blood of the unicorn flow through you?” she asked, hoof going to her chin. “Father, grandfather, great grandfather?”

“No, your majesty,” he answered. “It was his mother’s grandmother.”

“And what of the mother? Where is she?”

“Gone,” he answered simply.

“A shame,” she replied passively, head leaning on her hoof. “There are so few left in the world. My great grandfather made the mistake of siring foals with a pony of impure blood, unfortunately. Of course the foal was a bastard, but unfortunately the only child he ever had. My grandfather, I’ll have you know. The first pony in almost a millennia to be born lacking the gift. He tried to reintegrate purity back into the line by consorting with his aunt… he partially succeeded actually.”

“And what happened with this… success?” Sunder asked, trying to hide his disgust, earning a scowl from Anvil.

“Rotting,” she smirked, leaning back in her throne. “Your colt. How much? I’ll even be willing to pay despite diluting my dynasty with Southern blood.”

Sunder felt the flames of anger within him being stoked at her casual barter. He checked around him, his eyes flicking to the five or so guards surrounding him, each with an eye firmly on him alone. “I will not sell you my son.”

“Oh?” she looked bemused, arching a brow. “I thought you’d be jumping joy at having your burden potentially taken from you, and for whatever you desire as well. Does material goods not satisfy you? I could offer you mares, stallions, even little colts and fillies if that be your desire, you’ll find I don’t judge.”

“You will not have him,” he snapped, resolute, glaring at her with fire. “One, or a thousand, I will kill all of you if you lay a hoof on my son.

She wore a hollow expression… before her maw parted, spewing forth horrendous laughter. “You mistake thinking you have any choice in the matter, but you amuse me, and for that, I’ll allow you live for the time being. Guards, escort the colt to my chambers. Take the father alive. I’ve always wanted a pet. See about removing his tongue, I’d prefer if I didn’t have to hear his grumblings.”

Author's Note

I apologise for the delay in this chapter, as well as its length. I have only 10 days left until the deadline, so this may spur the release of more chapters. I have five more chapters planned, so I need to be pumping out one every two days at least, thus why I haven't gotten anyone to pre-read after the first two/three chapters. This fic is the sole reason other stories I had planned were put temporarily on hold. However, as soon as the burden of a deadline is lifted from my back, I assure you that my other fictions/requests will be worked on.

Notes: Originally the Queen was going to be an abomination in the literal sense as described by Big Macintosh, but I opted to make her an abomination a la product of incest alone. Originally she was both going to be horrendous, but I opted against it. Also, I was originally way back not even going to feature this setting. However whilst this story was in its early stages I saw the train tracks on the map of Equestria went directly to this location, and I thought I'd make use of it. Also, in the story's canon, the North Luna Ocean is actually a lake, hence the description of Vanhoover looking over the salt plains. Also, all the locations within this story took into account the map.