“Rise and shine, ladies! Graduation day! Get yourselves dressed and report for duty! No delays, no delays!”

Morningstar was jolted awake by the sound of a horn and the booming voice of his Centurion. Vague memories of the night before filtered through his mind, involving too much wine and too little restraint, and it was likely that a few things were broken. The last thing that he remembered before blacking out was sucking down close to an entire keg of mead, the laughter of his shield-brothers still echoing in his ears. So they had brought him back to bed? They were celebrating something...

Sitting up in bed, the still-groggy trainee watched through still-waking eyes as a barracks full of naked young men, his comrades in arms, leapt to their feet. They kicked open their footlockers, slipping on training tunics and strapping on boots, as all the while Centurion Swordfeather shouted and shook any still-sleeping boys awake. The Centurion cut an imposing sight, six and a half heads of anger with a massive wingspread, already dressed in full plate as he applied a bit of nominal organization to the chaos of a Guardsman trainee’s morning. He was even more frightening right up in Morningstar’s face, staring right into the boy’s eyes, and oh ye Gods he was right there.

“On your feet, Morningstar! You’ll be lucky to place in the Legionnaire Reserves with this kinda initiative!” he bellowed, his voice ringing in Morningstar’s ears and his spittle splattering across the boy’s face. “You think the bad guys are gonna wait for you to get out of bed?! Get your ass in gear!”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Morningstar said groggily, starting to lean out of bed, but the Centurion was not satisfied with his answer, and before Morningstar could even correct his mistake, he was already grabbed by the top of his head, and forced to stare the Centurion in the snarling face.

“Sir?! Do I look like a ‘sir’ to you?! You’d best start talking to me like a proper soldier or I’ll personally throw your ass over the castle walls and let you crawl back home! Now give me a ‘yes Centurion’ and get your ass in gear!”

“Y-Yes, Centurion!”

“Louder, boy!”

“Yes, Centurion!” Morningstar shouted, leaping to his feet as soon as Swordfeather let him go. He didn’t hold the abuse against him – after all, they were training to be Guardsmen, and some, Morningstar included, hoped to join the venerated Holy Guard. But it seemed that the Centurion had found a good target in Morningstar that day, for as the boy slid on the baggy pantaloons of a Guardsman trainee, Swordfeather stood behind him the whole time, goading him, taunting him.

“Not like you to be this sloppy, Morningstar,” he said. “You’re lucky your old man isn’t here to see you fuck up this bad.”

“Yes, Centurion!”

“Thought you wanted to be a Holy Guardsman, boy! You think Holy Guardsmen have time to slip on their socks like dainty little princesses?”

“No, Centurion!”

“If you’re gonna be guarding the High Priestesses, you gotta be disciplined, boy! Though even that won’t help a femme-looking thing like you. The Holy Guardsmen are men, boy, not whatever the hell you are! You still think you got a chance?”

“Yes, Centurion!”

Swordfeather’s wings flapped a few times, and a chuckle rumbled from his throat. Morningstar swallowed. Even now, on the cusp of their graduation into the Guard, the Centurion was still testing their mettle.

“Oh? Why so, Morningstar?”

“I’ve been earning top marks, Centurion!”

“You and sixty percent of the class! What makes you think you’ve got a chance? Just because your old man was in the Holy Guard doesn’t mean you’ll be pressed in because you get decent marks! It’s blood and skill, boy, and you’ve only got the first half!”

Morningstar swallowed back a groan, lacing up his boots, watching the last few trainees rush out the door, their helmets barely strapped on. “With all due respect, Centurion–“

“Don’t ‘all due respect’ me, boy! You think you’ve for what it takes? You can’t swordfight your way to the Holy Guard! It’s strength of soul and strength of body, and you’ve barely got the body! You think you’ve got the soul to handle what’s coming to you?!”

Morningstar stood up, looking up into the Centurion’s eyes, seeing a steely glint reflect off of them back into his. “I’ll give it my best damn shot, Centurion! You can count on that!”

The Centurion’s face held, steely and strong, for what seemed like an eternity. Morningstar dared not to even breathe. No weakness. No going back. Always pushing forward. Swordfeather had beaten at least that much into him. It was only the two of them in the room now. Morningstar swallowed, a thrill in his chest, finally sticking it to the man who had abused him and his comrades for so long, who had steeled them from trainees into brutally efficient soldiers.

Then, Swordfeather chuckled and patted Morningstar on the shoulder. “If you don’t make it in the Holy Guard, boy, you’ll be a hell of a Guardsman. Get the hell outta here and get your ass in line.”

Morningstar breathed out, unable to hold back a grin. “Yes, Centurion,” he said, slapping on his helmet and running as fast as he could from the barracks.

The sun had yet to rise over the Temple of Sol’s courtyard. Dusky, purple skies hung over the training grounds as Morningstar ran as fast as he could, trying to keep up with the growing line of trainees that streamed out of every one of the barracks like salmon at spawning season. It was hard to believe that this was only a tenth of how many had come to become Guardsmen two years ago, but thousands had turned to hundreds within the first few weeks, and now, maybe three dozen young men and women were here to graduate and join the ranks of the Guard.

And from those three dozen graduates, maybe one would join the Holy Guardsmen and personally protect Equestria’s High Priestesses. Most summers, nobody was selected to join their ranks. To be selected for the Holy Guard was a great honor, and as Morningstar fell in line, he swallowed down his fears that he wouldn’t even be considered. He’d worked hard to get this far, and even if he wasn’t chosen to join the Holy Guard, being here, being evaluated by the High Priestesses, being close enough to them to feel their magical radiance was enough for him.

Another horn blared across the training grounds, and the trainees knelt upon the grass as one. Not a single breath was drawn, not a single word was spoken. The shrill voice of a crier broke the silence before Morningstar could contemplate it any harder.

“All hail the High Priestesses!”

“Hail!” cried the guards-to-be in one voice, devout and disciplined.

“High Priestess Cadance, Acolyte of Aphrodite, Mortal Child of the Gods, Defender of the Realm of Equestria, hail!”

The first of the High Priestesses to proceed past the graduating guard class was Cadance, alongside her husband and High Councillor, Shining Armor. Sat together on top of a white horse, the sheer symbolism of it all would have made Morningstar want to vomit were it not expressed by the High Priestess of Love and Compassion. She dressed more like a queen than a priestess, the only token nod towards her status being the cloak and headdress draped around her head. Her Mark, a crystalline heart, was emblazoned upon the headband. Her husband held her around her waist, the face of an equal half of a great marriage. Morningstar’s fist tightened, and he vowed silently to the Gods that were he to be a Holy Guardsman, he would defend their lives and their marriage, saccharine as it could be, with his life. From the reverence of the class’s collective “Hail!”, Morningstar knew he wasn’t the only one making that vow.

“High Priestess Luna, Daughter of Artemis, Rescued from Darkness, Protector of Dreams and Vanquisher of Nightmares, hail!”

The silence became palpable as High Priestess Luna crossed in front of the guard class, followed by a contingency of her Night Guard. Nobody knew what exactly they did, but Morningstar had heard rumors that they were all Dreamwalkers, and stalked the world of dreams destroying nightmares. He stole a peek at the High Priestess as she rode by. Her body was pale, slender, but extremely strong, her bare arms covered in scars and bandages, her eyes filled with a warlike zeal and an unquenchable thirst for justice, her cloak black as night and billowing out behind her in the breeze. If it was true that she was once known as Nightmare Moon, as Morningstar had heard, then she certainly still carried that imposing figure.

Her eyes shifted to glance into his for but a moment, and that single second of the darkness billowing inside of her sent shudders down Morningstar’s spine.

“Hail!” came the cry from the guard trainees, this time somewhat fearful, impossibly respectful. Morningstar knew that if he became a Holy Guard that he would have to earn her respect, and as femme as he was, he anticipated the challenge.

“High Priestess Celestia, Daughter of Sol, She Who Rules Sun and Earth, Mother of All that Lives, hail!”

Morningstar’s head tilted upwards, and he tipped his sallet back to watch Celestia, no, to burn the image of Celestia riding past into his mind. She was radiant. Never in his life had Morningstar seen her in person, and now that she was here, she was real, she was close enough to touch, Morningstar wanted the moment to last forever. She rode no horse, instead leading it across the line, her every step as poised and graceful as a swan in the summer sun, her cloak hiding her form but those glimpses of her legs beneath it revealing them to be long, voluptuous, and most voluminous. And yet was most focused on her face. Even now, it beamed passion and patience, and when it flared into a smile it caused his heart to twist in circles. He was so enamored that he hardly noticed her looking back, not until her smile became wry and she waved at him. He immediately sipped his sallet back over his face and fell into rigid reverence, whispering prayers and praises to all the gods, but particularly Sol.

“Hail! Hail! Hail!” Such was the Guard’s reverence for Celestia that she warranted three cheers, and then some, as the line devolved into a seemingly endless chant of hails, each one a fervent prayer, each one a call for guidance and peace. Few on the line that day were as fervent in their prayers as Morningstar, though, as he begged the Gods to give him a chance, only one, to defend the Daughter of Sol, to be her confidant in times of need, to give his life for her when nobody else would. It was odd, in a way, to beg Sol for a chance to defend his daughter, but begging and pleading was all Morningstar had left to do, as they had already made their choice for who would join the ranks of the Holy Guard.

The horns blew again, and the guards ceased their prayers. An overwhelming silence fell over the courtyard again, so quiet that Morningstar could hear his own heart beating swift with anticipation. Bootsteps behind them thumped across the silence, and Morningstar heard the throaty, blaring voice of Centurion Swordfeather echo across the fields.

“Companyyyy rise!”

As one, the graduating trainees rose. Swordfeather was halfway down the line now, but Morningstar could swear that he heard him chuckle. High Councillor Shining Armor dismounted his horse, his hand lingering on his wife’s thigh before he stepped forward to inspect the men, his face analytical and impassive. Morningstar had heard rumors that his sister was an Archmage, and those rumors seemed easier and easier to believe as the High Councillor passed by once more. He didn’t dare breath as Shining Armor stepped in front of him, looking him straight in the eye. Morningstar swallowed, but held firm at attention.

“You didn’t tell me they were recruiting boys, Swordfeather,” Shining Armor said.

Swordfeather chuckled. “That’s Morningstar, sir. Don’t let his looks fool you. He’s one of the better ones.”

“He hardly looks old enough to be a squire, let alone a Guardsman. How old are you, boy?”

“Eighteen summers, High Councillor,” Morningstar said, breathless. The High Councillor was talking to him. This had to be a sign.

“Summers? You follow the Sun Faith, then?”

“Same as my father, Zweihander, before me.”

Shining Armor’s eyes lit up with an odd sort of realization. “You’re Zwei’s son? Didn’t even know he had one. We don’t count our ages in summers anymore, boy. Not since…”

He looked back at High Priestess Luna, and gave her a curt nod. “Not since the Moon Faith returned to the fold.”

Morningstar’s eyes widened, and he coughed into a tightly clenched fist. A few spluttered chuckles echoed across the line, laughter at his expense, his chest tightening. “I apologise for my ignorance, your Lordship!”

The High Councillor shrugged, and turned to continue on. “It’s of no concern. The change was recent. Show me more of your best, Swordfeather.”

As Shining Armor went down the line, Morningstar went over the conversation in his own head, again and again, whipping himself in his mind over and over. He had spoken out of turn. He should have known better. People had been counting his age in seasons almost the entire time he had been training. He should have been paying more attention. Stupid, stupid, stupid. All he had left for consideration were his prayers to the Gods, and the Gods wouldn’t smile kindly upon his foolishness and ignorance. Even if High Priestess Luna was once the demon called Nightmare Moon… Stupid, so very, very stupid! Sol condemn his spirit to eternal fire!

Shining Armor now stood a stone’s throw away from the recruits, debilitating with the High Priestesses and Centurion Swordfeather in hushed whispers. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could make out their voices just barely, ranging from Luna’s haughty and commandeering tone to Cadance’s careless whispers. But no voice captured the young guard-to-be’s imagination anywhere near as much as Celestia’s. It was so soft, so guiding, so… so motherly. It was the sound of something that Morningstar had missed in his youth, the sound of his late Mother, Sol be with her. Please, Sol, he begged silently. Let me protect her. Let me protect who I couldn’t when I was small.

”Teeeeen-shun!”

If any guard trainees were at ease, they immediately tensed into the picture of military perfection. Morningstar, for his part, realized that his very bones were aching, he had been standing at attention for so long. But he wasn’t about to show the High Priestesses any sort of weakness. Only the best would join the Holy Guard, after all. And as Shining Armor stepped towards the line, Morningstar prepared himself to be the best of the best. Shining Armor cleared his throat, his face filled with stoic professionalism, and not the littlest bit of pride.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve made it, boys and girls. I’m not going to keep you for hours on end as Celestia’s High Chancellor did when I graduated. You all know what you’re undertaking here. It’s a task that tests your strength of soul as much as your bodies. It’s of holy significance as much as it is political. The High Priestesses are more than the leaders of Equestria. They are children of the Gods, whether through blood or merit, and need a God’s strength to keep them and their realm safe from those who would destroy it. Grand Zealot Discord may have reformed his faith into something more compatible with our nation, but the threat of Chaos still looms on the horizon, and many a wannabe dictator is already building up forces in nations beyond our own.”

He smiled. “All of you will protect the Children of the Gods with your lives, if necessary. One of you will take that one step forward and defend them personally. We were spoiled for choices amongst the Guard Class this year, and many of you seem eager to take on the burden of being a Holy Guard. But the demands are so strict, the risk so great, the bar set so high, that we can only select one of you.”

Morningstar breathed in. This was it. The moment of truth. His new life began now. As it had for his father, as it had for his father’s father. Sol guide him.

“...Lucky Clover, step forward.”

Morningstar’s jaw went slack. A young woman stepped forward, her own mouth agape. Lucky Clover?

“Welcome to the Holy Guard, Lucky Clover. Swordfeather tells me you’re one of the most devout and dedicated young Guardsmen here. You’ll fit right in with the rest of the Holy Guard.”

Lucky Clover? Lucky Clover wasn’t Morningstar’s name. He hadn’t even considered her. She was good, but… but she wasn’t even…

His brain was shutting down. Every single thought and process blank and gone. Every single dream falling and collapsing into itself, sinkholes sucking away his thoughts. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be possible. Lucky Clover was…

“Join us, Legionnaire Clover, as we put the night to rest and raise the Sun together. The High Priestesses will be safe underneath your care.”

He wasn’t a Holy Guardsman.

Lucky Clover, the new Holy Guardsman, joined the High Priestesses in a circle. There was humming and chanting, but it all washed over Morningstar like waves upon the sand. His father’s legacy had died in an instant and not a whisper was spoken. He wasn’t a Holy Guardsman. Lucky Clover was. She was in that circle, in that ritual, humming and praying and praising Sol, helping the High Priestesses raise his Sun and lower his sister’s Moon. His family’s legacy was dashed against the rocks with nary a whimper of protest.

As the sun rose above the courtyard, as sunlight gleamed off of Morningstar’s well-polished helm, he stood in shock. He had the skill, the faith, and the legacy. And the High Priestesses just didn’t care. Morningstar told himself not to be jealous, but jealousy billowed in his gut. What did she have that he didn’t?! By what measure did they select her?! Morningstar lowered his head as much as he could get away with, holding back his tears, taking in a shaky breath. There was nothing for it. The Children of the Gods had spoken, and they had not spoken for him.Soon, the sun was raised, the circle broken, and three cheers had broken out as they all became Guardsmen.

“Alright, gentlemen!” Centurion Swordfeather cried, breaking Morningstar’s reverie, though tears still blurred his sight. “Welcome to the Guard! Report to Quartermaster Quill immediately and get back out here for your assignments!”

More cheers, more joyous cries, but none of them came from Morningstar’s mouth. He swallowed down his sadness, and willed his feet to move, following his comrades into the keep, not a triumphant member of the Holy Guard, but a lowly, disposable Guardsman. If his father was watching him from the heavens, he was most likely as disappointed as could be, and Morningstar didn’t blame him. He shuffled indoors, a failure, looking ahead at a life no longer worth living.

Morningstar’s every step through the damp, darkened corridors of the Sunshroud Keep felt as though a thousand stones were piled on his feet. What was he going to tell Aunt Terra Firma? His siblings still living with her? He had told them that he would return a Holy Guardsman, and instead of that, he was going to return from leave seeming merely adequate. An average Guardsman. Exceptional, yes, in the eyes of the layman, but Morningstar’s family went back generations as members of the Holy Guard. Releasing a disappointed sigh, Morningstar stumbled, hung-over and deeply depressed, through corridor after corridor.

It occurred to him that somewhere in his self-reflection he had taken a wrong turn or two. While he had been on enough mock patrols to know every corridor and every turn to every part of the keep, that knowledge was failing him now, and a part of him didn’t even care anymore. What was the point? He was but a Guardsman, most likely going to be stationed someplace cushy if not far away, such as the Zebrican Embassy or the Saddle Arabian desert. Gods, what a boring life that would be. It certainly would make his father’s spirit sing to the heavens to have a son who was merely adequate.

Morningstar found himself at a crossroads between two corridors. Huh. If this was the crossroads he was thinking of, perhaps he could turn eastward and make it to the barracks that way– but High Priestess Celestia was coming from there oh ye Gods High Priestess Celestia was coming.

Morningstar’s eyes bulged from his head for just a moment before he got ahold of himself and hid against the closest wall. She couldn’t see him like this. The tears hadn’t dried from his cheeks yet, and his eyes were stained red from the strain of his disappointment. Yes, the sallet did hide his eyes some, but even from a cursory look, one could tell that Morningstar was not having a great day.

“Morningstar?”

She knew his name. How did she know his name? He didn’t answer, holding his breath, hoping that she’d go away. He couldn’t be seen by the Daughter of Sol like this.

“Morningstar, I’ve been looking for you. Please come out. It’s very important.”

Morningstar blinked. What could be so important? Though if a High Priestess was asking for him, it must be important. Why him?

“The Gods have a greater plan for you, Morningstar. Believe me.”

Morningstar sighed. It wasn’t wise to keep a High Priestess waiting. He wiped away his face as best as he could, and stepped out from the corner, standing at attention. “Here, Your Holiness,” he said, taking a shuddering breath.

“Oh dear! Have you been crying?” Celestia said, rushing, no, gliding to him, and placing a hand on his cheek. Gods, this was embarrassing.

“No, Your Holiness! I…”

“Don’t be ashamed,” Celestia said softly, her thumb resting on Morningstar’s lips. He bit his tongue, swallowing back his protests. How could she be so kind to him? “I understand your disappointment. If I was in your boots, I’d be disappointed too.”

“Your Holiness, I… I don’t mean to sound rash, but…”

“Why didn’t we choose you?”

Morningstar swallowed, and nodded, expecting Celestia’s smile to turn into a cruel scowl. But it didn’t. It only grew warmer and more loving, and Morningstar couldn’t turn his eyes away.

“Like I said,” Celestia said. “The Gods have a greater plan for you. Are you familiar with the Concubini Praetorianae?”

“The… The… Say again, Your Holiness?”

Celestia smiled. “I thought you hadn’t. Most aren’t aware of their existence. You remember your history lessons, yes? All that talk of the ‘old rituals’?”

“I… Vaguely, your Holiness,” Morningstar muttered, his cheeks beginning to glow bright red. He should have remembered. He was top of his class. Yet here he was, a spluttering wreck before an immortal demigoddess, barely capable of putting words together.

“Well, perhaps fate has conspired to bring you here,” Celestia said, patting his cheek and turning around, beckoning him to join her down the southbound corridor. “Come with me, my little Guard, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

The corridor felt endless. Morningstar could have sworn that the temple was only so many steps long, and yet the torches lighting it seemed to stretch on for hundreds of miles. Celestia hadn’t spoken a word for quite some time, and whenever he spoke up, she shushed him, and told him to gaze into the elaborate paintings across the walls. They were abstract, but Morningstar could still vaguely tell what they were meant to convey, narrowing his eyes, observing their elaborate, asymmetrical shapes and patterns.

“Tell me now, Morningstar,” Celestia said, her voice crisp and chipper. “What do you see in these paintings?”

Morningstar cleared his throat, trying to stand up as straight as possible. “They’re abstractions. The ancient Equestrians felt that depicting the perfect Gods in any way would be inherently imperfect. So they used ways of conveying their perfection through abstractions. Circles and four-pointed stars for Artemis, for example. The Saddle Arabians did something similar with their gods.”

“What if I told you abstraction was meant for more than the Gods? That their rituals, too, were buried in these depictions? That the key to the great magic that makes the sun and moon shine upon our fields was here, in these paintings?”

Morningstar tilted his head. “It’s seems very possible, Your Holiness.”

Celestia chuckled, walking backwards now, gesturing towards the paintings. “These rituals are hardly things of the past, Morningstar. Though myself and my sister are their children, and Cadance is one of our most honored friends, we still must have the favor of the Gods to do the great magic of raising the Sun and the Moon. See these paintings here?” Celestia said. She was pointing to a series of scattered purple patterns, with bowing curves and sagging circles, and the thought of what these represented sent shivers down Morningstar’s spine.

“They depict a great famine,” he said softly. “Gods.… Look at all these circles. These are the dead. There must be thousands of these marks…”

Celestia’s eyes softened, and she sighed deeply. “It was certainly a sight to see. Without my sister here to curry favor with Artemis, our crops died by night. Many would awaken to find entire fields being consumed by locusts. Others would have had their farms flooded overnight. The Gods were not happy about her banishment, but there was nothing else I could have done. Either thousands died, or all who opposed her would die. It was…”

Celestia paused for a moment. Morningstar could have sworn he saw her shudder. He stepped forward, thinking of placing a hand on her shoulder, stopping himself just short. What would she do if he… he touched her? He simply couldn’t stand to see his High Priestess so… so sad. Yes, she was a God’s child, but she was also human, and she must have seen so much pain in over eleven-hundred years of life…

Celestia took his hand in hers, smiling at him. For a moment, their eyes met, and Morningstar felt a wave of warmth travel through his entire body. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I usually have no trouble getting through this part, I assure you, but I must stress the importance of what I will be asking you to do.”

She didn’t let go of his hand as she continued to guide him through the corridor, waving a hand towards the paintings, causing parts of them to glow. “As I said, only through great ritual are we able to gain the Gods’ favor. Most rituals are tame, things that anyone can do. A sacrifice of bread or water, the burning of wool or molted feathers, giving up pieces of ourselves to give ourselves to the Gods. You know this, of course, as you grew up in a Sun Faith household. Had you grown up with the Moon Faith, you would know that even greater sacrifices exist, sacrifices that vanquish nightmares and protect the realm of dreams. But for truly great magic, it takes more than sacrifice. Sol, in particular, demands communion.”

Morningstar blinked. “Communion, Your Holiness?”

Celestia chuckled, a bit dryly. “Well, yes. There are few things more glorious than the human form, after all. And the Gods share in our joys and our sorrows when they are well-earned. It is the responsibility of the Priesthood, as well as the Praetorianae, to engage in these communions. Some are tame – communal prayers, shared chants, festivals held to honor a sacrifice or holiday. You already know of those. Others, ones hidden from public eye, can get… pretty wild.”

Morningstar glanced at the wall, and he felt his jaw go slack. “Y-Your Holiness, I… Did someone tamper with these paintings?”

“What makes you say that?” Celestia said, her voice sugary sweet.

“These colors, these lines, these patterns… this is depicting an orgy, High Priestess!”

“Told you,” Celestia said, beaming at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “This is the responsibility of the Concubini Praetorianae, Morningstar. Working hand and hand with the Faith’s Priests and Priestesses in rituals ranging from prayer sessions to…”

She tilted her head at the painting in question. “Well, that’s one of the tame ones. Not a length of rope in sight.”

Morningstar pulled away his hand, biting his lip. “This… This is insane! The faith is beautiful, not debauched!”

“You’re preaching to the choir, my boy,” Celestia said, putting her hands on her hips. “Besides, there is nothing debauched about this. Sex for the sake of the Gods is glorious, perhaps the most enjoyable sort.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Celestia?”

Celestia chuckled, stepping towards Morningstar and taking him by the hand again. “I understand that this is a lot to take in, Morningstar, but you needn’t put me on a pedestal. What I’m asking of you is a great honor. I don’t let just anybody join the Praetorianae. You’re a very skilled young man, from magic to swordfighting. You’re physically, mentally, and magically strong, stronger than most even already in the group. And you’ll be able to know me, know all the High Priestesses, in more ways and more often than most anybody.”

“I am not a prostitute,” Morningstar spluttered.

“I’m not asking you to be one, you silly boy,” Celestia said, taking his other hand and and squeezing them together, looking into his eyes. “It’s not all sex and festivals. Think of it as something beyond even the Holy Guard in terms of closeness. Were an assassin to leap into my bedside window, a blade at the ready, do you think the guards outside my door would know? Even Luna sees the defensive need for a man, or woman, in one’s bed who is willing to die to defend their bedfellows. Sol heard your prayers, Morningstar. Believe me, if anyone would know, it would be me. You wanted to protect me more than anything. It’s more than merely the sweet musings of a young man.”

Morningstar took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I…”

“Please,” Celestia said softly, her eyes wide and filled with hope. “Join us. Join me. Let us make this world brighter together.”

Morningstar swallowed, lowering his eyes. He couldn’t say no, not to her, not to the woman who he had prayed to defend and who was the child of his God. Yet he still had some… reservations. One that felt immediately important to the job.

“High Priestess, I am honored that you would consider me for this,” he said, softly. “But… Well, I’m not sure why you would choose me. I, erm, have never really… consumated before.”

Celestia let out a small, silken laugh, patting Morningstar on the cheek. “Oh, I knew that! Silly boy, if this was about experience I would have a stable of whores, and despite what you’re hearing from me, that’s hardly what the Praetorianae are about.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you, Your Holiness,” Morningstar mumbled, thoroughly embarrassed, his sandy skin turning a bright red hue right to the tips of his ears. Celestia ran her hand down Morningstar’s chest, and though there was a tunic between her fingers and his pectorals, Morningstar could feel the sheer heat behind her touch. Was this a sort of magic, or was it just him, feeling more sensitive than ever before? He caught Celestia glancing downwards, and his blush grew even brighter.

“Oh, tut, tut, Morningstar, don’t worry about that,” she said, her arms wrapping loosely around his shoulders. Gods, she seemed so tall... “You’re built like nobody else in the Praetorianae, you know.”

Morningstar swallowed. “I am?”

Celestia smiled, a crooked, almost mischievous smile, her fingers tracing down Morningstar’s sides. He realized that his own hands, armored in heavy gauntlets, were resting on Celestia’s hips, and that beneath her cloak, the High Priestess left little to the imagination. She wore a single-piece silken garment of some sort, that slung over her shoulders and under her bottom, like some sort of sling. She was dressed like this the whole time, but had kept it literally under wraps, the bulk of her cloak now softly flowing back and forth in the light draft within the halls. She had the body of a goddess. Even underneath his gloves it felt nearly hot to the touch. Every curve was like the stroke of a paintbrush, starting slim and ending thick, and Morningstar had only heard mere tales of women with such bountiful, buxom–

Celestia pulled away, laughing airily to herself, her cloak seeming to wrap around her body once more, shielding it from Morningstar’s gaze. “Goodness, I’m sorry, Morningstar, I got a little carried away,” she said.

Morningstar blinked. The High Priestess apologizing? To him? He shuffled a bit, trying his best to adjust his trousers around the, ahem, snakelike new obstacle within. Dammit. He had never been harder in his life. Hardly her fault. He bowed his head, placing a fist against his chest, the traditional salute of the Guard.

“Your Holiness, it’s nothing to apologize for,” he said. “I… I kind of liked it, to be honest.”

Celestia giggled, airily, awkwardly, and Morningstar felt a great weight fall away from his shoulders. Yes, she was an immortal child of the gods, but she was as human as anyone else in the Temple, perhaps even more. For what was more human than mistakes made, and feelings overflowing causing a bit of awkwardness now and then? “I’ll take it you’ll join us, then? As… heavy as the responsibility may be, the Concubini Praetorianae is as much of an honor as the Holy Guard. In my opinion, arrogant, though holy, as it can be, it’s more of an honor.”

Morningstar nodded, kneeling before the High Priestess, hand on his heart. “I accept, Your Holiness. I will try to be worthy of this great gift you’ve given me.”

Celestia smiled, kneeling herself, placing a hand on Morningstar’s shoulder. “You’ll prove worthy in due time, my faithful Praetorian. Now, stand, and come with me. There is much to do in preparation of your Initiation.”

Author's Note