Friday, September 4th, 909 AB (the next day)
Breakfast

“Good morning, your highness, your majesty, Lady Minerva!” Cool Mint cheerily greets as they arrive and take their seats. She leans back through the door and makes a beckoning motion with her wing to call forth the staff, hopping closer and clopping her forehooves as she continues, “I hope you’re all very hungry on this magnificent Friday morning!”

Along with the typical fare of breakfast confections, bowls of a cereal-like mixture are slid in front of the group, the princess’s portion naturally double the others’ as Cool Mint gives her description of the meal. “Today we have a delicious and nutritious muesli, a traditional meal from the southeast regions of Maremany. Rolled oats, sun dried apricots, golden raisins, toasted pecans, slivered almonds, and a mix of yummy berries all in a slightly sweetened yogurt and seasoned with a dash of cinnamon and brown sugar. Enjoy!”

The three begin chowing down on their meals until Cure, mid bite, pauses and hits his spoonful with a Warming cantrip. Amethyst and Celestia pause to watch as he takes an experimental bite and tilts his head side to side in consideration. Finally coming to the conclusion he prefers it heated, he warms his bowl then looks to his mother questioningly. She holds up a spoonful in offering which he promptly heats. A testing bite later she shakes her head no, deciding she prefers the cooler breakfast to start the warm summer day with.

The three eat in silence for a moment, finally shattered when the colt decides to speak up. “So I was thinking -”

“You poor thing,” Celestia interrupts. “Shall I fetch you an ice pack?”

The withering glare he shoots her is met with a smug smirk.

“Funny. So, as I was saying, I was thinking I should do something for the night shift guards, too. The day guards have had unlimited snacks and drinks all week, plus I’ve been able to grab anypony who came in with something wrong with them. The night guard, on the other hoof, hasn’t been able to take advantage of the clinic while I’ve been asleep.”

“So… you are proposing that you open your clinic overnight?”

“Yup.”

“Tonight?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Will that not tire you out? You do recall we have dinner plans this evening and you have dance class with Azure and Misty tomorrow morning.”

He brushes the concern away with a flick of his hoof. “Not a problem, boss. I’ve been getting up every Saturday morning at three for junior guard training for months now. I can just take a nap after dance tomorrow if need be.”

“I suppose if you are certain,” she tentatively agrees, turning to Amethyst to ask, “assuming your mother approves as well?”

His mom shrugs indifferently and bobs her head. “He’ll be fine.”

“Very well. I will send a message to the Medic Corps to see if anypony is available this evening.”

“No need,” he assures her. “I’ll prepare the paperwork showing everything I did in the morning before I go to meet the girls. It’s not like I really need somepony to step out in the lobby and call out ‘Next!’ and I don’t see a fight breakin out if somepony tries to cut in line.”

Celestia spends a moment mulling the suggestion over. On one hoof, the idea of having a foal working overnight does not appeal to her at all, even if he and his mother both insist he will be okay doing so. On another hoof, the day shift guards have been absolutely singing his praises, both in thanks for his treatment of several of their fellow guardsponies and for his offering of free, unlimited, and impossibly high quality refreshments.

A final thought occurs to the mare explaining why Cure may wish to remain awake tonight instead of going to bed with his mother; Sunny Skies has plans for the evening. Cure has already explained that he could, in all likelihood, find her anywhere in town by scent alone. While she could likely come up with some way to evade him, there is a far simpler solution available: Talk to him as if he is an honest, reasonable pony.

Her horn ignites, firing off a spell to surround the three in a privacy bubble. Both pause their eating to take in the blurred surroundings before turning to her with questioning looks. “I will allow it, but I do have one request. Please do not take this as an accusation, Cure, but as you know,” she glances to Amethyst, “and as he may have told you-”

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t.” He rolls the hoof holding his empty spoon in the air and adds, “Or if I did then I don’t remember doing so.”

She nods in acceptance and continues, “- I have begun dating a pegasus couple. A stallion and a mare.”

“Good fer you, princess,” his mother cheers. “Ya ought’a have the colt give ‘em the ‘deluxe upgrade.’ Lemme tell ya, honey, there ain’t nothin like gettin stre-”

“Ahem,” Cure loudly interrupts. He waves at the half empty bowl in front of himself, complaining, “I’m friggin eatin warmed up yogurt here, ma. C’mon!”

“- … that’s fair.” She leans closer to the princess to whisper, “I’ll tell ya later,” and gives her an exaggerated wink.

Celestia fights to stave off the blush creeping up her neck, clearing her throat before she continues, “As I was saying, Cure?”

“Hm?” he hums around a mouthful of food.

“I know you are mature for your age, but on occasion you also act a little foalish…”

The colt’s eyes widen. He recoils and grasps at his chest in mock offense.

“... and while I am not saying you would, it is not difficult for me to imagine that you could follow me this evening. I ask that you do not do so. Please.”

“Say no more, boss,” he assures her. “The last thing I want to do is throw a wrench in yer plans. I promise that I will make absolutely no attempt whatsoever to follow you, conveniently bump into you, keep an eye on you, just happen to be where you end up, or do anything else to intrude on or monitor your plans for this evening,” he insists with a firm nod.

Struck momentarily speechless, she notes, “That is appreciated, if not somewhat more thorough than I was hoping for.”

Cure shrugs and bobs his head. “I’m not surprised that it is, but when you go out this evening I don’t want there to be any shred of worry in your mind about me doing something that could possibly ruin yer night. Hay, if I had the ability to do so, I’d even play wingpony for ya. You know; have a puppet pretend to be you and, if ya wanted me to, even sleep in yer room so you’re seen in the castle.

“Hay, I’d even raise the sun for ya if I could. I can’t quite convincingly fake the mane, though, and I don’t have the juice ta shift the ladies,” he motions up towards the sky, “just yet, unfortunately.”

Celestia blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely shocked that the colt would be willing to go that far to help her. “Really?”

“You bet, boss. I’ve been sayin you need a break for… well, almost a year now, I suppose. If I had it in me to let ya sleep in once in a while I wouldn’t mind one bit. Hay, I’m already up every Saturday way before dawn anyhow, so what’s it to me if I raise the sun before going home to take a nap?”

Piece said, the colt shrugs and continues stuffing his face. Seeing no need to continue their private conversation, Celestia dispels the bubble surrounding them. “Perhaps when you are staying here while attending school I will take you up on your offer, assuming you are capable by the time your education is completed.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Very well,” she accepts, “then I shall inform the captain of your plans for the evening.”

“Cool. Two more things. Can you do me a favor and ask her to also tell the bats that are off duty tonight? I don’t want them missin out just ‘cause they happen to be off this weekend.”

“Certainly. We will ensure that they are made aware as well.”

“Great. Then the last thing I need is a note for the lawyer.”

As Cure finishes with his third patient of the morning, his attention is drawn to an oddity outside his clinic. A well dressed unicorn couple, a dark gray stallion and peach colored mare, are marching a younger, light pink mare between them towards his front door. He had told the gate guards to let ponies by if there was an urgent need for treatment, so that in and of itself is not terribly unusual. What makes the group stand out, aside from the way they have her boxed in, is the state of the younger mare.

Since he started his cosmetic business, Cure has had more ponies cry around or on him than he could count without using his talent to tally them up. The vast majority of those have been tears of joy or, often, of relief, thankfully. The streaks of tears spilling forth from this mare can only be of despair.

He is confident that even despite all of the patients he’s seen with disabilities, diseases, deformities, or other health related problems, he has never seen somepony that looked so completely and utterly defeated. The term suicidal comes to mind, but the young mare or, perhaps, older filly, looks like she can barely manage the effort needed to keep on her hooves, never mind expend the meager energy necessary to plan one’s own demise. If it weren’t for her presumptive parents practically carrying her, he can easily imagine her falling on her face, flopping to one side or the other, and laying there until death claimed her.

Guards and other visitors milling about sense the nearly palpable cloud of misery in the air, instinctively moving clear of the group as they march their way to his door. The stallion’s horn ignites, pulling both doors wide open as they approach, not slowing their march in the least as they pass through. Cure instantly has a pretty good guess as to what’s going on when the three cross the threshold and their biological info comes streaming into his mind.

All heads follow the three unicorns as they make their way across the lobby, stopping at the station mared by Serene Glade. Speaking as softly as she can, the dam leans forward and exchanges a quick, hushed conversation with the light green mare. Sensing that Serene is just moments away from dismissing the group, Cure leans out his door and clears his throat to get her attention. All eyes snap to the shorter alicorn who assures her, “It’s alright. I’ll see them now, Nurse Glade. If you could, please, let my next patient know that I’ll only be a moment.”

A look of relief flashes across both adults as they escort their daughter past the desk and into his room. “I cannot thank you enough for seeing us, your highness,” the stallion begins. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure to meet prior to today. We’ll endeavor to take as little of your time as possible.” He pauses to look back and nod when the older mare closes the door behind them. “I am Baron Moneybags of House Bitmore and this is my wife, Lady Merrilee Bounce, and our daughter, Jubilee Prance.”

“Charmed,” Cure replies, offering a hoof for a bump which is quickly returned.

The stallion continues, “We have, unfortunately, found ourselves in a bit of a predicament and, knowing your highness has graced all of Canterlot with his presence, sought your esteemed assistance before the situation deteriorated any further. Our daughter absconded from our estate last night without permission to rendezvous with an admirer.

“A good friend caught sight of her on the way to her destination and volunteered her location when we began searching for her upon discovering her vacated bedroom this morning. I can only thank the stars we found her before it became necessary to involve the Guard.”

Head hung and eyes closed, Jubilee mumbles something so softly Cure didn’t even catch it.

“Enough, dear,” Merrilee chides. “We need not concern his highness with trivialities.” She plasters on a fake smile when Cure quirks a brow in question, but chooses not to repeat the daughter’s statement.

“Ohh…kaay,” he hesitantly begins. “Well, first things first, I need to know how old Miss Jubilee is.”

“Fourteen,” Moneybags instantly answers, withdrawing the filly’s birth certificate from his breast pocket and offering it to the colt. He had clearly expected the question based on how quickly he answered and provided the proof.

Cure gives the document a quick look-over before passing it back. She is indeed fourteen, though she will turn fifteen in the coming January. “Okay. So, Jubilee, what can I help you with today?”

With his hearing turned up almost all the way, he barely makes out the “Nothing.” she mumbles almost into the mossy carpet. Not giving her a chance to further clarify, her dam jumps in to explain, “As the Alicorn of Life, I can only presume that, despite his highness's age, he is familiar with how foals are… created… no?”

“Of course his highness is, dearest,” Moneybags interrupts. “The papers credited him with over a thousand healthy foals delivered thus far.”

I'm a clipped tone she argues, “That does not automatically mean anypony explained the process, Money. There is no harm in asking.”

“I know about how life is created,” he assures them, stepping in before the back and forth can continue. He waves to Jubilee and inquires, “Am I to assume you rushed here to prevent an unintended pregnancy?”

“If we are not already too late, your highness,” Merilee responds, nodding enthusiastically.

“I love him!” Jubilee hisses, stamping her forehoof on the floor. “I want the baby!”

“You are too young to be making such decisions!” her dam argues back. She jabs a scolding hoof in her daughter's face and growls, “Do not make a scene in front of his highness!”

“Let's all take a calming breath, okay? We don't want my guards hearing raised voices and jumping to conclusions, do we?”

Moneybags pales at the suggestion, nodding frantically, “We most assuredly do not!”

“Exactly. So, first off,” he turns to face Jubilee, “you are not pregnant. There is no baby.”

Both parents sag, exhaling in relief.

“But my estrus…”

“You are not pregnant yet,” he repeats, emphasizing the last part. “If we let nature take its course then perhaps you would end up with foal, but you are not right now.”

“Can you prevent it?” Merilee asks, holding her breath in anticipation.

“I can if you want, which is why I agreed to see you right away.”

“Please,” she begs, visibly restraining herself from hugging the colt.

“No!” Jubilee shouts, backing away towards the door. “They just don't want it because he's not good enough,” she insists in a mocking tone.

“Now darling,” Moneybags argues, attempting to calm her down, “his highness is very busy. He doesn't have time to entertain your-”

“He's an earth pony!” she shouts, cutting her sire off. Both adults wince and an uncomfortable silence fills the room. “If he was a unicorn they would be thrilled that I found a stallion at all, but since he isn't, all of the sudden he's not good enough!”

“Miss Jubilee, I could tell from your scans he was probably an earth pony. That doesn't matter here. What does matter is that you're a minor and- Wait… how old is he?!”

“Fifteen!” she snaps.

Cure pans his gaze to the sire who nods in confirmation. “He just turned fifteen this June. No laws have been broken, as best we can ascertain.”

“Good. That's a relief.”

“How?” Merrilee inquires. She coughs to clear her throat and clarifies, “How could you tell he is an earth pony?”

Cure’s face twists in an ugly grimace. “Well, there's the difference in the sperm, for one, then there's the physical signs and the… uh… quantity.” The disgusted look on the mare’s face tells him she regrets asking.

He turns back to Jubilee and continues, “Just to be perfectly clear, Miss Jubilee, am I to assume everything that happened was consensual?” The filly mouths the word unsurely. “It means you didn’t say no. Not to pry too much, but you were not forced, correct?”

“Of course not! We’re getting married!”

“You’re getting or you are married?” he inquires.

“We’re not married yet.”

Moneybags quickly interrupts, confirming, “They are not married, nor has there been any such proposal. She is wholly convinced that he is ‘the one,’ as they say. We, obviously, have reservations.”

“Okay. That makes the situation less convoluted. So as I was saying, his tribe doesn't matter to me. What does matter is that you're a minor and you are not currently pregnant.” The filly collapses on the floor and begins bawling as Cure continues, “While there is no approved medical procedure to prevent conception, it is a trivial thing for me, and despite your objections, I am compelled by Equestrian law to, in most circumstances, provide minors with medical care as requested by their legal guardians.

“That includes contraception, even as unorthodox as the method may be. If you and this stallion decided to have a foal come next year then you'll both be adults, so it’s a whole different story at that point. Understood?”

Crying and shaking uncontrollably on the floor, she doesn't seem to hear the colt's question. Merrilee lays on her right, leaning against her daughter to comfort her, but Jubilee is completely unresponsive.

“Look,” Cure softly begins, slowly approaching the girl, “I have seen a situation like this come up before.” He turns, laying against her left and drapes his wing over her back in a hug, resting his cheek against her neck. “In fact, it’s bizarre how similar the situations are. The difference is that back then, I didn’t know what my special talent was, so I couldn’t help them. They struggled an awful lot as a result.

“If you want my advice, be an adult for a few years. Have some fun. Do the things every foal wants to do when they’re finally old enough. Experience the world for a couple years, then, when you’re ready, make a plan for what you’ll do when you do have a foal. When the time comes, send me a letter.” Both parents' brows shoot into their manes, misinterpreting the colt’s offer. He hastily continues, “I’ll be happy to give you a checkup beforehoof to make sure you’re in perfect health and, if I’m going to be around, I’ll be there to ensure an easy, painless delivery. Okay?”

The young mare silently nods in acceptance, wiping tears off her face with her fetlocks. Cure’s horn flashes gold, Teleporting in a fancy, embroidered handkerchief with his mark in the corners. He offers it to the filly who takes it in her magic, quickly filling it to the brim.

With one last nuzzle and a quick squeeze of his wing he rises to his hooves. “Now, I hate to sound insensitive, but unfortunately I do have another thirty some-odd ponies from all over the country coming here this morning.” He meets both parents' eyes, saying, “You are all set. As she is right now, Jubilee will not get pregnant this season. Unless there’s anything else I can help you with today, I’d best get back to my growing backlog before my lobby fills up, okay?”

Moneybags nods in acceptance. “Certainly, your highness. It goes without saying, but if the opportunity to return this favor should ever arise, please do not hesitate to contact us.”

“I’ll consider us even if you just do one thing.”

“Anything, your highness!”

“Great! The only thing I ask is that whoever your daughter falls in love with, don’t interfere for no reason other than his tribe. Pegasus, earth pony, hippogriff, zebra, or whatever. As long as the dude is going to make her happy and take good care of her, don’t do anything to make it more difficult than it needs to be.”

A few minutes later

Until recently, Cure has rarely had the opportunity to simply walk around the city. With the creation of his portal rings, he has more freedom than he could have hoped for until reaching adulthood.

Happily trotting along the streets, Cure takes his time making his way to his lawyer’s office for a second visit this week, though this time he is traveling alone and in disguise.

Knowing a lone unicorn stallion walking around Canterlot is always going to get attention, the colt decides to create an appearance that will not overly stand out in the crowd. Average height. Average build. Average horn. Light brown coat. Onyx mane. Even his cutie mark is relatively mundane; a yellow, uppercase T in a thick, red ring. The only feature that would draw any eyes is his goatee, a rather uncommon facial hairstyle, but one the colt couldn’t help but include.

With a skip in his step, he makes his way into the office complex, beelining for the staircase to the second level. The same receptionist is on duty as the other day and, in the exact same tone as his first visit, she calls out, “Good morning and welcome to Grant, Best, and Bookshire, how may I assist you?”

“And a wonderful morning to you, miss,” he returns with a dip of his chin. “I have a nine o’clock with Mr. Grant. Would you please inform him that Mr. Morrow is here to see him?” He levitates a short stack of bits out of his mane to cover the cost of the appointment along with a scroll sealed in wax with the princess’s mark imprinted upon it.

The stylized sun earns a sharp inhale from the mare who ducks her head in an approximation of a bow, despite the act being wholly unnecessary for somepony simply conveying a message from her majesty’s desk. “Right away, Mr. Morrow!” she assures him, hastily tucking the scroll under her wing and shooting to her hooves. She bolts to the stallion’s door, pushes it open, and darts inside, not even bothering to knock or put Cure’s payment in the deposit slot under her desk.

It’s not even thirty seconds later when the door opens wide and she skips back out, chuckling in embarrassment at not collecting his payment. “Go right on ahead, Mr. Morrow! Mr. Grant will see you now!”

“Thank you, my dear,” he gratefully nods as he passes by her desk.

Certain Grant is sitting behind his desk just as he was before, though this time his eyes are affixed to the unrolled scroll before him. He looks up as Cure climbs in the same seat he did the other day; the one opposite the desk on the attorney’s left. “It is not every day that one receives a letter written by her majesty herself.”

“I would assume not, Mr. Grant. She does strike me as a rather busy pony, after all.”

“Quite right, but where are my manners? Certain Grant, Esquire,” he introduces, leaning forward to offer his hoof.

Cure leans forward to return the gesture in kind, “I go by Thomas or Mr. Morrow, if you prefer. A pleasure.”

“Very good. According to her majesty’s letter, the veracity of which I have little doubt, I am to accept whatever claims you are here to make as truth, no matter how outlandish they may appear. Unfortunately,” he taps the letter twice with his right forehoof, “her majesty did not see fit to explain what those claims may include.”

“Indeed not,” Cure agrees, “and for a very valid reason. If I may, Mr. Grant, is your office equipped with a privacy ward system?”

“It is indeed, though I’ve only had need of it on rare occasions.”

“I believe this is one of those, sir. If you could, please?”

“Very well,” he agrees, igniting his horn. Cure recognizes the now familiar feeling of the wards engaging, effectively blocking out any would-be attempts to listen in or scry the room. The windows blur the outside world and, for the briefest moment, lines of magic are visible on the floor, ceiling, and walls.

Cure casts a couple quick diagnostic spells to ensure the wards’ integrity, then nods in acceptance. “What I am about to tell you is confidential; not only in that you are now my attorney, but also as a matter of national security. You were vetted by her majesty’s investigators and approved as a candidate to represent me in upcoming negotiations with her government. Specifically, negotiations regarding knowledge and technologies that Equestria lacks with which I have varying degrees of familiarity, many of which have commercial applications that, if fleshed out, could very well change the world.”

The stallion slowly nods, taking in the information. “May I inquire as to how you came about these… familiarities?”

Cure sighs theatrically and shakes his head no. “Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to share that information. She directly asked that I do not. The How is ultimately not terribly important, but the What will change the world.” He pauses a beat for drama’s sake and adds, “Eventually. Not as they are right now, but… eventually.”

Grant’s eyes flick between the stallion sitting across from him and the unrolled scroll on his desk. He takes a deep breath and blows out a long sigh, allowing his eyes to drift across some of the nautical decorations on his shelves. “I must admit, I am intrigued. Perhaps you could provide some detail or, preferably, an example as to what you are proposing.”

“Okay. A very simple example. I presume from your décor that you enjoy boating?”

“I do.”

“Have you ever sailed into unfamiliar waters and been concerned you may hit a shallow reef or run aground?”

Grant slowly nods. “I rarely stray from well charted areas, but I’ll admit… the worry has plagued me on occasion.”

“And if I told you that, with some research and development, a device could be created that can accurately tell you how deep the water in front and underneath your ship is?”

“How?”

“Sound travels under water just as it does above. Faster, in fact, due to water being denser than air. If I tap your desk, for example,” he leans forward and gives it a gentle rap with the outside of his hoof, “you can hear it, but it isn’t loud. Put your ear against the desk and do it again and you’ll see what I mean. If you could measure how long it takes for a sound to be emitted, bounce off a surface, and return, you can calculate the depth of the water.”

The stallion shakes his head in incomprehension. “I am afraid my university studies did not include many of the sciences. It sounds feasible, I’ll admit, but I am presuming you do not have a schematic or working prototype?”

“I do not, which is why I’m not applying for a patent. I just need somepony to represent my interests when I meet with the ponies who will be capable of taking the theoretical and, with what guidance I can provide, some time, and a great deal of work, turn it into reality. The things I know… I cannot begin to put a value on them, but think of a piece of technology; the train, for example. You may have a very basic idea of how a steam engine operates, no?”

Grant tilts his head side to side. “Vaguely? I understand water is heated, thus… spinning something, I believe?”

Cure shrugs and bobs his head. “At its most basic, yes. Now, what if you’d had that knowledge five hundred years ago? You may not be able to build a steam engine, but if you could convince somepony with the resources to develop it -”

“Such as her majesty.”

He motions to the attorney with a hoof, “Such as her majesty, then think of how far along engine technology could be by now. Perhaps vessels such as your ship or even a carriage may be driven by a much smaller version of that same engine. Perhaps even craft capable of flight like a pegasus. Who knows? Sometimes it just takes somepony knowing something is possible to make it happen.”

“And you know what is possible?” the stallion questions.

Cure nods with a mirthless chuckle. “I do, Mr. Grant. I know a whole lot of things are possible that nopony has ever even imagined.”

As the week wore on with no signs of infiltrating changelings, Cure came to accept the likelihood that he wasn’t going to find anything amiss. On one hoof, he can freely admit that he’s disappointed not to have the opportunity to scan a new intelligent species, especially one that seems like it would be so drastically different from any other. On another hoof, having the last patient’s scan confirm that the upper echelons of Celestia’s government are infiltrator-free is a massive relief.

He’d long since considered that an infiltrator reaching that level while the bulk of the creatures are locked away is extremely unlikely. A single changeling disguising themselves as a typical guardspony for a long period of time would be difficult enough, but to replace somepony that cannot easily fade into the background would be almost impossible without an expansive network to provide aid and support.

Of course, that’s assuming a lone changeling could even survive long enough to make their way north to Equestria. The lands south of the Appaloosan Mountains are apparently not very hospitable, and without anycreature to feed off of, a changeling may starve to death well before finding civilization even if they aren’t killed off by any random monster they encounter.

With the looming threat of changelings finally dismissed, Cure finishes with his final scheduled patient and sends them on their way, then retires to his office to prepare for his upcoming meeting with Director Storm. The desk he had been using is removed, replaced with shelves of products he had discussed with his family.

It doesn’t take long for the light gray mare to show up. She and an unfamiliar unicorn stallion are dropped off in separate carriages just inside the castle gates, chatting for a moment before making their way to his clinic.

<< Hey Tia, Director Storm just showed up with some unicorn stallion. Cream coat, brown mane, kinda short, thick glasses. Has the total bookworm look down pat. Were you going to come to this meeting? >>

<< I am so sorry, Cure, but I got pulled into an unexpected meeting. The stallion is Final Tally. He is the product manager for anything involving your brand. I will join you as soon as my meeting is concluded. >>

<< No worries, boss. You do your thing and I’ll take care of this. Don’t forget we have dinner plans in a couple hours. >>

The front door opening draws his attention back to his surroundings. His magic washes over the pair as they step into the clinic, verifying that both are indeed ponies and have no immediate health concerns. He trots up to the doorway and waves them in with his wing. “Come on back into my office, Director Storm, Mr. Tally. I have everything set up back here.”

The mare all but skips her way through the lobby, rounds the desk, and scoops the colt up in a hug. “How is my favorite medical marvel of a stallion?!”

Cure leans into her, figuring if mares want to snuggle on him it’s his Harmony-given duty to oblige them. That doesn't stop him from shooting his guards a thoroughly unimpressed look over her shoulder, but they all studiously avoid his gaze, struggling not to laugh at his plight. He does his best to match her warmth, insisting, “It's good to see you too, Mrs. Storm.”

She releases him a merciful moment later, giving the stallion an opportunity to approach. He dips his head in a shallow bow. “Your highness. It is a pleasure. As we've never met, I presume her majesty told you I would be attending today?”

“She sure did.” Two friggin seconds ago, he mentally grouses. “Come on in and make yourselves comfortable,” he offers, motioning to the two couches. “We've got a lot to go over. Unfortunately, the princess had something come up, so it'll just be us for a while.”

The pair accept the invitation, each climbing up on the couch on the west wall, leaving the south one available for the princess whenever she arrives. They no more than get situated before Cure begins, “So the goal here is to develop a line of health products under my brand that will be competitively priced, thus offering good value for the consumer while not driving anypony out of business. I do not want the same thing to happen here as I unintentionally did to DME manufacturers and the zebras.”

“I’m sorry,” Tally interrupts, raising his hoof as if he’s a foal in class. “DME manufacturers?”

“Durable Medical Equipment,” Dir. Storm explains. “Companies that make prosthetics, disability trolleys, casts, and so forth. With his highness’s origin cell trees and his miraculous healing, his presence alone has sent several companies into an absolute tizzy while trying to adapt to a quickly changing market.” She turns back to the colt and firmly insists, “Don’t you worry about them. That’s the nature of business. If somepony comes along that you can’t compete with, you either find another market or you struggle. Besides, even if you worked a hundred hours a week you’d still never be able to see everypony that needs you.”

Cure shrugs and bobs his head in agreement. “I don’t disagree with you, but at the same time an unexpected alicorn popping up isn’t exactly something a business would normally plan for. Regardless, Mr. Tally?”

“Sir?”

“I am going to have to rely on you and the ponies under you to ensure that anything brought to the market under my brand name doesn’t bankrupt everypony else. My manufacturing costs are almost nothing. My quality and effectiveness is unassailable. The only points of competition I can come up with are my limits on production and price point. I don’t want to rip anypony off, but I don’t want to undercut everypony else on the market at the same time, so I’m charging you and your staff with developing a market strategy that makes a noble effort, at least, to satisfy those requirements.”

“We… can try?” he hesitantly ventures. “If I may make a suggestion?” Cure waves to go ahead. “We may wish to consider partnering with existing manufacturers rather than competing with them. Thus far all of your highness’s creations essentially ‘grow’ themselves, correct?”

“Yeah, and you can just say ‘you,’ Mr. Tally. My head’s not so far up my own plot that I insist on the whole ‘royal’ address in private meetings.”

Both ponies chuckle lightly and nod in understanding. “Of course, sir. As I was saying, if you intend to continue that trend…” he says leadingly, prompting Cure to nod, “then that still means that your products will need to be packaged, shipped, and distributed to retail outlets. The companies that you could be competing with could, instead, be licensed the means to manufacture your products and, with some reworking of their supply chain, take advantage of their already existing distribution channels to provide the product in more markets than we could feasibly do for some time.

“That is, assuming you don’t already have a factory hidden somewhere out there, sir.”

“No, not a factory, per se. More of a lab, of sorts.”

Director Storm blinks and cocks her head to the side in question. “You have a lab?”

“Kind of?” At her continued stare he explains, “I have a place where I can safely prototype designs.”

“I would love to see it someday.”

Cure idly shrugs his wings. “Honestly? There’s not much to see, and nothing is set up for a physical presence. I interface with it all via the same interlink that my VINESS suite uses.”

The mare actually pouts at the colt, bottom lip sticking out and all.

“Don’t give me that look!” he huffs, turning away. “It’s easier to keep it secured if nopony knows where it is.”

“I believe we may be getting off topic,” Tally points out. “What are your thoughts on my proposal?”

“Tentatively? I’m for it. I could, theoretically, do the packaging and everything myself, but I don’t want to put all the hours into doing that if somepony else can more efficiently take care of it. Also, it’s not like I’m doing this to get rich. I just want to ensure that I have sufficient funds available for any philanthropic pursuits I may have when I’m older.”

Tally nods along, noting, “Given the value of your other creations, I don’t foresee that being a problem at all.”

“Awesome! That’s what I like to hear. So how about we talk about some of the products I’ve put together so far?”

“Certainly, your highness. Where would you like to start?”

“How about with something that’s applicable right now in particular?” He ignites his horn, levitating a long, thin, wooden box over to show the pair. There are four separate pieces visible through the glass panel on the lid; a half-meter long stick with a grip on one end and, on the other, a soft looking suction cup-like device, two tubes that look like ointment or toothpaste, and fourteen individually wrapped capsules slightly larger than a grape.

“This right here,” he begins, “is a more effective treatment for mares concerned about their upcoming estrus. I have two versions; one just to help with the urges and scent, then another for anypony that is not interested in having a foal, but still wants to enjoy the season to its fullest.”

Paying no heed to the darkening of the adults’ cheeks and ears, Cure flips open the box and withdraws the wand. “It’s very simple. About a week before estrus is scheduled to begin, the mare will take the little fella here,” he instructs, waving the wand for them to see, “clean it really well with the included antimicrobial gel,” he continues, withdrawing one of the tubes with his aura and squeezing some out.

He uses his magic to slather the gel on and continues, “or, I guess, use a Cleaning crystal or cantrip if you can. It only takes a moment for that to evaporate off. It’s basically an alcohol solution, so it’ll kill almost everything. I suppose you could just rinse the wand to be safe.”

“Probably a good idea if that’s what I suspect it is,” Dir. Storm volunteers.

“Yeah, that might be wise. Either way, the lube will neutralize any remnants, so no painful insertion if you’re doing it right. Anyhow, you put one of the daily suppositories on the end here,” he explains, demonstrating how the suction cup melds itself around the capsule, holding it in place. “Then lube ‘em up as much as is necessary. There should be more than enough for fourteen applications.”

He levitates out a thick glob of faintly pink colored gel from the second tube and spreads that on the wand overtop the capsule and down its length to the grip, which is a thicker, cushioned piece that makes up the last ten centimeters of the unit.

“Once it’s ready to go you slowly, gently work the lil guy on up in there as far as it’ll comfortably go,” he explains, holding the wand sideways and slowly pantomiming easing it into an imaginary receptacle, occasionally wiggling it a little from side to side. “Once it’s in place there’s a release button right here on the grip,” he points out, using his free hoof to press a previously unnoticed button. The capsule on the end promptly releases, falling to the floor with a wet “plonk” sound and sticking in place.

All six eyes in the room are staring at the sticky, wet capsule sitting on the ground right between the colt’s legs when the door opens wide. Celestia strolls into the room in a rush, speaking before taking in the scene. “I am sorry for my tardiness, but matters of state…” she drifts off, looking between the smiling, waving colt and the two darkly blushing adults.

“Heya, boss! I just finished the demonstration, but that’s no problem! I got thirteen more shots. How bout you go ahead and take a seat,” he says, waving his left wing to the empty couch beside him, “and I’ll show you what ya missed out on!”

“Really, Cure, did you have to be so cruel to them?”

Lounged on the opposite bench, the young alicorn sits up from between Amethyst’s forelegs, cocking a brow in question. “What’d I do?” he innocently asks. “I was just demonstrating health products, just like I was supposed to.”

“Estrus treatments, contraceptives, laxative suppositories, hemorrhoid creams, scent-altering capsules? You barely spent two minutes talking about your laceration ointment, muscle relaxing patches, or vitamin supplements, and don’t get me started on the protective sheaths you demonstrated!”

“No way,” Amethyst snorts, barking out a laugh. “Please tell me you didn’t demonstrate how a condom works.”

“Of course not!” he snaps. “I’m a freaking foal! That would be going way too far. I did provide documentation on how to properly use the thing, which is an absolute necessity, but as far as a demonstration, all I did was blow one up like a balloon,” he defensively insists.

“I must say that the elasticity of the units is impressive,” Celestia grants. “I had not expected them to be capable of expanding to that degree. Still, the amount of knowledge you displayed about reproduction is far beyond what a foal your age should be aware of.”

“I have full, unimaginably detailed anatomical scans of over five thousand creatures, tens of thousands of animals, and maker-knows-how-many bugs, insects, and other smaller critters, Celestia. I see more sex in two minutes of scanning the woods than most ponies will see in a hundred years. I am the Alicorn of Life. How could I not know everything there is to know about the creation of it?! Besides… we agreed that stuff will be marketed under another brand name ‘till I’m older anyhow.”

The elder alicorn fixes the colt with an annoyed stare for several long seconds. It’s a look that would leave nearly anypony quaking in their shoes, but Cure weathers it with grace, resting his chin back on his mother’s foreleg when no further argument is forthcoming. A moment of silence passes before the colt can’t help but groan. “Why? Why do we have to take a carriage?! Why can’t I just Teleport us there?”

Celestia snorts and shakes her head. “If you believe you are capable of Teleporting us and the twenty guards all the way across Canterlot then you can be my guest.”

“You could. Easily. Don’t even pretend you couldn’t.”

“I have no way of knowing where there is a clear spot to teleport everypony to.”

“Oh, so you don’t know how to cast a scrying spell, huh? No way to, oh, I dunno, take a peek from up above? Or, easiest solution, have a few pegasi fly over there, clear a designated area, then teleport to that spot?”

The mare huffs and turns away, looking out the carriage window. “Always an answer to everything,” she mutters. In a chiding tone, she complains to herself, “I suppose I cannot fault an impatient foal for behaving like one. I can only hope that your patience grows at the same pace you do over the coming years. Besides, we are nearly there.”

“Ugh, ‘bout freaking time,” he grumps, rolling to his hooves. He hops down onto the floor before the carriage comes to a stop, brushing the few stray hairs from his mom’s coat off of his suit and straightening his tie. Just as he had when arriving, Cure fashioned himself a fancy suit for their dinner out, though Amethyst declined his offer to do the same for her. Arguing that if going nude is good enough for the princess, it’s good enough for her too, she chose to maturely goad the colt over his choice to accept Title’s dare during his coronation.

Just as on his date with the pegasi fillies, the carriage door opens to a rolled out red carpet. Though there are a number of photographers snapping away, the volume in Canterlot isn’t as great as in his hometown; the ponies of the city being well-accustomed to seeing the princess out and about. Despite being the closest to the door, Cure simply stares up at his elder with an increasingly impatient look, sighing theatrically and tapping with a hind hoof on the carriage floor.

Celestia smiles beautifully at the colt, taking her sweet time to stretch her neck and forelegs, unfolding one wing, then the other, then daintily climbing down to stand overtop of him.

He reaches up and pokes her chest with his wing. “Boss, if you don’t get yer royal hiney out that door I’m gonna bite ya. Don’t think I won’t do it!”

She leans down and nuzzles into his mane, cooing, “You are just too adorable when you are getting impatient!” A long, wet tongue gives him a grooming lick from the base of his ear all the way to the top and, not giving him the opportunity to respond, the mare gracefully slinks out of the carriage and smiles, daintily waving a wing for the reporters. “Good evening, my little ponies!”

Cure charges his horn to teleport the two bottles in, wincing in pain when a surge destabilizes his spell. He glares up at the smirking mare who calls back, “Come along, Lady Minerva, Serpentus. I see Prince Blueblood’s carriage is already here. We do not want to leave them waiting.”

Amethyst nearly cackles as she skips past the colt, planting a quick exaggerated smooch on his snout as she slips by. Cure follows hot on her tail, dutifully plastering on a fake smile and waving to everypony as he trots down the aisle of guards and reporters, past the bowing doorponies, and into the restaurant.

The group barely pauses for a moment inside the lobby, with Cure only catching the tail end of the conversation between Celestia and the maître d'. After having everypony focus on him as the center of attention it feels almost strange to have somepony else in the party stealing the spotlight. It’s not a completely unwelcome experience, though, and even if he is new and newsworthy, it can only be expected that the ponies of Canterlot would focus on the double-sized glowing ethereal mare leading the way.

The stallion leads the group through a door on his right and down a well-lit hallway. The décor is about what Cure expected; lush, dark red carpeting, mahogany wooden paneling, subdued, but adequate lighting from golden fixtures on the wall. He had anticipated being paraded through a main dining area so that the restaurant could show off the two alicorns, but instead the hallway ends in a door to a private room that looks more like a dining room in a rich pony’s house than a restaurant.

Though cozy, the dining room isn’t what he would consider cramped. It’s clearly sized for a small party, and the table, either coincidentally or by design, is sized for exactly eight and raised to accommodate the tallest of the group. A set of double doors is immediately to Cure’s right, but the window is too high up for him to see through it. His attention is also drawn away from it by the room’s occupants. Blueblood, his wife, and his foals all stand upon their entry to the room, though they remain silent, greeting them with warm smiles and shallow nods.

They, however, are not the target of the colt’s anxiety; eight well dressed servants all but line the walls, each one sat on their haunches staring placidly ahead like guards on duty. It takes a second for Cure to realize that one is situated directly behind each setting, dispelling his brief initial worry that he was being led into some kind of preplanned ambush.

The maître d' walks past the table to the far end and extends a hoof, bowing for the princess to take her seat at the head as is appropriate. He meets Cure’s eyes as he walks back to the entrance, similarly bowing to the opposite end of the table where a raised bench is sat with a cushion on top of it. Taking the hint, Cure trots over and gracefully hops atop it and settles in. His mother is seated next, placing her between Azure Tiara on her left and the princess to her right.

It strikes the colt as a little odd that the current and future princes are sat to the right of each alicorn, and that the two older Blueblood foals are separated from their parents, but he can’t really come up with a better seating arrangement given that there is, effectively, three parties of five, two, and one to split up.

Cure opens his mouth to greet the others, but is interrupted before he can voice a single word. A dark red unicorn stallion wearing the top half of a tuxedo seemingly appears from nowhere to the princess’s left and drops into a shallow bow. “Good evening, and welcome to La Chaumiere de Velours,” he begins in a thick Prench accent, not pausing as the eight waitstaff rush in, place fancy wine glasses in front of everypony, simultaneously twist open bottles of sparkling water, and fill them up. “I am Fleur Rouge, and I will be your captain this evening.

“If you find yourself needing anything, anything at all, I beg that you do not hesitate to speak my name and I shall be there. Dame Papillon is our executive sommelier,” he motions to a yellow unicorn mare with a dark red mane, “and will be delighted to assist with pairings throughout your meal if you desire.”

Each server steps back, only to approach again a moment later. With what must be well rehearsed synchrony they set a plate in front of their designated guest before backing away again.

Rouge explains, “Tonight’s first sampling will be charred North Zebrican sprouts in a sweet Bitalian glaze, sprinkled with sliced pine nuts and fresh, locally sourced lentil shavings. Enjoy.” Description given, the stallion drops into a bow, rises, and prances out the double doors to Cure’s right.

The young alicorn looks down at his plate, disappointed to find approximately four brussels sprouts worth of food. He looks around the room to everypony else to gauge their reactions. His mom, unsurprisingly, seems to be about as impressed as he is, and looks like she already regrets agreeing to come along.

Blueblood Senior looks like a foal on Hearth’s Warming Eve, nearly bouncing in his seat as he tucks his napkin into his suit’s collar and begins gushing about the restaurant to Celestia. She, along with Noble Due, impassively listen to the raving stallion, their placid looks not giving away their mood.

The foals are a mixed bag. Junior and Azure both happily scoop up a bite and pop them in their mouths, leaning back to savor the experience. Misty, on the other hoof, is staring at the food with her snout crinkled as if it has offended her. Seeing the most likely ally at the table is also conveniently just to his left, Cure leans over and quietly whispers to the filly, “Have you eaten here before?”

Shifting to her right, she closes in to quietly respond. “Yes. Unfortunately. This is all but daddy’s private dining room here. He brings guests all the time and forces us to come along. Or, forces me, I suppose. They,” she nods to her siblings, “like it here.”

“The quality of the food is unbeatable, Misty,” Junior quickly defends. “Everywhere in the city pales in comparison. Go on,” he says, motioning to Cure’s plate, “give it a try and you will see. The flavor packed into such a simple dish is simply astounding!” Suggestion made, Junior glances around the room to meet Dame Papillon’s eyes and nods towards his empty glass. The mare nearly dances to his side with a bottle in her aura, opening it and presenting the cork to the older foal. He gives it a single sniff and nods in approval, smiling serenely as she pours him a serving.

Cure is almost floored when she turns and presents the cork to him as well. Mentally shrugging, he takes a whiff of the offered beverage and nods in acceptance. A cleared throat from the opposite end of the table puts a halt to the mare’s pour before it can begin. “Now, now, Serpentus, you have patients to see this evening, do you not?”

“In like… three hours!”

“You are too young,” she retorts, quickly adding, “and I know your dam would not approve.”

“But she’s halfway across the country!”

Rather than respond verbally, Celestia turns to her left to face his mother and waves a hoof in invitation.

“Princess’s right, colt. I ain’t tellin yer dam I let ya drink, even if it won’t do nothin to ya.”

Amidst the snickering family, the colt huffs and folds his forelegs across his chest, quietly grumbling under his breath. “Ya know what? Fine. Don’t pour me any wine,” he loudly instructs. “Can I get a slice of lemon for my water, at least?” he asks the room, turning to cock a brow in the elder mare’s direction. “Am I allowed to do that, your majesty?”

Celestia sighs dramatically and gives a permissive nod. “I suppose, if you must have some flavor then there is little harm in it.”

Cure smiles victoriously, turning to his right to request said lemon. A bowl of lemon slices is set on the table in front of him before he can even speak up, earning a grateful nod to the server as he backs away. Shaking in quiet laughter, the colt lifts several wedges over his glass of water, focuses for a split second, and squeezes juice into his drink. An unexpectedly sharp tang in the air has Junior and Misty both recoil away from the glass as Cure reaches out with his hoof, missing entirely when it vanishes in a flash of yellow light.

He looks up in horror as Celestia holds the glass, giving its contents a testing sniff. “Really?” she asks, voice dripping in disappointment.

“What? I didn’t add any sugar yet.”

“I am not referring to the flavor and you know it. Now behave yourself, or must I take you to the restroom?”

His bottom lip juts out in a mighty pout. “I’ll be good,” he sullenly grouses.

“Good colt,” she teases overtop the others’ quiet laughter. “Now eat your sprouts. You are holding up the next part of the meal.”

Acting overly mulishly, Cure picks up his fork in his hoof and spears a single sprout, casually popping it in his mouth. A vast number of flavors dance across his tongue, many of them he can easily place. The brussels sprout’s earthy taste is obviously the first and foremost, but the lentil and pine nuts are easily discernible as well.

The only thing that doesn’t seem familiar is the glaze, and he struggles to determine what it could be made of. It obviously has a balsamic vinegar base, and there’s a hint of the sweetness that he can tell comes from brown sugar, but something else is in there that just doesn’t seem quite right. His curiosity getting the better of him, he admits defeat and activates his talent, scanning the morsel still in his mouth.

Everypony startles when the young alicorn at the end of the table whips his napkin up to his face and nearly wretches into it. Their concern only grows when he begins wiping his tongue clean, then snatches water out from in front of Blueblood Junior, slurps it up, swishes it in his mouth, then spits it into the napkin as well. “Freaking COCKROACHES?!” he shrieks, sending the waiting staff into near hysteria. “YOU!” he growls, thrusting a hoof at the panic-stricken captain, “TAKE ME TO THE KITCHEN. NOW!”

The carriage ride back to the castle is done in almost complete silence. It’s only when the walls are visible that it is finally broken by Amethyst, who can’t help but let out a mirthless chuckle. “... single dinner costs more’n we used ta earn in a week, and tha damn place has more roaches than a Manehattan ghetto. Unbelievable.”

“I am unsure whether to be grateful for your ability or to wish that I had escaped in blissful ignorance,” Celestia sighs.

“You didn’t seem quite as grossed out as everypony else,” Cure notes.

The mare’s snout scrunches in a mild grimace. “One learns to accept the presence of such pests in food when one has no other option. I care not to ponder on the numerous times in those early years when we would blithely jest upon the nourishment and texture they would add to a meal.”

Cure can’t even stop himself from climbing off his bench, hopping up, and leaning on her left side, wrapping his forelegs and wings around her chest and over her back. “Sorry if I ruined yer dinner, Celestia. I mean… I’ve kinda gotten to where I accept that some things are in food that shouldn’t be there. I try not to scan everything before I eat it, even, ‘cause inevitably there will be something. I couldn’t just ignore how much of that sauce was literal crap, though, ya know?”

With her left wing pinned, she leans into the embrace. “I do not blame you, Cure. I suspect that neither us nor your mother would be sickened by such a thing, but I am certain that you saved somepony from a very unpleasant few days, at the least. Besides, there is no excuse for the state that the kitchen has been allowed to fall to. I do not expect everything to be immaculate, but… the ceiling, the floor, even the pans… Chef Garnish should be ashamed for his failure to maintain the high standards set by his predecessors.”

“Yeah. Just an FYI, I’ve been through the castle kitchens. They’re spotless.”

“I am relieved to hear that. I believe I will be enjoying a meal before my departure this evening. Mrs. Blossom, would you care to join me?”

“Sure thing, princess.”

“Excellent. Cure?”

“Eh, I’m gonna get the clinic opened up. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Do you even need to eat anymore?”

“No. I still like to, though. Same reason I still brush my teeth and shower and stuff. Gotta keep myself grounded, ya know?”

“I do,” she agrees. “It is good that you take such things into consideration.”

With the carriage pulling in front of the castle, the colt nods into her mane, takes one last breath, gives the mare another squeeze, and separates from her side. The two mares head into the castle and Cure trots to the north, making his way back to his clinic to get everything ready, all the while watching and following from far overhead, tracking a certain zebra and his escort from the embassy to his home.

The unassuming robin doesn’t draw any attention as it settles in to wait, watching silently, unseen from a tree just outside the stallion’s bedroom window.

Author's Note

Did you know that it is not "brussel sprouts" but is, in fact, brussels sprouts, even if there is only one of them? I did not. Also, back in Chapter 21, not only did I wantonly use the wrong spelling, but I also should have considered that brussels sprouts are named such after the capital of Belgium and, therefore, would have a different name on Equus.
*sigh*
Continuity error #18,327,591, I suppose. Oh well.

Alright, so Celestia correctly determined that Cure had some kind of plans for the evening. What exactly is he gonna do, though? Sit and watch? Go in and murder everyone in the house? Somewhere in between? (Spoiler alert - probably the latter)

Will he do something that could get him in trouble? Will anypony know it was him? What could ~~that dastardly villain~~ our protagonist have planned? Guess we'll just see next week. Worth noting - he tends to go out of his way to try to treat the bats like equals. Him spending a night taking care of that population when they would normally struggle to see him otherwise is absolutely inline with his character.

I saw a comment or two expressing concern that Cure would get saddled with the princess's daily duty. Keep in mind that for basically the entire story Cure has been saying the princess needs a break. He doesn't have the ability to do anything now, and he won't for some time, but once he does? Would he have a problem giving her a Saturday off? No way. There's more to this, but I'll probably cover it in-story more, so I don't want to delve into it too much in the A/N section.

Alright, this is getting posted late enough as is, so enough! As always, thanks for reading, rating, and, especially, commenting. Enjoy!