Author's Note

Once again I must bemoan the fact that FiMFiction does not support having an author's note at both the top and the bottom of the page. As a result, I can only put one up here and "Spoiler" overtop of the parts that I would strongly suggest reading after the chapter.

First off, this is really only the first half of the chapter. I hope to post the second half probably in the next few days, though I will still iterate the chapter numbers by 1, even if 108 will be pretty short.

I, personally, don't think anything in this chapter is terribly offensive, but I am exceedingly difficult to offend, and I accept the fact that one thing in particular is implied that may upset some folks, so I am going to include this trigger warning:
Cure implies that non-consensual oral penetration will occur on a sleeping victim, though it does not actually happen and the implied act is not truly sexual, even if a crude comment is made prior.

Chapter A/N - you may want to read the chapter first:
A lot of authors have their characters do stuff that, frankly, boggles the mind. This is pretty close to the line, and likely one of the dumbest things Cure will ever do, but... is it really that dumb given his capabilities and method of execution? The message is very clear for anyone with two brain cells to rub together. Though he used the snake as a proxy, thus allowing him plausible deniability, he made it very clear that he has the capability and the willingness to, at the very least, take revenge if something happens to his friends and family.

It's probably not a wholly fair position to put the guy in, but even that, in itself, is a hell of a message: You will be accounted for the actions of your nation's people, and you had better do everything in your power to let them know that there will be dire consequences if they harm anyone around the colt.

Celestia is obviously pissed off and, likely, not just at Cure. She is, after all, the one who brought him into that meeting. She may not have known that the issue would be brought up, but she knows the colt has a vengeful streak a mile wide and failed to pull him aside and tell him not to do anything to the zebras afterward, even though she had done so in the past during the PureDew fiasco.

Now she's in the difficult position where, officially, publicly, she can't really do much to him, nor can she prove he did actually do anything. Truthfully, as he had previously pointed out to the girls, there's not a whole hell of a lot she can do to him privately, either.

He just demonstrated that, martially, he could potentially defeat her. He has also successfully made the nation dependent on his healing and healing products and will soon begin uplifting their entire society, likely to the point where it would be more costly to decline than even a full-blown war may be.

She obviously doesn't trust him not to do anything else, or she wouldn't have needed to directly order him not to.

Is he an asshole for putting her in this position? There's a compelling argument that he is. Is he justified? He would argue yes and he may very well be right. If he truly trusted Celestia's ability to safeguard his family then he wouldn't have had to, but she's already failed him on more than one occasion.

It's a delicate interplay that I hope I can do justice.

As always, thank you for reading, rating, and especially commenting.

Enjoy!

Chapter 107: Prince Serpentyou

Friday, September 4th, 909 AB
Shortly after sunset

Standing just inside the grounds’ north gate, Cure and Celestia warily watch on as the line of ponies, mostly bats, continues to grow down the street. “I… had not anticipated this much of a turnout,” she slowly says, the concern clearly evident in her voice. “There must be over two hundred ponies in line already. Are you absolutely certain you will be able to see all of them?”

“Absolutely, boss. I am going to have to reconfigure my clinic to accommodate this many in a reasonable amount of time, though.”

“Re…configure your clinic?”

“Yer just usin this as an excuse ta show off, ain’t ya?”

“Oh please,” the colt scoffs. He jerks his head to the princess, arguing, “She just moved who-knows-how-many septillion kilograms, probably hundreds of thousands of kilometers in under two minutes. I don’t think anypony’s gonna soil themselves over me shifting around a few thousand kilograms a couple dozen meters after that. A few earth ponies with some rope, saws, and hammers could probably do the same thing in a night.”

Amethyst shrugs and nods in acceptance, even if she doesn’t have a clue what septillion means. It sounds like a big enough number, but last she checked nopony has tossed either the moon or the sun on a scale to get an estimate of their weight.

“What, exactly, do you have in mind?”

“Nothing too fancy. I’m just going to open it up a bit. If I’m going to see this many ponies in a reasonable amount of time then I need to streamline my workflow. It’s something I thought about a lot over this last week, but the problem is that it kinda removes the familiarity that ponies come to expect when they visit their doctor. I don’t think anypony will fault me if I kinda rush their treatments tonight, though.”

“Likely not,” she easily agrees.

Cure lights his horn as he stares at the empty clinic. With her proximity to the foal, Celestia can easily discern that he is casting no spell. Instead, he appears to be doing so merely for show. She and his mother stand idly by, watching in silence as he concentrates on his task. After several minutes of focus, the outside walls of the clinic begin to shift, seemingly expanding to cover the windows and skylights dotting the building’s surface. The front door disappears next, first receding into the building’s exterior, then being swallowed up by the lengthening wooden planks on either side. The steps are the last feature to be withdrawn into the building’s facade, leaving an oddly blank-faced building before them.

Celestia notes numerous guard patrols have slowed their pace considerably, watching on with curiosity as the young alicorn, horn alight, stares fixedly at his shifting creation.

With eerie silence, a seam begins to grow more visible along the southeast and northeast walls of the building’s face, starting at the foundation and continuing up the corner to the roof, then along the roofline to its peak before disappearing over the back and out of sight. Making nary a sound, the front of the building seems to almost lurch forward at its base; the seams between each horizontal plank widening to allow the one below it to fold down.

As cries of shock and alarm sound out from the audience, the entire face, then roof of the building tilt forward and unroll themselves like a bale of hay, spilling forth over the grass in front of its previous perimeter, and continuing on until it comes to a stop, leaving the walls that were the north, west, and south of the building intact and, aside from the colt’s office and the restroom facilities, the top of the building completely opened. The remainder of the building gradually sinks into its own foundation, lowering itself with no visible sign of the means until it is level with the rest.

“Huh. Don’t see that every day,” Amethyst flatly comments. Celestia can’t help silently nod in agreement.

The princess notes with some interest that meter-thick vines affixed to the former front and roof of the building, presumably acting as the “muscle” that eased the structure flat across the castle grounds.

Cure must have redesigned the interior of the building prior to unraveling it; gone are the support pillars, nurse’s station, and lobby furniture. What was once the ceiling and interior of the front wall is now merely an extension of the soft, mossy carpeting with no signs of the windows or skylights that were present only moments ago.

The colt’s office looks larger as well, as if he pulled the east wall further out to widen the room. In addition to the door on the northeast corner, one has been added to the southeast corner as well, and clearly legible “Enter” and “Exit” signs have been added above them. The wall between the two doors has also changed; a large, black panel of some glass-like substance covers much of the space with blocky, glowing blue print reading “Now Serving: 000” across the top.

Panning her gaze across the structure, Celestia quickly spots a wooden, chest height (on her) sign on a post that reads “Take a Number” at the nearest corner of the platform, along with a pad of paper underneath starting at 001. Another sign beside it advises that soliciting or attempting to coerce others to give up their spot in line will result in the offender’s prompt removal from the castle’s grounds.

She briefly wonders how that will be accomplished before her attention is drawn back to Cure. His glowing horn finally begins vibrating to cast an actual spell, likely answering her unasked question. Teleportation, she easily recognizes, though he executes it far, far too quickly to glean the origin and destination. The spell finalizes and plucks out a single couch from somewhere, likely the enclosed office given the flash from underneath the door, and deposits it into the expanded lobby.

Another rapid series of castings has additional furniture positioned, then the colt’s aura encases the entire refreshment area, deftly lifting the long counter and repositioning it to the center of the lobby despite its staggering size. Stalks grow up from the center of the counter, blooming at the top into a sphere of soft white light.

“I must compliment your spell proficiency, Serpentus,” she offers in genuine praise. “I have seen unicorns well into their teenage years that would not be capable of executing so many teleports in such rapid succession. And that you so effortlessly lifted and moved what must be thousands of pounds of food and beverages is a feat normally performed by entire teams.”

“Aw, geez, boss, yer gonna make me blush over here. Don’t stop, though. Praise me more, senpai!” he snickers, leaning over to nuzzle against her leg. The mare glances to Amethyst who only shrugs unknowingly in response. “Don’t worry about it; it’s a stupid reference to something that I don’t even remember the origin of. Either way, did you want to grab some tea or anything before you head… uhh… to bed. Maybe some nice chamomile to help you sleep? Wink.”

“You said wink,” she dryly notes.

“I say lots’a things,” he responds with an idle shrug. “Either way, I hope you have a wonderfully relaxing and satisfying night’s sleep, princess.”

“And a good night to you as well, Serpentus,” she replies, leaning down to nuzzle his mane. “I hope you have pleasant dreams, Lady Minerva.”

“Hope ya have plenty of pleasure before yer dreams, princess,” she quietly whispers, shooting the elder mare a sly smile.

“A sentiment I share,” she coyly agrees with a departing nod.

“Maker have mercy on that poor, lucky bastard,” he sighs under his breath.

Amethyst shoots him a questioning look. She leans down to whisper, “Think it’s happenin tanight?”

“Reckon so. Love is in the air tonight, after all.” The colt pauses, looks in the direction of the elder alicorn, and shakes in a full-bodied shudder. “Literally, that is. Oh well, more power to ‘er. I’d better go get started. Where are you off to?”

“I reckon I’ll stick around for a bit, maybe get me a snack, spend some time entertainin the foals ‘fore goin up and havin a nice, hot soak in yer jacuzzi, then call it a night.”

“Cool. Stop in and say goodnight before ya go, okay?”

“You bet, colt.”

Saturday, September 5th, 909 AB
Approximately seven hours later, northeast neighborhood

Cure has to give the zebras credit; the security at the ambassador’s home is far more expansive than he had anticipated. Not only does the ambassador’s estate have a tall, stone wall, but the thrum of magic emitted from the pillars located every five meters is impossible to ignore. He can admit that he almost peed a little when they first activated shortly after the ambassador’s arrival, but since nopony… nozebra has come to investigate his presence, he figures he’s probably in the clear.

Unfortunately, their presence means he isn’t exactly sure how he will depart. His initial plan had been to simply fly out again, but if there is some invisible perimeter that looks for metaphysical signatures then he could end up right and properly fucked. The same could be said for Plan B: fly straight up into the sky. Though there’s no visible sign of a dome over the estate, it would be really stupid not to have one in a world where so many creatures can fly.

He dares not risk attempting to probe the defense, both due to external magic use being detectable and since he wouldn’t know how to defeat it anyhow.

Teleporting across the barrier is definitely straight out; not only would that almost certainly be detected, but, again, it would leave a faint trace of his magic from wherever he departed. It would bleed into the background in a little while, but not fast enough he can be sure it would go undetected.

Ultimately, there is one route that Cure is certain he can take. It’s not the most pleasant, by any means, but it is by far the safest.

After watching the guards change shifts shortly before midnight, his robin spent the next few hours keeping track of their patrol routes. A second one perched outside the barrier on the opposite side of the estate provides an alternative, further out viewpoint.

It’s surprising just how many zebras are assigned to guard duty given the seemingly mundanity of the night. Cure has counted thirty-four of them in total. The one oddball squad of four is maring the estate’s front gate while the other ten squads are comprised of three zebras each. Half of those are walking in overlapping patterns on the outside of the mansion, but that still leaves fifteen visible guards in or near the building itself.

One squad is patrolling between the house and around the servants quarters, another is stationed at the front door facing the courtyard. A third is covering the sunroom on the north side of the mansion, occasionally making their way to the building’s east side where a loggia and a porch are located.

He catches sight of two more patrolling inside the house through windows, and those groups in particular have a trickle of concern creeping down his spine. A member of each group appears to be a mage or shaman of some type. A stallion in one and and a mare in the other each have more jewelry on them than the rest and are wearing odd saddle-like back drapes with pouches, trinkets, and a holstered short staff attached. He’s pretty confident they won’t be able to sense his rings; if the princess couldn’t come up with a way to detect or disconnect his portals then he can’t fathom how a, relatively speaking, common mage could be capable of detecting them.

Still, with the threat level reaching new heights, his contingency plans grow steadily more violent. Using his more distant bird as a waypoint, he has a wiry, well armed minotaur body crafted and prepared to rush the entrance. An arrival point can similarly be scanned for magical signatures, but there’s plenty of nearby hidden nooks and crannies he can take advantage of to obscure its arrival location.

A hop and a flap take the bird to the bedroom’s chimney, but a quick peek inside dashes his hopes of finding entry that way. He doesn’t catch a break with any of the others, either. With it being summer, all of the chimney flues are closed off for now. The kitchen one is as well, but a visual inspection shows its construction isn’t the same; the damper in it is a spin-closed slide, not the lever-based latches that would cause a bunch of noise if forced.

Cure briefly considers trying to float down the pipe hummingbird-style so as not to leave marks in the soot, but given his lack of experience flying that way in such a small area, he gives in and begins changing into a spider instead. He briefly considers affixing a tendril and easing himself down, but without a good way to retrieve it without it falling down the flue he quickly abandons the idea.

The climb down isn’t as bad as he has feared. He has been expecting caked-on grease adding to the challenge, but the flue is reasonably clean, likely thanks to an almost exclusively herbivorous diet. He still takes special care to leave as little evidence of his passing as possible, lightening his already meager weight to almost nothing so his tarsi do not disturb the soot inside the pipe.

The kitchens are located in the south-facing estate’s northwest corner on the first floor, slightly to the north and underneath the master bedroom. In fact, as best Cure can tell, he is directly underneath the master bath; the pipes for the sink likely go up the wall to the tub overhead. As far as entry points, it’s not bad at all, as the stairs going up to the second level are not far away. A small dining area is one room to the south, and the stairs are just outside it to the east.

Thankfully, the latch on ovens open easily enough even from the inside.

Cure can only imagine how the scene would look if there was somepony watching. If he didn’t have a talent that makes biology his bitch, the sight of an enormous spider opening a stove, making sure the scene is clear, then climbing out and relatching the door would likely have him leaving a pee trail while noping the fuck away. He makes sure to rotate the flue closed before he departs the room.

Avoiding the patrols is almost trivially easy. With the kitchen being on one end of the building, all he has to do is wait for the group to meander away. Though he could easily scurry along the ceiling, he has ample time to run out to the stairs and up the wall while altering his colors to match the wallpaper.

The master bedroom is right at the top of the stairs, just on his right to the west. Cure is relieved the rings are only a single millimeter thick; it takes less than two seconds to flatten down enough and shove himself under the door when the patrol walks away towards the foals’ bedrooms and the balcony at the far east end of the hallway.

He’d known from watching through the window that the ambassador had been intimate with his wives, but the foreknowledge didn’t completely prepare him for the scent that assaults the olfactory nerves lining his carapace. If it weren’t for his inability to get away with using magic, he would cast Cleaning a dozen times on the bed’s occupants before going near them.

The way Zecora was portrayed in the show was sometimes very cringeworthy; the decor of her tree hut, the way she dressed and spoke, that she chose to live out in the woods to be closer to nature. It struck Ed as perhaps a little odd that the only zebra he recalls seeing was essentially “a pony, but, like, totally African, dude.” The sad thing is that, in large part, the reality of Equus seems to match, this time showcasing itself in the bedroom’s decor; a divergence from the rest of the very pony-like appearance throughout the rest of the house.

While most of the light is blocked by the half-drawn woven wood blinds across the balcony doors and windows, there is enough to make out the general shapes and colors to the colt’s heavily modified eyes.

The flooring is some kind of thin, low pile, cream colored carpeting that is almost entirely covered in an array of rugs with stereotypically “tribal” designs. Circles, triangles, and unfamiliar hieroglyph-like characters are done in arcs of red, yellow, and various shades of brown. The one under the large canopy bed must have cost a fortune, in particular, just due to the size and the hoof-crafted nature of it.

Furniture is crafted exclusively in a very dark, nearly black wood and, on the bed frame in particular, is a style that Cure doesn’t know the name for. Unlike the dressers and end tables, the visible portions of the frame are made of thick, but seemingly uncarved branches that give it a very “straight from nature” kind of feel. Sheets of sheer white cotton curtains are drawn to the bedposts, and eight thin tree branch-like beams are affixed to the ceiling above it. It’s an odd decoration choice that makes no sense to the colt whatsoever.

Opting not to waste any further time admiring the relatively large bedroom, tarantula Cure scurries over to the bed and climbs up the nearest post, surveying the ambassador and his two wives. The colt had intentionally avoided learning any of their names, partially because he simply doesn’t care, and also so that he’ll have plausible deniability in the likely event he ends up being questioned.

If he hadn’t seen a family portrait in the stairwell leading to the bedroom, he wouldn’t even know for sure that they are indeed the ambassador’s wives, nor would he know that they have five foals together; four fillies and a single colt, all within a few years of reaching adulthood. It’s only thanks to Celestia using a male pronoun and his observation of the embassy for the past few days that he even knows he has the right zebra. In the back of his mind he hopes he hasn’t fallen for a body double, but the message he intends to send should get through either way.

Much like his parents, the stallion is lying in the middle of the pile. From left to right, one mare is lying ponyloaf with her chin resting on her stallion’s right flank. The ambassador is facing the opposite direction and lying on his left side, spooning the third snoozing occupant who is facing his same direction. All three are… contaminated in a way that is going to leave the colt shuddering for a while, but at least he can tell himself that the soon-to-be dirtied puppet isn’t his real body and will certainly endure greater unpleasantness at some point or another.

He also notes a pair of emptied vials on the nearest nightstand, the contents of which he suspects are some kind of contraceptive given the time of year. As much as he would like to get a sample, he has no idea what it is or if it has any kind of magical effects that could jeopardize the mission.

The mare facing his direction is the easiest, and thus first, target to be neutralized. He carefully stalks across the bed, lightened to the point he does not even depress the sheets. Once in position, a tentacle stalk grows itself from the tarantula’s back and splits in two to position itself right in front of her snout. Slowly, taking care to not accidentally touch her or any hairs, the tendrils extend deep into the sleeping mare’s nasal cavity and begin releasing their airborne payload, ensuring that she will sleep soundly for the next few hours no matter what happens in the meantime.

The tendrils withdraw from the first wife’s snout, and the spider leaps from the bed back to the bedpost. He stalks past the other wife's hind and forehooves to approach her snout, careful not to move too quickly or raise himself from the shadows the three bodies are casting from the balcony and windows. The tendrils snake forth, drugging the second mare just as he had the first.

With both mares safely sedated the payload is switched to something custom made for this occasion. Carefully gliding past the second mare’s head, the stallion is given a taste of something a little different. Having successfully drugged all three victims, Cure is now free to act out his plan.

Mass begins flooding through the portal ring as the tarantula grows in size and begins to change. Though he is aware that this snake does exist, he has not yet had an opportunity to scan one. Bands of black, yellow, and bright, blood red start to creep up the snake’s body as it slithers into place, easing itself between her neck and the soft sheets, passing between her mane and his neck, and coiling its front half on the side of her face on her jaw, cheek, and muzzle.

Conscious of the low lighting of the room, the end of the snake’s tail alights in a soft white bioluminescent light, illuminating the top of the bed but not reaching the bedroom’s door. “Wakey, wakey, missster ambasssador,” he softly coos, leaning closer to flick his forked tongue against the stallion’s right ear.

Light blue eyes meet ominously glowing, slitted red. Panic grows as the stallion attempts to move, to shout, to call out for help, yet finds that he cannot. The paralyzing agent coursing through his veins locks down all voluntary movement except for his eyes.

Locked-in syndrome is a horrifying condition; one that Cure cannot imagine inflicting on anypony for anything more than a couple minutes. He isn’t exactly proud of what he is doing, but he hopes that the zebras take the message in the spirit with which it is conveyed rather than choosing to double down. Time will tell, he supposes, but for now he needs to focus on the task at hoof. Scale. Whatever.

Cure pulls back his head, rotating it to the right to rest it sideways on the stallion’s snout. Speaking softly with a hiss, he begins, “Attempt to fight it if you wisssh. Your effortsss will be futile. A powerful paralytic coursssesss through your veinsss. Worry not; it will not lassst long, and you…” he pauses to turn his head, motioning towards the wives, “all of you will be unharmed. Thisss time,” he growls, meaningfully displaying his glistening fangs. “I have merely come here to deliver a warning. Word ssspreads quickly, asss you are aware. Newsss reachesss us of sssome visitorsss who may be coming thisss way in the coming monthsss, ssseeking redressss for their dwindling income.

“You,” the tail reaches over from the front of his wife’s neck to poke the ambassador between his eyes, forcing the stallion to blink from the momentary brightness, “will passss along a messssage. Blink if you are lissstening. I do not wish to repeat myssself.” The stallion rapidly blinks several times. “Onccce isss enough,” he lightly hiss-chuckles, “but I do appreciate your enthusiasssm, ambassssador,” he jests, gently stroking the stallion’s cheek and muzzle before pulling back his glowing tail. “You tell them thisss: They are welcome to commit ssssuicccide by attacking his highnessss,” he leans in menacingly close, deepening his voice with a slight rumble, “but they. Do. Not. go after innocccentsss. Family. Friendsss. Acquaintancccesss. Neighborsss. They. Are. Off. Limitsss.”

Cure pulls back, flicking at the mare’s ear with his tongue. Though immobile, the stallion’s eyes betray his panic at seeing the serpent’s scales shifting across the face of the mare he loves. “We mussst remain cccivilisszed in all thingsss, after all, yesss? No zebra, no pony, wishesss to sssee,” he opens wide, tracing along the mare’s scalp with his fangs, careful not to leave any residue behind, “what happensss when byssstandersss become acceptable targetsss, yesss?” He moves back to the stallion’s muzzle and stares directly into his eyes. “If that happensss, the resultsss will be… horrific. Blink onccce if you underssstand.”

The stallion promptly does.

“Good. Good. I am ssso, ssso glad we are on the sssame page. The griffonsss onccce incurred the wrath of an alicorn. It hasss been many yearsss, however, and memoriesss are sssuch fickle. Little. Thingsss. I do not sssuggest the zebrasss remind the world what ssstrife one of them can unleasssh. No creature wishesss to sssee the Alicorn of Life chossse to bring Death inssstead. Blink one lassst time if you underssstand what I am sssaying.”

Another blink.

“Excccellent. I do hope I need never return here, ambassssador. Neither of usss wantsss that, I promissse. Now, I believe I ssshall find a warm ssspot to ssspend the night before I depart. Sssomewhere no zebra will find me.” Cure makes a show of peeking in the wife’s ear before theatrically sighing and shaking his head. He looks down her side and blatantly flicks his tongue out to taste the air, grumbling, “Cccertainly not going near that.” He twists away, hovering in front of her muzzle, and gives a single nod. “Perfect. You did not ssseed this end.

“Open wide, sssweatheart. I’m a real mouthful,” he chuckles, prying her jaws apart with his still glowing tail. As the tail begins to slide past her lips he looks up in mock realization. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” He slinks forward, slithering past the stallion’s jaw and rests heavily against his throat. “Goodnight, ambassssador. Sssweet dreamsss,” he calls, biting down on the stallion’s neck.

A quick acting hypnotic is pumped directly into the stallion’s blood through hundreds of microscopic filaments that pass through his dermis, leaving no puncture wounds behind. It only takes a moment for the stallion’s breathing to deepen and sleep to reclaim him.

Cure’s tail light cuts off and he pushes the mare’s mouth back shut before slithering off the bed towards the bathroom, looking behind himself to ensure he did not leave a snakey path behind in the rug. Assured there is no sign of his presence, he continues on his way.

As disgusting as it is, the best way he can figure to escape the estate is via the sewers, so he completely disables anything scent related, seals off the snake’s mouth, nose, and other openings, covers its eyes in a transparent membrane, and dives into the toilet’s channel. Mass flows back through the portal, reforming the snake’s body into a three and a half centimeter ball. A single tendril extends out, wrapping itself around the flush chain. Adhered firmly to the bottom of the channel, the chain is yanked and the tendril retracts, washing the lump away through the mansion’s pipes and into the city’s sewer to freedom. Absently, Cure notes the path he took in case he finds the need to come back again someday.

With about an hour left before sunrise, Cure finally decides to call an end to his healing session. Certain the line would never completely die out, he calls over a passing patrol and gives them the remainder of the tear-off number pad before sending them out the castle gates. He instructs them to pass a number to anypony they can see headed to the castle for healing, then pass an order to the guards to stop anypony else from trying to enter unless they have a legitimate emergency.

All told he didn’t quite make it through the first pad, but as ponies were only taking one slip per family, that still added up to several hundred creatures healed overnight. He would feel bad for dragging the seventy-some-odd ponies’ healing out throughout the week, but the vast majority of them needed more done to bring them up to full health and ensure they’ll remain as such until the RHA has time to verify the safety of his aging treatment.

Sending them to the gates with the pad also gave him an idea for a product that he hadn’t previously considered; something that many human businesses went through hundreds or thousands of every day. Post-it Notes are no more than a small scrap of paper with a patch of adhesive that does not leave a residue behind, yet they would sell for a bit or two per pad with ease.

He certainly never thought he would end up as the Alicorn of Office Supplies, but businesses are, and always will be, good entities to market to. They buy and burn through more volume in supplies than households could, and typically have far deeper pockets for him to plunder. Even better, there is nopony presently in the market for him to drive out of business, so he can finally earn some bits without a nagging feeling of guilt from the unfairness rolling around the back of his mind.

As he continues to see family after family, the overwhelming majority of whom are bats, he keeps an eye with his second, more distant bird drone just outside to the west of the ambassador’s estate. It’s not difficult at all to determine exactly when the poor stallion finally awakes; not only was his screaming audible even through his balcony doors, both the guards from overnight and the ones arriving for the morning began tearing through the grounds looking for any sign of an intruder.

Cure is certain they will not find anything amiss. Not a single scale, scrap of chitin, or anything else was left behind. The portal was also never directly exposed to air, though it was a near thing when he was scooting underneath the bedroom door. He also never used any external magic, instead relying only on internal expressions and pure biological and biomechanical forces.

With his ears shaped like a parabola, enlarged, and aimed in the home’s direction, he manages to pick up bits and pieces of the conversation. From the argumentative shouts between the ambassador and the stallion mage that was patrolling the upstairs, it sounds like somezebra may have suggested it was all a bad dream.

Cure had meant the whole climbing inside the mare’s mouth act as more of a joke than anything; the esophagus of a pony, or a zebra, is technically wide enough to achieve the feat, but even at the snake’s short, meter length, there is no way the mare would be perfectly fine in the morning after trying it. Not only would she have the dam of all sore throats and a severely messed up voice, she would likely be able to feel the couple kilograms of weight sitting oddly inside her gut, even if it didn’t give her some seriously major stomach distress.

The ambassador apparently did not quite take it as such, and is torn between his desire to be near his, in his mind, stricken wife and the concern that a coral snake could shoot out of her at any given moment. He loudly insists that she be taken to the hospital for a medical diagnostic, but absolutely flips his lid when somepony mentions that the prince has been healing all comers at the castle overnight.

It is at that point that the ambassador switches to Zebrican and, Cure guesses, begins unleashing a flurry of curses aimed squarely at the new prince. Though he committed a translation book to memory, that is absolutely no help in this situation. The colt suspects he could likely read a sentence and use context clues to figure out what is written, but he can barely catch anything that the ambassador is saying.

Either way, Cure feels a tiny smidge bad for the guards that were on duty last night. Not only is their boss pretty pissed off at them, but from the looks of things, they won’t be getting the opportunity to punch out anytime soon.

He watches as runners are dispatched to several locations. It’s difficult to tell where all of them are going, but some head to nearby homes to rouse other zebras that live nearby, either to ensure they are okay or to see if anyzebra else had a visitor as well. Others head south, he assumes either towards the embassy or to summon additional guards on their day off. Finally, a squad of three begin heading southwest, likely towards the palace itself.

Apparently the zebras are going to run to mommy to tattle, he snidely considers. Wonder if I’ll get to listen in.

Curiously, none are heading directly west towards the hospital. The reasoning becomes apparent a moment later when one of the neighbors rushes out of her home with a medical bag on her withers. Cure recalls seeing the zebra at the main hospital when he was helping with the births, but never worked with her directly. She’s met at the ambassador’s estate entrance and escorted from there to the bedroom by the female mage.

He catches pieces of the conversation before they make it in the house. The guard all but swears the doctor to secrecy while refusing to disclose why she was summoned and why there’s apparently a full muster of the ambassador’s protective detail. Cure has to give the doctor a bit of credit; even if she’s perfectly safe, she has to know some shit hit the fan that she’s not being told about, but she’s still marching through a kicked hornet’s nest to tend to her patient.

Cure times his customers out perfectly. He finishes with the last family just in time for Celestia to stroll out the castle entrance. Dozens of ponies snacking and socializing on the platform of his former clinic must sense the princess’s approach. Conversation all but comes to a halt. Food and drinks are set aside and ponies rise and climb off their couches.

They don’t all drop into bows like Cure had started to expect, but heads are lowered in respect during her approach. With a skip in his step, Cure trots up to the princess and leans over to give her leg a nuzzle, leaning up into her snout when she returns the gesture. “‘Mornin, boss. If you’re in need of healing I guess I can see one more.”

“Good morning, Serpentus. I believe I will endure, somehow.” She stands up tall and graces the staring crowd with a radiant smile. “Good morning, my little ponies.”

Cure’s face pinches in consternation, bummed that he probably won’t get away with teleporting in a couple bottles. He briefly wonders if it’s odd that he considers that off limits but is fine with breaking into the ambassador’s home last night. The thought is immediately dismissed as ridiculous; letting the public see him, a foal, holding alcohol is way worse than burglary, home invasion, assault, and the menacing of a foreign official.

He watches and follows along as she begins mingling with the crowd. It’s always a pleasure to see the mare when she gets to interact with the public. The way her warmth draws everypony in is something to behold. She greets many of the ponies by name, cooing and loving on the foals as they excitedly climb all over her and play in her mane. Teasingly, she inquires about the care and service Cure offered overnight, soliciting gushing praise for the younger alicorn.

When the time does finally come, she stands, allowing the foals to stay on her back, and begins sedately walking to the south. Cure notices many of the bats closing the nictitating membranes he’d given them as they trail behind. It’s a modification that ties directly to his real identity, but being such a huge quality of life improvement, he was unwilling to make everypony wait a full year before hoofing them out. Besides, if there’s one group he’s confident won’t try to expose him, it’s the tightly knit bat community.

Regally striding out to the center of the castle grounds, Celestia turns to face the west, staring off into the distance behind the palace. Her whole form begins glowing as she channels raw arcanum, performing the single-pony ritual required to move the moon. Having seen and felt it enough times, Cure can tell how much more effort must be expended outside of the balcony's ritual circle. That she can still do both rituals with no discernable exhaustion begs the question of how deep that well truly is.

With the moon pushed over the horizon, the entire herd turns as one to face the east. With a mere fraction of the effort, Celestia reaches through the connection to her sun, and easily lifts it into the sky, blanketing the world in its golden light and bringing a new dawn’s warmth to the lands.

She turns to face the crowd, levitating the foals off her back and giving them a final nuzzle. “Please feel free to enjoy yourselves as long as you wish, but I am afraid we must depart. Young Serpentus has an engagement for which he must prepare.” She faces him and beckons with a wing. “Come along, Serpentus. It is time for you to get ready.”

Cure briefly considers intercepting the three zebras that are quickly approaching the castle walls so they won’t interrupt their breakfast, but actually attacking somezebra may gain him the princess’s ire, especially since this would happen in Equestrian territory. The two are just making their way into the dining room when the messengers arrive at the gate.

Now seated on his cushion, Cure reaches out and takes an exaggerated slurping drink from his coffee. He waits until the food arrives and turns to face the princess. “So,” he begins in a light, airy tone while shooting her a knowing look, “how did everything go last night? Have a pleasant evening, Tia?”

“I did,” she coyly returns, refusing to meet the colt’s teasing smirk.

“Good fer you, princess. So, not ta stick my snout where it don’t belong,” she leans in closer to speak quietly in case anypony walks in the room, “but how’s this gonna work? I’m guessin ya ain’t told ‘em yet, right?”

Cure sets a Sound Bubble crystal on the table for show and activates it to give them some privacy.

“I… have not. I intend to this coming weekend. I cannot deny the prospect causes me no small amount of anxiety. As you can imagine, there is no good way to reveal my identity.”

“I reckon not. Can’t say fer sure what I’d say if I were in their shoes. A surprise princess ain’t exactly somethin you’d expect. Suppose if there’s a real connection then what ya are shouldn’t matter.”

“That is my hope as well.”

“How do you plan on doing it?” Cure inquires. “I mean, it’s not like you can just say, ‘Everypony that is not an alicorn, raise your hoof,’ then just placidly stare at them.” Both snort in amusement at the blunt suggestion.

“No, I believe the best approach is to invite them to the palace to meet with Sunny, and have that conversation in a private setting.”

“Sounds a mite bit intimidatin, princess.”

“Yeah, boss, yer gonna scare the fudge outta them summoning them here. Does Sunny have an apartment or a house you can meet at instead?”

“I… do maintain a small home in the northwest quarter that I could use. I suppose that may be a more comfortable setting for them, but at that point I might as well simply go to them instead.”

“As long as you can soundproof the house, that’s what I would suggest,” Cure agrees. “If you really want to do it here then at least come up with a good excuse. Prince Serpentus could offer to give Sunny’s colt and fillyfriend a checkup like he has for other officials. Maybe I can slip ‘em a shot of some anti-anxiety meds so they don’t freak out on you.”

The princess sends him an unamused scowl. “I am not drugging anypony, Cure.”

“Didn’t you meet at a bar?”

Her brow furrows even more deeply and she growls, “That is not the same!”

“Riiiiiight,” he mockingly agrees overtop his mother’s chuckling. He rolls his eyes so hard his whole front half gets in on the action. “Totally different class of drugs. Fine, I’ll hit them with a shot of whiskey instead.”

The mare’s nostrils flare like a bull as she blows out a steamy huff. “Cure!”

Hooves held up in placation, he ducks his head into a conciliatory bow. “Okay! Okay!” he defends, holding his pose until the fearsome stare abates. “I’ll tell them I’ve created a super special magical alicorn drink and ask if they want to try some. One hundred percent voluntary.”

“I am beginning to think I should permanently bar you from ever having contact with them.”

“Now that right there would be a crime, depriving them of the magnificence that is my presence.” It’s the princess’s turn to roll her eyes, it seems, as she does so with gusto while sipping her tea. “By the way,” he begins, reaching to deactivate and scoop up his crystal, “three zebra messengers just got escorted into the castle lobby. One of your guards is on her way here to fetch you, so it must be pretty urgent. You may wanna pound your breakfast down ‘cause from the way they were runnin through the streets I’m thinkin something must be up.”

“Really?” she asks, surprise painted on her features. “I wonder why a messenger would be dispatched on a Saturday morning. I hope there is nothing wrong.”

“Eh, who knows? Maybe somepony’s sick and they need my help. Guess we’ll see in a moment.”

Celestia absently nods and rushes to finish her breakfast, completely unaware of the mess that could be headed their way. Cure feels slightly guilty not giving her a heads-up, but in this instance it would be better, he suspects, if she could legitimately claim to be unaware of his activities so she comes across as genuine. He doesn’t doubt her acting abilities any more than he does any other pony, but that’s not saying much given the entire species seems to kind of suck at lying. Besides, there’s no telling what the letter could say, and Cure isn’t keen on incriminating himself if there’s no reason to do so.

It’s only a moment later that a pegasus pony mare in armor enters the room and rushes to the princess’s side, ducking into a bow before explaining in a hushed voice, “Apologies for interrupting, your majesty, but guards from Ambassador Kundai’s estate are in the castle lobby. They say they are carrying a missive from the ambassador, but insist that it must be delivered to your majesty directly.”

“That… sounds a little odd, princess,” Cure notes. “I don’t see what the point would be, but do you have a way to ensure there’s not some kinda… I dunno, curse? Spell? Something on the letter?”

The mare scoffs and dismisses the idea with a shake of her head. “To send me such a thing would be akin to declaring war, Serpentus. It is most likely that the guards were simply instructed to deliver it as such to ensure it was not tampered with along the way. There is no cause for concern at all, even if it is somewhat unusual for us to correspond in such a way.”

“Riiiight,” he agrees disbelievingly. “All the same, I’m coming too.” Knowing how protective the colt is, she simply shrugs her wings and nods in acceptance as she rises to follow the pegasus back to the lobby. Cure stands to follow, shouting over his withers to his mom as he departs, “Go ahead and finish, ma. Maybe talk to some of the castle staff and see if there’s some shops you’d like to hit after the whole dance thing today. We’ll make this a you day if you’d like.”

“Sounds nice, colt. Go be a prince or whatever,” she insists, shooing him away with her hoof. “I’ll see ya in a bit.”

Cure follows the pair as they make their way back to the lobby, both his and Celestia’s Royal Guards taking up their positions on his tail. Several times he wishes they could just hop out a window and glide down or that the princess would simply teleport them instead. It doesn’t make any sense; while he can understand why they wouldn’t want to teleport right in front of the messengers, even he could move the pair, their escort, and their six guards to just outside the doorway they’ll be passing through when they do arrive. Rather than traverse the distance in a matter of seconds, the nine ponies waste several long minutes sedately trotting through the halls and down a few flights of stairs.

“You absolutely must be the most impatient pony I have ever encountered,” Celestia mildly observes, turning her long neck to the side to glance back at the colt. “You have sighed and huffed in annoyance at least six times in just the last minute. If you are truly so eager to get to dance class then you need not follow along. I can scarcely imagine the ambassador is requesting your presence, after all.”

“No, no,” he deflects. “If I’m gonna wear the fancy hat then I’d best get used to interacting with foreign officials. Besides, somepony has to make sure the big mean zebras don’t try something sneaky. We wouldn’t want something to happen without me there to keep ya safe, now would we?”

A strangled laugh escapes the pegasus and, not even skipping a step, she slowly pans her head to the right to take in the two royals’ looks; the princess showing mild amusement and the knee-height prince all but glowing with absolute confidence, then annoyance when he meets her eyes. “Allergies bugging you, private?”

“Sir!” she acknowledges, snapping her gaze forwards. “Must be some pollen in the air, sir.”

“Yeah?” he asks good naturedly. Tone light, he offers, “You know I can fix that up for ya, right? You just say the word, I’ll make those allergies disappear.”

A great white wing reaches out to poke at his snout. “Do not bully my guards, Serpentus.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles under his breath as they finally reach the lobby’s interior doors. The three zebras show no reaction to his presence when they turn to face the princess. The stallion at the center of the group makes a show of slowly reaching into a carrier bag strapped to his chest between his forelegs, withdrawing and offering up an envelope sealed with dark gray wax.

Celestia takes it in her magic and cracks it open, scanning across the document in a second. She refolds it, tucks it back in the envelope, and slides them underneath her right wing. “Please tell Ambassador Zuberi that we will see him at one o’clock in conference room one here at the castle.”

The stallion nods in acceptance and turns, leading the other two back out the main door.

Celestia watches them go, then turns to castle staff standing by for orders. “Please ensure that Duke Dresser and Chancellor Start be available this afternoon, and make preparations to receive the Zebrican delegation.”

A series of “Yes, your majesty!” ring out from the crowd of ponies who promptly disperse to get started.

The mare stands still for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, then glances down to the colt who cocks a brow in question. “Sup?”

She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly, then glances back to the door they just came through. “Come along,” she calls, “you should get prepared, lest you be late.”

“Ohhh… kay? Well, I sure am glad I tagged along,” he gripes, scampering to keep up with her longer strides. “Ten minutes of walking to stand there for ten seconds while you read a letter. Totally worth it. You know what? Next time I think I will stay behind and finish my breakfast. Honestly, I don’t know why they couldn’t just hoof that note over -”

“I believe we will teleport this time,” she abruptly interrupts. She turns to the sergeant in charge of Cure’s escort for the day and says, “Sergeant, please await Prince Serpentus at his carriage. He will be along shortly.”

A momentary flash of confusion crosses the stallion’s face. He recovers quickly, snapping off a crisp salute before turning to leave. The princess’s horn ignites and, in only a second, the two alicorns and her guards materialize just outside her office doors. She throws them open and marches through while the colt suddenly considers that he would have been fine walking this time.

Cure no more than steps through when the doors slam shut behind him. Already sitting behind her desk, Celestia takes the envelope from underneath her wing. She removes the letter and slides it across the desk in offering to the colt, staring flatly at him the entire time. The younger alicorn hops onto the couch opposite the desk and grabs the letter, reading over its contents.

“So… There was an ‘incident’ at his house and he wants to meet with all of us. What’s got you all in a tizzy?”

She stares unblinkingly at him for a few seconds. “I cannot think of many reasons that would explain why your presence has been requested. Also, read aloud the line in which he does.”

Cure doesn’t need to look down to repeat it. “‘It is requested that Duke Dandy Dresser, Chancellor Fair Start, and His Highness, Prince Serpentus be in attendance as well.’ And? What am I missing here?” he asks, hooves turned upright in question.

“Do you not find it odd that you were included last? The intent to give insult is as blatant as they come, Cure.”

“Again, so what? My ego ain’t quite that fragile, boss. If he wants to be a prick about it then why would I care?”

She loudly sighs, closes her eyes, and leans against the desk. “Regardless, please tell me: Do you have any idea why the Zebrican ambassador is requesting a meeting with us, and with you specifically, in regards to some unnamed ‘incident’ at his manor that happened overnight?”

Cure shrugs again and tosses the letter back into her desk. “Presumably, something happened and he either thinks I can help them figure something out or somepony got hurt enough to ask for healing but not badly enough to be urgently needed.”

Celestia stares again, searching for some kind of tell or sign giving away a sign that Cure is being deceptive. She soon determines that it’s a futile attempt given his self control. “Yes or no: Do you know what happened at the ambassador’s estate last night?”

“The first I heard of this ‘incident,’ whatever that means, was when I read the note,” he insists, waving a hoof at the letter on her desk. Celestia’s look of doubt stabs into the colt’s heart, and he hates that he is all but lying to the mare, but he would rather endure that then put her in a position where she must lie to cover up his actions. He briefly regrets doing what he did, but knows that if the ambassador takes his warning to heart then it should be worth it in the long run. “Look, Tia, I get it. I know you think I did something. You have nothing to worry about, though, okay? Tell me honestly: If I had done something and they could prove it, would they be asking for a private meeting or shouting it from the rooftops?”

She blows out another long sigh and nods in acceptance. “The latter, I suspect. Unless they wish to use the transgression,” she pauses, shooting him a mild glare, “assuming there was one, as a bargaining chip of some kind.” She pauses and shakes her head, sucking in a deep breath. “Very well. I truly hope that you are telling me the truth. I will be very, very disappointed if I find that you have lied to me, Cure. Now go on,” she waves a hoof to the door, “enjoy your morning with the fillies. Oh, and Cure?”

“Hm?”

“From now on, you, either as yourself or in any alternative identity, are to have absolutely no contact with any foreign government official or officials unless I am present or I have given you my direct, express permission. Is that understood?”

Cure’s expression doesn’t change at all as he gives her a firm nod. “You bet. At least, as long as they don’t come to me. I can’t exactly run away from somezebra if one shows at the hospital, ya know?”

“Of course, but in that case I expect to hear about it your earliest opportunity. Now,” she waves towards the door, “go.”