Wednesday, September 9th, 909 AB (the next day)
Shortly before sunrise

Head resting on the inside of his mother’s right thigh, Cure slowly comes to wakefulness earlier than he would prefer. With Amethyst’s left foreleg looped under his and holding him gently to her soft warm tummy, he spends a long moment considering whether to get up or close his eyes and get another few minutes rest.

Finally he decides that today will be the day; a momentous occasion that the boss lady will remember for all eternity. For what may be the first time in her incredibly long life, Princess Celestia will get to experience the magical, salty bliss that is bacon. Fortunately there’s no need to leave his mother’s warm embrace. After a quick check of his clinic and Madame Adiah’s slumbering form, he Teleports a second Serpentus into his bedroom. Once royally outfitted, the puppet fires off a crisp salute for his own amusement before turning and darting out through his chamber doors.

“Mornin, ladies,” he greets the two bats with a nod. “I’m gonna go make the boss lady a very special breakfast.” He leans in close, holds a hoof to muzzle, and conspiratorial whispers to the bats, “If you two can keep a secret I’m happy to bribe you with a treat, too, but you can’t tell anypony about it just yet.”

The mares share a look and salute in response.

“Awesome! Let’s head to the kitchens!” he cheers before turning to leave. He pauses after only a second and looks back over his withers. “Actually, step a little closer and we’ll teleport there. It’s just about time for the sun to come up.” The mares trade a slightly more uneasy look before reluctantly stepping closer. “Don’t worry,” he reassures them, “I do this all the time. I could teleport you across the city in a couple jumps with no problem.”

The two steel themselves as his horn begins glowing, and all three flash back into existence just outside the kitchen and startle a passing patrol. Cure gives them a quick wing wave as he ducks through the doors to get started.

For possibly the thousandth time since last September, Cure can’t help but marvel at how utterly insanely simple magic makes every mundane thing. A Warming cantrip cuts preheating pans - or the oven, for that matter - to only a few seconds, while Cleaning instantly restores everything to immaculate perfection. With a fair amount of practice and control, Cure is sure he’ll be able to cook using only his aura just like the princess had shown just after his ascension.

Combined with his ability to teleport pre-made and mixed ingredients in from his clinic (simply extruding them was not an option with so many eyes on him), it only takes twenty minutes to, in his humble opinion, whip up four of the greatest omelets that ponykind has ever seen.

Peppers and onions diced small enough to taste, but not large enough to be a distraction on the tongue. The layer of eggs, garnished with small bites of spinach, is perhaps slightly thicker and a little more dense than some may prefer, but Cure, and Ed, always preferred a bit more substance as opposed to overly airy, fluffed up nothingness that some ponies make.

A thin layer of cheddar graces the center of three, mixed with a different meat for Celestia to try; sausage, ham, and the blessed sacred bacon. The fourth, in case she is adamantly opposed to trying faux meat, is a mixture of cheddar and mozzarella with lightly salted mushrooms sautéed in butter.

As befits Her Majesty’s station, Cure doesn’t simply toss everything on paper plates and grab some plasticware and a roll of paper towels. Instead, with some assistance from the cooing, giggling kitchen staff, the four dishes are arranged on a fancy enchanted platter that will somehow magically make them stay fresh like they just came right out of the pan. A set of gold-clad silverware is set to the side along with a small plate of pastries and a few slices of an oaty, nutty toast with an assortment of jellies and jams.

Wings held out level to maintain perfect balance on the, relatively speaking, oversized service, he and his guards Teleport back to the Royal Wing where the princess’s door is all but thrown open upon his approach. It strikes him as mildly amusing and, perhaps, slightly worrying how eager everypony is for him to get old enough just so he can knock up the boss.

Overall, it’s an extremely odd situation; from his memories, what they are allowing, perhaps even encouraging, to happen is dangerously close to some kind of grooming. At the same time, the fact that he has those memories at all completely changes the situation for a number of reasons.

First, there’s absolutely no need to coerce him to eventually do what he must. While he knows nopony truly has a right to use his body as they see fit, there’s not a single living soul he feels has more earned a chance to be a dam than she has.

Second, human societal norms, while useful at times to keep in mind, are not always going to be a good source from which to make decisions. Pony society, as it is at the moment, considers it the obligation of the male to do what is required to bring about the next generation; going so far as to somewhat pressure adults to have foals even if they are not heterosexual. That will likely change when his colt-producing products become available, but not likely for at least a decade or two until colt population numbers start to catch up with fillies.

Finally, while he loathes the idea of looking at mares as some kind of conquest, he can’t deny that in the very idea alone of giving a thousand-plus year old immortal the greatest night of her life tickles some animalistic hunger lurking in the dark recesses of his predator mind. It’s not something he’s proud of, but then again, most folks don’t go around bragging about their own fetishes.

Except for mares when they think there’s no stallions or foals nearby. They make it seem almost like a competition.

He no more than steps through the door when he slams snout-first into a rich bouquet of pungent, acidic, yet intensely alluring scents. The colt’s jaw falls open and he blinks his eyes several times, then shudders from snout to tail both in his puppet and within Amethyst’s grasp. A quick application of his talent disables the olfactory nerves, blocking the scent and allowing him to think with a clear head.

He briefly wonders if it would be less embarrassing for her if he were to make a hasty retreat or play it off as if nothing is amiss. Unfortunately or not, entirely too many ponies are very much aware of his plans, so there is no longer any way out but through.

It shouldn’t be a big deal; estrus in and if itself isn’t something most find embarrassing. Save some edge cases with fertility issues (for now), every mare goes through it at least every year, and usually twice. It’s not like human cultures that, for whatever reason, associated the act of menstruation with some kind of sinful behavior.

Still…

Somehow it makes the colt feel more than a little awkward. Part of it is definitely that he has, granted, with the most innocent and pure of intentions, invaded her most sacred and private sanctum. She has never objected in the past, though he has always shown all due respect for the trust she has given, but if she knew that her body might decide to send a certain signal, she may have amended his otherwise blanket permissions, reasonably, for the remainder of his visit.

Unto the breach, you coward, he silently admonishes himself.

Silently crossing the dimly lit room, Cure finds Celestia lying diagonally across the Princess sized bed on her right side, hind legs stretched back and hooves dangling off the edge of the bed. The mare’s left wing is partially unfurled, covering most of her barrel as her sides slowly rise and fall with her deep breaths. Her forelegs are folded up almost daintily against her chest, and one of her pillows is turned to run the length of her neck with one side folded under to lift up her head.

He extends his own wing to block the light from Teleporting in an adequately enormous mug of rich, dark black tea and lifts both it and the platter in his aura. Removing the lid, he moves closer to the top of the bed and floats both offerings to his liege just a few hooves from her snout.

“Oohhh Tiiii~aaaaah! Rise and shine, my not-so-little pony,” he croons in an overly high pitch. “It’s almost time to raise the sun and your favorite brilliant, hilarious, and supremely helpful colt in the whole wide world has made a very special breakfast for his most favorite-est alicorn on all of Equus!”

Cure has to stifle a giggle when the mare’s nostrils begin flaring, eagerly drinking in the scent of the meal he prepared. She begins moving slightly as she stirs, first kind of shuffle-scooting closer and reaching out with her forelegs towards the tray, forcing Cure to move it away slightly so she doesn’t accidentally knock it over. He figures the aroma must be mightily enticing; it’s only a few seconds after uncovering the tray that her tongue darts out and, somewhat tantalizingly, licks across her lips. He surrenders his attempts to hold back his laugh, snickering and snorting loudly enough to finally bring her out of her daze.

A single magenta eye cracks open, instantly homing in on the spread floating in a chocolatey brown aura. “Cure?” she drowsily asks, peeking over to the horn that barely pokes up above her mattress. “You made me breakfast?”

He rears up, leaning on the side of the bed with his left forehoof so he can look her in her eye. “Of course I made ya breakfast! I figure if somepony has to put up with my shenanigans, the least they deserve is a belly full of something tasty while they’re doing so. Now, I know what you’re thinking,” he insists, holding his hoof up to forestall any argument. In her own voice he exclaims, “But simply having you around to brighten my day is all that I could ever hope for, Cure Wave!”

“And I know,” he continues in his own voice, nodding sagely in agreement, “my presence alone more than makes up any…” he hesitates, rolling his right hoof in the air, “unfortunateness that might coincidentally occur in my general proximity,” he narrows his eyes suspiciously when she snorts, “but! But, still, despite you clearly being the more beneficerous party-”

“That is not a word.”

“It is now!” he boldly declares, hoof thrust into the air. “Anyhow, despite that, it is my obligation… nay, my duty,” he espouses, hoof held to his puffed up chest, “to ensure that, regardless of my complete and total innocence-”

“Maker help me…”

“- that I go above and beyond to take exceptional care of one of the top ten - fifteen, max - most important mares in my life, up to and including that she not miss out on any of the wondrous delicacies that this fine world has to offer!”

Drawing a deep breath and overtly rolling her eyes, Celestia rotates her front half to lay more on her barrel. “Presumably, then, these… omelets?”

“Yep. Omelets.”

She nods, continuing, “are made with some kind of meat?”

“Sort of. Fake meat. And only three of them. That one,” he lifts the plate slightly with his horn, “has mushrooms in it in case you really didn’t want to try the meat ones. The other three are all a variety of artificial-” he cuts off at her upheld hoof, cocking a brow in question.

“I,” she hesitantly begins, “am willing to try them, but I would prefer not to know exactly what it is I am eating.”

“Sure, but, again, you’re eating a plant, boss. The proteins, carbs, and other minerals and whatnot are all just an approximation of what is in meat. Honestly, mushrooms, depending on what kind and how you cook them, taste an awful lot like… well,” he hesitates now, wrinkling his snout in thought, “ehh, I won’t tell you what kind of creature, but… yeah. Mushrooms can taste a lot like their meat. They even have the same kind of chewy texture, even if they’re a little more tender. Assuming you haven’t cooked them wrong, that is. In fact, it’s not uncommon for a big portobello to be substituted in for meat on a sandwich.”

Celestia’s snout crinkles at the comparison, prompting the colt to hurry and move on. “Look, like I said last time, I’m not gonna insist ya try ‘em, but so far almost everypony that has tasted the stuff likes it pretty well. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. How ‘bout we start with my favorite, hmm?” he asks. He slides the platter on the nightstand and, under her watchful gaze, cuts, for her, a relatively small bite out of the center of the bacon omelet.

Celestia smiles faintly as the small foal lifts the food-filled fork up in offering. It’s cute and adorable the way his tail swishes happily, shifting his booty from side to side as he watches on in eager excitement. Truthfully, the idea of trying the food is not at all unappealing; the smell alone is intoxicating enough that she would have been fine digging right in without question, but seeing how he’s almost dancing with glee having “convinced” her to try it tells her she made the right choice.

Leaning forward, she gingerly bites down and withdraws, humming and tilting her head in consideration as she explores every flavor the morsel offers up. The only sign of anything meat-like is the occasionally tougher squares of some kind of salty, chewy flavor. Truthfully, the mushroom comparison he gave is fairly apt; the rich, savory flavor is not nearly as unique as she had expected.

“Mmmmmm,” she softly moans in appreciation, barely suppressing her smile when she sees the way he positively lights up, “that is certainly different. The saltiness complements the eggs quite well. I am a little unsure about the texture. It is not bad,” she is quick to reassure, “but if anything, it vaguely reminds me of sundried tomatoes.”

The younger alicorn bobs his head in consideration, ultimately agreeing with the observation. “I could see that. The skin, at least, maybe. Can’t say I care much for tomatoes on an omelet, though. There are some really good tomato and vinegar based sauces that go really well on one, though. Ketchup, of course, is okay, but again, not my speed. I have yet to encounter anything I would consider a hot sauce, exactly, and ponies don’t seem to care for very spicy stuff. Nor do griffons, based on what I saw at Maestro’s.”

Muzzle inclined in thought, he muses, “I’ll hafta maybe get with Momma Lemon and do some experimenting in the kitchen; see if I can’t come up with a good Red Hot or Cholula knock-off.” Tilting his head to the right, he continues, “I wonder what I should call buffalo sauce if I can come up with a good one.”

Distaste barely held back from her voice, Celestia all but pleads, “Tell me that is not some sauce based off of a buffalo’s flavor.”

Cure chuckles, shaking his head. “No. It was named for the city that supposedly invented it. Maybe,” he shrugs. “Buffalo, New York. Buffalo meat isn’t very good. Not nearly as flavorful as cow.” The princess’s snout crinkles in disgust. “Horse is the same, for that matter.” The look intensifies at his assertion and a shudder passes through the mare. Undaunted, the colt presses on, “I think it’s too lean, maybe, that’s why pork and beef were more popular.

“That and most folks felt about the same way you do,” he says with an understanding incline of his snout, “when it came to eating equines. The bond between them and you-know-what made the idea a little too close for comfort. Same as dogs, cats, and other domesticated animals in most parts of the world. In fact, he only had it once and even then only because he went to a restaurant that specifically served that item; likely the only one in a hundred miles… err, a hundred and fifty kilometers or so.”

“If such a bond existed then why eat them at all? Presumably there was no lack of other options.”

Cure can only offer a shrug in response. “Honestly, I don’t really get it either. Curiosity, maybe? I imagine some people must have actually liked the flavor, but other than that, I couldn’t say. I’ll admit I’ve occasionally wondered what would happen if I started offering a variety of sentient creature flavored meats to carnivorous creatures.

“Not so much what the political ramifications would be; even with my extremely limited experience I can guess that, but like… what creature would they end up thinking tastes the best? Zebras, a specific tribe of ponies, cows, donkeys, minotaurs, buffalos, hippogriffs, etcetera, etcetera.

“I’ve also kinda wondered what would happen if I, for example, secretly started selling griffon-like meat to Griffonstone and said it’s something else. Would it be, like, a big hit? Would they think it’s gross? The funny thing is that you just know there would be at least one griffon that takes a bite and thinks, ‘Huh. This tastes kinda familiar somehow.’”

That gets a chuckle out of the princess, returning some levity to the room that was lost during his rant. “While I am sure that such a thing may have occurred in times past, I find it unlikely that any living griffon would recognize that flavor.”

“Ya never know,” he argues with another shrug, “there were some cultures that considered cannibalism acceptable.” He leans in closer and whispers, “I think maybe they got the whole ‘You are what you eat’ thing backwards, maybe,” then snickers quietly at his own joke.

“Anyhow, I’m not so sure you would really consider those jerks civilized, but they supposedly existed. There was also one famously published incident where a bunch of people were stranded and waiting for rescue.” The colt’s snout crinkles as he explains, “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think they drew lots to see who… ya know,” he pantomimes air quotes, “volunteered ta make dinner.”

The princess casts a weary eye over the three remaining omelets. “While your cooking is exceptional, Cure, you really must work on what you deem to be appropriate mealtime conversation.”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, chiding, “Oh, come on. There’s no namby-pamby wusses in this room. I don’t think ya woulda survived yer first century if ya had a weak gut.”

“I suppose that is true,” Celestia surrenders with a sigh. “Still, you could at least try to observe proper decorum. Now,” she scoots back and pats between her forelegs in invitation, “there is more than enough here for us both to enjoy.”

The colt lightly grimaces and meekly averts his gaze away from the bed. “I’m fine and, just so we’re clear, and please, please, don’t be embarrassed or anything. I already zapped the ‘ol sniffer but, you may want to,” he rolls his hoof while trying to think of something tactful to say, “ya know… do something about the… umm… bouquet before leaving your room.”

The look of complete befuddlement on the princess’s face momentarily confuses the colt. “You… don’t smell… you know?” he gently asks. “I mean, I kinda thought when you didn’t say anything right away that you may have gone -” he stops talking when she lifts a wing and unsubtly gives herself a pit check. “Umm, not what I meant, boss.”

“Cure,” she bites out his name, “I know you were teasing me about my wings having a smell-”

“No!” he insists, waving his free hoof in dismissal. “I meant your, uhhh, seasonal aroma. I wouldn’t say anything normally. I know it’s kinda crass and all, but like I said, when you didn’t seem to register it -” he drifts off at the look of confusion and horror plastered on her face. He spreads his wings to balance on his hind legs and holds his forehooves up to settle her panic. “Easy, there, Tia! It ain’t no big thang! Hell, I have four moms now; there’s nothin to get all worked up over.”

“You… don’t understand,” she slowly replies, flushing pink in embarrassment and demurely turning away. “Alicorns do not experience estrus as regularly as the other three tribes. It was only a few years ago that my last one occurred; I would not expect it again until almost a decade from now.”

“Eh, so what?” he dismissively asks, gently falling forward to rest his forelegs and chest against her bed. “I bet the idea of having foals has been on your mind like… a billion times as frequently as it has in the past. I mean, it was one of the first things that was discussed after all this,” he reminds her, motioning up to his brow and ruffling his wings. “Then you have the politicians, our conversations about it, then you start socializing more and find yerself a dude. Let’s be real; it’s just come up a lot in the last two months compared to before.”

Celestia draws in a deep breath and nods, reluctantly agreeing with his points. “I suppose that is plausible. It could also be the result of your ascension itself. The ‘birth’ of an Alicorn of Life may have had unexpected effects. Regardless, I do appreciate your candor and the… delicacy with which you brought it to my attention.”

“Sure thing. If you’d like, I could kinda, you know,” he suggests, holding his hoof out in offering. “Your biology is different enough I’m guessing typical pony medications are somewhat ineffective.”

“You are correct. Fortunately, Luna developed a spell early on that masks the most outwardly obvious effect, even if it does nothing else. As soon as she witnessed my first season she sequestered herself in her room until she figured it out. I did not know whether to be proud, relieved, or mortified that I inspired her so.”

“Grateful sounds good enough to me,” he suggests. With no further comment he carefully climbs on the bed, crawls between her forelegs, and brushes his left side against her chest while he turns, settling in place. “Alright, Tia, let’s see if you like the others, too. Opinions were mixed amongst the kitchen staff and my night shift guards, but most of them preferred the ham flavor.”

Craning her neck back to look down at the colt, she asks, “You made breakfast for them as well?”

Smirking, he looks up to meet her eyes. “Didn’t take you for the jealous type. Don’t worry, boss,” he teases, sitting and stretching his wings back to wrap around her chest, “there’s plenty of room in my heart for everypony.” At her look of exasperation he shakes his head no, answering, “No, I didn’t make breakfast for everypony. I did give them enough meat to experiment with and made my guards breakfast sandwiches. Your cooks seemed pretty excited to have something new to play with, so don’t be surprised if they start asking when they can get more.”

“Fantastic,” she dryly responds.

“Oh don’t be that way,” he groans good-naturedly. “I would think after a billion years of having the same thing you’d be ready to branch out some.”

The princess’s sigh is like music to his ears.

With her unwillingness to forego open court for two days in a row, Celestia chooses to stay behind in Canterlot while Amethyst and Cure fly out to the event grounds to watch the second day’s events. As the princess had explained, the morning’s events were not nearly as entertaining as the first day’s had been.

With the princess not in attendance, Cure insisted that his mother take the alicorn-sized pillow in the center of the box, then ungracefully flopped against her right side to use her shoulder as a pillow. The pair, along with the far fewer spectators in attendance, watch on as event organizers go over the first six squads with a fine-toothed comb.

Squad departure times are staggered by five minutes each so that they aren’t getting in each other’s way. As each one departs another will arrive and spend several minutes being analyzed and picked over to ensure every strap is exactly where it belongs, every buckle is properly fastened, packs are tight but not overtightened, armor is shined, manes and tails are done to military standard, and, Cure suspects, that the pony remembered to floss according to procedure after breakfast.

As the squad currently leading the event, the Golden Hills team has earned the right to be first up; a coveted spot given how much more unpleasant it will be to run later in the morning when the sun is bearing more directly down on everypony. That each guard is fully geared and ready to go doesn’t help. Each one of them is carrying every single thing they could possibly need if they were stranded out in the wilderness; an inconvenience, but not an overly burdensome one compared to what a bipedal creature would have to endure.

Overall, the exercise is considered one of the easier ones with an emphasis more on the squad’s ability to maintain perfect formation and pacing through the run than their completion time, itself. Even with the added weight, any squad in this competition should be able to run the ten kilometers in twenty to thirty minutes fairly easily.

“This event seems kinda unfair to the griffon and hippogriff contenders,” Cure idly points out. Amethyst cocks a brow prompting him to continue, “Talons, as useful as they may be for precision work, kind of suck to run on. Besides, under what circumstances will a griff ever have to run long distances?”

“If their wings are hurt?”

“Then they’re better off being carried by another griffon that isn’t hurt. They can lighten themselves just like pegasi can. Barring that, toss ‘em on an earth pony’s back or have a unicorn carry them along like a piece of luggage. They can still lighten themselves in either situation, so it would be like carrying an extra twenty kay-gee, give or take.

“In fact, having the pegasus and the griff members of a squad riding on the earth ponies would be the most efficient way to do all this,” he declares, waving a hoof at the lined up squads. “Or, better yet, strip ‘em all down and toss the winged folks on an earth pony’s back, then have the unicorn hop on theirs. They could lighten themselves and each of the other two’s weight by a significant portion while the unicorn focuses on carrying the gear and the earth pony does the running.”

All three of his royal guards subtly glance back at the colt, unsure whether he is joking or being serious. While his mother is shaking in quiet laughter at the suggestion, the straight-faced delivery and lack of a chuckle afterwards leaves them wondering. Unfortunately for them, as closely as he monitors his proximity, the slight turning of their necks and the smirks they trade might as well have been signal flares in the dead of the night.

“Unless my eyes deceive me, I do believe my three guardians are failing to see the genius behind my idea,” he idly muses.

“I ain’t so sure that’s what’s on their minds, colt,” Amethyst argues.

“Well, either way, maybe we should test it out to see if it works like I bet it would. Who knows? It could work so well that they change the entire event to take advantage of it!” He casts a curious gaze at the unicorn in the front and asks, “How bout it, Sergeant Trail? Would you feel about giving it a whirl? I bet if I asked nicely you three could go before they send the first team out.”

“Sir! I would prefer not to interfere with the planned events, sir!”

Cure scoffs and flicks his right wing in dismissal. “Interfere scminterfere! This is an important experiment, sarge! It could revolutionize how our military transports troops for centuries to come! And just think - you three, right here, could be the lucky ponies that get to demonstrate how much more efficient it could be. Hay, an earth pony, a unicorn, and a pegasus, all working in concert to, literally, go the distance. If that isn’t just the very picture of harmonious teamwork then I don’t know what is!”

The stallion looks uneasily between the eagerly smiling colt and the starting line where the Golden Hills team is getting ready to depart. After a few tense seconds Amethyst gives the young alicorn a hard bump with her shoulder. “Quit teasin yer guards, brat.” He juts a pouty lip out at the mare who turns and reassures them, “Don’t listen ta him flappin his lips. He ain’t gonna make y’all strip and hop on each others’ backs, no matter how much the other mares might appreciate it.”

Cure gives the trio an unimpressed look. “First off, no need for the whole ‘sir this,’ ‘sir that’ thing when it’s just us. That aside, you didn’t really think I would ask you to pile on each others’ backs like some kinda… pony sandwich, then run a ten k race, did you?”

The unicorn shakes his head, saying, “We had hoped not, sir, but… you never know with nobles.”

Cure chuckles mirthlessly and shakes his head. “Noble my fuzzy rear end. Don’t lump me in with that lot, sarge. I can see your point though; maker knows what kind of crap I’ll get dragged into when I’m older and have to deal with those nuts more often. It definitely won’t be stallion-on-stallion pony piles if I can help it, but like you said… ya never know.”

Conversation comes to an immediate halt when a light pink pegasus mare timidly makes her way up to the royal box. Though her pinned ears and tightly held wings show her hesitance, she still musters the courage to approach. Cure catches sight of some movement in her mane and a tiny head pokes out from behind her neck to look around.

“Why, if I’m not mistaken,” Cure loudly gushes as he hops up and steps forward, “that adorable little filly looks just like Vanilla Cream! Look how much she’s grown already! Bring her on up here where we can get a good look at her! How’s being a dam working out for you, Mrs. Sorbet?”

Cure’s guards step out of the way, allowing her to approach. “You remember us?!” she excitedly squeals. Her wings dance happily on her back and she giggles excitedly while reaching back. She lifts the filly up off of her and sets her on the floor of his box, then gives her a little nudge with the top of her muzzle. “Go on, sweetie! This is the young stallion that helped bring you into the world! Go say hi to his highness!”

Cure softly scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure you did the hard part.” He squats down on his barrel and spreads his forelegs wide, calling “C’mere, lil’ ‘Nilla! Let Big Brother Serpentus nibble on them floppy ears!”

The cream coated filly toddles up closer and looks up to Cure’s brow. She rears up and puts her forehooves on his muzzle, then leans in to get a closer look at the large emerald sitting between the snakes of his crown. “Not… what I expected to happen,” he playfully remarks.

“She’s lookin at herself in the reflection,” Amethyst giggles. “She plum fergot you were there at all, colt.”

“No doubt. Seems to me the lil lady has a fondness for the finer things in life.” He glances up to her dam and says, “She’s gonna break hearts and wallets when she grows up, just you watch.” He gently picks the girl up and hugs her against his chest. “So she seems perfectly healthy. Not that I mind checking up on one of my tiniest patients, but is something the matter?”

“Oh! No! Of course not, your highness!” Raspberry Sorbet insists. “I was just hoping to say thank you again for everything. I talked to my moms about her birth and they all insisted that it isn’t usually as easy as it was with you there. At least, not for us it isn’t.” She turns and ducks her head in a shallow bow to Amethyst, saying, “It’s an honor to meet you, too, Lady Minerva. You must be very proud of your son.”

“Very much so. At least between catastrophes, most of which can be blamed on ‘em.”

He pauses his grooming of the filly’s little mane and ears and coos, “Don’t listen to her. She’s just cranky ‘cause I didn’t make her breakfast today. Yeah, that’s all she is, a big ‘ol cranky booty. I never cause any problems at all, do I, lil’ Nilla?” The filly looks on indifferently. “No! Of course not!” he vehemently insists.

The flat look Amethyst gives the dam shows exactly how much she agrees with that. When she tilts her head to the side to look past her, Cure looks up and follows her eyes. In the few moments he’s been loving on the squirmy filly, a couple dozen other ponies have lined up, each with a young foal on their back or running around their hooves.

“Uhhh, sarge?” he calls in a questioning tone.

The stallion looks over his withers and dips his head in respect. “They’re mostly foals you helped with, sir. And a few others hoping your highness will... grace their foals with your presence.”

“Grace them with my presence?” he echoes. Looking down, he asks the filly in baby-speak, “What do you think, sweet Vanilla? Do you feel any more graceful than you did before? Let’s see.” The colt releases Vanilla who promptly hops and flaps back to her dam every bit as clumsily as any other three month old. “Eh, I guess we call it a work in progress.”

After entirely too many parents eager for their foals to be blessed by the Alicorn of Life, the long line of excited adults finally comes to an end. To Cure’s surprise, however, there is still one pony in line; a light, pastel purple unicorn filly with a silver mane. She looks to be slightly older than he is, and her cutie mark is a rolled up scroll with a red ribbon on it.

Cure gives her a befuddled look and cocks his head to the side. “I’m going out on a limb and guess you’re not just here to bask in my presence.”

“On the contrary,” she primly replies, “that it’s precisely why I am here, your highness. That and to allow you to bask in mine.” The filly drops into a formal curtsey, head bowed low and horn pointing slightly to his left. “Calm Eve, your highness. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Cure glances over his withers at his mom, brow hiked nearly to his mane. The unhelpful mare shakes quietly in laughter enjoying the colt’s ongoing plight. She shrugs uncaringly and motions with a hoof for him to refocus on the prostrate filly, all but telling him he’s on his own dealing with her.

Internally sighing, he turns back to the girl and calls for her to rise. “Apologies, Miss Eve, but I’m afraid you have me somewhat at a loss. Am I to understand that you simply wanted to… meet me?” he questions, voice tinged with confusion.

“No need to apologize, your highness,” she replies, standing and thrusting her chest out proudly, “and feel free to call me Eve, if you would prefer. I noticed that, while his highness has enjoyed the company of her majesty and Lady Minerva, not a single foal has simply asked if you might like to be friends.”

Cure can easily admit he was genuinely unprepared for her response. Her observation is absolutely correct; not a single foal his own approximate age has tried asking to just hang out, but that is exactly what he would expect. After all, who would have the gumption to just walk up to a member of royalty, especially when Celestia is nearby, and ask if he wants to go play? In the back of his mind, aside from the everpresent paranoia that this is some ruse, he can genuinely admit that if he wasn’t really doing anything else, chances are he would say yes.

Still, he is a prince; the second in line for the throne. Ponies don’t just walk up and ask to hang out. The very idea of somepony approaching Celestia to simply be friends is absurd, not that he places himself on her level in any way. Anypony doing so would obviously have to be working some kind of angle.

Right?

But… why does it have to be like that?

Hasn’t Cure been insisting that Celestia interact with ponies more in an informal setting?

Isn’t her going out and having fun like anypony else his idea?

Why, then, should he act any differently when somepony else does something similar for him? What’s the worst that could happen? He eventually finds out that somepony was trying to use him? Certainly that is possible, but it’s not as if he plans on using his authority to give somepony some kind of advantage.

The girls, Dawn in particular, may express some concern, but he’s not even ten; acting like they’re married is completely absurd. Even if that were the case, there’s certainly nothing wrong with having a friend.

Is there?

A subtle scenting of the air shows none of the pheromones Cure associates with attraction. Curiosity is present as well as a hint of anxiety, likely from the slight delay in his answer, but there’s no other sign that the filly has some ulterior plan. She isn’t wearing any clothing at all; no fancy dress or even a scrap of jewelry.

Lack of accessories aside, he can’t help but think she must come from money. Her coat is trimmed, styled, and conditioned to perfection with no hair out of place and not a single strand hanging below her coronets on either leg. Her long, flowing mane and tail look to have been professionally done and well brushed. Her poise is confident and proper, much like a soldier standing at ease, though he can detect a hint of nervousness in the way her tail is held still behind her.

After only a few seconds of consideration, he finally breaks the silence. “You do know what you’re getting yourself into, right? Do you really think you’re prepared to deal with the consequences of being a friend of Prince Serpentus? After all,” he tilts his head subtly towards the few cameraponies that have been taking pictures of him all morning, “everypony will know who you are.”

“Let them,” she replies without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m sure his highness would agree that the best way to address that would be to have as many friends as possible. After all, while spending time with one filly might be newsworthy, but where is the story if his highness has dozens of friends? Surely they do not expect a colt our age to have nopony to talk to.”

“I… can’t argue that, I suppose,” he slowly agrees. It only takes another second to come to his decision. “As long as you know what you’re getting into,” he mumbles with a shrug. He holds his hoof out for a bump and comments, “You can never have too many friends, right?”

The filly beams a positively radiant smile, stepping closer and returning the gesture. “That’s exactly right, your highness. After all, friendship is magic, is it not?”

The entire world seems to come crashing to a halt. Cure feels like his blood turns into ice just as the filly’s hoof makes contact with his own. He does his best to school his reaction, actively forcing his wings not to jerk up in surprise and for him to actually breathe. He’s not the only one that caught her response; Amethyst, previously watching on with only mild interest, suddenly snaps to full attention and focuses all of her senses on the filly in front of them.

Eve goes stock still in surprise; where the meeting had gone well up to that point, both the young alicorn and his mother are fixated on her like she is meat before a starving manticore. Shrinking in on herself after meeting his hoof, she cautiously looks between the pair. “Is… is something wrong, your highness?” she timidly asks.

Consciously setting his outstretched hoof back on the platform, Cure spends only a fraction of a second gathering his wits. “No. Nothing is wrong. It’s just that I think I’ve heard that saying before, but I can’t recall where it was.”

The filly’s rigid posture relaxes as she lets out a sigh of relief. “Perhaps his highness is familiar with my family, then? It is our House Words, after all.”

“Oh?” he asks with forced calm. “Then you come from a line of nobles?” He notes his guards glance back with subtle smiles; not unsurprising given his earlier comments.

“I do!” she excitedly replies. “Our House is a very old one, even if it is quite small compared to many others. According to the House Charter we hail from the same line as the great Star Swirl himself!”

“Same line?”

Nodding eagerly, she explains, “Lord Swirl never had any foals, but he did have a cousin, or so the story goes. While Lord Swirl was off thwarting the evils that plagued ponykind, it was my ancestor who managed the affairs of the House. At least, that is what our records indicate. Much was lost during the Age of Chaos and there is a gap, unfortunately. Our House was not formed until centuries later, shortly before The Reformation and move to Canterlot occurred.” She mostly suppresses a wince and adds, “Only a few survived the razing of the castle.”

“Huh. Interesting,” he calmly replies, all the while mildly panicking internally. “Well, rather than us stand here awkwardly, how about you join me,” he offers, looking over his withers. “Somepony stole the boss lady’s cushion,” he accusingly points out and is promptly ignored by his mom, “but mine’s plenty large enough for us to sit and chat. If you’d like, that is?”

“I would be delighted, your highness!”

“Alright,” he nods, waving with his wing for her to follow, “but no more of the ‘highness’ stuff. Serpentus will do just fine.”

Dinner

Having been delayed by a meeting going longer than anticipated, by the time Celestia arrives at the table the serving staff have everything prepared on the wings of the room. A tinge of guilt passes through her as she takes her seat at the head of the table whereupon they jump into action. “My apologies for being tardy. I hope you have not waited for me very long.”

“Nah, just got here ourselves, majesty,” Amethyst instantly dismisses. “Yer lookin a mite bit tired, if ya don’t mind me sayin.”

“No, I am exhausted. I have spent the better part of the afternoon,” she pauses to look out the windows, “and, I suppose, the early evening listening to arguments for a reduction in tariffs. It only took ten minutes of listening to Lord Millworth detail how increased lumber imports would utterly destroy the economy before I began struggling to pay attention.” Teasingly, she adds, “Perhaps if I had gotten a little more sleep this morning it would not have been so difficult to endure.”

“Please,” Cure scoffs, “you’re the one who said you can go a whole week without sleep. If wakin up fifteen minutes earlier exhausted you that much then maybe you’re just getting old. Besides, I’ve always said you ought’a find somepony to take care of some of your duties so you can punch out earlier. You’re the one that insists you gotta be kept in the loop on every little thing.”

“And I keep asking if you are volunteering,” she rebukes.

“Sure thing. Just check back with me in a few decades and we’ll see what I can help ya with. In the meantime, maybe you should check on the other prince to see what he is up to all day. As I understand it, he’s been around a minute, so I’m sure he knows what’s what.”

Celestia flat out laughs at the suggestion, shaking her head in dismissal. “He has shown even less interest in governorship than you have.”

“Maybe you should hire Junior to be some kind of attaché then. He’s at the age where he should start working. Give him some small administrative task to start learning and, maybe, in five or so years, he can learn enough to take something off your plate. He seems competent enough from what little interaction I’ve had with him. Tiara, too, for that matter. In fact, given her name I would expect that would be right up her alley.”

The ancient alicorn frowns in thought and conversation pauses momentarily when the servants stop by to check on the meal. “Perhaps that would be a good idea. It is not as if Senior has either of them doing much at the moment.”

“See? Full of brilliant insight,” he agrees, tapping his chest for emphasis. “By the way, I have some news of the more confidential sort.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm. I think I met somepony important today. A young filly named Calm Eve.” At Celestia’s look of incomprehension he continues, “She’s from House Vespera.”

“Vespera? The ones that claim to be related to Star Swirl?”

“That’s the one,” he confirms. “And to be honest, I’m inclined to believe it.” She tilts her head curiously to the side prompting him to explain, “Her colors? Her story? Her older sister that I just happened to almost bump into last year on the one day we stopped into the capital? It all adds up, boss. Something,” he twirls his hoof in the air, “seems to pushing me into running into these ponies. When I asked her what made her decide to approach me she said she thought Prince Serpentus should have some friends. After all, according to her, friendship is magic.”

A bulb seems to come on above the princess’s head. “Amicitia est Magicae!” she all but curses. “That’s their house motto! How did I not notice?!”

“Dunno, boss. Seems like sometimes maybe you have a lot on your mind. One would think you’d made that connection, but… eh, it happens. She said she and her family had come down from Canterlot to browse the vendors when she looked at the back of the bleachers and saw me and mom layin there. Said she felt compelled to come say hello. Seems more than a little odd if ya ask me.”

She hums in thought and bobs her head in agreement. “Presumably you did not detect anything unusual other than the circumstance?”

It takes him a second to register her meaning. “No. She wasn’t a changeling or anything like that. There were no signs of her being anything else, either.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

“I expect I will find a picture of the two of you in the paper tomorrow, then?”

“I’d bet more than a few bits on it, yeah. I brought that up. She didn’t seem concerned at all.”

“I will monitor the situation and intervene if necessary. It would take but a few words to warn the media not to harass her if need be.”

“Good deal. Foals should kind of be off limits, and I sure as hay don’t want my friends being harassed when my identity is inevitably leaked. Blatant subject change - did you see the article in the Herald this morning?”

She gives him a flat look that earns a chuckle from his mom. “The one touting the services of a certain alleged zebra shaman?”

“That would be the one,” he cheerily confirms. “I’ll tell ya what, if I thought I was busy yesterday… woo boy, it was craaaaaaaaay zeee today! I don’t think I’ll get to sleep until the friggin trains shut down tonight, and even then I’ll probably have a line.” He turns to his mom and proudly declares, “I’ve made more bits today than I usually do in a week!”

“Good!” Celestia exclaims. “I am extremely proud of the work you are doing, Cure. I have had to field a few inquiries from Director Storm and others in regards to this mysterious shaman, but I was able to sway her from sending a team to investigate. Her first assumption was that somepony had somehow smuggled your medicines away and given them to another nation. The very notion made her irate beyond words.”

“I don’t see them stealing stuff from a prince and then choosing to show that off at a venue right by the capital while we’re both in attendance,” he points out.

“Exactly the argument I made,” she agrees. “Nonetheless, ponies have taken notice. Contrary to what I suggested the other day, your idea of running out of supplies may not be a bad one.”

“What about the competitors?” Amethyst inquires to which Cure nods in agreement.

Genuinely confused, Celestia looks between the pair. “What about them?”

“Ya told ‘em not ta communicate with anypony competing,” she reminds the ancient mare.

“Yeah, Madame Adiah has been telling anypony in the competition that she’s been barred from treating them until the events are over. I’ve got appointments for most of Saturday morning that I set aside for them. Officially, Friday is the last day she is open for walk-in customers.” Belatedly he adds, “Sorry, I know you said no communication, but, ya know… I couldn’t just ignore them. I have a sign up now, though.”

“That is perfectly okay, Cure. I had not even considered them approaching you in your disguise.” She pauses for a moment while weighing the options in her mind, tilting her head to and fro in thought while quietly humming. “I suppose the best course is to carry on, then. As I said before, even if every single foal born next summer were a colt it would be nothing but a boon. We could not have several seasons like that in a row, but one alone would be acceptable.”

“Good deal.”

“Plus the treasury could always use the influx from the taxes you are generating.”

His tail and mane erupt in a geyser of streaming gold as his wings shoot up off his back. “WHAT?!”

As if speaking to a simple pony, Celestia calmly explains, “Everypony must pay taxes, Cure. I do not see why this distresses you so much.”

“BUT! BUT! I’M EXEMPTED!” he energetically insists.

“Of course you are, silly,” she teasingly agrees. “However, I do not recall granting any such exemption for any zebra. Especially none by the name of Madame Adiah.”

The colt makes alarmed whiny noises as he looks back and forth between the princess and his mom. She calmly sips at her tea as Amethyst outright guffaws, all but falling on the table in uncontrollable laughter.

“What the ffffffffffffffffrick, mom?!” he barely manages, holding back the curse that fights to free itself from his muzzle. “Why are you laughing?!”

“I wish I had a camera!” she declares, not answering his question. “You look like yer ‘bout two seconds away from murderin somepony, colt!” she gets out between laughs.

A stream of sounds escape the colt, none of which are coherent words. Still, the distinct harsh vowel sounds Celestia generally associates with profanity are all present in abundance.

“Cure,” Celestia calmly intervenes.

He continues to fail at manifesting any words, simply turning to face her with a growl.

“How much are you making per day?”

“A… lot,” he admits with a wince. His mane and tail finally calm, though still retain flecks of gold at the tips.

“And what has it cost you to make it?”

He mumbles a response too quietly to discern.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he barely manages to bite out.

“Nothing,” she repeats with a nod. “No supplies. No products. No advertising. It could be argued that it did not even cost you time, which, I do not need to remind you, you will have in abundance. The only thing it has cost you is some effort, and given that you did not even seem distracted, I suspect it has not been that significant of a burden.”

“But we had a deal!”

“How do you propose I exempt this traveling shaman that nopony has ever heard of from tens of thousands of bits in taxes?” she calmly inquires. “Would that not seem incredibly suspicious to anypony who notices? Especially given the strangeness of her sudden appearance, and in such proximity to somepony who could presumably perform the same miracle as she?”

His lips curl into a look of utter disgust, but after several long seconds he offers no answer.

“Exactly,” she continues in that damned motherly tone. “Let me ask you this: will you ever truly find yourself lacking for money?”

He huffs and crosses his forelegs over his chest, petulantly snapping out a quick “No.”

“No,” she agrees, “you will not. You are barely over nine and have more income than all but the most wealthy of my little ponies.”

He looks up at her signature phrase, but does not ignite his horn to cast Teleport.

She stares at him impassively, waiting for his response.

A few seconds pass in a tense standoff before he sighs and shrinks down on himself. His horn lights up and a single bottle appears in a flash along with three glasses. “Fine!” he broodily pouts, “but if you think I’m accepting this with frickin grape juice then you’ve apparently already had a few.”

Author's Note

Wow I am late getting this out there! Sorry, folks, but you know what they say about being late!

So, not a lot of "competition" stuff going on here, I am sorry to say. I would like to include more of them, but frankly I feel like folks kind of lose interest when the focus isn't on the main character(s). I know I typically do when reading a story, to the point where I struggle not to skip interludes.

I hope to get us back home within a few chapters. As I have with every other subject that's come up, I've spent way more time on this competition than I planned to. Still, Cure's been really busy the last couple weeks, as he always is. If he could just stop stirring the shit once in a while we could get some real passage of time, but... well... what do you expect when someone has so much to do and finally has the power to do it?

As always, thanks for reading, rating, and especially commenting.

Enjoy!