Friday, September 11th, 909 AB (seconds later)

The young colt’s declaration is met with a round of obligatory and half-hearted applause as ponies trade looks of confusion.

Celestia, fighting back a sigh, smiles beautifully at the foal. “Thank you for… that, Serpentus,” she begins with a forced smile, panning to look at the standing ponies, “and, of course, I offer my thanks to each of you as well. Such wonderful sportsmareship is to be commended.” She pauses a fraction of a second and glances to the side, eyes landing on a servingmare who dips her head in a shallow nod. “It seems that supper is ready, so I will not keep everypony any longer.”

Voice rising in volume, she commands with a genuine smile, “I have only one more thing to add; call it an order from your princess, if you will.” Cure notes how almost everypony in a uniform sits a little straighter, some even rising to their hooves automatically to receive their ruler’s command. “Eat, drink, and enjoy yourselves this evening! You have all more than earned it! That is all I ask of you tonight!”

A much more genuine round of applause sounds out and hundreds of glasses are raised in cheer. Celestia gives the servingmares another brief look, prompting them to leap into action. She retakes her seat, but Cure’s focus remains on the staff as they begin calling up tables to escort the ponies over to the lines of food-laden tables along the wall.

“So… we’re doing this buffet style?” he asks, turning back to the princess.

A single laugh escapes her lips as she shakes her head to the negative. “Everypony else is, but we have more traditional service. Goodness me!” she exclaims, chuckling warmly, “Some nobles may have an aneurysm upon seeing a picture of royalty loading up a plate at a buffet. Much as I may not care, appearances must be maintained and all that nonsense.”

The mare scarcely finishes her sentence when a squad of servingmares prance up to the table pushing carts full of platters and beverages. Cure briefly curses his youth again, watching on as all the adults are given more spirited refreshments while he and the other foals are given glasses full of cider. As tempting as it is to pull his sugar-to-alcohol trick again, doing so in such a public setting wouldn’t come close to being worth the trouble he would get in. The cider itself is quite delicious as it is and, briefly, he wonders if it could have come from Sweet Apple Acres.

“No,” his mother’s authoritative voice insists, punctuated with a bump of her fetlock on his left shoulder. Soulful, faux innocent eyes swing in her direction and his ears droop down pitifully against his head. The pathetic display barely earns a scoff from the indifferent mare as she rolls her eyes in response. “Don’t think I weren’t watchin them peepers, colt. Maker knows ya got plenty goin on in that noggin I can’t keep track’a, but ya always get the same look when yer fixin ta do somethin ya know ya shouldn’t.”

Crying in mock offense, he holds a hoof to his chest and leans away. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you are referring to. I was merely… uhh… looking to see what everypony else got.”

“Uh huh,” she dismissively mumbles, not believing a single word. “And I reckon ya weren’t thinkin ‘bout makin yerself a lil somethin-somethin ta sip on, neither, were ya?”

“Perish the thought, mother!” he cries in an overly posh Canterlonian accent. “I need not remind you, the legal drinking age is fifteen in Equestria. I would be setting a poor example for all the ponies who admire me to so blatantly flout the law, especially in Her Majesty’s esteemed presence!”

From further down the table, Silent Bolt leans to Ricochet and quietly whispers, “Does alcohol even do anything to an alicorn?”

Visions of Celestia’s sleeping form snuggled between his mothers on the night before his coronation float to the forefront, but Cure doesn’t even get his muzzle open to respond before it’s clamped shut with a golden aura. The look of betrayal swings the other direction, landing squarely on the princess as the glow on her horn snuffs out.

“I could almost hear what you were thinking,” she stoically intones. Looking to the yellow unicorn, Celestia deigns to answer his question. “It does have an effect on us, but, as with earth ponies, it is diminished thanks to our more resilient constitution.”

“And having more body mass helps, of course,” Cure helpfully provides.

The table goes oddly silent as everypony freezes in place. Though lacking the courage to actually turn their heads and take in the princess’s reaction, every set of eyes is peering in their direction.

“What?!” he protests against the sudden stillness. “The more blood you have the more it takes to affect you!” Thrusting an admonishing hoof in the princess’s direction, he defensively insists, “Don’t you go acting like I said something offensive! I’m just stating a simple fact!”

“A simple fact, hmm?” she calmly questions.

“Exactly!”

“The more ‘body mass’ you have, the more you must consume.”

“That’s what I said!” he acknowledges, vehemently nodding in agreement.

“And since your princess is, apparently, quite massive -”

“Woah now!” he shouts, hooves held out in the universal sign to stop. “Don’t go puttin words in my muzzle!”

“- then she would need that much more in order to become inebriated.”

“Well…” he hesitates, ignoring the quiet snickers, “I mean, it’s true.” He leans back on his cushion, blatantly allowing his eyes to trail down her barrel and pausing briefly on her flanks before he snaps back forward. The unsubtle examination only serves to increase everypony’s laughter, save his victim whose scowl only deepens.

He meets the unamused look with a cheeky smile, then waves a hoof in Bulwark’s direction, pointing out, “The sarge is probably pushin two seventy-five and you’ve gotta be almost double that, so…” he trails off, rolling his hoof leadingly.

The unmistakable scent of fear and anxiety creeps from the rest of the table as the brave defenders of Golden Hills, along with the suddenly nervous serving staff, begin looking for escape routes and preparing to erect Shields around themselves.

“Is it getting warm in here?” he asks the room, looking in every direction but to his right for the source.

“I cannot believe you would be so bold as to discuss your princess’s weight!” the ancient mare grumbles, though he can tell she isn’t genuinely offended.

“What’s bold about it? It’s a simple fact. You’re the one that’s always saying ‘my little ponies,’ after all! Ergo, you are all but confirming that you, relatively speaking, are not little.”

“That is merely a term of endearment!”

“One that happens to be accurate! Besides,” he begins, folding his legs smugly across his chest, “I’ll note you haven’t said I’m wrong, so that can only lead me to one conclusion.”

The princess’s indignant look falters for a moment before she rallies, turning her snout up and away from the brat. “That is not important!” she defiantly insists.

“Seems like an open and shut case of lèse-majesté, princess,” Duke Dandy calmly notes. “Shall her majesty’s guards place the offender under arrest?”

Celestia pretends to consider it for a moment before slowly shaking her head. “Unfortunately, I do not believe we have dungeons that are sufficient to hold him. That is something I shall remedy prior to his next visit.”

“My next scheduled visit isn’t until the January births,” he argues. “I’m having a hard time seeing you dragging me out of the delivery room in shackles, and unless you’re going to have expecting dams brought to this supposed prison,” he pauses, eyebrows hiked nearly to his mane. Celestia’s muzzle scrunches in consternation, leading the colt to nod knowingly in response. “Honestly, though, I don’t get why mares act like they’re weight is some big secret.” He pauses barely a second to look up at the princess. “How tall are you at the withers? About eighteen hooves?”

“Yes? Slightly under, but thereabouts.”

“See?” he triumphantly declares, panning his gaze around the table. “Not a second’s hesitation answering that one, I’ll have you all note!”

“That’s cause you can see how tall somepony is just from lookin at ‘em, ya goof,” Amethyst argues, bumping him again.

“And you can tell if somepony is overweight the same way,” he counters.

“Says the heaviest foal his age I’ve ever heard of,” Sgt. Haze idly notes.

Cure playfully scowls at the red unicorn, maintaining eye contact as he slowly lifts his foreleg up to flex his chest and biceps. His vest and coat strain to contain the mass of bulging muscles, pulling firmly on the top button of his jacket while the sleeves fill to the point of nearly splitting.

The reactions from the rest of the table are varied. His fellow earth ponies grunt appreciatively or, in Rushing Charge’s case, whistle wolfishly at the display. He looks her way and blows a kiss, waggling his brows in response and earning another round of laughter. The unicorns and pegasi, both day and night, seem more stunned and slightly apprehensive than impressed.

Rather than destroy the second set of clothes he’s ever worn that he didn’t make himself, he relaxes the swollen muscles and spreads his forelegs in challenge to the sergeant. “Touché,” the stallion grants, gracefully retracting his accusation.

“Exactly,” the young alicorn snaps triumphantly. “So yeah, the whole being weird about your weight thing doesn’t make any sense. You’re either overweight and you know it, or you’re not, in which case, you know that too. Either way, who cares? Besides, boss, you’re in great shape for somepony that sits around all day, especially given how much junk food I see you put away.”

“Such a charmer,” Celestia drolly comments.

Peeking through his hooves held a fraction of a centimeter apart, he amends, “Still, a teeny, tiny little bit of exercise wouldn’t kill ya. Just saying.”

Duke Dandy leans closer to his wife and stage whispers, “I was not told alicorn flambé would be on this evening’s menu.”

“Maker forbid!” Celestia quietly exclaims. “We would not want to make everypony sick.”

Cure almost instinctively argues that he is delicious, but his brain manages to intervene before he says anything that could be interpreted as too inappropriate. His age would see the comment dismissed by most of the ponies in attendance, but the ones that know him better, especially the princess, may suspect his words to be intentionally suggestive.

Rather than continue their banter, he shoots the serving staff an appreciative smile and grabs his fork to dig into his salad. Leafy greens are a staple of pony cuisine, but the castle staff seem to have decided to try a new addition.

The colt has never been a huge fan of sweet potatoes, but the cubed and cooked starchy vegetable along with a garlicky, buttery dressing is an interesting addition to an otherwise relatively typical salad. All and all, though, he would prefer real croutons, ranch dressing, some bacon bits, and an unhealthy dusting of mozzarella cheese. He begins munching away, happily bouncing on his cushion as everypony else starts eating.

Chatter is, unsurprisingly, rather sparse since neither the Golden Hills squad nor their accompanying families know exactly how to begin a mundane conversation with the princess. He can’t really blame them for feeling overwhelmed. Most ponies go their entire lives at best seeing her from a distance while she is giving a speech or attending some kind of public function.

Sitting not more than a few body lengths away from such a being after decades of indoctrination is certainly overwhelming. That she can literally make or break their future with an off-the-hoof decision - as she seemingly has done with Solar Strike - adds another layer of intimidation that is not so easily dispelled by a round of teasing banter.

“So, Sergeant Bulwark,” Celestia begins, putting an end to the silence, “how do you find your assignment in Golden Hills? Peaceful, I would presume, as I do not recall any recent briefs mentioning issues in your city.”

Sitting straighter on his cushion, the gray stallion eagerly nods his head. “Yes, ma’am! Very peaceful! We have the occasional wildlife encroachment from the nearby woods, but aside from the occasional ‘small town’ incident, very little exciting happens in our town.”

“... except right before we left,” Cure hears somepony say. He leans forward to look down the table, finding all heads have swiveled to look at Cpl. Ricochet. The chestnut ginger goes stock still when everypony turns in her direction.

“Sorry, Corporal… you prefer Ricochet, right?” Cure calls out, pausing until the mare hesitantly nods. “I didn’t catch that. You said something unusual happened right before we came to Canterlot?”

The mare nervously shifts from side to side on her seat before nodding to the affirmative. “Yes, sir. I promise I’m not making it up -”

“The whole lobby saw the thing,” Rushing reassures her, nodding to encourage her to continue.

“True. Well, the day before we had to leave for the competition we had this… talking stalk of broccoli in a cape walk in the precinct.” A few of the other Golden Hills guards start chuckling, but the princess, duke, and duchess look on incredulously as she continues, “It was the dam… darndest thing! It said it was the leader of its kind. Broccoloid is the name he… it? It, I suppose -”

Cure steps in to interrupt again, explaining, “Most plants, including broccoli, are both genders at the same time. I guess you could say that this ‘broccoloid,’” he slowly teases out with air quotes, “would be a hermaphrodite, if anything, so I suppose until we hear what its preferred pronoun is, ‘it’ will have to suffice. I’m guessing there wasn’t any visible indication one way or the other?”

“No, sir. There was just… nothing there at all!”

“Huh. Weird. I would have liked to meet this broccoloid if, for no other reason, to see how that worked from a biological standpoint. Regardless, corporal, apologies for the interruption. Please, continue.”

The whole time he’s talking, Celestia is casting very suspicious glances in the colt’s direction, meanwhile he’s struggling to hold in the laughter and maintain his stoic facade. She doesn’t speak up, but it’s pretty obvious that she has a good idea of who might be responsible for the strange being’s visit. One that, conveniently, occurred immediately after he acquired the objects necessary to make it happen.

“Yes sir. Anyhow, it came in complaining about us eating its young, but I think it was talking about plain old broccoli. I’ve never seen a piece that could talk before, and I darn sure wouldn’t eat anything that could ask me not to!”

“That is quite bizarre, corporal,” Dandy notes aloud. He turns back to Celestia and suggests, “Perhaps a survey of the nearby farmlands should be conducted to ensure nopony is growing anything out of the ordinary?”

A mischievous grin stretches across the mare’s muzzle as she nods in agreement. “An excellent idea! Fortunately, I know exactly the pony to give the job.”

It takes a real, concerted effort for the colt not to sigh when the princess turns his way and beseechingly requests, “Prince Serpentus? I would ask that you investigate any farmland in the area of Golden Hills that is growing broccoli or related vegetables. That includes brussel sprouts, radishes, cabbage, cauliflower…” she drifts off, humming in thought.

“Turnips ‘n arugula, too, majesty,” Amethyst helpfully supplies, fighting to keep her laughter as quiet as possible.

“Ah, yes! Thank you, Lady Minerva. Be sure to include those as well, Serpentus. I will have a list of all nearby farms provided to you upon your return. Normally I would assign you staff to assist with this endeavor, but given that we are being accused of devouring sentient beings, I would only trust somepony with your magnificent talent to differentiate between mundane vegetables and a creature that only appears to be one.”

“... really?!” he all but whines in response.

“Of course!” the elder alicorn insists. “We cannot simply ignore such an accusation, even if it sounds more like some kind of silly prank.”

“Do you have any idea how many farms there are around Golden Hills, though?!”

“Many dozens, presumably, but there will be far fewer growing those specific vegetables. After all, the majority of what is grown there is wheat, is it not?” she asks, looking towards Sgt. Bulwark.

“That is correct, your majesty,” the stallion confirms. “After all, that is how the city got its name.”

“Thank you, sergeant. You see?” she begins, turning back to the colt. “I doubt it will take you more than a day or two, given how efficiently you operate when you put your mind to a task. Please try to have the survey completed before the end of September. We are quickly approaching the harvest season for broccoli, if I am not mistaken, so there is little time to tarry. Work with Captain Stance to arrange your escort, and schedule it on a day that will not interfere with your work at the hospital, if you could.”

Fighting to keep his shoulders from sagging, Cure nods his head in acceptance of her command. He very strongly considers leaving the captain and his escorts out of this and doing a stealth run, instead. It will cut down on how long it takes by a huge margin, especially if he can send out puppets under invisibility at night to scan the fields. Simply ignoring her command to conduct the survey isn’t an option, unfortunately, but as long as he does the important part she probably won’t raise a fuss about how he gets it done.

Then again, she may want him to visibly have to spend his time doing everything as part of his “punishment” for pranking her guards.

Easier to ask forgiveness than permission, he easily decides.

“I’ll get right on it, boss.”

“Wonderful! Thank you, Serpentus.”

“Sure. Glad to be of help.”

“I can tell.”

With the colt’s less than pleased disposition, an uncomfortable silence once again befalls the group. Fortunately, Duchess Dresser tries to reignite conversation, leaning forward to look down the table. “I imagine this is the first time in the capital for many of your foals. Tell me,” she begins, eyes flicking between Cpl. Arc and Sgt. Song’s families in particular, “what sort of fun things have you found during your visit?”

Hesitating slightly and looking to her parents for reassurance, Static’s youngest daughter begins giving a rundown of the sights and scenes they have taken in over the last two weeks. Cure hadn’t ever officially met Cyan Spark before, but he has seen her along with the rest of Static’s family a few times when they’ve met the stallion for lunch over summer. All three of the girls are a fair bit older than Cure, with Cyan being the youngest at around fourteen. The filly’s coat is very close to his own natural color, and she has a brighter, golden mane compared to that of her sire.

“Daddy couldn’t go with us for much because he was busy getting ready for the competition, but the rest of us visited Auntie Cycle up in Cloudsdale and spent a few days there. There were all kinds of neat stores and restaurants and candy shops, but the best part was when we went to the park!”

“Hurricane Memorial?” Celestia knowingly asks.

“Mhmm!” the filly enthusiastically bobs her head and hums. Cure only barely pays attention as she continues her excited retelling of her visit to the park. As fun as the activities sound, it all amounts to “a bunch of foals playing games.” While the aerial version of lacrosse, in particular, sounds kind of interesting, it’s likely not something he’ll ever get to experience anyhow.

He briefly wonders if he would be allowed to join any kind of organized sport at all.

Some of Ed’s happiest childhood memories were from playing football and soccer. Baseball, however, pretty much sucked all around aside from brief, fleeting moments where the ball was hit in his direction. He could never wrap his head around how any child could have fun baking on an open field in the middle of summer while wearing long pants.

Participating as Serpentus is probably completely impossible for a multitude of reasons. First and foremost, any parent on another team could, justifiably no less, argue that playing against the Alicorn of Life is completely unfair.

Perhaps if his domain were different their argument would be less valid, but that still wouldn’t mitigate the intimidation factor other foals would be forced to overcome. It was bad enough when a kid on the other team was a whole head taller than every other player. He can’t imagine how much it would suck to have a bonafide demigod playing for the competition, even if their greatest strength weren’t directly applicable to the match.

The only way anypony could be any kind of competition for him is if they happen to have a special talent applicable to the sport he is playing. Even then, chances are his unending endurance would eventually tip the scales in his favor.

He could physically limit himself to a typical earth pony colt’s abilities, but he is very much aware of how competitive he can get. It would probably not take much at all for him to, perhaps even subconsciously, use his talent to give himself an edge. Almost anypony would, after all. Losing is not typically a choice, and by holding himself back he would be all but doing just that; making a conscious decision to allow himself, and his team, to lose.

The colt’s musings come to an end as the filly wraps up their previous week’s itinerary, unenthusiastically finishing with, “- then Aunt Cycle got us a tour of the water treatment plant she works at. It was okay, I guess, but the whole place kind of stank.”

The older filly’s dam gently interrupts, draping a wing over her daughter’s back. “That was only one section of the building, honey. You didn’t have to tell her she has a smelly job!” She quickly - nearly frantically - looks between the duke, duchess, and princess, reassuring them, “We were only in there for a moment! It wasn’t that bad!”

Cure isn’t sure what the big deal is. Just because they are nominally in charge of those facilities doesn’t mean they’re going to be insulted by her daughter’s observation. If anything, it prompts him to consider if there’s something he can do to improve the situation. The answer, even without expending much effort envisioning possibilities, is almost invariably a resounding “Yes.” It doesn’t take much imagination to consider that, while it may be slightly more disgusting than a pony’s bowels and guts, he would probably gain a lot of new examples of bacteria and other organisms from a simple scan of the facility.

He marks that down on the ever-growing mental list of things he should eventually look into.

“I have toured such facilities myself,” Dandy cuts in between bites and gives the girl a commiserating look. “I must agree with the young lady; there are certainly areas where one would not want to linger for too long. Even with the breathing masks they offered, the… aroma was quite distinct.”

Static’s wife sighs and nods in agreement, reaching out with a wing to prompt the filly to move on. “That’s not exactly something I would bring up at dinner, honey. Why don’t you tell them about the petting zoo, instead?”

“Cloudsdale has a petting zoo?” Cure blurts out, interrupting.

Celestia nods to the affirmative, stepping in to explain, “It does, but its focus is primarily on critters that may seem somewhat mundane to yourself.”

Huh. Guess that explains how a pegasus from Cloudsdale falls in love with little animals, the colt muses. That never made much sense to me before.

Brow raised in curiosity, the colt turns back to the filly as she begins, “It’s pretty neat, but most of the animals are things we see around Baltimare all the time. Squirrels, chipmunks, bunnies, dogs, cats, stuff like that. There were a few things I’ve only seen at a distance like beavers, but they weren’t very friendly.”

The colt nods in understanding, commenting, “I’ve had to put up with a few angry beavers myself. They can be difficult to deal with.” Most of the adults pause in confusion, wondering if the colt is speaking literally. Overtop of a few muffled snickers from the younger adults, he continues, “We had a filly at the hospital that got bit by one just a couple months ago. The thing almost bit her pastern in half before her dam got a hold of it.” Tone completely flat, he dryly remarks, “My understanding is that the beaver did not fare well in that exchange.”

“That is unfortunate about the filly,” Celestia comments, turning back to Static’s daughter to continue, “and exactly why such a facility exists in Cloudsdale. Many young pegasi are unaware of the dangers that even common wildlife can pose, being so far removed from nature as they are. I hope the other critters were more friendly, my little pony.”

Head bobbing eagerly, the girl hums in reply. “Mhmm! The squirrels were super neat how they ran and hopped all over us, your majesty! We got to feed and pet them and it was really fun!”

“That is wonderful to hear,” she warmly responds.

“Speaking of such critters,” Duke Dandy interjects, turning to Cure, “I have not seen hide nor hair of your fluffy friend since our meeting over a week ago, your highness. I presume she has been spending the majority of the time in your suite?”

Cure looks thoughtful for a moment before he shakes his head no. “I’m not sure where all she’s been. She said she was going into the city to do some shopping, but other than that…” he trails off with an unsure shrug of his wings.

“Your… rabbit?” Sgt. Bulwark questions, voice dripping with confusion and disbelief. “She went shopping? How? For what?”

“Can’t say I rightly know, sarge. Probably used some of her modeling income to buy some fancy hats or clothes or something. I suppose she should be here, huh?” Over top of the insistence that it isn’t necessary for her to attend, Cure ignites his horn and focuses on an empty spot between himself and Celestia.

A flash of light heralds the appearance of his rabbit who was apparently deeply immersed in an interesting publication. Blinking the spots out of her eyes, the doe gawps, taking in her surroundings, then hastily closes the magazine and partially tucks it underneath a tightly folded wing.

“Hey Bunlestia,” Cure warmly greets, then adopts a look of confusion. It doesn’t escape his notice that several of the other ponies at the table are mouthing the rabbit’s name and struggling not to laugh. “Were you… reading something you bought in town?”

Bunlestia rapidly shakes her head to the negative, squeaking and chirping insistently as she futily tries to keep the magazine out of sight. Her undersized wings do a terrible job of concealing the periodical, the cover of which prominently displays a bow-tied rabbit’s silhouette.

Curious and slightly wary of what the colt has conjured, Celestia lights her horn and pulls it free of the rabbit’s grip. The bunny cries and shakes her empty forepaws in urgent protest, cheeks pinking when the mare unfolds the magazine to read the title. “PlayBunny?” she questions aloud, confusion painted across her face. Attempts to keep their laughter muffled from down the table finally fail as the younger soldiers completely lose their composure.

The jubilation briefly draws Celestia’s attention before she reads further down the cover. “The twenty best ways to keep him -” Celestia stops herself mid sentence, regarding the colt with an unimpressed scowl.

“What are you looking at me for?” he innocently asks.

Bunlestia huffs and growls animatedly again, folding her forelegs across her chest in annoyance.

The rabbit’s grumbling draws Cure’s attention as he rounds on her with a scolding hoof. “I don’t care if you only read it for the articles, Bunlestia! Go back to our room and try to behave yourself!” The bunny disappears back from whence she came in another flash of light. Snout crinkled, the colt turns to face the princess, pausing when he notices her flipping through the pages, eyes quickly drinking in the magazine’s contents. “Boss?” he calls, voice laden with confusion.

Celestia briefly flushes when everypony’s eyes fall on her with a variety of expressions. Bewilderment, disappointment, and perhaps even some disgust meet her look, the latter mainly from her little ponies with foals at the table. She can easily admit that letting her curiosity get the better of her may not have been a wise choice, but she was confident that the foal would not create anything overly scandalous. At least, not at a dinner with so many witnesses nearby.

In private, around ponies that truly know him? Maker knows what his warped, little brain could come up with.

“The rabbit was telling the truth,” she insists, voice tinged with a hint of relief. “The vast majority of the publication is, indeed, articles. Well written ones at that. The focus is primarily on proper foal care. Or rather, kit care, I suppose. The few pictures and illustrations are, if anything, adorable.” She turns around the magazine and unfolds a multipanel page showing a pile of several snuggling fuzzy kits swaddled in tiny, color coded blankies. Every mare and foal at the table gushes and coos at the cuteness on display.

“Not what I was expecting,” Bolt quietly comments.

“Oh really?” Sgt. Haze leans forward to question. “Tell us, Private: What were you expecting, exactly?”

The younger unicorn blanches when everypony turns his way. “I dunno?” he says, reflexively shrinking into his seat. “I figured it would be like… uhh,” he stammers, “different kinds of pictures and whatnot.”

“Of… rabbits?” Haze coolly inquires.

“I guess? I mean, she,” he says, motioning to the previously rabbit-occupied section of the table, “is a rabbit, so… ya know… what else?”

“That would make the most sense,” Cure agrees. “That’s an excellent logical deduction, private. I may not have a whole lot of experience with all this,” he says, waving vaguely to the room at large, “but a keen mind like that? It’ll take you places.”

Even though the comment was delivered with a serious tone, the ponies who know who he really is easily pick up on the sarcasm. Cure hasn’t been sure up to now how many are certain of his true identity. They would have to be pretty dim not to at least suspect, but only the three sergeants should truly know beyond any shadow of a doubt. Based on their reactions, though, it’s pretty obvious that the other guards he’s worked with have him figured out.

Conversation once again grinds to a halt when the servingponies show up, this time with covered platters filling cart after cart. Cure’s booty involuntarily dances in his seat while his cleaned salad plate is swapped out with a golden dome. With a small flourish, the mare lifts the cover off to reveal an artistically plated serving of shrimp alfredo. The colt’s eyes widen in excitement and his wiggly dancing intensifies, drawing a warm chuckle from the princess. He glances over, noting that her pasta lacks his protein, having broccoli florets instead.

On one hoof, it’s a perfectly acceptable meal that he has no real complaint about. On another hoof, the frequency with which pasta dishes are served at the palace seems a tad odd. Sure, they’re filling and almost everypony loves them, but the main reason ponies eat pasta is because it is cheap. Sure, there may be a couple thousand creatures present between the guards and the family members that accompanied them, but it still seems a little strange given the circumstances.

Then again, Equestria as a nation apparently operates in the black. Maybe, unlike the governments from Ed’s memories, somepony actually does what they can to keep costs reasonable around here. Somepony that takes their job seriously, no less.

He also considers that, throughout most of history, the majority of fancy human meals are only considered such because of some exotic or unique type of meat for an entree. Lobster, filet mignon, caviar, some kind of rare pheasant… the list goes on. While that would certainly spark some conversations in pony society, he’s pretty confident they wouldn’t be of the positive sort.

Without further ado, Cure makes a show of reaching into his suit jacket, then slowly pulls out a white folded square of fabric. Turned to his right, he grips two corners and gives it a hardy flap, reaching up to the back of his neck to tie the corners together. The over-the-top action draws several stares, and everypony’s eyes widen when he turns back to show off the fancy new bib.

Without any parmesan to sprinkle on his entree, the colt happily enjoys a different form of garnish. The deep sigh from the princess and muffled snickers of his audience greatly enhance the already nigh-orgasmic deliciousness of his first bite.

“Must you?” the elder alicorn exasperatedly asks.

He finishes cramming a forkful of spun pasta with a speared shrimp into his muzzle, biting down to lock it in place. Mouth full of food, he innocently turns to the princess, brows raised almost to his mane. “Hmm?”

“Where in Equestria did you even get that? I certainly do not recall seeing it in the catalog of my products.”

Savoring every delectable flavor caressing his tongue, the colt takes his sweet time thoroughly chewing up his food, then loudly swallows and rinses it down with a gulp of cider before sidestepping her question. “What’s wrong with it? Not a fan of the picture? If you ask me,” he says, pausing to look down, “While not exactly a realistic depiction, per se, it certainly does a wonderful job capturing your character.”

Scowling at the miniscule nuisance, the princess huffs and replies, “I will have you know that I am not some kind of… cake fiend incapable of restraining myself when presented with a treat.”

The colt’s horn lights up for a third time, scooting items around to make room before Teleporting a cake just like the one in the picture onto the table. Despite her insistence, the princess’s eyes momentarily light up at the chocolatey confection’s appearance. It only lasts an instant before she schools her features, but with everypony looking in her direction there’s not a soul at the table that missed it.

Smiling smugly, Cure resumes his eating without another word.

“See? Perfectly restrained,” she haughtily declares, daintily taking another bite of her entree.

Cure shrugs his wings and the cake disappears in another flash. Scandalized at the sudden lack of cake, Celestia fails to hide her look of disappointment.

<< Don’t worry, boss, >> he silently Messages to the mare. << I just Teleported it to your room so you have a midnight snack. >> He can’t help but notice a slightly quicker swish of the princess’s tail. Out loud he adds, “The staff prepared more than enough desserts for everypony already. They don’t need me trying to steal the spotlight.”

Regaining her typical regal composure, the mare looks meaningfully at his plate. “Perhaps instead of concerning yourself with what I eat, you should focus on your own meal. After all, you will be needing plenty of energy this evening.”

As inappropriate as the princess’s statement could be interpreted, Cure knows she didn’t mean anything by it. That doesn’t stop a few of the younger ponies from freezing in place momentarily before forcing themselves to continue eating.

Meeting the elder alicorn’s smug look with one of confusion, Cure finally gives up guessing what she means and asks for clarification.

“Why, for all of the dancing you will be doing, of course. Now, I know that you can be quite shy at times -” she says, pausing for a moment when Amethyst barks out a laugh “- so I took the liberty of setting something up in advance.”

To Celestia’s mild disappointment, Cure reacts with neither annoyance or panic, but instead a look of resignation. “What did you do?” he sternly asks, looking around suspiciously for some kind of clue.

“I thought to myself,” she begins, tapping thoughtfully at her chin while humming, “how could we make this evening special for all the little fillies coming with their parents?” Grinning victoriously, she perks up as if coming up with the perfect solution. “Then, I remembered what a fantastic dancer you are! Why, the answer simply could not be more obvious!”

Sighing, the colt hangs his head in defeat. “Again… what did you do?!” he worriedly demands.

“Is that what these tickets are for?”

Ebony Foil’s question to her dam nets her everypony’s attention. The shy filly practically shrinks into her cushion when everypony glances her way before turning back to the princess.

“That is exactly right, young Miss Foil!” Celestia excitedly confirms. She turns back to Cure nearly bouncing on her seat and explains, “Every filly in attendance was given a ticket. They may deposit one half of their ticket into a collection box or pass them to the serving staff. Once dinner is complete we will pick tickets to see who gets the opportunity to dance with His. Royal. Highness.”

Cure can’t help but note the way she says those last three words. He’s known the princess to use sarcasm on rare occasions, but that has, as far as he can immediately recall, been exclusively in more private situations. Her tone isn’t malicious; she’s obviously just getting back at him for something. Given what a pain in the rear he has been the last couple weeks, he can’t even muster the gall to pretend to be upset. If anything, he’s happy to see her being her normal playful self despite the crap he’s pulled with the zebras recently.

Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to at least pretend to be upset.

“What?!” he shrieks in mock outrage, ears and wings shooting to the sky. Amethyst glares for a second at his left wing smacking into her during his outcry. “How many fillies do I have to dance with?!”

“Oh I wouldn’t worry too much about the exact number, your highness,” Dandy jokingly interrupts. “I’m sure you’ll be done before midnight. After all, the band does need to go home at some point.”

With uncanny quickness, Cure reaches into his mane and whips out his watch, projecting an Illusion of the time for all to see. “Eight thirty?!” he all but shrieks, turning to the princess with a look of horror. “You expect me to spend three and a half hours on the dance floor?!”

“Please,” she drawls, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated motion. “As if that would be difficult for you. If you did not tire during your flight from Baltimare to here then a little dancing will not be a problem. Besides, you could, every so often, take a short break if it is truly necessary.”

“Why, though?! The event is supposed to be all about the guards, not me!” He glances around the table looking for a victim. “Sergeant Haze is here by himself! Why not have a bunch of mares dance with him?”

“An excellent idea,” the stallion stoically agrees. “Lady Minerva?” he calls, looking inordinately smug. “As neither of our spouses are present, perhaps you would honor me with a dance or two this evening?”

“What?!” Cure squawks, unprepared for the response.

Hoof held to her muzzle to stifle her laughter, Amethyst nods enthusiastically in acceptance. “Sounds fun, sarge. Just don’t go gettin all hoovesy on me. I’mma married mare, after all.”

“I’ll endeavor to control myself,” he insists as flatly as he can manage.

“Touché, sergeant,” Cure begrudgingly acknowledges. “Well played.”

The stallion inclines his head slightly in acceptance.

“Wonderful!” Celestia cheers. “And as for your question, young stallion, I am certain the parents of the young fillies will have no objection.”

The colt folds his forelegs across his chest and huffs in fake exasperation. “Fine!” he grouses goodnaturedly, “but only if you get out there for at least a song or two, yourself!”

“An excellent suggestion,” Dandy quickly agrees on her behalf. “Perhaps we could get a photograph of the two of you together. I’m quite sure Miss Development would be ecstatic to take the shot.”

“I believe our respective statures may make us dancing together a bit of a challenge,” she calmly argues.

“Oh, so now talking about somepony’s body is perfectly okay. Got it,” he teasingly quips.

“It is not the same and you know it,” she argues back.

“Fair enough. And the whole me being a quarter your height thing isn’t really that much of a problem! I’ve been spending a lot of my downtime studying in your library, after all.”

Celestia blinks and tilts her head to the right in confusion. As far as she is aware, he has not been in any of her libraries at any point during his visit. She almost asks when, but he continues before the word escapes her muzzle.

“And I found just the spell to solve that problem. Now, I can only hold it for a little while, and I’ll probably be really worn out when we’re done, but as long as we wait until the end of the night that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Celestia sighs internally as she considers the foal’s suggestion. She has a pretty good guess as to what he is planning. While it may be amusing to see everypony’s reaction to a fully grown alicorn stallion, there is one small problem with him showing the ability to appear as an adult. Namely, between that and his demonstrated ability to alter his appearance, the zebras are very likely put two and two together and, despite lacking any evidence, inadvertently come to the correct conclusion.

Ambassador Zuberi will definitely take the display as proof that Cure was the supposed zebra shaman they were pursuing, and he may be able to persuade Colonel Agrinya or Major Faheem to buy into the proposition. There’s also the concern that they may, somehow, link the colt’s activities as Madame Adiah, even though there is, again, no solid evidence the two are in any way related.

Ultimately, as much fun as it could be to join him on the dance floor, there are too many possible pitfalls for her to take the chance. A shame, she considers, since his appearance as a stallion is certainly attractive. Sighing internally, she dismisses the notion from her mind; while having to wait another six years for anything physical to develop is unfortunate, the fact that a male alicorn even exists is a dream she’s not dared to entertain for nearly her whole life. She is perfectly fine only having to wait a little more than half of a decade for him to reach adulthood.

Though she would not be completely opposed to an occasion all-encompassing hug like he gave her during that first demonstration. Or the snuggling session after that barely passable attempt at an apology.

Consolingly, she dismisses the idea. “As much as I appreciate the effort you must have gone to to learn that spell, if it is the one I am thinking of then I must forbid you from using it from now on. That is a very advanced spell, and it is far too strenuous on the magic systems for somepony your age, alicorn or not. In fact, I would highly recommend you not cast that spell until you are older, lest you accidentally stifle your magical development.”

The colt sits there dumbfounded for a good few seconds trying to parse out the princess’s meaning. He’s positive she knows what he really meant, and she knows he can pull it off with absolutely zero difficulty. It only takes a moment for realization to set in, and he has to fight the urge to facehoof when it finally does.

It’s his own actions, once again, that have come around to bite him. Losing out on a chance to drag her out onto the dance floor is kind of a bummer, but he isn’t sure he really regrets delivering the threat to the ambassador.

Whether it was worth the sacrifice will depend on how his words will be taken, but if it prevents him from having to go on a rampage because somezebra decided to test the waters, then it will all be worthwhile. Of course, if they do decide to heed the advice it’s not like he’ll ever know, but if they don’t…

Well, if they don’t then nozebra can claim they were not warned.

“Okay,” he agrees with a disappointed pout. “I guess you would be the expert, boss. I’ll avoid using that from now on. I can still use Enlarge when I’m dancing with the older fillies, though, right?”

“Yes. That is a much lower difficulty spell, and I know you are already quite proficient with it.”

“Were we referring to some kind of aging spell, perhaps?” Dandy inquires.

“We are,” Celestia quickly affirms. “And to answer everypony’s next question, yes, those spells are indeed forbidden, both due to the toll they take on the caster and the fact that, if improperly performed, may not be as temporary as intended.”

“Ah, yes… that would be quite unfortunate,” the unicorn quietly murmurs.

“Indeed, it most certainly would,” the princess agrees.

The duchess looks between her husband and the two alicorns and asks, “Could his highness not revert any such changes with his talents if that were to happen?”

“The main problem would be fitting an adult-sized brain back into a foal-sized cranium,” Cure replies, shaking his head to the negative. “There’s nothing stopping me from working on somepony else’s brain. Hay, one of the first ponies I helped when I started at the hospital was a stallion that had just had a stroke, but messing with my own brain is not a good idea. As I understand it, that’s led to some pretty unfortunate results from ponies that have had similar talents to my own.”

“Quite right,” the princess solemnly agrees, “and we can scarcely afford his brain taking any more damage than it already seems to have.”

Snorting in indignation, Cure flicks his ear dismissively in her direction and continues eating his meal, paying no mind to the rest of the table’s laughter at his expense.

He briefly considers pointing out that he could double his size and only be a few hooves shorter than the mare, but doesn’t voice the idea. He would still weigh around a sixth or so as much, which could be very difficult to compensate for depending on the dance, but ultimately decides to let the matter drop.

Pushing too hard feels like it may come across as creepy, needy, or desperate. It might be fun to shake his booty with the boss lady, but if she’s not in a hurry to make it happen then there’s no reason for him to make it an issue of it at this time.

In the lull of conversation his mother leans down closer to his side. “Yer not upset about the dancin? Between that ‘n the whole veggie thing I figured you’d be a might bit annoyed.”

With an indifferent shrug, the colt shakes his head no. “A little, but more about the latter than the former. The survey won’t really be that much of a problem. As for the dancing, I’m not exactly thrilled she didn’t tell me before, but at least it ought’a earn me some good PR points with some of the folks out there. I figure I’ve probably irked a few of them, what with me calling them out, and a few hours of schmoozing with their daughters isn’t really that big of a deal. Hay, it may even be kinda fun. Besides, it’s getting late,” he points out, angling his horn towards the night sky visible through the balcony doors. “Aside from the bats here, which are the minority, most of the fillies will be getting sleepy pretty soon.”

The mare scoffs, sitting back up to her full height. “No way, colt. They may crash later, but I reckon they ain’t gonna be rearin fer bed anytime soon, what with bein at the royal palace and havin a chance to dance with his highness.”

The colt’s snout scrunches in consternation. His mom is more than likely right; while many may not care that much about Serpentus, exactly, the opportunity to dance with a real, live prince doesn’t come about very often. A random thought has Cure pausing mid-bite to ask a question of the princess. “What about the fillies who want to, but don’t end up getting drawn?”

An inclined brow prompts him to continue on. “There’s only one of me and like…” he pauses to do a very quick and likely inaccurate headcount of the number of females aged approximately eight to thirteen in the room, “... a couple hundred fillies present. Those are normally numbers I’m pretty okay with, but that means well over half will be going home disappointed.”

“I am sure some will choose not to participate,” she replies defensively. The unimpressed look he gives her prompts her to ask, “Do you have a suggestion? Bear in mind that there are dozens of colts here as well.”

Cure scoffs and rolls his eyes, flicking his right wing out in dismissal. He leans to his right and whispers to the mare, “With a five to one gender ratio they don’t need anything from me. As far as I’m concerned, Harmony all but hoofed them their winning ticket at conception.”

While she doesn’t necessarily appreciate his implication that females, by comparison, “lost,” she can’t help but begrudgingly concede his point. There is no point in denying that stallions have, in many ways, an unfair advantage in society. Or, perhaps, more accurately, they lack some significant disadvantages mares must overcome. Regardless of the perspective, it speaks well of the foal that, knowing full well the implications of the situation, he didn’t hesitate to hoof over a creation that will likely at some point eliminate the disparity.

Unaware of her internal musings, he straightens up in his seat and adds, “As for the fillies? I took the liberty of preparing a few things where my clinic was. Nothing fancy, mind you, but just a little something to show I care.”

“Was?” Celestia questions, instinctively turning to look in the vague direction of the castle courtyard, despite it being clear on the opposite side of the castle itself. It takes a second for Cure to realize she’s scrying his clinic’s former location, finding nothing there but a covered wagon and a section of exceedingly healthy looking grass. Head whipping back to the nuisance, she quickly asks, “When did you pack it up? I am sure I recall seeing it just earlier today!”

“While we were playing chess?” he innocently answers. “It’s not like beating you took that much of my attention,” he declares with a snort, turning to avoid her affronted look.

Duke Dandy, shocked at the statement, gawps while looking between the alicorns. “You were able to best her majesty?! At chess?!”

“He was not!”
“Easily,” he calmly lies at the same time.

Celestia’s scowl only deepens as the colt continues, “You should have seen the last game. Fell for a classic king’s gambit. Mate in… what? Ten moves?” he asks, turning to his mother.

Amethyst, barrel shaking with quiet laughter, nods her head as she swallows. “Can’t say I was payin much attention. Seemed mighty quick, sure ‘nuff.”

“Betrayal!” the ancient mare dramatically declares, holding her chest with her free hoof. Gaze now redirected at Cure’s mother, she shakes her head, tisking in disappointment. “I would expect such behavior from him, but from you, as well, Lady Minerva?”

“You say betrayal, I say loyalty,” Cure insists, wrapping his left wing around his mother in a hug. He spears the last shrimp on his plate, expertly spinning the remainder of his noodles, and softly moans in delight as he finishes his meal. A quick swig of his cider washes it all down, and a dab with his napkin removes the last bit of butter remaining on his muzzle. He looks around the table briefly, noting that most of the others are finishing their main entrees around the same time.

The serving mares seem to appear out of nowhere again, swapping out dinner plates for a selection of desserts and replacing empty glasses. As should be expected in the palace, the final course of the meal is just as robust as the main dish.

Cure blinks in surprise when nearly half of a pie is placed before each pony at the table, topped with four large scoops of vanilla ice cream and dollops of whipped cream in between them. He notes that the top of the pie’s colors shift like a rainbow, starting with red on the left and gradually blending to purple while moving clockwise.

“Zap apple pie?” he asks, a hint of awe creeping into his voice.

“Pardon?” Celestia replies, bewilderment evident in her features.

A closer analysis dashes his hopes on the rocks; the coloration is only surface deep. While the top crust has been dyed for appearances, his snout is telling him that the filling is no more than a mixture of typical berries.

“Oh nothing,” he says, waving the issue away. “I thought maybe this was a zap apple pie from the colors. I’ve only ever heard of them, so I was excited to try it.”

“I believe I have tried most kinds of apples, but I cannot recall a variety by that name.”

“Zap apples?” he repeats, meeting her uncomprehending gaze. “You know, from the Apple family?” Gesturing towards his dessert, he explains, “They’re rainbow colored like the pie, really hard to grow, and supposedly taste… ah fudge.” Realization dawns at the end of his statement, and the two alicorns share a brief panicked look.

“I am afraid you must be mistaken,” the princess quickly insists, attempting to cover his blunder. “While they are growing a variety of uniquely flavored and colored apples, none of them look like rainbows.”

The scent of confusion is positively wafting off of Dandy Dresser as the stallion looks between the two alicorns. He opens his muzzle to question how the colt that made said apples could make such a mistake, but a single glance out of the corner of the princess’s eyes has him clamping his muzzle shut.

“Now,” she continues, wiggling happily as she lifts up her fork, “eat your dessert. Many of the tickets should have been collected by now, and we do not want to keep everypony waiting.”

The colt grumbles in acknowledgment and start to dig in. “By the way, I’m teleporting a few of my virus trees in here. I don’t want to cause a scene, but I strongly recommend everypony from the east coast takes the antiviral one and everypony else does the vaccine.”

“Somepony is sick?” she questions, reflexively panning her gaze across the room as if she could somehow spot it. It wouldn’t blow his mind if she could, but she’s never indicated she has that ability.

“Sick or getting sick, yes. I was able to detect a few nasties in the air when we made our way through the room. The Bostrot table seemed to be the source, but I can’t be sure without doing some scans, which would involve me flinging magic in their direction. I’m not sure they’d be especially thrilled to experience that without a heads-up.”

“No. Likely not.” The mare deflates slightly and sighs aloud, nodding to give Cure permission to proceed. “Very well. I will instruct staff to take one as well. If you could place them near the exits then we can be sure to treat everypony upon their departure.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss.”

Despite the princess’s insistence that he hurries, none of the other tables are even close to being done with their meals. Unsurprising, given that they had to fetch their own food table-by-table instead of receiving one-on-one service.

That works out just fine because, as far as he’s concerned, the fillies at the table should get the first opportunity given their parents are the competition’s winners. Since his Serpentus identity is most familiar with Ebony Foil, Cure had tried to coax the shy bat to join him first. Despite her parents’ encouragement he was unsuccessful, so instead he turned to Static’s fillies to try his hoof with them.

He thought he may strike out with the entire table when the elder two politely demurred at his invitation. He can’t really blame them; they’re around double his own age and probably already dating stallions. Fortunately, Cyan Spark agrees at the strong urging of her parents and siblings, so the two make their way to the dance floor side by side.

Of course, a minor hurdle Cure faces with many of the fillies is the size difference. Ponies typically hit a growth spurt between ten and fifteen, depending on when they earn their Cutie Marks, which is unofficially accepted as a sign of a pony maturing.

That means that a lot of ponies who are only a few years older than the colt have already been in their growth phase for a while, leading to him being a whole head or two shorter than somepony that is relatively close in age.

It’s something he’s already experiencing with Ferric Shine and, to a lesser extent because of her tribe, Crosswind Drift. By the time Cure turns ten next year and begins naturally growing, Ferric will already be a year and a half into her growth phase, which means she may grow as much as three hooves in the same time he’ll be lucky to grow even one.

Him being an alicorn may change that, but even if he were to grow larger and faster, that means that he’ll find himself on the other side of the same equation with Glacial and Dawn unless they earn their marks in the near future.

It’s a problem that may never go away without him abusing his talent to alter their or his own physiology. If he ends up as large as the princess then having a marefriend, or possibly wife, that barely reaches his chest will look a little odd.

Fortunately, those are Future Cure’s problems to deal with, and may never be an issue at all given his talent and depending on whether the girls are okay with him altering their statures beyond what is typical.

With the stage mostly bereft of other ponies, many of whom are still enjoying their dinner, the two have most of the space to themselves. Some other much younger foals are as much wrestling as they are dancing under the watchful eyes of their parents, but everypony else seems content to sit back and see what their prince can do.

One particular pony stands out from the crowd, as does her assistant for the evening. Surprise Development, or SD for short, is Celestia’s appointed Royal Photographer. The two stand by on the edge of the dance floor, camera, film, flash bulb, and miscellaneous accessories at the ready.

Cure turns to look over his withers to the band as they finish with their current piece. He doesn’t know Cyan well enough to do anything too familiar, but he’s certain that he’ll end up chest to chest with at least a couple hopeful fillies over the course of the evening. Still, he decides it’s best to start everypony’s expectations somewhere that both he and his partner are comfortable with.

“Something a little lively?” he requests. A mischievous grin crosses the muzzle of the lead mare holding a trumpet and she nods in acceptance, turning to say something quietly to the rest of the band. He turns back and gives Cyan a big smile, casting Enlarge to match the taller filly’s height.

Despite her normally being a hoof and a half taller than him, he figures he probably still outweighs her by a bit. Knowing they should balance each other fairly closely, he spreads his wings back and rears up on his hind legs. Forelegs held wide in invitation, he gives her a look of confident assurance. “Don’t worry,” he calmly begins, “I’ve got really good balance on two legs. I won’t let you fall unless you really try.”

“You sure?” she whispers to not be overheard by the spectators. “I don’t normally…”

“Yep, I guarantee you’ll be fine. We aren’t going to try anything crazy, so there’s almost no chance that we’ll end up on our butts.”

Despite being the same height, his earth pony build is considerably thicker, making him nearly double the older girl’s width with the Enlarge spell applied. That gives her plenty of room to rest her hooves against his chest when she joins him on two legs. With that as their cue to begin, the band starts up with a peppy tune. It sounds almost comically old to the colt, who can only compare it to music Ed had heard when watching old Nick at Nite shows like Donna Reed, but it gets more than a few ponies bobbing their heads in tune, softly stomping, or clapping along in their seats.

With his forelegs holding her shoulders steady, Cure gingerly begins to shift his weight. He slowly glides to the left, guiding the unsure filly to follow as his hind legs start moving, sliding, twisting, and kicking with the tune.

Cyan starts off a little flat-hooved, barely shifting and swaying with her partner, but soon realizes he has her in a firm grip. The colt’s forelegs on her shoulders are unyielding, giving her free rein to shift her weight without any chance of falling.

There’s very little coordination between the pair as they shake their rears on the dance floor, but that doesn’t matter to the girl in the least. Laughter bubbles up from her core, escaping her as delighted giggles, and a smile stretches across her muzzle nearly from ear to ear. Her laughter is infectious, and Cure can’t help but join her as the pair twirl and dance around each other on the floor. The song seems to be a short one; it stops abruptly with the crash of a cymbal, shocking the duo from their dance.

Before they can even separate, laughter and cheering erupt from the nearest tables, embarrassing Cyan Spark to no end. Her cheeks ignite in a searing blush as he turns them both to face the crowd and the camera, and it only worsens when the colt presses against her side, draping his powerful wing over her back. The volume, and her blush, both seem to double when Cure tightly hugs the filly to his side and plants a chaste kiss on her left cheek. She also has to blink a few times to clear the spots out of her eyes from the camera pony’s flash.

“Thank you!” his calls, voice washing over the crowd. “Thank you all. And thank you, Lady Spark,” he says, retracting his wing and taking half of a step away while turning to face her. Frozen stock still, the filly doesn’t know what to do when His Highness scoops her left foreleg off the floor and plants another kiss on her fetlock. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner for my first dance! Let’s have another round of applause for Miss Cyan Spark, Corporal Static Arc’s youngest daughter! And don’t forget, everypony - If your daughters would like a chance to shake their tails with me, have them deposit their tickets into the collection boxes ASAP!”

As much as he thought some fillies may be up for a go, he had not expected the near stampede.

Cure is aware that most colts would be looking for any reason to escape his situation, but he has to admit that he’s having a pretty fun time. The fillies have all been good sports, even a few that are daughters of the sergeants he called out earlier that night.

His current partner has to be the most adorable one he’s had so far. At just a little over six years old, the petite unicorn filly has been beaming the whole time. He knows the band chose the song on purpose; the instant the filly squealed in delight at being called, they gathered in a huddle before breaking to start a much slower, far more intimate waltz.

With a reversal of the spell he’d been using all evening, the colt had Reduced his stature by nearly a third. That put the pale cream colored filly’s head at just the right height for her to nuzzle up under his chin, leaning bodily into his chest and unsubtly drinking in the scent of his mane.

It would have been far more awkward, but the first words out of her mouth were, “You smell just like dam’s brownies!” before she enthusiastically leaned into his chest. Everypony within earshot got a good laugh, and the parents were grateful that he played along without complaint.

If she gave the side of his neck a couple grooming licks, he wasn’t going to call her out for it.

As the song comes to an end, Cure is relieved he can finally go get himself a drink. He keeps himself cool and well hydrated via his portal rings, but he still greatly enjoys the act of downing a tall glass of ice water when the opportunity presents itself. He bids the filly good night with a kiss to the fetlock, causing her tail to wag so hard her whole back half flops from side to side behind her. With a giggle filled bounce, she turns and runs to her parents and is promptly scooped up into a hug.

The colt briefly feels a pang of jealousy at the sight; as much as he cares for Amethyst, she hasn’t been part of the family long enough for the bond between them to fully develop. She’s his mom and he cares for her and will do horrible, horrible things to anypony that even thinks of doing her harm… but she isn’t at the same level as his dam or Title. Not yet, at least.

Dispelling his Reduce, he shakes off the thought and begins heading off of the dance floor, pausing when a pair of unicorn fillies briskly approach just as he steps down. The one in the lead has a bright yellow coat and looks to be around fifteen, while the other is lime green and is only a little taller than Cure, himself. Both young mares have chocolate brown manes and, judging by their scents, are almost certainly siblings.

“Your highness!” the elder calls, voice barely rising above the crowd. “We need you!”

“You need me?” he echoes, head tilted in confusion. “If this is about dancing,” he begins, cutting off when she vigorously shakes her head to the negative.

She leans down closer to whisper in his ear. “It’s my sister! She’s been feeling really sick the last few days and I think she’s getting worse!”

“Your sister?” he asks, eyes drifting to the younger filly. She doesn’t look sick, not that looking at somepony is an excellent way to make a diagnosis. In fact, if anything, she looks kind of nervous. The longer his eyes stay on her, the more he picks up the scent of her growing anxiety.

“Not her!” the elder insists, drawing his attention back to herself. She raises her hoof and points towards the doors leading further into the castle, explaining, “She wanted to be away from the noise, so she’s laying down in a room on the other side of the hallway. I am so sorry to ask, but could you please spare her a moment of your time? She was really looking forward to this evening, and to be cooped up alone feeling ill is just so unlucky!”

Cure barely holds back a sigh. This absolutely has to be some kind of trap. He’s already mentally ruled out changelings as being likely, though a voice in the back of his mind seems to call out that this is the kind of thing a changeling would try. Then he considers that the palace is a less than ideal spot to foalnap him, especially when his absence will be noticed within a matter of minutes. In fact, as the thought crosses his mind, he notes the princess is subtly keeping him within her peripheral vision, likely wondering why two unfamiliar fillies rushed to intercept him before he could get his drink.

He chews the inside of his cheek and shifts from side to side, for all appearances considering their request. While putting on his show, he sends a Message to the princess. << These girls are saying their sister is sick, boss. The younger one is way too nervous, so I’m pretty sure that’s a lie. It sounds like a trap, but I can’t figure out their angle. They smell like real ponies to me. Should I follow them to help her or do you want to take care of this another way? >>

He gets the impression of a disappointed sigh as she replies in a tone like she’s talking to somepony that’s kind of slow, << If you suspect something is a trap you do not simply walk into it, Cure. I will ask Lt. Spear to bring a squad of guards with a medic to meet you in the hallway. Delay them for a moment so she has an opportunity to get into position. >>

With a minute dip of his chin to show he understands as he says, “Well, we can’t have her missing out on the festivities, can we? Just how old is your sister, anyway?”

“Fourteen,” both answer at the same time, the younger’s voice barely above a whisper.

“Ah, okay. Well, first things first, I need to get permission from your parents.” He holds a hoof up to forestall any arguments from the yellow filly, insisting, “Except in a life or death emergency, I am required to get permission to heal a minor from a parent or guardian. Now,” he begins in a more commanding tone, “take me to your parents so I can get permission to help your sister.”

The smell of anxiety goes through the roof and is now blasting off of both girls, saturating the air in a bubble around them.

The older of the pair turns to the younger, insisting, “You take him to dam and dad. I’m going to tell her that we’re on the way.”

“Huh-uh,” the colt denies, stepping sideways to cut off her escape. “You will both come with me to meet your parents, then, as a group, we will go see how your sister is doing.”

“But-”

“That was not a request, I’m afraid.”

The older filly freezes like a deer in headlights at the order, but the younger one has apparently had enough. With a quickness that Cure had not expected, the unicorn turns tail and darts away, disappearing into the crowd so quickly that her sister can only squawk in surprise.

“Don’t even think of it,” he warns, stepping close enough to keep her within reach. Even though he is several hooves shorter, the filly immediately yields to his command.

<< We’ve got a runner, boss. Better tell those guards in the hallway to keep an eye out for her. She might be going to tell her sister that the jig is up. >>

<< I advised them to keep watch as soon as I saw her run away. What did you say to them? >>

<< I said I can’t heal a minor without their parent’s approval, and insisted we go find them. >>

<< Ah. Excellent. Even if they do not volunteer their parents’ identity, we can always determine who they are from the guest list. >>

“So, what’s it going to be? Do you want to take me to your folks,” he offers, then pans his gaze to the front of the room, “or would you rather come with me and talk to the princess instead?”

Her eyes follow his to the princess, who is very obviously looking in their direction. It doesn’t surprise him in the least when he hears a whimper escape her lips.

“Thank Celestia, the maker, Harmony, Buddha, Jesus, or whoever!” the colt loudly sighs, slowly sinking into the almost scalding water of his bath. “I dunno ‘bout you ma, but my dogs are barkin up one helluva storm.”

“Uh huh,” she disbelievingly grunts, dipping a hoof in then reeling back. “Maker above, colt! Yer gonna cook yerself alive in that!”

“Please,” he says, blatantly rolling his eyes, “I’m keeping my insides the right temperature, mostly. Even if my hooves aren’t really hurting, the heat still feels pretty damn nice.” Wings and legs spread in all directions, he lets out a loud, long groan of relief. “That does it,” he declares, “I’m getting us a hot tub at home. One big enough for all of us to enjoy at the same time.”

“Sounds good ta me, colt. Just one problem; where in tarnation do ya think yer gonna put it?”

“I dunno, ma. How do you think everypony’ll feel about having a basement?”

The mare barks out a laugh at the suggestion, shaking her head in disbelief. “Ya can’t jus dig a hole under the house, ya nincompoop. You’ll have the whole livinroom collapsin on top‘a us!”

Thrusting a defiant hoof in her direction and, not completely inadvertently throwing a hooffull of hot water, Cure argues back, “That wouldn’t happen! I’m not some kinda moron that’d just hollow out a space and call it a day! I’m talkin support beams, reinforced concrete, some ventilation… the works! Don’t forget, a decent part of the house already has bits of my plant under it.

“Besides, I can convert the closet under the steps into another staircase and put it under the storage room with the water heater in it. That’ll make the plumbing a little easier at the same time. Wait,” he pauses, head cocking to the side in consideration, “is radon a thing here?”

“I… don’t know?”

“Me neither,” he admits. “Not a whole lot of ponies have basements. Do you know anypony that didn’t smoke but died of lung cancer?”

A look of panic crosses the mare’s face. “No. That can happen?!”

“I mean, it can, but having a basement with radon intrusion massively increases the risk. I can’t really think of anypony in town that has one, though.”

“Ponies ain’t the best diggers, in case ya haven’t noticed.”

“True. I’d probably line the basement with lead just to be safe, though. I’m pretty sure that will stop it as long as it’s one continuous, sealed piece, which isn’t very difficult thanks to Transmutation.”

“Or,” she makes a face like she’s explaining that water is wet, “you can put the thing outside and save yerself the trouble without riskin somepony endin up with lung cancer of all tha damn things!”

He almost argues the point on reflex, but pauses to consider it as a viable suggestion. With his vacuum insulation method and a well designed cover, there’s a good possibility that a hot tub would be viable outside almost year-round. There might be a few weeks in January and February that he’s forced to drain it instead of risking a pipe bursting, but with how much magic is at his disposal keeping it from freezing solid should be easy. Even if it does, fixing whatever breaks will be ridiculously easy with magic.

“You probably won’t be able to use it when I’m here for school.”

Shrugging indifferently, she points out, “Don’t think anypony’ll mind, colt. ‘Sides, I reckon yer gonna find a way ta make it work without ya by tha time ya take off. Now no more stallin!” she growls, folding her forelegs across her chest as she leans against the edge of the tub. “Tell me what happened with them fillies tryin ta trick ya inta followin ‘em. All tha princess said was it was fillies bein fillies and not usin their brains.”

“Not much more to it, ma. They’re just thirsty for the D,” he matter of factly answers. With a shrug of his wings, he adds, “You know how it is.”

A look of utter disgust mars the mare’s face as she almost wretches to the side. “What tha fuck?! Ya ain’t even ten!”

“They don’t know how old I am.”

“They damn sure know yer not an adult!”

“Neither was the filly that was waiting for me. I almost feel bad for the poor girl.”

“Well don’t!” she sternly growls, face twisted in anger. “They deserve whatever’s comin to ‘em, I say!”

“Aside from whatever their parents do with them, I don’t think much of anything is coming their way at all.” Seeing her look of incomprehension, he calmly explains, “No crime was committed. Really, since she’s underage and my age is a state secret, technically they didn’t even attempt to commit a crime. I feel like there should be some kinda law against exposing yerself like that, but I guess that would be impossible to enforce when everypony’s walkin around with the stuff out all the time.

“Either way, the only thing they’re truly guilty of is embarrassing the everloving shit out of their parents and themselves, but only a hoofful of guards know anything happened at all. Legally, their only punishment was a very stern talking-to from Lieutenant Spear.”

“That can’t be right!”

He shrugs helplessly with his wings, the motion briefly lifting them from the water. “Dunno what to tell ya, ma. It’s not like they forced me to go anywhere. You could make an argument for coercion of some kind since they made it sound like the sister was sick, but it hardly seems worth the trouble given the public backlash that would come their way. They literally never laid a hoof on me, nor did they use magic in any way. The worst I suffered was a faceful of their sister’s scent.” Which pales in comparison to what I got a taste of this morning, he thinks but doesn’t say. “The poor girl wasn’t just in heat; she was flat out cookin underneath that tail.”

“So, what was their plan? Trick ya inta followin ‘em and… what? Hold ya down fer their sister ta mount ya?”

Snorting out a laugh, he shakes his head no. “I think the term ‘plan’ is extremely generous, all things considered. And no. As far as I understand it, they were under the impression that the Alicorn of Life’s urges may be twice as strong as a normal colt’s.”

“Gee,” she starts, feigning wonder, “I can’t imagine how they may’a come ta that conclusion.”

Cure wilts a little under her accusatory stare. “Still say it was funny.”

“It was. Is. Whichever. Didn’t make it a good idea,” she bluntly notes.

“I know!” he huffs, throwing his hooves up in surrender, the motion causing him to briefly dip underwater. “How the frick is it that every damned thing I do ends up coming back to bite me in the ass?! It’s like I can’t sniff a fuckin flower without a bee shooting straight up my snout or something!”

Flatly, she responds, “You gave yourself a second set ‘a danglies on the day of your freaking coronation ‘cause yer dumb mother dared ya. It was the first and only coronation of an alicorn that the nation’s seen since the princess’s own almost a millennium ago. Tell me… What kinda positive result could ya possibly have expected from somethin like that?”

Cure huffs and looks away, grumbling something she can’t catch under his breath.

She leans over the tub, hiking her brow up in an expectant look. “Hmm?” she sarcastically hums in question.

“It would probably generate a lot of curiosity in a few years when I’m old enough,” he weakly answers, half submerging his head under the water.

Amethyst closes her eyes and shakes her head in disappointment. “Colt,” she begins in a condescending tone, “I reckon since ya ain’t got a lotta experience walkin ‘round with a vagina on ya -”

Cure inadvertently sucks in a snoutful of water, laughing at his mother’s unexpected quip.

Unperturbed by the not-quite-drowning foal, she waits for him to recover and continues, “-but take it from somepony who’s had theirs a few years now. Most mares ain’t tryin ta find anything weird ta get crammed back there. Ya feel me?”

“I… am listening,” he diplomatically responds.

“Good. A stallion havin a second package might be a curiosity. I reckon more’n a few mares would be a little interested. The problem is that it’s different. It’s weird. And like I said, ain’t nopony wantin somethin weird crammed inside ‘em.” She paused a beat with a far off look, then amends, “For the most part. There’s always a few, but I can’t say I recommend puttin any part of yerself in, or even near them.

“Besides, stallions make enough of a mess with just one ‘a them things, even when it's... well, contained. Ain’t nomare out there wantin blasted across their frontside every time they’re gettin serviced.”

He mulls it over a moment in silence, finally giving the mare a nod of understanding.

“Good. As fer ‘generatin curiosity,’ as ya said, yer an alicorn stallion.”

“What?!” he shouts in mock surprise, whipping his head back to look at his own wings. “Well I’ll be…”

“Shut it, brat. Mah point is ya ain’t gotta try ta generate nothin. Take a bath every day or so, brush yer teeth, only do yer business where yer supposed ta, and I don’t think it’ll take a whole lot else ta have mares linin up ‘round tha block ta lift their tails fer ya.” She sighs and shakes her head despondently. “And ain’t that a thing ta tell a foal who ain’t even ten years old.”

“So… you’re saying I should give up the game? Go out nude so I can put the rumor to bed?”

She shrugs noncommittally and tilts her head side to side. “Maybe? I dunno. Ya kinda screwed yerself what with them Arabian fillies gettin a front row seat. Showin somethin else might just cause ponies to ask even more questions. Questions I ain’t sure you want ta be answerin… or even have asked, fer that matter. May be best ta let tha matter lie fer a while, see if it goes away on its own.”

Cure draws a deep breath, causing his barrel to bob higher on the surface. He blows it all out in a long, drawn out sigh. The drop in buoyancy dips him underwater, leaving his last dregs of air bubbling up to the surface. For a solid ten count only his horn juts above the water, while his ears lay limply on the surface.

Amethyst barely manages to resist the urge to impale a bar of soap on the bony protrusion. The act would probably cause a normal unicorn discomfort if not outright pain, but the colt is made of significantly sterner stuff. Still, that doesn’t strike her as a terrible “motherly” move, so instead she forces herself to wait patiently for him to come back up.

“I think we got a little off track,” she observes aloud once he rejoins her and clears his airway.

Ears flicking to shake off the excess water, Cure nods and sweeps his mane back with his right foreleg. “Right. So anyhow, I guess they figured that if I got a whiff of the one’s scent and had the opportunity laid out on a silver platter, I wouldn’t be able to resist and… I dunno? Jump on her right then and there?

“I was able to peek around Spear when she opened the door, and Sweet Harmony did I get an eyeful. The room is a smaller hall used for more intimate events, but right now it’s being used to store extra furniture.”

“Intimate events, huh?” she questions with a chuckle.

“Not quite that intimate, I bet. Not unless Tia has some wild parties I don’t know about. Anyhow, the filly had levitated a couch over by the door so it, and she, were the first things you’d see when you walked in. She’d laid herself on her side, mostly facing away with her hooves dangling off to the right, then flipped her tail out of the way so she would be ‘presenting herself’ to me as soon as I walked in the room.”

Amethyst leans away in shock, eyes wide and brow nearly in her mane. With a hint of begrudging admiration, she can’t help but comment, “Bold of her.”

“Right? I was worried she may be the victim of abuse at first, but thankfully that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Good point. That ain’t somethin a filly her age coulda come up with.”

“Mhmm. Apparently they got the idea from one of the older sister’s friends. It worked well enough on the stallion she was chasing, so why not give it a whirl on me?”

“I imagine it would probably work on a lot’a stallions, especially with the scent and all.” Her mood instantly shifts back to anger as she adds, “Still disgusting given yer age. Both hers and yer own.”

”I know, but imagine if it had worked.”

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for her to reach the same conclusion he had. “She’d be set fer life.”

“Exactly. Or, at least the next couple decades. Given there was no crime involved, it seems like a pretty low risk, high reward gamble. All it cost them was their parents’ ire and a princess-sized pile of embarrassment.

“Still, it was a dumb idea. I mean… even if we were compatible and I walked in the room, ripped my pants off without a single word, and immediately started pounding away, what are the odds I would finish before every guard in the castle - likely including the six hundred or so attending the ball - would start tearing the place apart to find me? Not that they would need to since I had my peytral on me anyhow. Tia woulda found me in less than five seconds.”

“Ehh,” she wavers a hoof in the air, “stallions can be pretty quick their first time. It might’a worked if you were a normal colt. And a few years older.”

“Maybe, I guess. Still, my balls don’t even produce sperm yet.”

The mare bursts out laughing, leaning heavily against the lip of the tub. “Gotta add that’n ta tha list ‘a shit I never thought I’d hear said out loud.”

Cure shrugs again and bobs his head in agreement. “Water should be fine for you now,” he says, scooting out of the way for her to climb in. “I cooled it down with copious amounts of pee. You’re welcome.”

Dismissing the colt’s snarky comment, a quick test confirms the temperature has fallen from distinctly uncomfortable to barely tolerable. Amethyst gingerly eases herself into the tub, making her way to the deeper part at the center.

Dipping below the surface for only a moment, Amethyst comes back up to find the colt floating just before her invitingly. She dutifully dips her forelegs under his outstretched wings, crossing fetlocks over his chest and pulls his back against her barrel to rest her chin on top of his head just barely brushing against his horn.

The mare takes a deep breath, slowly exhaling out through her snout. “This is pretty nice,” she easily agrees.

“Right? These things are a bitch to maintain without magic, though. Well, relatively speaking, they are. Without the industry to make supplies it would be impossible. You need a filter, a water heater, a pump to keep the water moving - which I need to see how that’s being done here - and you have to constantly put chemicals in them to keep them clean, clear, and the pH balance in check. Bromine, I’m pretty sure. I know they use chlorine in pools, but I think that does bad things to skin in hot water.”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I haven’t submerged myself in hot, chlorinated water to see what happens. I can tell you from my trip to the spa that salt water dries you out, but that’s kinda common knowledge. We don’t need any of that crap anyhow. Warming heats up the water, Prestidigitation or Cleaning cleans the tub itself, and any impurities in the water can be Transmuted easily enough, including the no-doubt loads of fur and hair that will accumulate.

“Now’s the perfect time for one, too. Nothin beats a good nighttime soak when the air outside has started cooling off. Add in an ice cold beverage of your choice and it’s about as close to heaven as you can get without dyin, which is an experience I can’t say I recommend.”

“Noted,” she dryly remarks, carefully avoiding delving into the topic any further. “Tha lil figurines of ya offerin ta dance were nice. Wouldn’t mind somethin like ‘em myself.”

“Sure. Give me an idea of what you want and I can whip it up no problem. It’s not like shaping wood is a challenge for me.”

“I thought that was Madame Adiah’s specialty,” she remarks with a chuckle.

The colt barks out a laugh, sending a spray of water shooting across the surface. “Unfortunately, you would be one hundred percent correct. Every single freakin stallion I’ve treated in that area so far has gotten rock hard ‘cause of my magic. How fucked up is it that I’ve seen so much pony anatomy that I don’t even blink from a when a stallion in the same room with me is sportin a big, honkin boner?”

“Pretty fucked up, colt,” the mare readily agrees. “Either way, ya ought’a make somethin like that for the princess ‘fore we go. She looked a little jealous when she saw ya only made enough for the fillies in attendance.”

“Oh she got something too, don’t you worry.” He feels her look down on his head from above, silently prodding him to explain. “The cake wasn’t the only thing I sent to her room. If I know the boss lady, she’s probably cuddled up to an adult sized Serpentus body pillow slash plushie at this very minute. I’m kinda curious how long it took her to realize it wasn’t the real thing when she walked in her room.”

“You... didn’t give it a...”

“No, mom. It is not anatomically correct.” A thought crosses his mind and he clarifies, “Or maybe it is, since I’ve never given my adult puppet all the stallion bits. Either way, putting a full sized me doll with a gigantic dong and ballsack dangling underneath it in the princess’s bed is just a liiiittle more blunt than even I am willing to risk.”

“Eh, somethin fer her ta look forward to.”

“Still, a little presumptuous, dontchya think?”

“I reckon so. There ain’t a lot ‘a options for her if she wants foals, but I suppose there ain’t no point in bein crass about it. The princess is a damn lot less uptight than I expected, but that may be goin a bit too far.”

“Exactly.”

The pair sit in silence for the better part of a minute. Amethyst starts humming a tune; a catchy, upbeat song Cure recognizes from the evening. With the colt hugged tightly to her chest, she lazily sways and dances in the water, twirling the pair slowly while the warmth soaks deep into their bones.

“Thanks for coming with me, ma.”

“Sure thing, honey.”

“I think I’m ready to go home.”

“Feels like we’ve been here a minute, don’t it?”

“It does,” he agrees with a shallow nod. “I miss everypony.”

“I miss my beautiful coat.” A beat passes. “And the girls. And my wives. And the babies.”

Several more seconds pass in silence. “And that massage table 'a yers.”

“Dad, too?”

“Oh, right. He has his moments, I suppose.”

“Poor pa,” Cure solemnly commiserates.

“I don’t hear him complainin. He knows his role.”

“Breeding apparatus?”

Bobbing her head, she notes, “He’s a darn decent cuddler too. Nice ‘n warm and, since he started at tha gym, has that delicious firmness in all’a tha right places.”

“Well we all have our purposes, I suppose.”

“Indeedy-doo.”

“Speakin of cuddles, do ya think the girls’ll be up for a sleepover tomorrow night?”

“Mmm… I dunno. We won’t get home ‘till pretty late, so… eh, who ‘m I foolin? You ask their parents if they can spend the night my money’s on ’em agreein in a heartbeat.” Head tilted sideways to meet his eyes, she points out, “You said girls.”

“Heavy counts,” he answers with a chuckle. “If you got seven fillies and one colt are ya supposed to say ‘the guys?’” he muses. Leaning his head away and craning his neck to meet her face to face, he gives her a look of disappointment. “That’s very sexist of you, mother. I expected better.”

“Uh huh. That’s me all right. Card carrying misogynist. Undercover division.”

“Preach, sister!” he cheers, burrowing back under her chin, careful to avoid poking her with his horn. “This country’s gone ta hell every since we started letting mares vote! And don’t even get me started on you-know-who. Clearly we’d all be better off with a stallion in charge, just like most nations of the world have figured out.” It doesn’t matter that he can’t see her face; Cure can practically feel the quirked brow aimed at the top of his melon. “Not me, though,” he cooly adds. “I don’t think it would take five years for me to become a tyrant. To thine own self be true and all that, ya know?”

“Uh huh. You ready to get out? All this heat’s makin me sleepy, ‘n it’s already way past my bedtime.”

“Soundin old, there, momma.”

Scoffing, the mare replies, “I don’t care one whit. I’m tired.”

With one last, deep sigh the colt bobs his head. He reaches up to nuzzle his snout against the underside of her chin, peppering the length of her muzzle with nuzzley kisses. “C’mon ma, it’s been a long day. Let’s get some rest.”

Author's Note

ugh... I'm out of practice. I've proofed this a half dozen times, but I'll eat my new shiny ballcap if there's not a dozen or more typos in it. That's okay, though. I can live with that. Spellcheck becomes kind of worthless when you're trying to type how people and/or ponies speak. Deed and Amy make hunting down mistakes a bit of a challenge.

So, that break lasted much longer than I expected, and it was way less productive than I'd hoped. I don't know if there will be a chapter next week, but I am at least getting back into the swing of things.

Thanks for continuing to read, rate, and comment on the story, folks! Enjoy!