Saturday, September 12th, 909 AB (the next morning)

As much as Cure would like to sleep in, especially after staying up unusually late the night before, Madame Adiah’s schedule for the morning simply doesn’t allow it. The train back to Baltimare is leaving at ten o’clock, which means he absolutely must wrap up all of her affairs and dispose of her possessions by about ten thirty at the latest.

The trains in Equestria are famously punctual, especially those coming and going from the capital, but the range of his portals and the time it takes to descend the mountain safely should give him about an hour of wiggle room, give or take.

That doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be a little rushed; the zebra puppet has appointments with competition participants and a few last minute walk-ins from six o’clock clear up until nine thirty. The fact that he’s had to turn so many guardsponies away has been a source of frustration, but there is simply nothing the zebra puppet can do for ponies that don’t reside within a hundred or so kilometers of the capital.

The fall estrus season usually hits Canterlot around the beginning of September. The effect then propagates across the nation like the ripples in a pond, spreading to nearby Detrot within a few days, but taking several weeks to reach the cities further away.

Because of the asynchronous nature of the season’s start date, Adiah has had to explain to more than a few unfortunate guards, not to mention other travelers, that there was no way for her to help them have more than one foal or choose their gender. Until a mare has an egg waiting to be fertilized, there is simply no safe, guaranteed way to help them get pregnant.

Cure is almost certain he could artificially induce estrus. He knows he could at least force the biological processes into action, but it isn’t something he can do in a single shot. He is also a little wary of what might result from such a pregnancy, even if he’s not as concerned as he was before. As best he can figure, if reviving a stillborn foal in the womb didn’t result in anything abnormal, knocking a mare up outside of the normal two normal months window should probably be fine.

Still, messing with a pony’s hormones is not a once and done thing. Ensuring he achieves the right balance is something that will require some experimenting and fine tuning. While achieving something like that would be par for the course for Prince Serpentus, any treatment Cure can think of that would be safe and effective would be beyond the abilities he would be willing to showcase from some unknown, random zebra shaman.

As with a million other things, the idea goes into the ‘deal with it later’ bin in his mind. Perhaps after the January births are complete he can work with the Baltimare RHA to find a group of volunteers for a medical study. There is little doubt in his mind that Dr. Care would leap at the opportunity to put her name down as the lead physician on such a study, and Baltimare University would probably appreciate being involved in one of his highness’s projects.

That should free Cure up from having to do what may be the most dreaded portion of any medical study: statistics and data analysis. That means there’s only one other truly challenging difficulty to overcome, the initial startup and funding of the endeavor. While he may not have any expenses of his own, other ponies still need to be paid and, in any project in existence, there will always be a big pile of unforeseen expenses.

Fortunately, the colt has a fantastic idea for that, even if he’s sure to catch some flak for how he pulls it off. That’s all for later in the morning, though. As the time for sunrise fast approaches, Cure, snuggled belly to belly against his mom, Teleports a Serpentus clone into his room.

Foregoing his regalia, the foal puppet makes its way out the door, greeting the guardsmares stationed in the royal hall. As the young alicorn had fully expected, not a single one makes even the slightest move to stop him as he heads for the princess’s room. In fact, both mares seem downright thrilled to allow the prepubescent colt to march straight into the mare’s chambers, smiling happily as they rush to open the door.

What is surprising is the cloying wall of fragrance that greets him only a few hoofsteps inside the room; a scent he had banished a few days prior that has now reasserted its presence with great vigor.

Edward had read more than his fair share of literature intended specifically to excite the reader; there’s certainly no shortage of it on Earth’s internet, and despite Equus’ technology lagging behind by a century or three, the far more liberal attitudes towards sex means it’s not difficult to find here either. He need only look in his moms’ collections to find some, or, failing that, go down the street to Rising’s house if he wants to find a local source of production.

Amongst the wide array of apparent universal constants, one thing in particular is applicable to his current situation: genitalia, as a rule, be they male or female in origin, almost universally, for lack of a better word, stink to some degree or another.

Contrary to expectations, even accounting for their much sharper sense of smell, ponies’ bodies normally stink quite a bit less than humans. Cure isn’t sure how much of that is due to having a coat instead of bare skin and how much of it is because pony sweat seems to have a completely different chemical composition. Due to cultural imperatives, ponies tend to be more aware of cleanliness when using the bathroom as well. Because of their stronger sense of smell and the lack of layers of clothing, making sure to clean thoroughly is crucial to avoid drawing the wrong kinds of attention.

Regardless of those considerations, nopony has ever tried to claim that anypony’s musk is objectively a pleasant scent. More than a few authors whose works Ed had perused described some kind of sweet, floral or fruit-like aroma; an impossibility given those smells are the result of evaporative oils secreted by plants that have evolved over millennia designed to appeal to and attract pollinating insects.

While sounding exciting in some specific situations, any creature exuding such a scent as part of their normal bouquet would inevitably find the results to be exceedingly unpleasant. Doubly so in a society where wearing much in the way of clothing is unusual, especially since most outfits almost never cover those parts in particular.

The very idea of somepony’s crotch becoming a bee magnet was one of the reasons why Adiah’s creations targeted the taste buds of the partner instead of the fun bits belonging to the recipient of affection. Naturally, the other reason is that creating some enzymes that adhere to appropriate fluids and release sugars to override their taste is a much simpler and user-friendly process compared to what would be necessary to alter said genetalia’s flavor directly.

The only reason anycreature associates the scents of another creature’s equipment with excitement is because they have formed a mental link between the smell’s presence and the expected upcoming release of glorious endorphins into their system. Just like most alcoholic beverages, the flavor in and of itself is not exactly pleasant, but the result of consumption, either directly from the source orally or indirectly via the olfactory system, brings about a result that one ends up associating with a pleasant experience.

While the musky, rich scent of her majesty’s majesty doesn’t carry the delightful raspberry and vanilla scent that she normally shampoos with, she has at least bathed recently enough that the normal, unavoidable smells a pony accrues throughout a day aren’t quite so prevalent. The overall result is something that, if not exactly appealing at the moment, is something Cure is confident he could become quite enamored with.

Eyes quickly adjusting to the low light, Cure discovers the probable cause of her heat’s resurgence. He hadn’t thought much about giving the princess a body pillow; it was just a cute, somewhat amusing joke. Just because his intentions were humorous, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t thorough with its design. Despite being filled with soft, pillowy material, the surface of the doll is extremely authentic, down to its very own scent; a copy of his own natural oils with a hint of rich, foresty air.

The princess must have appreciated it more than he had expected her to. Taking the term “body pillow” to its natural conclusion, she has completely mounted the doll from above, her forelegs wrapped tightly around its neck and wings draped lazily alongside its barrel. Criminally long hind legs sandwich the plush’s own, and both sets of hind hooves dangle just slightly off the nearest corner of her bed. Aside from the gentle rise and fall of her barrel, there is only one other source of motion in the room.

Waves of teal, purple, and blue sway gently in an unseen ethereal wind as the princess’s tail, hiked nearly straight up off her rear, lazily swings from side to side. Even without his eidetic memory, it’s a sight the colt could never possibly forget; a sight that no doubt millions of ponies have fantasized about countless times over the years.

Normally, seeing a vagina is part and parcel of everyday pony life. There’s not a mare or filly in his circles of family or friends whose privates he hasn’t seen, either with his own eyes, via his talent, or as a vague outline through the aura emitted via his horn. For better or worse, it’s just something that happens in a nudist society and, barring exceptional situations, he’s conditioned himself to not even bat an eye at the sight.

That is not the case here, however.

For the very first time in his short life, Cure has a completely unobscured, front row seat to a likely future partner’s aroused vagina. One that is fertile, ready to breed, and all but dripping with the need to be filled.

It takes longer to wrench his eyes away from the sight than is even remotely acceptable, and he can only send a thanks to the maker that he isn’t a few years older. He would like to think that fighting back his instincts would be easy, but after that brief experience he can only wonder if the fillies were on to something about his urges last night at the party.

A harsh shake of the puppet’s head clears any inappropriate thoughts as he makes his way further into the darkened room. The hollow, sickly feeling of shame washes over the colt as he mentally berates himself. Nudist or not, Princess Celestia does not deserve somepony waltzing into her private quarters and open-mouth gaping at her even more private quarters in such a manner, regardless of what kind of relationship may develop in the future.

Despite the mental arousal, lacking any physical stimulation neither of his bodies react how a young male’s normally would. As uncomfortable as it may be to get a boner in the princess’s presence, he would be absolutely and completely mortified to have his mother wake up to find him fully unsheathed and poking her in the belly.

Quickly moving himself to the opposite side of the bed, Cure happens upon something that, thankfully, helps him mentally push away his disappointment in himself for the moment.

Carelessly discarded, lying on the floor on the far side of the princess’s bed is a familiar piece of waxed cardboard paper; the remains of the princess’s midnight snack. The cake in its entirety has been banished to the void of the elder alicorn’s stomach. Only a single, half lapped-up streak of icing remains, no doubt smeared across the surface in a very unladylike swipe of the mare’s tongue. Even the scent of chocolate is completely drowned out by the dried remnants of pony saliva.

Cure can’t quite tell if she has chocolate smeared all over her muzzle. With her forelegs folded at the fetlocks crossed underneath the pillow’s neck, the princess’s face is all but buried in its chin, pressing down with the weight of her own head to wrap her up on three sides. Only her half folded ears and gigantic horn are visible, the latter jutting proudly like a tower over the bed.

The colt quietly pads his way closer, scooting the discarded cardboard out of the way and rearing up with his forelegs resting on either side of his present’s head. The princess hums contently as she nuzzles further into the pillow. Her wings twitch like a sleeping cat’s paws and her back half sways left and right, then grinds harder down into the pillow’s featureless groin.

As much as he feels bad intruding on her privacy like this, Cure can’t stop an errant thought from crossing his mind: What would he pay right now to have Luna’s ability to peer into dreams and catch a glimpse of whatever the mare is imagining? Probably not a whole lot, given she said she could tell when her sister has done so, but he’s not so deluded as to deny that the temptation would be there if he had the power. Especially when, given the way she is laying on his double, it is entirely probable that he is featuring prominently in her dreams.

He quickly pushes the thought aside as incredibly scummy to even consider. Unintentionally intruding is one thing, especially when they both thought her symptoms had been previously addressed. Using magic to intentionally perv on the princess’s mind is a whole flying leap beyond the line of what’s acceptable, and he can only imagine the violence he would unleash on somepony doing something like that to him.

Leaning forward enough and twisting to the right, Cure brushes his cheek along the top of her muzzle as he softly calls out to the princess to wake her up. “Oh, TiiiAAaa~” he quietly coos, singing out her name. “It’s time for you to bring light into the lives of all your little ponies!” A very unladylike snort erupts from her snout, blowing the fur of his pillow out of the way. A tremendous yawn follows behind it, blasting heated funkiness directly into his face.

The colt’s ears pin back and he feels his mane sag from the humidity as he recoils away, frantically waving a hoof in his face to dispel the toxic cloud. “Eww! Alicorn morning breath is gross! Why doesn’t it smell like chocolate?!”

“My breath does not stink,” she quietly grumbles.

“How would you know? What do you do, go around breathin on ponies and askin ‘em if they liked the flavor? Here’s a test - Give your foreleg a big, wet, sloppy lick, then let it dry before you give it a sniff. You’ll be shocked and dismayed at the results.” Left hoof bracing against the bed, he reaches into his mane and pulls a minty leaf from seemingly nowhere, holding it out in offering just before her snout. “Here, boss, do the world a favor. Open wide for a second and maybe we can turn that dragon’s breath into something a little more palatable.”

Cure’s beaming smile is met by a single magenta eye cracking open only far enough to glare in his direction.

“Aww, don’t be like that. Poor Prince Snugpentus hasn’t done anything so awful as to deserve being exposed to that gnarliness any longer than he already has. Unlike me, this fella can’t heal the damage you’re inflicting, ya know?”

“Why?” she groans, twisting onto her right side to get away from the menace, half rolling off of the pillow’s barrel and pulling its floppy right wing up to cover her face.

Ducking under her horn to avoid losing an eye, the colt tosses the leaf aside and innocently comments, “Gonna need you to be more clear, boss. Why what?”

A breathy growl escapes the mare as she clarifies, “Why do you wake me up early every day, Cure? What could I possibly have done to warrant such cruelty?”

“Uh huh. Cruelty,” he says mockingly while rolling his whole head with his eyes. “I’m so cruel to the poor almighty sun goddess that I surprised her with cake and a priceless nah-nights companion.”

“Priceless?” she scoffs.

“Darn tootin!” he exclaims, right hoof and wing both thrusting defiantly into the air. “How many ponies out there can claim they get to sleep in the loving embrace of a creation of the Alicorn of Life every night?”

“Many, I suspect.”

“No, they all have much smaller products developed by Bodyworks Enterprises. There’s a difference,” he firmly insists. “Not only that, but you’ve also had an almost daily cake delivered by yours truly. I’m starting to think I’ve spoiled you so much you don’t appreciate me. You’ve come to expect all this pamperin!”

“That is ridiculous,” she instantly dismisses.

“And what’s up with this?” he asks, reaching back with his hind hoof to nudge the nearly spotless cake’s cardboard, causing it to make a scooting sound as it moves across the floor. “You must’a enjoyed it, judging from the nearly licked-clean cake board on the floor. Seriously, it would have taken a half second to either incinerate it or Teleport it to the hallway. Why the hay is it sitting on your floor? Not even my sisters do that!”

“I was tired!” she insistently huffs, voice still muffled by the wing blanket she’s hiding under. Not bothering to free herself from her pillowy prison, the ancient mare sternly points out, “Just because I can force myself to remain awake does not mean I enjoy doing so! I am normally in bed within a couple hours of sunset every night. Now, why are you here disturbing my sleep?!”

“Geez, you don’t have to get all huffy with me,” he quietly grouses. More sullenly, he answers, “I’d come over to spend some time with ya before breakfast. Maybe get some ‘before you go’ cuddles with one of my very best friends who I won’t see for a few months. In pony, that is. I’m only hesitating what ‘cause of your… condition and whatnot. It kinda came back.”

“My condition?” she asks, freeing her head to look blearily around the room. Her snout crinkles and she instinctively recoils away from her own hindquarters as if struck. “I thought you -” she begins to shout, cutting herself off when the foal holds his hooves up in surrender.

“I did! I could do it again, too, if you want, but apparently your switch got flipped to ‘On’ and it decided it wanted to stay there.”

A quick series of flashes from the mare’s horn dispel the cloying aroma in the room, cleans her bedding and the pillow, and, Cure can only guess, does whatever Luna’s estrus spell does to suppress the effect.

Rubbing her face with her left fetlock, the princess sucks in a deep lungful and blasts out another huge yawn. “I am sorry you were exposed to that. Again.”

“No problem,” he insists with a shrug. “Now, how bout we go do the whole celestial switcheroo and we can hop back in bed and snuggle -”

Cure cuts off when he feels a familiar swelling of magic in the room. Without even deigning to get out of bed, the princess’s horn glows brilliantly in the predawn gloom, forcing him to cover his eyes until they adapt. Since her suite’s windows face the east, Cure can’t see Luna’s moon sinking below the western horizon, though the shadows cast by castle towers visibly stretch before darkness fully covers the world. The pressure dissipates even though her horn’s glow doesn’t fade completely, and the eastern sky lights up in brilliant shades of golden orange.

Satisfied that her task is complete, the princess flops bonelessly back down to the bed and rolls to her left, pressing her back against the pillow and lifting her right foreleg and wing up in invitation. Cure doesn’t need to be told twice; with a single flap of his wings and a light hop, the colt springs up onto the bed, stepping over her left foreleg to flop against her still sleep-warmed chest. His left wing reaches out, hooking over her withers to pull himself tight as her far larger right wing wraps around his behind and joins her right foreleg to squeeze him even closer.

“Oh yeah,” he happily sighs, nuzzling his chin into the underside of her neck. “Them’s some premium quality snuggles right there.”

Sandwiched between the small foal and his much larger gift, Celestia wiggles back into her mattress until she finds just the right spot, then draws another deep breath.

“You know what you need?” he softly asks.

“Quiet?” she sardonically suggests.

“A real, live snuggle buddy. I bet we could get lotsa volunteers, no problem.”

“Mmm. Yes, I am sure that would not cause any rumors at all.”

“Make it a royal appointment. If it’s an official, paid position -”

“Then the nation is literally paying somepony to sleep with her ruler.”

“... Well, when you say it like that it sounds a little sketchy.”

“Indeed it does.”

“But at the same time, we’re highly communal creatures. I could present a dozen scientific papers all but prov-”

“Cure?”

“-ing… yeah?”

“Shush.”

“... Got it.”

Displaying the barest modicum of wisdom, the colt keeps his mouth shut and tightens his grip with his wing, more than happy to immerse himself in the princess’s warmth.

An hour later

“The Prancing Prince?!” Cure cries in disbelief. Newspaper held so the other two can read the headline, the colt all but shrieks, “That is what they’re calling me?! The Prancing Prince?!”

Smiling brightly in amusement, Celestia sets her alicorn-sized mug of tea on the table and nods, “It would appear so, amongst other things.”

“Other things?”

“Them fillies gigglin off’ta the side were callin ya Prince of Pecs ‘n Prince Hardchest,” Amethyst chimes in. The mare rolls her eyes at his annoyed look, chiding, “Don’t go actin like ya got a problem with either’a ‘em names, colt. It ain’t like I heard ya sayin no when them fillies asked ta feel how muscley ya are.”

Lips pursed, the colt reluctantly concedes the point. It was quite the ego boost having even older teenage fillies rubbing their forelegs, or in some cases, their cheeks all over his flight muscles. While the latter is a little more forward than typically acceptable, it’s not like ponies can really get a good feel for something just through their hooves. Pressing a pastern against something is how a pony would normally get a feel for it, but cheeks have far more sensory nerves in them, allowing a much more comprehensive sense of feeling.

That and it gave them an excuse to have him wrap his wings around them. The pegasi in particular couldn’t get enough of that, which the colt generally had no strong objections to.

“Little Casanova was bandied about quite frequently as well,” Celestia idly comments, floating another icing covered doughnut out of the box. Apparently having donuts after a party is something of a tradition for the ancient mare. She played it off as giving the kitchen staff a break after all the party preparations, but Cure suspects that is just an excuse to have a breakfast that is reasonably similar to cake.

“It’s weird that that reference exists here,” he idly comments, taking another bite of his own treat.

“Oh? Another parallel?” Celestia inquires.

“Mhmm. Not that I know the other version well, but what I do know more or less matches up. Of course, Bitaly isn’t quite the right name, but… eh, whatever,” he ends with an indifferent shrug.

“There ain’t no end to ‘em, princess,” Amethyst solemnly adds. “From cities ta countries, landmarks -”

“The Stifle Tower,” Cure grumbles, rolling his eyes, “Neighagra Falls, the Leaning Tower of Peytral…”

“- ta individual pony names even. Downright creepy if ya ask me.”

“Fascinating.”

“Eh, it gets old after a while,” Cure argues. Reading the next article, he hums in interest, draws a pair of questioning looks. “This one sounds promising. ‘The Prodigy Prince? Attendees Amazed at Alicorn’s Arcane Acumen.’”

“I wonder how much time them newspaper ponies spend tryin ta… what’s the term?”

“Alliterate?” Celestia supplies.

Amethyst thrust a hoof in her direction and nods. “Yeah! That! Seems silly if ya ask me.”

The princess shrugs helpless, explaining, “It is, perhaps, but many traditions are. You cannot deny that it helps draw your attention and more easily sticks in your memory.”

“Fair.”

“Right,” Cure agrees, continuing with the article, “‘According to numerous sources present at last night’s celebration, His Highness, Prince Serpentus, with no assistance from any external sources, impressed attendees with not only his capabilities on the dance floor, but his ability to effortlessly cast and maintain a spell allowing him to more appropriately match his dance partners’ heights. While not considered a terribly complex spell, it is all but unheard of to see a foal as young as His Highness’s estimated age be capable of maintaining it for hours on end. The apparent ease with which he modified the spell’s variables along with his simply astounding casting speed are noteworthy as well.’”

He sets the paper aside and cringes, then reaches up to playfully bonk himself on the noggin. “Oops.”

“I admit, I had not considered that, myself,” Celestia notes. “I sometimes forget that not everypony knows about your crystals.”

Unwilling to correct the princess’s incorrect assumption, the young alicorn keeps his muzzle shut and lets the comment pass.

“While we’re on the topic,” the mare continues, “you should expect to receive some correspondence from the Archmage’s Association via your grandsire.”

“What? Why? I thought they weren’t supposed to be contacting me.”

“I told them that I had met with you - the unnamed biomanipulating foal who lives in that region - and that they are to leave you alone,” she gently corrects. “There is, however, nothing stopping them from offering membership to Prince Serpentus, an entirely separate pony, coincidentally, from somewhere in the same region.”

“So… they all but know I’m the pony they got the alert about last year?”

“Presumably, yes.”

“But they don’t know about my real identity?”

The mare hesitates, then shrugs her wings lightly. “In theory,” she hesitantly answers with a small shake of her head. “However, I am all but certain they suspect that the earth pony foal who ascended to alicornhood is the same earth pony foal who runs a business selling biomanipulation services in a nearby suburb. Or, perhaps,” she teases, “the same colt who has advertised those services in one of the largest papers in the nation.”

The colt’s snout wrinkles in consternation and he begrudgingly nods, acknowledging her point. After a moment’s consideration he shrugs and seemingly dismisses the concern, floating the last caramel glazed doughnut out of a box. “Whatever,” he grouses, chomping down on the sugary confection. “I guess it's not that big of a deal anymore. Besides, stuff like this is exactly why I made my rings. To make it easier to obfuscate my identity. Now I just need a good excuse for Prince Serpentus to encounter Cure Wave where there will be plenty of witnesses. One that isn’t overtly contrived.”

“Hmm,” Celestia loudly hums, tapping her chin with a hoof. “If only there were some reason why Prince Serpentus would be visiting Golden Hills sometime in the coming weeks. Why… whatever reason could we possibly come up with to arrange such an event? The mind truly boggles, does it not?”

Amethyst snorts out a laugh when Cure shoots the elder a glare. “Tia’s got all the jokes today, doesn’t she?” For the briefest instant he spots a smug smile before she hides it behind her mug of tea. “Whatever,” he grouses under his breath. “It’s not like you actually set that up on purpose.”

“Of course not,” she sarcastically quips. “After all, that would require a degree of foreplanning lacking in somepony that cannot even defeat a foal at chess. How could such a simple mare such as myself ever recognize an opportunity like that when it presents itself, hmm?” she asks, giving the colt a wide-eyed, dumbstruck look with her head tilted to the side.

The two alicorns spend a few seconds having a stare-off before the colt finally blows out a sigh. “You’re lucky I’m not stayin another night. It wouldn’t be a big, cushy pillow you’d be findin in yer bed this time, I’ll tell ya what.”

“Oh?” she asks challengingly, learning forward to loom over the far smaller foal. “And just what, pray tell, would I be finding, hmm?”

“That,” he confidently insists, pointing behind the mare.

Celestia scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Really, Cure? As if I would -”

The mare cuts off when her horn’s aura suddenly detects something directly behind her. The odd signature and feel of it causes her to take a second to process exactly what it is.

Teeth. A row of sharp, needle-like teeth, smiling, slightly above and behind her head, seemingly floating on an object that otherwise doesn’t register to her senses. Her eyes flick to his mother who, after open-mouth gaping for a heartbeat, has looked away and begun scooting herself further down the table, removing herself from the line of fire.

“Cure Wave,” she calls in a voice that could freeze a tidal wave solid.

“Yessum?” he innocently chirps.

“In three seconds I am going to look behind myself. If I find anything there that does not belong then I am afraid your arrival at the train station may be delayed by an hour.”

“An hour? Isn’t that how long it takes for us to… ya know?” he asks, pointing a hoof to the sky.

“An astute observation. One.”

“Uhh… a little extreme, dontchya think?”

“Nonsense. You will be fine. Probably. Oh, and, two.”

Her shadow momentarily stretches across the table as the row of teeth disappear from her senses and the familiar tingle of magic brushes against her horn.

The High Princess of Equestria picks up her carafe of tea again and takes, for her size, a disproportionately small, dainty sip. She holds the tea in her mouth, relishing its bold, earthy flavor as it caresses her tongue, then minutely inclines her muzzle, allowing it to slide down her throat. She sets the tea back on the table and slowly turns her neck, casually taking in the scene behind herself and, finding whatever monstrosity has vanished, nods in satisfaction then faces back towards the table.

“I, for one, am relieved to find nothing out of place,” she dryly remarks, cutting through the silence that had permeated the room.

“You’re relieved?” he asks with an indignant snort. “All jokes one minute then Serious Celly the next. Buncha bipolar mares ‘round here, I swear…”

A couple hours later

Cure has come to accept that quite a few annoyances and inconveniences came bundled with his crown. A significant one, of course, is that he will likely never be able to simply go somewhere without a certain level of pomp and show. While it would be nice if he could just Teleport his mother and himself to the train station, that simply isn’t an option. Unsurprising especially given the circumstances. With it being the weekend, there is no open court scheduled today, so Celestia decided to come along to see the pair off.

Feeling a little more casual, Cure opted to go with something different for today’s outfit. Fashionable blue cargo shorts both maintain his modesty and give him an excuse to have pockets, and a white, collared polo shirt with wing slits comes up to his neck. Since he is off duty and it is the weekend, he even chose to forego his royal attire, leaving his crown, shoes, and peytral stored safely in his luggage.

To Celestia’s amusement, that wasn’t the only thing he had stored away. Sitting atop of the pile of luggage was an especially peculiar crate; one containing her bunnified doppelganger.

Bunlestia’s accommodations are fitting for royalty as well. Her pet carrier, if it still even qualifies, is large enough for a dog well over double her size. The alicornized doe seems quite content with its furnishings as well. Laid on her back with only her tail protecting her modesty, the pristine white bunny is snoring loudly, enjoying a late morning nap. A reclining seat of unfamiliar design is her bed, and a dark purple sleeping mask covers her eyes. Perhaps most ridiculous of all is the small stuffed toy she has held tightly to her chest; an even smaller alicornized bunny, this one’s coat in shades of dark blue.

Half laid against his mother’s side, Cure groans under his breath. “Today is going to suuuuuck. I hate traveling by train!” he whines. “Are you sure we can’t just fly back?!”

Both mares instantly respond with a simultaneous, bored, “Yes.”

“AWWW!” he continues to foalishly whine, rolling in place onto his back. “But it’s sooo slow!” he cries, all four legs flailing futily in the air. “And it’s during the day so I can’t even sleep!”

“It ain’t like ya sleep on the train at night anyhow, dummy.”

“That’s beside the point! C’mon, ma! We could be home by like four, five at the latest!”

“Colt, if you think I’m lettin you fly me halfway ‘cross the country then you must have somethin loose rattlin ‘round in that noggin ‘a yers. Took all I had in me ta fly a few minutes every day!”

“And, as you know, I can easily make you sleep the whole way. You’d doze off in Canterlot and wake up at home in a few hours!”

“No, Cure.”

“You’re letting me fly you to Filly in a few weeks. Dunno what the big diff is.”

“A bit over four hundred ‘n fifty kilometers,” is her flat response.

“That, and your guards have earned the honor of escorting their prince, have they not?”

“Oh please, like they don’t know exactly who they’re ‘escorting.’ Familiarity brings contempt and all that.”

“Breeds, Cure,” his mother corrects with a roll of her eyes.

“Got kind of a one track mind, don’t ya?”

The mare’s snout crinkles and she hesitantly nods. “After two weeks away dealin with yer shit? Yeah. I ain’t gonna deny some stress relievin sounds mighty good right ‘bout now.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Celestia flatly comments, agreeing with the mare. “Though a minor correction,” she adds, turning back to Cure, “Sergeant Escot and her team will be providing your escort on the way home. Placing in the top ten of all squads in the nation is a great achievement, even if they did not win the whole event.”

“Fair enough,” he easily agrees.

Amethyst cocks a brow at the elder mare, surprised to hear Her Majesty freely admit she wants to get laid. “Gettin yerself a lil action tonight, highness? Got yerself a date or somethin?”

“I am planning on revealing the truth tonight. I am trying to remain optimistic, but…” she hesitates, blowing out a deep sigh, “I have not always been so fortunate.”

“Huh. Yeah,” the mare hesitantly acknowledges, “I can see how some ponies would be a might bit intimidated. Not ‘cause ‘a you, exactly,” she rushes to apologetically add.

“No, I understand exactly what you mean. It is not as if a relationship with me would be a simple affair. Not everypony is cut out for the complications that being involved with royalty would bring. The attention. The intrigue. The challenge my schedule presents. Last but not least, my inability to give them foals.”

“What about surrogates or other wives havin ‘em?”

The question barely leaves her muzzle before Cure gives her a solid nudge, hissing “Mom!” right into her ear.

Innocent confusion paints the mare’s face as she looks between the alicorns. “What?”

“Really?!”

“It is okay, Cure. The fact of the matter is that both myself and Luna were in herds that produced foals.”

Neck twisted to look over his withers, Cure stares in shock at the admission. “What?! Really?”

“At first. Once it became evident we could not dam our own we came to realize that it would be the only way for us to have families. Bear in mind that we were unaware of our longevity, and it did not dawn on us that we may be truly unaging until nearly a century later. By then it was undeniable that we had not visibly aged at all.

“Foals were thought a necessity to ensure that the nation we were founding would continue beyond our own deaths. Not only that, but we started off as nothing more than a barony; one of many scores scattered across the lands. We had aspirations to unify ponykind into a single nation. Tell me; what is the single most effective way to establish long lasting unity between two groups?”

“Blood. Or marriage,” the colt knowingly answers.

“Precisely. We needed foals that ponies would accept as our own, even if they were not ours biologically. It did not matter to us; they were our foals just the same.” A small cringe mars the princess’s face as she adds, “Mostly. I will not deny the desire to have our own was not present, and our duties took much of our time away from them.”

“So… you have like… great to the fiftieth power grandfoals still running around?”

For only the second time since Cure has known her, Celestia looks genuinely stricken. The corners of her lips turn down and her mane loses some of its luster. The very air of the carriage seems to swell with misery to the point where the foal feels himself hugging his wings to his side reflexively.

Finally, after only a hoofful of seconds, the mare slowly shakes her head. “Not anymore,” she thickly answers. “The ones who remained close were… lost. Long ago.”

Both he and his mother wait with bated breath, preparing themselves to hear what happened. It’s only after a solid ten seconds of silence that they begin to realize the mare has no desire to go into detail.

Seeking to dispel the mood, Cure whips his head back to his mother, playfully growling, “Well I hope you’re happy now, mom! You made Princess Celestia sad! Do you have any idea what they,” he thrusts his hoof at a window, “are going to do to us if they see us pull up with her makin a sad pony face?! I don’t even mean the guards! The citizens will skin us alive! I’m too pretty to be somepony’s blanket!” He pauses a beat and cocks his head to the side in consideration, adding, “I bet I’d be pretty warm though.”

While nopony is exactly doubled over in laughter, the attempt at levity at least provides a distraction as the procession approaches the station.

When the telltale thud from the lowered steps sounds out, Cure looks out the window and blows out a sigh. Sitting up on the bench, he turns to face the princess. “Welp… here we are, boss. One for the road?” he asks, wings and forelegs spread for a hug.

The mare smiles beautifully, slides gracefully off her seat, and wraps her forelegs around the foal. “Is there any chance that I could convince you to behave yourself? At least until the next time we meet? I know that is quite the favor, but…”

“You know what? Sure. I can manage that.”

“Good. I am sure your parents will be thrilled-”

“Tomorrow evening isn’t that far away, after all.”

A pregnant pause hangs in the air, broken when the great alicorn’s wings sag to her side. She looks to the colt’s mother and shrugs helplessly. “At least I tried.”

“Was never gonna happen anyhow.” Sitting up from her seat, Amethyst gives the still taller mare a nod of respect as she holds out her hoof. “Thanks fer havin us, yer highness. Reckon I’ll be seein ya ‘gin come January.”

The alicorn completely ignores the outstretched hoof, and in one swift motion, releases the foal, wraps her forelegs around the mare, and pulls her against her chest, squashing the flailing colt between them. “Then I will look forward to our next meeting, Lady Amethyst,” she says overtop the foal’s muffled protests.

Once he’s finally released from his prison, Cure shoots a glare at the princess as he fusses over his clothes and mussed mane. It’s only a moment later when the carriage door swings open to a massive crowd of fans and onlookers, gathered to see off their prince.

Or, more likely, he silently ponders, to catch a glimpse of their princess.

The train station is much, much busier than his last visit due to the number of ponies coming and going. Several of the trains headed for the west coast are departing any moment while the trains headed for the east coast are leaving in the coming hours. Their procession has only arrived early to give the guards time to establish a security perimeter before any other passengers are allowed to board.

The Baltimare-bound train is actually amongst the last to leave since the other east coast cities, save Fillydelphia, are significantly further away. By dint of being the only major metro on the line and because it is nearly a straight shot directly east, the trip to and from Baltimare is much quicker than the vast majority of metro cities.

Unsurprising to anypony standing guard, the colt doesn’t hesitate to fearlessly trot right up to the crowd. Hundreds of fillies from Canterlot have gathered to say goodbye, and the colt is quick to rush over and offer his farewells in return. Cure spends the next several minutes bumping hooves, trading nuzzles, getting hugs, and even receiving a few kisses on his cheeks. It doesn’t take long for him to spot a familiar trio of fillies, and a few barked commands has the guards jumping to let them through the security line.

While Cure is busy saying farewell to his three newest friends, another creature manages to distract most of the crowd.

To the great alarm and confusion of the surrounding guards, Warrior, clad in full plate with his helm strapped to his waist, emerges from the royal train car and begins making his way towards the princess. “Well as I live and breathe! Celestia Sol, it has been entirely too long!” he jovially calls out, blatantly ignoring the elite royal guards that are preparing to jump in between himself and their charge. A single look from the mare has them standing down as the Argonian approaches, allowing him to walk right up to the mare.

To her utter shock, the bipedal draconic creature doesn’t hesitate at all. First his arms wrap around her neck in a tight hug, then the scythe-like appendages join them, resting gently on either side of her own wings. Finally, his large, leathery wings unfurl and engulf the mare almost all the way back to her flanks in a warm cocoon as he rocks gently from side to side while laughing.

Releasing her from the hug, which nearly sent onlookers into a panic, the brazen Warrior grabs her face with both hands and plants a big, wet, noisy, lip-smacking kiss on each cheek. “It is so good to see you again! So… you’re a princess now, huh?” he asks, looking around at the city. “Not bad at all, your majesty. By the way, love whatever it is you’re doing with the mane and tail,” he compliments with an exaggerated wink. “Though,” he pauses, gently running a clawed hand up the back of her neck through the ethereal mane, “I always thought the pink was magnificent, too. Even if I am partial to purple, myself,” he adds, running a hand overtop his bald head between his horns.

Quite a large number of ponies are looking between the two with a great deal of confusion. The mare blows out a long suffering sigh and shakes her head in amusement. “You really just cannot help yourself, can you?”

“Oh, you know me,” he says, looking entirely unrepentant. “Always a troublemaker. It’s not my fault your guards are all so skittish. You’d think they’ve never seen a huge, sexy, muscular,” he pauses to flex his pecs one after the other, causing his breastplate to shift minutely from side to side, “bipedal creature like myself before. They do know I’m watching over the little guy while he’s traveling, right?”

“I am sure they do now.”

“Great! Hey, I need to go load up his luggage, but after I’m done with this bodyguard gig how about I make my way back over here and we hit the town? Maybe do dinner, catch a show, find a nice quiet bar, and just drink the evening away while catching up. I could even invite my big brother if you’d like! How’s that sound?” he finishes with a hopeful lilt.

The princess takes only a second to ponder the suggestion before slowly shaking her head. “As entertaining as that may be, I am unsure when I could find an evening available. Perhaps next time you visit town you could send word in advance?”

“You know what? That’s a good point. I bet your schedule is just jam packed, what with all those ‘royal duties’ and whatnot, huh?”

“It is,” she is slightly too quick to agree.

The modified Argonian sighs heavily, giving the princess a couple friendly pats on the withers. “Well, don’t forget to take time for yourself. We’re not getting any younger, are we? Or older, either, I suppose.”

“Indeed. You take care as well. Oh, and watch out for the prince's antics. He can be quite a hoofful.”

Two hours later

Balance Book’s morning has been nothing short of utter chaos, something he had known to expect. It’s an inevitability after every Competition; one his office prepares for well in advance. While most of the vendors are reasonable and ready to receive the Royal Assessors, there’s always a few that are… well… a little less than cooperative would be putting it mildly.

Fortunately, with this being a known issue, the Royal Guard has dedicated teams of ponies both on the ground and in the air watching for anypony trying to flee before Her Majesty’s agents make their appearance.

Not only are the nation’s finest on hoof to watch for tax evaders, but are also providing escort for the collectors themselves. Due to the vast majority of dealings being completed with hard currency, it isn’t uncommon for agents to accrue a veritable pile of bits larger than any but the most bold or foolish would prefer to carry about.

Book is particularly relieved to have a squad tagging along as he makes his way to the next stop in his assigned area: the zebra shaman that everypony within a few hundred kilometers seems to be talking about.

As the stallion understands it, at least a few dozen doctors, pharmacology representatives, researchers, and magical analysts have approached the mare to try to learn her secrets, but all have been turned away without anything to show for their efforts. A shame if her treatments really work, but Book can’t fathom them being anything but a scam.

Countless brilliant unicorn minds have tried to come up with ways to guarantee a colt would be born. For Celestia’s sake, his own dam even insisted he only came about thanks to some gut-churning combination of spices and oils she crammed down his sire’s throat for a solid week.

It was one of the more uncomfortable conversations he’d ever endured.

Regardless, if the nation’s greatest minds hadn’t come up with a solution in the last thousand years, what are the odds that some no-name striped-back savage, of all things, could have a working method?

About as likely as I am to sprout wings, the unicorn internally mused.

Not that it matters one way or another to the taxpony. As far as he’s concerned she can scam ponies out of their hard-earned bits night and day and it’s their own fault for being foolish enough to buy into it. As long as the charlatan promptly pays her taxes, whatever else she’s doing isn’t any of his business.

Leading his escort towards the mare’s wagon, the thought no more than crosses Book’s mind when the door towards the front pops open and four pegasi trot out, followed by the statuesque mare herself. A wave of disgust washes over the taxpony upon sighting the stallion of the herd. Despite making absolutely no effort to do so, Book’s eyes unfortunately focus on how the stallion’s engorged testicles swing from side to side like a pendulum with every careful step. Frozen momentarily from the shocking sight, Book can’t help but overhear part of the conversation.

“For the final time, allow me to put your mind at ease. The swelling is only temporary; it will lessen after each release. It may be slightly uncomfortable, I am aware, but ignore the competition rules, I would not dare. Now go on,” she playfully commands, waving towards the sky, “and make a trio of sons. The events are concluded, but your work has just begun.”

It’s only after the herd takes flight that Book realizes the utter disgust that must be painted across his face. He schools his features in time for the mare to turn in his direction. Dipping her head in greeting, she says, “I am afraid Madame Adiah’s shop is now closed, my unicorn friend. I have no time for appointments and my inventories have met their end.”

“Ah, no. I am not here to make a purchase,” Book declines. Motioning behind himself to the guard-pulled cart, he explains, “I am here on behalf of the Royal Treasury here in Forest Heights. Balance Book, Income Tax Assessor III, at your service, Ms. Adiah. I will need to see your books so that we can ensure all accounts are settled properly before your departure.”

For what could have only been a few moments, Book could have sworn the whole world went silent. The normal singing of birds, the creaking of axles on passing carriages, even the very wind itself - they all seemed to halt at once as if the planet itself drew breath for a shout that never came.

And then time resumes, seemingly never having actually stopped at all.

Blinking in confusion, Book takes a quick look over his withers and sees that he wasn’t the only one who felt something. While the dirt pony pulling the cart and bird brain perched on top of it seem unaffected, the guards at the four corners are all looking around, trying and failing to find the source of the eerie feeling.

A look at the shaman herself makes him suspect she felt something as well. In fact, even more than their surroundings, the mare seems momentarily frozen in place.

Finally, she breaks free from the effect with a shallow nod. “Certainly,” she replies somewhat frostily. Beckoning him to follow, she climbs the stairs as she says, “My ledger has been prepared for your inspection, though patient names are absent for discretion. While I understand the crown is due its fair share, exactly who purchased what is strictly a private affair.”

“Agreed,” Book confirms with a nod as he follows the mare into her home. “So long as there are no inconsistencies, I would presume Her Majesty is unconcerned with specific names. I would advise you to keep such records for at least a year in case something were to be discovered later, but…” he trails off, looking at the foreign furnishings meaningfully.

“Ah, yes,” she nods in understanding. “Madame Adiah travels far and wide, this is certainly true. Even if word were to quickly reach her side, it may take some time before she reaches you.”

“Quite so,” he agrees. The mare approaches the cubby against the wall that serves as her bed. Sitting on her haunches, she places both forehooves on the ledge and lifts the mattress up, revealing a hidden nook underneath it. Book quickly averts his gaze when the mare all but dives head first into the storage space, inadvertently presenting a very pony-like marehood beneath her striped tail. While the part itself is unremarkable, the many piercings along its exterior are quite… different.

With few effortful grunts and what he can only assume to be foreign curses, the mare finally retrieves the item in question. She slams the mattress back into place and drops the book on top of it, then reaches across her chest with her right hoof, pulling her staff off her withers with a twirl.

Book briefly wonders why she didn’t use the thing to get the book rather than digging under her bed like a foal. Also, how well maintained are its records if she stores it in such an inaccessible location?

A wave of her staff over the ledger has it flip open, and page after page follows suit. He watches in mild interest as the pages finally stop on a blank about three quarters of the way through. The familiar tickle of magic brushes his horn when a black sphere of power forms at the staff’s end. With the ball held over the blank page, tendrils of dark ink splay out and begin filling in line after line of figures.

“A moment of patience from you I would kindly request. It has been a rush all morning with my last minute guests,” she explains in her deep, yet still feminine voice.

Book no more than opens his muzzle to point out that any further delays in providing her documentation may result in a fine when the magic suddenly dissipates. Nodding in satisfaction, she steps away from the record and waves in invitation for him to step closer and review it.

Dreading what kind of mess he may find, the stallion takes a deep breath and centers himself before stepping forward. His duty is a sacred one; a crucial one that must be executed diligently, no matter how frustrating it may be at times. Releasing the breath slowly through his snout, he steps forward and looks down.

“Oh, thank Celestia!” he praises aloud in relief, amazed at how neat and clean and well laid out everything is. Every row is written evenly across the page with solid lines dividing entries and dotted ones dividing one column from another. The columns are even labeled in bold at the top of each page! Appointment Num., Date, Time, Patient Num., Goods, Services, Payment, COGS, Subtotal, Est. Tax, and Profit - with all calculations completed in advance.

All columns are individually totalled at the bottom of each page, and a blank page along with a daily total separates each day of the event.

Some of the herbs listed are wholly unfamiliar to the stallion. Peacebloom? Silverleaf? They don’t ring a bell, which means they must not be on the banned imports list. Either way, monitoring alchemical ingredients is not part of his remit.

When questioned about receipts the mare’s smile wavers briefly. He has to levitate the ledger out of way while she dives back into the hidden cubby again to retrieve an accordion file full of the small slips. Thankfully she didn’t shove her marebits into his face for a second time.

All of them are from places like Saddle Arabia, Panthera, Maretania, and Moodrid, and many are in languages he cannot hope to read. Some are hoof or horn written, but at least a couple seem to have been typed instead. As best he can tell, and most importantly, everything seems to add up correctly.

A great swell of emotions threaten to explode from the stallion as he looks over the numbers, finding not a single decimal out of place. While a week of transactions is not an insurmountable volume of data to parse anyhow, the time required is vastly reduced thanks to the organized, sequential entries. Entries that align nearly with the estimates produced based on observed traffic at her stall.

“My dear Lady Adiah,” Book reverently calls, turning to look at the magnificent mare responsible. “I must say that your recordkeeping is amongst the very finest I have ever seen. I was not aware that you ponies are so organized! You have made my task far easier than I had anticipated, and for that I am grateful. Of course, that brings us to the matter at hoof.”

“Yes, the pivotal role of your esteemed institution,” she understandingly begins, “but first I would like to inquire about an alternative contribution.”

Taken momentarily aback at the suggestion, Book is unsure how to respond. It isn’t unheard of for ponies to attempt to bribe professionals in his position. Taking into account the, frankly, ludicrous amount of income even after her tallied expenses, Madame Adiah could certainly afford to sway many an assessor to look the other way and allow falsification of her records.

Aware that the mare must have some degree of power and also aware that he is now inside her home, slowly, as if testing unsure waters, he opens his muzzle to gently decline her offer. “While I take no offense at the suggestion, I am afraid that ponies in my position are closely monitored to ensure that we do not-”

“No, you misunderstand,” she calmly counters, dismissing his errant assumption with a flick of her hoof. “I see that my poor phrasing is at fault, but bribing you is not my desired result. The new prince spoke passionately on the merits of education. Perhaps I can support this and also reduce my rate of taxation?”

It only takes a moment’s consideration before he slowly shakes his head no. “No. While it is possible to use charitable contributions to offset taxes, it is not done at a one-to-one ratio. Far from it, in fact. Besides, His Highness does not have any established charitable fund to which contributions can be made at this time.”

“So… it cannot be done?” she inquires, ears sagging in disappointment.

“No. I am afraid not. Besides, if His Highness were to eventually direct crown funds towards some such cause, then that would be paid with funds collected via taxation, presumably. If he were to establish, for example, some sort of private scholarship or endowment fund to help ponies with higher education, then, assuming it is set up properly, you could make tax offsetting contributions at that time, but for now…” he trails off, offering a defeated shrug.

“Unfortunate.” The mare heaves a deep sigh and shakes her head, forcing herself to move on. “Very well. Then let us proceed with all due haste to the transaction. I have prepared the payment, I hope, to your satisfaction.”

While twirling the staff around her right fetlock, power gathers at the end just as before. Instead of using her accumulated magic for scribing, the mare taps the empowered globe against the opposite wall of the wagon below the desk that seems to serve as her alchemical station.

A pair of previously invisible seams appear along the wall, each one several hooves across. The mare draws her staff away, pulling the drawers open behind it. Once completely removed to the center of the room does it become evident that they are not drawers at all, but free-standing carts on small, metal wheels with a false face to blend into the walls. Each cart has three tiers of shelving, and each shelf is packed with removable trays full of bits stacked and wrapped in paper sleeves holding fifty coins apiece.

Closer inspection reveals that one and a half of the carts are smaller denominations; mostly singles with several trays full of rolls of fives and tens. The bottom shelf of the second cart, however, is where the real fortune lies. Dozens upon dozens of rolls of twenties, a hoofful of hundreds, and even three rolls of thousand bit coins sit in individual trays by themselves. Off to the side are a few trays of loose bits that have not yet been wrapped, some foreign currencies, and a number of unused sleeves.

Balance Book has seen his fair share of money throughout his life, but he’s confident he could count on his hooves how many times he has seen such a fortune from a single individual all in one place, especially once acquired over only a week. He had noticed the private security on duty outside, but with so many bits outside of a bank he can’t help but think that one squad is wholly inadequate for the situation.

Then again, the mare herself is a completely unknown threat, and there is no lack of chatter amongst layponies regarding what an absolute terror a powerful shaman can be. With thousands of extra guards within range of a cry for help, perhaps the likelihood of an attack is lower than he may surmise. Hopefully, he thinks, her next stop is the bank.

Pushing such musings aside for a later time, Book finds himself once again relieved at the sight of such diligently organized currency. “Fantastic!” he exclaims aloud, all but beaming at the taller mare. “The secure carriage has a weighing scale that will make the process much quicker. Do you prefer to pay with smaller denominations or…” he trails off when the mare shakes her head no.

“Use the thousand coins, I would suggest. It will save us both time, which would be best.” Especially since the train is departing soon.

“Very well, then. With your permission, I can proceed to weigh out the taxes due from your…” he pauses, staring at the carts to come up with the right word, “... safe, I suppose.”

“By all means, be my guest. Feel free to conduct your test.”

Book gives a firm nod, levitating the mare’s obligation, her ledger, and a variety of the empty sleeves. The mare follows, pausing at the door to watch as he makes his way to the secure carriage.

“The scale, corporal,” the stallion orders.

The guardsmare nods, then levitates a key out of her armor. Unlocking the secure carriage’s door, she sticks her head in and ignites her horn. The sounds of objects being scooted around can be heard for a moment until she withdraws, a table, a scale, a familiar stone, and a latched mahogany box following her out. The table’s legs unfold and it’s set on the ground, then the box, stone, and scale are deposited on it.

The unicorn waits to serve as witness while Book opens the box. Inside are a set of certified weights that he lifts with reverent care. One hundred and fifty single bit coins is exactly one kilogram, and upon adding three empty sleeves to the tray with the weight both sides balance out perfectly.

The larger denominations all check out as well and, after a series of passes overtop of the counterfeit detection stone, Balance Book has everything validated. The sound of hoofsteps towards the front of the carriage draws the stallion’s attention to an approaching member of the shaman’s private security. The stallion quietly converses with one of the other guards for a moment, too far away to be overheard. “Is there a problem, private?” he quietly calls to the guard.

She glances back for a moment, holding her hoof up for him to wait, then finishes her conversation before trotting closer to the taxpony.

“Not a problem, exactly,” she leans forward to whisper. “Just some… oddness.” A raised brow prompts her to explain, “Well, the zebra works all day.”

“Admirable.”

“No, you don’t understand,” the private insists. “He said she works all day. Non-stop. No breaks for food, drink, to… use the facilities. She barely even stops to sleep. She’s apparently been seeing clients one after another from sun up until well into the night every day since she hired her security.” She casts a suspicious look over to the shaman before turning back. “It’s weird,” she insists with a shrug, “that’s all. You felt that… whatever it was when we first strolled up. Something about her is sending static down my mane.”

All three ponies pause to look back over at the shaman again, finding her shooting a furious glare at the security pony. Book can only assume that, despite seemingly being too far away to hear their conversation, she must have guessed her security pony said something about her that she wouldn’t approve of. He can sympathize with the mare; while private security agencies are required to report criminal activity, spreading what amounts to gossip about an employer is hardly the same.

“While fascinating,” Book dryly begins, turning back to the task at hoof, “your suspicions, private, are currently irrelevant. Unless you suspect her to be falsifying her paperwork,” he trails questioningly. When the private shakes her head no he nods in acceptance. “Well then, please return to your post while I finish the mare’s documentation.”

Focusing back on his assigned duty, Book finishes filling out the zebra’s return. The corporal initials that she witnessed the weighing, then Book duplicates the form with a spell. He steps back holding her ledger and receipt while the corporal packs everything away. Both ponies make one last note in the carriage’s logbook, then the stallion takes the receipt to the zebra.

“And there you have it, Ms. Adiah,” he declares, passing over the receipt. “Though our official business is concluded, my conscience requires that I strongly advise that you head directly to the Equestrian Royal Bank branch before you leave town. It is ill advised to carry such a significant amount of money when traveling, and funds deposited in Her Majesty’s bank can be freely and easily accessed anywhere across the nation.”

The mare slowly nods as if agreeing. “While I cannot deny that the safety would be welcome, I believe you overlooked a rather significant problem. I must travel across the world to replenish my supply of ingredients. Equestrian banks cannot be found overseas, which, for me, would greatly limit their convenience.”

“Ah. Yes, of course,” he agrees, cringing at the obvious oversight on his own part.

The shaman smiles kindly, adding, “It is very sweet of you to express concern for my well-being, but in a fight I will not be the one fleeing. I fear no pony, zebra, minotaur, griffon, or even dragon. If they approach with ill intent, they only find agony within this wagon.”

Balance Book still has doubts that the mare’s potions can really accomplished what they are advertised to do, but standing in front of her, seeing her muscles contract under her coat, finding the promise of pain shining through her eyes, witnessing the ominous black miasma writhing, barely contained on her staff…

He can’t help but believe that at least this claim is one hundred percent legitimate.

That evening

The train ride back to Baltimare was not as boring as he had expected. Instead of doing absolutely nothing at all, Cure effectively commandeered one of the lounges closer to the center of the train. While not entertaining, exactly, he figured it would be a better use of his time to offer checkups and immunizations to creatures that are traveling, so he asked the ticketpony to spread word that Serpentus was seeing patients while she made her way throughout the train's cars.

He felt a little guilty about forcing the other Baltimare squad to actually work, but ultimately that’s exactly what they are there for. It may be boring for them to stand around and watch the foal lay hooves on one creature after another, but they would be standing around doing basically nothing even if he had sat in his car napping the day away instead.

He had considered creating a pegasus puppet and following the train from above, but there was a suspicious number of pegasi squads running patrols flying overhead at almost every leg of the trip. He’s all but certain Celestia had a hoof in it; he suspects she also stymied his chances of baiting somezebras into a trap.

Adiah did not simply vanish into thin air, after all. Upon the completion of her financial affairs, she packed up her wagon, dismissed her hired security (after giving them a few very stern words), and conspicuously made her way to one of the land routes headed northeast towards Detrot. She had noticed a few zebras watching as she left town, and was nearly itching for the expected ensuing fight. All of her hopes were dashed on the rocks when squad after squad of pegasi coincidentally passed by overhead, seemingly keeping an eye on the mare.

When she finally began reaching the edge of the rings’ ranges, she took a detour more directly east on a far less worn path towards Foaledo. Unfortunately, by that point the zebras had given up. Rather than pursue or confront her, they noted the unusual number of patrols, shared a conversation she could not catch, and turned to head back to town. With a slight feeling of guilt he couldn’t explain, Cure marched the mare into deeper foliage, hid her from sight, and returned her body and wagon back from whence it came.

All things considered, he considers that it is probably for the better that the confrontation did not occur. Between his imminent departure, the numerous patrols, and his hesitancy to do anything too bloodthirsty, Cure isn’t sure what would have happened had they approached. Too many variables, too many unknowns, and not enough time; all are factors that would have made the entire ordeal far more complicated than he would like.

Regardless, the ride back to Baltimare went faster than expected and, perhaps thanks to the increased security, was without incident until just beyond Hollow Shades. During the midair tradeoff of duties, Cure noticed a single pegasus break off to land on the train. Curious, but not terribly concerned, the colt continued socializing and occasionally healing until Sgt. Song made her way into his impromptu clinic to inform him about a slight change of plans.

“A… reception?” he echoes, voice full of confusion.

“That is the gist of it, sir. Sgt. Bulwark suggested that his highness may wish to retire to his private car to prepare. We’re expecting a band, a small crowd, and several important ponies such as Captain Stance, Countess Evergreen, Baroness Wheatfield, and most of the city leadership. The sarge has everypony putting on their formals right now.” Her eyes track to the corporal in charge of his current contingent and she adds, “Sgt. Escot will send relief so you have time to polish up. They’ll be here any minute.”

The temptation to whine is powerful, but Cure knows he can’t act like that in front of other ponies. Nodding in begrudging acceptance, he and his mother return to the royal car to get ready.

“So… what’s the plan?” Amethyst asks as the door shuts behind them.

“The same as it was before,” he insists, igniting his horn. Amethyst blinks in surprise as the colt begins his work. The Argonian’s armor is stripped off in a flash of light, Teleported inside of a case hidden with his luggage. Her eyes drift over the creature’s naked form, silently admiring the impressive musculature. As attractive as the ripped abdominals seem, however, she can’t help but snort at the completely featureless crotch.

“Okay,” he begins in an admonishing tone, “first off, you just basically ogled your son, you weirdo, and second, explain to me why I would give him a dick.”

“I dunno,” she unrepentantly shrugs. “Just seems strange, ‘s all. And don’t blame me fer takin a look. Yer the one takin off yer clothes in front of yer ma, ya weirdo,” she retorts.

“Ugh… speaking of which,” he groans, activating his talent. The first change that Cure makes is relatively simple. His casual clothing begins altering itself, changing from the outfit he departed Canterlot wearing into a black business suit with a white, button-up shirt and a bright, golden vest.

Next, the Argonian leans forward, leaning over with his hands flat on the ground as he begins to shift and shrink, particularly its hind legs. Amethyst watches as the body begins to change, though she completely fails to suppress her look of intrigued disgust.

The already purple skin lightens a few shades as the red seems to bleed out of it, leaving a familiar color behind. Its hind legs shrink at an accelerated rate while its neck stretches and elongates. Next, its barrel writhes and changes as internal organs and the skeleton are all rearranged for a quadrupedal configuration, and previously absent body parts fall into place. Fur sprouts out all over its body, and the mane, tail, and ears soon follow. The muzzle lengthens as hands and curl into balls and begin sprouting hooves while its feet lift so it stands on its toes, which also begin to merge together and change into hooves.

The mare shudders involuntarily when the transition finally finishes.

"Ready for me to fix your colors, ma?" he asks, offering his hoof to his mother.

Hesitating only a few seconds, the mare finally nods. "Next time, do me a'fore I watch somethin like that."

"Yeah, that's a fair request, I suppose," he agrees with a wince.

Done with her color restoration, Cure’s lights his horn and his royal accessories flash into existence, Teleported from his luggage directly onto his real body's head and neck. Lifting one hoof at a time, the golden shoes do the same.

“Showoff.”

“Guilty,” he easily accepts. “Really, though, it’s a lot less complicated than Teleporting a pony. Speaking of which, I will be Teleporting a ring into my safe room, then, once I reconnect to my plant,” he explains then pauses.

To the mare’s brief shock, the puppet picks up the sentence. "I,” he emphasizes, “will Teleport myself in. Once I know it’s safe, I’ll bring you there, too.”

Brows furrowed in consternation, the mare looks between the two colts and points out, “Ya just said Teleportin a pony is complicated!”

“It's a total cakewalk if you can see both the origin and the destination,” he is quick to clarify. “That’s why the ring is going first. Once I reconnect to the house I’ll be able to Teleport with otherwise impossible precision. I could easily Teleport a thread through a sewing needle, so don’t worry. Hell, I could teleport the thread, tied in a tight knot, perfectly around the needle’s eye. Remember when me and mom were flying home from Filly and I teleported straight into the living room?”

“Yeah.”

“I was going way, way faster than this train at the time.”

The mare hesitates for a moment before nodding in acceptance. “Alright. What’ll ya say when somepony asks where yer ma went when ya get to Baltimare?”

“The truth,” he offers. “I’ll tell them that I had you secreted away back to our home. I probably could to the same and just skip the whole thing, but… I dunno. It feels kinda tacky to snub the ponies that will no doubt want to see me. No offense, ma, but I doubt there’ll be a whole lot of ponies waiting to talk to my mom.”

“Eh, I’m fine with that,” she agrees with a shrug. “I’d much rather go home anyhow.”

“Same,” he agrees with his real body.

“So, once we get home,” the clone begins, “I’ll meet with my body double, then see if the girls can come over for a sleepover. I don’t think the lieutenant will be upset if we debrief in the morning instead of right away.”

“Debrief?”

“Yeah, you know… catch me up on any interactions she had as me so I don’t look like I have friggin dementia or something if I run into anypony.”

“Ah.”

“It’ll probably take a few hours, and it’s a little late to get started on something like that.”

“True enough.”

“Just make sure you all are using the privacy screens tonight, got it?”

Scowling at the reminder, she growls, “Ya think?”

“Don’t give me that,” he snarks back. “Y’all forget sometimes, and I don’t want Dawn witnessing you ‘makin up for lost time’ while we’re just down the hall.”

Her indignant expression gives way and she begrudgingly nods in acceptance.

Out of the blue, the colt snorts out a laugh, prompting the mare to raise a brow in question.

“I just had a thought.”

“Oh? September thirteenth. I’ll mark tha calendar.”

“Har har. No, I mean, there’ll probably be some kind of reception at Golden Hills, too, right?”

“Probably?”

“Well, Serpentus will be hanging out in Baltimare, right?”

“I… guess?”

“So, it would seem odd if Cure Wave, who helped the guards train for the competition, didn’t also greet them upon their triumphant return, wouldn’t it?”

“They’ll just think it’s that mare, instead,” she argues.

“Unless she’s there to greet them, too.”

“Then they’ll think ya left when they did.”

“But he’ll still be there. In public. Getting pictures taken. I doubt they’ll keep my escorts there long, anyhow. They’ll know they’re tired after the whole competition and the train travel and whatnot, so I doubt it’ll be much more than a ‘Welcome Home’ thing, then they’ll send them on their way. Meanwhile, Serpentus can spend a little time hobnobbing with everypony and getting pictures taken.”

“Okay, but I gotta ask… Why?”

“Why? Why what?”

“Why mess with the guards?”

Scoffing, the colt points out, “That’s a silly question, ma. The real question is ‘Why Not?’”

Author's Note

Fun fact - Twilight calls Spike "Casanova" in the very first episode of the show.

So... I reserve the right to amend the weight of bits. It sounds right-ish, but I may have brain farted the math some. I imagine single bit coins being approximately the size of an American dime, with each coin being larger and thicker to account for their value. It can't be a linear relationship, though, since if a 1 bit coin weighs 1/150th of a kg then a 1000 bit coin would - if scaled in weight to match - weigh six and two thirds kg, or a little under fifteen pounds.

... I really, really wish I had 15 pounds of gold. As long as I had the paperwork that goes with it, I suppose. Sans paperwork, I'm not so sure I would want to be found with 15 pounds of gold. It probably would not end well for me.

I don't really have a whole lot more to add to the chapter. I'm glad we're finally through the competition arc, of course. It was... about 5 months longer than I expected it to be. That will not be happening again, I hope.

As always, thanks for reading, rating, commenting, etc. Enjoy!