Saturday, June 20th, 909 AB (About an hour later)

“Too early for all this,” Heavy whines, poking at his parfait.

Cure has to give the kitchen staff credit; so far everything he’s had while staying at the palace has been top notch. The blended berries are fresh and juicy, the yogurt is thick and creamy, and the granola has a nice crunchy texture all the way down to the bottom of the bowl. The tartness is a good contrast to the otherwise sugary meal they’re enjoying.

If it weren’t for his talent he’s not sure how he would keep himself from whipping on the weight when he’s in town.

“You’re eating a gourmet breakfast at the Royal Castle on the morning of a once-in-a-lifetime event that you didn’t have to do anything to get invited to,” Dawn flatly points out.

“Yeah, dude. Suck it up. ‘s not like you gotta do anything afterwards. I’m gonna be in the spotlight all friggin morning. You wanna have somethin ta complain about, how ‘bout you join me on stage?”

The gray colt holds his hooves up in surrender, waving placatingly. “No, no! I’m fine! I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful or anythin. Jus’ early, ya know?”

“Yeah, well… sunrise is at six thirty, coronation’s right after. The parade isn’t too long, but y’all hafta head out soon to get to the VIP area early, so hop to,” he insists, waving at the food.

Ferric’s ears pin as she asks, “You’re giving a speech? In front of everypony?”

“Sure am. The boss lady and I are playin off each other. It should be fun. I’m doin a demo and everything.”

“A demo?” Glacial asks. “Of your talent?” He nods. “How?”

“A guard trainer lost an eye. I’m growing it back on stage. If you do go the Battlemage route she may be one of your teachers if she stays there,” he says as he motions to Dawn.

“Neat,” she comments.

“Yep. Dunno how it happened, but after her accident she stepped into a training role instead of retiring. Who knows, maybe she’ll transfer back to… well, I guess she is ‘active’ now, but doing fieldwork or whatever. So afterwards there’ll be a bunch of stuff going on in the Town Square. I’ll be comin back with the princess and meeting with nobles, diplomats, and so forth, but as soon as I’m done I figure we can go check out the celebrations.”

“I hear the Wonderbolts are going to be there doing autographs!” Drift exclaims.

“Yeah, they’re part of the parade. Them and a bunch of other specialist squads will be there from all over. It’s gonna be awesome.”

“When will you be done?” Dawn asks.

“Noonish? It depends on the meetings. From what I understand the princess normally doesn’t do much of a speech at all each year, but she’ll give a quick one today. Then I get my fancy hat, I give a quick ‘Howdy, y’all’ to everypony, we shoot back here, meet with the big wigs and ambassadors, then I’m done with everything official for the day.”

Heavy sighs in relief. “Good. We can come back and take a nap.” Cure pauses his spoon mid-bite to scowl at the gray colt. “Don’t worry, bro,” Heavy teases, reaching over to pat the disguised alicorn on the shoulder in mock sympathy, “Me and the girls ‘ll be cheering you on in spirit while we’re all piled up on your bed.”

“It is a really nice bed,” Glacial comments, cracking a small smile when Cure’s glare flicks to her.

“Shame you won’t be able to join us,” Drift adds, nuzzling heavily against the platinum filly with her soft, warm wing hugging them together. A small whimper threatened to escape the colt.

“Hey Cure!” Sapphire calls.

“What?” Cure asks as he turns his head to look at the aqua filly. Rather than the verbal response he expected, the colt is treated to a front row seat for the biggest, loudest, muzzle-splitting, jaw-dislocating yawn a foal could ever hope to achieve.

The little nightmare is only the instigator of the wave; one by one each foal follows suit, yawning loudly and smacking their lips afterwards. “Not you too, Red!” he cries in mock offense as the larger filly wraps up a full-bodied shudder. The infection quickly spreads to the adults before the colt finally succumbs as well.

“Sorry, Cure,” she quietly apologizes.

“You all stink,” he huffs. “See if I invite y’all next time I’m gettin crowned,” he grouses, taking out his frustration on his parfait with a devastating stab of his spoon.

“Aww, you know you love the abuse,” Sapphire teases.

Cure rolls his eyes and finishes up his food, then waves down a servant for a refill of his coffee. The other foals watch on, noting the apparent comfort level the colt is casually displaying. They all know they can ask for stuff, but actually calling a royal servant to fetch them something still feels odd.

Cure takes a long pull of his drink, then chugs his glass of water before whipping his watch out and checking the time. “Any minute now,” he sighs. “Don’t be surprised if a photographer takes your pictures, especially if they can line one up with me and my body double both in it. And don’t forget to treat him like you would me. Mostly.”

“Shoulda just changed Heavy’s colors,” Drift remarks. “It worked at the spa.”

“Uh huh,” Cure nods, “and that was before somepony tried to foalnap me. No way. The dude under that Illusion is a trained, elite soldier. Just treat him normally and stay out of his way. And if anything happens and he tells you to do somethin, do it.”

Cure glances down at the adults chatting away with the princess. For the most part they’re not paying attention, more focused on their conversation than the foals’. He notes Brick’s ear turned in their direction and, at a pause in the discussion the older, revitalized stallion glances his direction and gives a small, firm nod.

“Are you… expecting something to happen?” Rising hesitantly asks, glancing at the others in worry.

“No, doing something today would be the height of idiocy,” he explains. “Like I said, the whole parade is military, for the most part. I had hoped that healthcare workers could be included too, given my talent, but with the births everywhere else almost none of ‘em were able to stick around. There’ll be thousands of guards everywhere as well as dozens of elite units, not to mention the princess. I struggle to think of a worse time to act up, honestly.”

Rising silently mouths “oh yeah” as she nods in acceptance.

“Maybe today wasn’t the best day to have this,” Coast suggests. “More doctors and nurses would have been available in a month or two.”

Glacial leans over, quietly explaining, “We talked about it,” motioning with a wing to indicate herself, Drift, and Cure. “It’s not… exactly his big day.”

At the confused looks turned his direction, Dawn cuts in to explain, whispering, “Do you think he cares about being a prince? Really?” She tilts her head meaningfully towards the end of the table, prompting the other foals to briefly look over at the princess. Their heads all turning her direction at once draw her gaze for a second, but she’s immediately pulled back into the conversation with the adults.

“So… you’re doing all this for,” Heavy trails off in inquiry.

“Not exclusively, but I never asked for it,” Cure explains in answer. “I think the original plan was to invite us to the Celebration and talk me into it at the last minute. As you’ve all observed, almost any foal would fall over themselves to accept.”

Ferric, wide eyed, starts saying, “That sounds like a terr-,” before cutting off, frozen like even an accurate critique of the princess’s decision is criminal. The message gets across despite her reluctance and all of the other foals slowly nod in agreement.

“That would have been hilarious!” Sapphire squeals, clapping in delight. “Oh my stars, you would have lost your mind!!!” At the round of flat stares leveled her direction she points a hoof all around the table, “Close, but angrier! Good impressions for a first try, though!”

Heavy shakes his head, dismissing the aqua filly’s take on it and turning to Cure. “What would you have done?”

Grimacing, Cure looks down at his food in thought for a moment. “Honestly… I probably would have agreed. I… I don’t think I could have said no, ya know?” More lowly, he leans in to whisper, “You all saw how she was glowing when we came back after the whole snake thing.” Face pinched in disgust, he continues, “Turnin my rear on her like that? It would be cruel. I don’t think I have it in me. I woulda been super annoyed, though. I can’t deny that.”

A side door opens, admitting Captain Shield. She approaches the princess and the two exchange a few words before the alicorn looks his way and gives a small nod.

“Looks like it’s showtime, folks. Like I said, treat the double like you would me. Don’t be upset if I can’t really acknowledge you all when I’m on stage, okay? Now come gimme some hugs before I go,” he calls as he hops down from the bench.

One by one the foals all come in to wish him luck and offer what little encouragement they can. After a brief stop with the parents, grandparents, and his uncle, aunts, and cousins he sidles up alongside the princess, switching to a very slightly modified Serpentus disguise as soon as they exit the room.

The two make their way through the halls and down to the main receiving room. A pair of castle servants bow as they approach, then open two richly decorated boxes containing both alicorns’ shoes and Cure’s freshly polished peytral. A quick inspection by the castle beauticians, a few cosmetic tweaks by the colt, and the pair make their way towards the front door.

A steady procession of more and more ponies follow in their wake as they pass. First, their six guards, then a second squad of six equally heavily armed ponies. Next the organization staff, some of whom were giving the princess last minute details. Finally, the public relations and media coordination teams grab all of their equipment and follow along.

Celestia and Cure pay them no mind, allowing the camera ponies to snap candid pictures of the pair as they exit the main entrance and take in the sight before them. The castle grounds are full of light despite the early hour, as is a straight line into the city on a path to the Sun Memorial.

As they descend the steps a loud, but somewhat subdued call of “Auntie!” draws the pair’s attention to the approaching royal family.

Celestia smiles fondly and turns to the small herd. “Good morning, nephew,” she greets, wrapping him in a neck and wing hug. “How are you all this morning?”

“Too early,” Misty mopes, leaning against her older sister who nods in agreement. The younger filly fails to stifle a big yawn and, just as Sapphire’s had, proceeds to catch several nearby ponies, including her sister, in a chain reaction.

Her dam regards the drowsy filly, clearly unhappy with her daughter’s response. “Perhaps if somepony had gone to bed at an appropriate time, hmm?”

“But we were having fun!” she responds, stomping a forehoof with little actual force.

“Foals,” Senior wistfully sighs as he separates from the princess. Casting a disappointed gaze at the filly, he explains, “She spent the night with Lord Stein’s youngest and some other friends. They watched the revelry from their balcony rather than retire at a more civilized time.”

Cure looks at the prince and asks, “You didn’t stay up all night partying, highness?”

The stallion scoffs and flicks a hoof dismissively. “Goodness, no! Perhaps in my younger years, but I can nearly feel bags forming under my eyes at the very suggestion! I do hope you all got a good night’s sleep?”

Cure leans over and bonks into the princess’s foreleg as he says, “The princess was sleepin so hard I had’ta shake her awake. Thought I was gonna need to dump water on ‘er if that didn’t work.”

Junior looks between the two alicorns in confusion. “You sleep in the same room?”

“No,” they both casually answer at the same time. Cure waves a hoof for the princess to clarify, but Senior steps in first.

“Auntie is famously difficult to rouse during the night, son. It seems as if young Serpentus is a little more of an early riser.”

“Comparatively, maybe,” the colt agrees. “I had a lot on my mind thinking about what all is going to happen today, so I was already awake.”

“Fear not, young stallion. Just follow the script and I’m sure everything will go smashingly.”

“Vladimir, dear,” Noble calls. “I do believe it is nearly time to depart. Your majesty?”

“Quite right, dear niece. Come along, Serpentus.”

Cure, Celestia, and the Blueblood family make their way to their designated carriage; a gaudy, open-top contraption made, as far as the colt can tell, from solid gold. He’s sure it can’t really be gold simply due to the weight, but just like the ceremonial armor everypony is wearing, it certainly looks that way.

The vehicle reminds Cure more of a parade float than any kind of legitimate carriage, but the large, cushioned surface and short lip work better ergonomically with pony body shapes, allowing the occupants to sit or lay, yet still be fully visible to the crowd. Cure has a hard time thinking of it as anything more than a wheeled bed or fancy couch.

Everypony in the carriage has a designated spot. Celestia, as the tallest and most important, lays in the middle of the herd. Blueblood Senior, as a full-blown prince, is on her left, his son and designated heir beside him. Noble, merely a princess consort, and their daughters are on her right. As the prince to be crowned, Cure is seated in the middle, just ahead of Celestia’s forehooves.

Four muscular earth ponies will pull the carriage while it’s flanked by the dozen Royal Guardians. Unlike normal, they are wearing a golden version of their normal heavy armor. Cure is convinced it’s the same stuff, just colored with magic. A shame, he considers, when the plated steel look suits them much better.

Squad after squad of guards fill out the parade. Captain Shield, Lieutenant Spear, and a squad of the castle guards take point. Dozens of honor guard units from different cities file in behind them, one of Baltimare’s own up front to represent his hometown.

Hollow Shades’ squad of bats stand out prominently near the front. Where everypony else shines like the noon sun, their black matted armor and dark green cloaks drink in the light.

The squad of Wonderbolts in their navy and gold follow next. Unlike everypony else, they don’t seem to have actual armor on. Their suits are all enchanted, but unless they’re made of silk like Cure produces, he isn’t sure how protective they would really be.

Two squads of unicorns are behind them. Contrary to the stereotype of a mage, these ponies are lean and muscular. The unicorn Artillery Division has to be able to move quickly, and their slim runner’s builds and lighter armor are geared towards that. This is the group that Solar wants to join, and it makes a lot of sense he’d been so eager to run with Cure and the foals. Their MO is to move into range quietly under illusions, unleash absolute Tartarus, then group teleport and run back behind defensive lines before the disarrayed survivors can respond.

A single squad of heavily armored unicorns take up the next slot, each one covered in small darts and other projectiles. The Battlemages are the mid-range fighters, typically staying behind others and blasting with spellfire or slicing with telekinetically controlled blades. They were a priority target in the last griffon war, and many died before they adopted their thicker plate.

Three mixed-tribe Ranger squads from Appleloosa, Salt Lick, and Dodge City are next. Separate from the royal guard garrisons of their respective cities, the Rangers are responsible for border patrols and working with the various buffalo tribes from the McIntosh Hills to the southeast, all the way to the San Palomino desert and Somnabula to the far southwest.

Hailing from Vanhoover, the renowned Heavy Thunder Brigade sent an eight-pony squad. The huge earth ponies tower over everypony else. While the mares are as tall as the princess, the stallions look a solid hoof and a half taller, and at least as much wider at the chest. Cure can’t deny the powerful physiques convey an intimidating look, and can’t help but wonder what Cpt. Shield was thinking patronizing him when he looked like that.

The last set of guards in front of the carriage are a dozen of Celestia’s Paladins, a mixed-tribe group of specialists geared to deal with dark magic practitioners. Even more ornate than the others, their golden armor has the princess’s mark engraved over their own and on their chests. It strikes the colt as maybe a tiny bit worrying, but so long as it’s pageantry more than zealotry then it’s probably not too much of an issue.

The Royal Carriage is hardly the end of the line. Behind them parked in rows of three all along the landing strip are the carriages of the three dukes, seven of the marquises and marchionesses, the chancellors, city officials, and a dozen more squads like the Manehattan Marines, Las Pegasus Sky Knights, and a squad from Cloudsdale’s “griff” contingent, the Blazing Talons. Even more standard squads finish out the parade, sent from other cities.

“I kinda figured there would be diplomats,” Cure states in inquiry.

“The procession is only for Equestrians,” Celestia explains. “Ambassadors from Minos, Griffinstone, and Saddle Arabia will be present.”

“Is that normal, auntie?” Junior asks. “I would have expected more attendees for such a momentous occasion. What of Yakyakistan, Zebrica, Great Bitain, Prance, Abyssia, and Maretonia?”

“We have few dealings with many of those nations,” she answers. “Travel times being what they are, many of them were only sent a formal announcement, much as they will be when your sire is prepared to pass down his title to you. I admit, I may have been somewhat hasty in my planning for this event, but I doubt many more would attend even if we had scheduled it further out. Only nations with embassies were invited to attend.”

“Including the Zebras?” Azure Tiara asks. “I was under the impression we…” she trails off when her dam settles a hoof on her withers and shakes her head no.

“It is alright, niece,” Celestia assures her. She smiles reassuringly at the older filly and explains, “A group of zebras was apprehended doing something they should not have. They were acting against Serpentus and, with the lack of cooperation from their government, I declined inviting them.”

Tiara mouths a silent “oh” and nods in acceptance. Everypony goes quiet as the northeast gate opens wide. Over two dozen civilian carriages take off, some filled with VIPs from the city, others with Cure’s friends and family. They’re moving at a quicker pace and going around the main parade route, allowing them to reach their designated seating far earlier than the procession will.

One of the coordinator mares approaches the carriage and calls out. “We’ll be getting underway in just a moment, ma’ams, sirs.”

“Thank you, Precision. Whenever you’re ready,” Celestia responds. The mare gives a nod and she, along with several others, begin going up and down the line to get everypony ready. Cure checks his watch. Five thirty in the morning is projected in front of the group. An hour until the scheduled sunrise.

The anxiety must have shown in his motions; as soon as he puts it away the princess reaches down and nuzzles in his mane and over an ear. “Ready?” she asks.

He leans against her warm snout and scoffs. “Sure. Why not? Not like there’s anything to be nervous about.”

“Exactly!” she sarcastically agrees, rising back to her full, sitting height.

“Chin up, young stallion,” Senior encourages. “Just take a few deep breaths. All will be well.”

“That’s basically what I would tell mares just before they’d give birth,” he grumbles. The blunt remark gets snorted laughs from everypony and a round of giggles from the fillies. He sits down like the others, resting on his haunches.

He has to adjust slightly due to the slight modification he and his mom had discussed in keeping with his “snake” theme. He knows the prank will probably blow up in his face somehow, or multiple somehows, but it’ll also probably be the funniest thing he’ll ever do, no matter how long he lives. He just hopes he can keep the photographers at the right angle to leave everypony somewhat guessing, at least until he gets on stage.

A blast of horns sounds out. The front of the procession begins moving, and all conversation comes to a halt. The sounds of thousands of hooffalls fill the courtyard as they get underway. Distant cheers kick up in volume as they start moving. Cure sits up tall and proud and, as they pass through the gate, he and the princess spread their wings wide. A wall of screaming cheers slams into the group all at once when they emerge.

Pandemonium, through and through. Ponies, lit by streetlights, cheer and yell and stomp. Hanging out of windows, leaning over rooftops, peering down from clouds, and absolutely filling the cordoned off streetsides. No one noise is distinguishable from the rest; everything washes over the carriage like a thunderous tidal wave. He’s tempted to use his sound bubble, but that seems somehow rude to do.

With fake smiles plastered on their faces, they begin waving with their hooves to the wild crowd as the procession moves forwards, passing through the main corridor bisecting the city.

The smell of sweat and alcohol can be detected even with the steady mountaintop breeze. It’s not the only scent on the wind; bakeries, teahouses, pubs, and taverns have all been open overnight to cash in on the occasion, filling the city with a mix of aromas, some less pleasant than others.

As any attempt at conversing would be utterly pointless, everypony just continues waving to the crowd. Tiara and Misty scoot closer to their dam; the younger leaning against the inside of her left foreleg and the elder against her right haunch. The stallions are doing better with Senior eagerly drinking in the adoration and Junior modeling his sire.

Celestia is either a phenomenal actress or is genuinely excited. Her radiant smile only eggs the crowd on, encouraging them to cheer even more fervently when they lay eyes upon her.

Cure just hangs on for dear life, waving to individuals that meet his eyes while strangling a laugh when an occasional bat, pegasus, or griff glances lower, then blinks or cocks their head to the side in confusion. It takes thirty minutes to arrive at the Town Square, and only a few more to make their way east to the memorial just beside it. A large stage has been erected with VIP stands overlooking it along the north and northwest sides.

The Sun Memorial is a truly marvelous sight. Cure hasn’t had the opportunity to visit it yet, but it’s a well known tourist spot. Located just east of the central Town Square, the enormous plaza’s defining feature is a statue of the princess, standing six meters tall with her head held high and wings fully spread. At the tip of her horn is a clear sphere of crystal enchanted to react to the morning’s first rays of sun. To the north and south are rows of trees, and at the base and sides of the statue is a shallow pool.

Large, temporary stands have been erected for the VIC’s (Very Important Creatures) along the northern border of the plaza just in front of the foliage. The entire plaza is ringed in row after row of clouds for all of the pegasi and griff attendees above the stands and trees.

Equestrian flags as well as several decorated with either Celestia’s or Cure’s marks hang from the lowest layer of cloud seats, dangling several meters above the surrounding trees and bleachers. Ornate street lamps provide the only illumination typically, but for this special occasion crystal light features have been installed in the stands and along the bottom of the clouds between the heraldry.

Cure instantly spots his friends, family, and his doppelganger cheering with everypony else. He meets his mom’s eyes and the pink mare visibly guffaws, leaning heavily against Lemon and whispering in her ear. The yellow mare leans forwards over Cherry, then bursts out laughing herself. Amethyst is next, but none of them dare say anything to Deed or Vines. The dark stallion would probably get a kick out of it, but he would also likely tell his first wife what their son has done.

None of his friends notice, but he would be shocked if they did. Staring at that part of a pony is quite taboo, especially on a foal, and even with the lamps filling the area with light one would not take note of a second unit so easily.

The Royal Carriage pulls directly by the stage. Only the Royal Guardians and the family are allowed on it, and the former spread themselves out along the edge. Cure folds his wings and gathers with the Bluebloods to the south of the raised dais. Celestia walks along the edge of the platform and speaks through the deluge of sound with ponies as the remaining carriages arrive, unload their passengers, and depart. The guard units fill in to the south while the southeast, west, and ground level of the north fill with ponies and other creatures of all kinds.

Cure undoes his temporary change as photographers finish setting up on raised press stages to the northwest and southwest. Rumors and hearsay are fine, but solid evidence is not something he wishes to provide.

It takes another fifteen minutes of waiting for the remainder of the parade and guard units to arrive and get in position. The colt takes a minute to look over the VIP section. Dozens of ponies he doesn’t recognize fill the raised seating area.

The Lords, Ladies, and higher nobility of the nation have come out in force. Many have adopted a stoic visage either from the early hour or the genuine lack of interest. Few look legitimately excited to be present, but snubbing such an event could be construed as being needlessly antagonistic. Fortunately there are enough filling the multi-level temporary stands that the Golden Hills herd is easily overlooked.

Celestia, in an effort to shield him, has used his rigorous work schedule to prevent the colt from being overwhelmed by insistent nobles wanting to meet. The only ones Cure recognizes are Marquis Merryland, Countess Forest, and Duke Dandy Dresser. The older unicorn is sat beside his wife; the pair happy to lean together and enjoy each other’s presence in a sea of sound and chaos.

Ambassadors and representatives from the three quasi-allies are present. The Saddle Arabians, as another pony nation and actual allies, have a spot of prominence closest to and just above the stage. Cure hasn’t yet had an opportunity to scan a Saddle Arabian, but has been led to believe they are somehow less “magical” than Equestrian ponies. From what he can tell they don’t look any different, but they lack something that many Equestrian ponies fail to fully appreciate: a mark of destiny.

Their private box is flanked by two sets of guards, and although they are in armor, they are not visibly armed. The occupants themselves appear to be a family, likely the actual ambassador to Equestria. The stallion is a pegasus, as are two of his wives and three of their four slightly older foals. His third wife is a unicorn, and her son is asleep against his dam. Unlike Equestrians, they do wear clothes; both sexes wear what’s apparently called an abaya; a thin, loose cloth wrap that Cure can only assume helps with wind and sand.

The minotaur box has only two occupants and two guards, none of which are wearing a scrap of clothing. The human part of Cure’s brain really thinks they should, though. Their goods aren’t really on display that much more than a pony’s would be, but with crotches a little more is a pretty significant difference. One would at least expect a bra or pair of briefs just for comfort if nothing else. Regardless, as he’d found during the birthing season, the “WoW Tauren” comparison he noted with males applies to their females as well.

Though “softer” and more feminine than her bull, the heifer still has a lean, powerful build with a darned impressive rack. It’s furry and not comically enormous like Cure half expected, but the ladies are admirable with their respectable size and ample perkiness. It would not do well to have the new prince staring at the ambassador’s wife’s tits, though, so a quick pan over the pair is all the attention he gives them.

The minotaurs do have unique mitochondrial structures and Cure has had some opportunity to play with them to identify their functions. Like every other species, their composition differs between muscle and other cells.

Non-muscular structures in their bodies have a similar, if slightly inferior, magic generation structure. Their muscular mitochondria have a slightly different version of the telekinetic structures ponies and griffons possess. The effect, instead of grabbing or sharpening, instead toughens surfaces. This somewhat explains their eschewing armor under most circumstances; like dragons, they should usually not need it.

Though inferior to dragonscale, a toughened patch of hide does a fairly good job of protecting a user from slashes and even mitigates blunt force trauma more effectively than an earth pony’s innate resilience. While it doesn’t increase mass, Cure’s testing shows that the aura also allows the user to hit harder without fear of injuring themselves. By itself it’s mildly useful; combined with his subdermal armor for defense and a pegasus’ mass manipulation for offense it is a decent buff.

The griffons’ box is well above the other two and a fair amount larger. He isn’t sure if they’re trying to make a statement or if military chic is just their go-to motif for formal occasions. With all save two armored from claw to flank, the dozen griffons look like they’re ready to launch an attack. No weapons are visible, but with their claws and talons they don’t really need them as much.

The only exceptions are a hen and a younger adult chick, both with staves in harnesses slung across their backs. The pair are wearing some ornamental jewelry and are sat just to the right of the lead tom. Cure knows that griffon mages are a real thing in this world, but it’s the first time he’s ever seen one, let alone a pair.

The tom himself is a dark brown and black griffon with a more hawk-like appearance. He is slightly larger than the rest and, from the few lines of light gray in the feathers on his crown, a little older than his subordinates. He catches Cure’s wandering gaze and the two share a brief staring contest.

Cure isn’t sure exactly what the griffon was looking for, but after a moment he shoots the colt a small grin and inclines his head slightly in what looks like approval.

At the ding of an unseen and unheard timer, the princess finishes her current conversation and strides to the raised dais. Without saying a word she sits, looks east, and spreads her wings wide. Within seconds absolute quiet fills the square as everycreature stares either at her, her statue, or towards the eastern horizon.

The streetlights wink out. In darkness and in silence, Celestia glows ethereal. Wisps of golden light seep from her chest, arcing in blue, green, and pink as they flow up her horn, through her wings, down her legs, and out her hooves, potent enough for Cure to feel from meters away. Her forelegs lift, spreading wide as her whole frame levitates off of the stage.

He knows this is purely for show; she’d confirmed the ease with which she can control the sun via her cutie mark the night of their conversation. The pageantry is the point, though. Nopony can deny the strength on display and there’s no missing the thrum of power coursing through the air.

A beam of orange crests the eastern horizon, slamming into the peak of the Canterhorn and flowing down, bathing the crowd in the morning’s first light. Yellow follows quickly as her sun quickly slides into the sky, not stopping until even the farthest western cities of Equestria experience their own sunrise. The crystal atop her statue absorbes the first rays, and for only a fleeting moment, paints the plaza in a tide of rainbow light.

Celestia glides gently back to the stage, sitting with wings still spread. The spectators erupt in a wave of cheer. With a smile as bright as her sun, she stands and dips her head in a shallow bow to the frantic crowd.

She stands tall and, in her royal voice, calls out. “My little ponies,” a hush spreads as everycreature strains to listen, “as a new day dawns upon these lands, we gather not just to celebrate another year of peace and prosperity, but also to celebrate the most momentous of achievements.

“A young earth pony foal, not even a decade in this world, but yet completely dedicated to the tenets of harmony, was given a great gift… and a terrible burden. Through his Loyalty, Generosity, Kindness, Laughter, Honesty, and with a spark of magic, he accomplished something even I began to doubt possible.

“While volunteering to help his fellow ponies, he developed medical treatments in his home, assisted only by his parents. Accepting no payment for his efforts, he sought to improve life for everypony.

“Miraculous trees of healing and trees to replenish the blood of the wounded are only the first of his creations. Initially introduced in Baltimare, in only a few months they are already credited with saving over thirty lives and drastically speeding the recovery of hundreds more. Just this past week they were approved for general use, and will soon be seen in hospitals and clinics all across the nation!”

A round of cheers erupts from the crowd, but the princess raises a hoof to quiet them.

“That is only the start. I dare not give details until their evaluations are complete, but additional treatments are in testing that promise to change life for every Equestrian forever.

“Many of you that had a foal this season were fortunate enough to meet him. The papers will report today, and the National and Canterlot Regional Health Authorities have verified the results. Under his caring hoof, Not. A. Single. Newborn. Was. Lost.”

She pauses and pans her gaze over the stunned crowd. “Every single expecting dam he assisted delivered their foal or foals successfully!” Another round of applause explodes forth as Celestia smiles and nods in approval. Quiet falls as she continues, “It is with great pride and the utmost joy that I call Serpentus to stand before me!”

Senior reaches down and gives the colt an encouraging pat on the withers as he stands. He climbs onto the raised platform, approaches the princess, and drops into a formal bow. In his Royal Canterlot Voice he greets, “Your majesty.”

She smiles and gives an almost imperceptible nod of approval. Her horn ignites and, in a flash of white, a crown levitates in the air between them. Cure’s eyes take in every detail of the ornate piece. Simple, yet beautiful, he couldn’t have designed it better himself.

The crown’s band, or more accurately, bands, are two golden-scaled snakes, the pairs’ bodies crossing at the back of the crown so that both heads are on the top row, each seemingly preparing to attack the other. Between their open mouths and inlaid before the bottom coil is a deep green emerald set into a golden facet, and in each visible eye is an inlaid ruby. The scales are traced in a thin obsidian edge, contrasting starkly against the bright gold.

It’s gorgeous, and the thought that it would look perfect on a villain makes him smile all the wider.

“Serpentus,” she calls, regaining his attention. “The burden I ask of you is immense, but one you have already shown yourself capable of carrying. Do you pledge to continue to serve Equestria faithfully before all others?”

“I do.”

“Do you pledge to do your best to keep her citizens safe, to nurture them, and to protect them?”

“I do.”

“Do you pledge to continue to bring healing and comfort to those who seek you?”

“I do.”

Perhaps a little too eagerly she asks, “Do you pledge to cover court for me on occasion?”

“No way,” he immediately replies. It takes a second for the crowd to parse what was said before a round of laughter sounds out.

Celestia exaggerates a pout and stomps a hoof for show. “Darn,” she sighs, begrudgingly nodding in acceptance. She looks out over her ponies and shrugs. “Can’t blame me for trying. I suppose three out of four isn’t bad.”

As the laughs trail off she turns back to Cure. “One last question.” She raises her voice, and with the pressure of her presence increasing, asks, “Do you pledge, knowing the responsibility that accompanies it, to accept this crown, understanding that should I someday be incapable, that the duty to guide this nation and her creatures shall fall upon you before all others?”

He hesitates only a fraction of a second to look up and meet her eyes. That was not part of the script, but unfortunately, it is part of the role he has accepted. Unwilling to do otherwise, the colt gives her a shallow nod.

“I do.”

“Then I, Celestia, High Princess and Sovereign of Equestria, Princess of the Day, and Alicorn of the Sun, am overjoyed to bestow upon you the title of Grand Prince! I recognize you, Prince Serpentus, as the Alicorn of Life!” She lowers the crown onto his head just in front of his horn. “I bid thee rise! Stand, and bow before no other for so long as you draw breath!”

Cure stands, sits on his haunches, and spreads his forelegs and wings wide. Celestia doesn’t hesitate a second, and to the roaring cheers of everypony, scoops him up in a hug, squeezing him tight and nuzzling against his cheek.

She turns him around, wrapping her left foreleg under his pits and supporting his rear with her right. Slightly on her left side, he waves his left wing to the roaring crowd while she waves her right. The pair spin, soaking in the adoration of tens, if not hundreds of thousands of citizens for a solid minute until she lowers him back to the ground.

Cure tilts his head towards the crowd and raises a single brow in question, to which the princess gives him a nod. He turns to face the west where the majority of the ponies are and takes a few steps to stand in front of her.

“My fellow Equestrians,” he begins, once again silencing the crowd, “honored emissaries,” he nods to the foreign contingent, “and visitors from afar… I know you’re all here just to see me, and definitely didn’t come for the all-night partying,” he pauses to give the masses a doubtful look, eliciting a few cheers and chuckles from the crowd.

“But as thrilled as you all are to cast your eyes upon my stunning visage,” Celestia lightly coughs and turns away when his head whips around to look at her. A few wolf whistles sound out along with another round of laughter as he continues, “I’m sure many of you are exhausted from the journey, no doubt, so I’ll keep this relatively short and, obviously, very informal.

“First let me say that it is an honor to be here today to address you all. Unfortunately, I feel I must start with an apology… and a small complaint. If you all were expecting me to pull off something like that,” he waves to the sun in the eastern sky, “then I am sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll have to give me a few years. In that same vein, I would like to file a complaint with whoever set me up as the second act.” He scowls out over the crowd at nopony in particular. “Not. Cool.”

Amidst the chuckling of ponies a loud throat clear sounds out behind him. He turns and scowls at the princess, getting another round of laughs. “That would be me,” she sheepishly admits.

Cure makes a show of huffing, sits in his haunches, and leans forwards with his forelegs crossed in agitation. “What the hay, princess?!”

She shrugs helplessly and pouts. “It seemed like a good way to start the event. You wouldn’t have wanted to do everything in the dark.” Unmoving, his horn lights up in a bright light. He cocks a brow at her and waves a hoof up. “Mine is bigger,” she responds with a smirk.

His light fizzles out with a whistle and a pop. The colt clasps his hooves over his chest and turns back to the crowd, face full of pain as they roar in laughter. “Right where it hurts!” he cries out, sagging in defeat. “The princess’s infinite cruelty and enormous -”

“Serpentus…”

“- sun aside -”

“Oh.”

“- it is with great, if somewhat battered, pride that I stand before you all on this beautiful summer morning. And although I cannot casually toss around the sun,” he pauses to smirk before adding, “there is still much I can do.” He glances to his left and calls out, “Captain Bladestorm! Front and center!”

All heads look to their right where a well-decorated unicorn steps forward, separating from the rest of her squad. Her horn ignites and, in a blue flash, she teleports away from the mass of soldiers to a meter to the colt’s left on the stage, salutes and holds it until Cure nods, then stands at attention. He turns back to the crowd and explains, “The good captain volunteered to lend a hoof. Eight years ago she lost her right eye in a training accident. At ease, captain. Go ahead and remove your cover.”

She says something to the colt, but without the sound amplification nopony can hear it. “Ah, good point,” he mumbles with a nod. “Parents, the captain expressed a concern about foals or the squeamish seeing the injury. I’ll be using an Illusion to make it more visible for everypony, too. You may want to look away for a moment.” To Cure’s surprise, very few do. The griffons even seem to lean forward slightly for a better look.

The captain removes her helmet and hooks it onto a clasp on her left hip, then removes her eyepatch. Whatever or whoever inflicted the injury must have had some really good aim; very little damage is done to the socket itself, though her deep blue coat does show some burn scars in the area.

It looks like a Firebolt may have gotten past her helmet’s protective enchantments and hit her just right, casting further doubts in his mind that this was the result of any kind of “training.” It’s the classic “one in a million” shot that, somehow, hit her just right to maim but must not have had the power to continue on in what would have been a killing shot.

“Ready, captain?”

A crisp “Sir, yes sir!” is her response.

Eyes are relatively small and have very little mass. It’s one of the main reasons why the mare was selected for the demonstration. He only needs to steal a little fat from her cheeks; not even ten grams total.

He alters his magic color to gold and somewhat cheats, using an Illusion crystal tucked in his mane to project the larger image of her face as he does the work. A few more heads turn away, but that’s fine. Regrowing an eye isn’t really that gross, but the thought of anything touching somepony’s eye makes folks uncomfortable.

It only takes a moment for the colt to fix the surrounding tissue, grow the eye and supporting muscles, regrow her eyelid, and reconnect the repaired nerve tissue to her brain. He lets his horn go dim and, a few seconds later, cuts the Illusion off. She makes a show of blinking a few times, then closes her left eye and looks around before snapping back to attention and barking out an enthusiastic “Sir, thank you, sir!” and giving the colt a salute. Despite her attempted stoicism, Cure can see the slight smile she fails to contain.

He returns the salute and says, “Your service is thanks enough, captain. As you were.” Accepting the dismissal, she takes a half step away, re-covers herself, then Blinks back to her spot with her troops.

Cure waits for the round of cheers to slow before continuing, “I know there is much about me that is unknown. An earth pony foal from Baltimare is the only thing that’s been released publicly. My real name has been withheld. My true appearance has been disguised. There are certainly those among you that have doubt. Maybe a few less now, granted.

“I get it,” he admits, shrugging and nodding in acceptance. “Being unsure about an unknown is only natural. I can only ask that you allow me the opportunity to show you exactly how dedicated I am to improving your lives. I am young, and still only one pony, but I know I can make a difference.

“Beginning Monday, July thirteenth, I will be volunteering at Baltimare Hospital. Any citizen with a condition that can’t be treated locally will be able to arrange transportation to come see me through your Regional Health Authority. While not making rounds I will continue to assist in the development of treatments for afflictions we cannot already address. After all, I cannot be everywhere, but if I can help create the tools our medical professionals need, then I don’t need to be.

“In the past six months I have already submitted a half dozen solutions to problems that have plagued ponykind for… well, ever. As her majesty said, several are still in testing and two have been approved for use. And I assure you, this is just the start.

“I promise that at some point in your life you’ll find yourself explaining to a foal what heart disease was. What cancer was. You’ll have to tell them what being sick, and laid up for days was like. They won’t understand why it took you weeks to heal from a broken bone, or why in the world you would ever have a scar after an injury.”

With the excited murmurs growing in the crowd, he continues more loudly, “I ask nothing from you, save the same patience and understanding you would grant to any foal. Give me time to grow. Give me an opportunity to learn. Give me a chance,” he calls, spreading his wings wide and activating his golden crystal pony glow, “and I will show you what I can do!”

“Well done, young colt,” Blueblood Senior praises. “Quite impressive given how many ponies there were. Most foals would be trembling in their shoes at a tenth of that crowd.”

After Cure’s speech the princess said a few parting words, basically thanking the crowd again and telling them about the festivities in the Town Square that had already begun setting up for the day. As they were leaving several crews swooped down to get started disassembling the stage and the raised seating areas that the VIPs and dignitaries were using. Cure was able to spot his friends and family being ushered back to their carriages.

He, along with the princess and the prince’s family, used a different carriage for their trip back. There was no royal parade for their return, fortunately. Instead, the seven-pony group were loaded into an extravagant, but enclosed carriage and whisked away with only their guardians in escort.

Cure immediately hopped up to lay with the princess on her bench, then met the girls’ eyes and, with a small motion of his head, beckoned them to join the pair. Celestia ended up half on her side, curved around the three foals laying against her belly; Cure happily nuzzling against her left foreleg, Azure Tiara laying in the center, and Misty Twilight using her sister’s back as a pillow, barely getting settled before falling asleep.

Junior remained between his parents for the shorter trip.

“Thanks! The disguise helps with the nerves,” Cure explains, “but my control over my body chemistry is what really makes it easy. I can force my body to maintain an appropriate serotonin level while keeping my adrenaline production in check. By stifling the overproduction of some hormones and encouraging others I can, essentially, keep myself calm under any circumstances.”

With a worried look, Noble Due slowly asks, “Is… that healthy?” The princess, as well as both Bluebloods, look on with some slight concern.

“Absolutely,” he replies with a nod. “I’m just preventing the release of hormones that you would associate with panic. Aside from the fact I’m doing it intentionally with my talent it’s not all that different from simply being used to controlling your emotions normally.

“I would only do it in high stress situations, though. Doing it all the time would make me seem kinda… Well, flat, ya know? Emotionless.” She nods in understanding. “Clearly that’s not me, normally. I’m basically just abusing my talent until I get to the comfort level needed to stand in front of a crowd like that without using it. It’s all perfectly natural, though.”

Tiara settles her chin on his haunch and yawns before remarking, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re warm and smell like cookies, so I’ll let it slide.”

“We’ll be back at the castle soon, dear niece. Perhaps you and your sister should take a small nap when we return,” Celestia suggests.

A hum of agreement is her only response. Cure can’t blame her. The princess is very warm and the gentle rocking of the carriage is forcing him to fight off a yawn as well. “Maybe I should sneak in a quick power nap too. When is our first rear kissing session… err, meeting starting?”

Carefully avoiding the sleeping fillies, Celestia lightly bonks Cure on the back of his head with her wing, scolding him with a “Behave” to the amused chuckles of the other three. “These will be simple introductions, that is all. It is important to know the ponies that administer the country’s provinces.

“Duke Suncrest will be first since he is over the areas you’ll be operating in most until adulthood. Marquises Merryland and Tailahassee will be there, as will Marchionesses Gulfwing and Yorkshire. You’ve already met Duke Dandy, of course, so there is no need for a meeting with him today.

“From what auntie tells me you and Duke Suncrest should get along famously,” Senior suggests. “Your presence in his region has given him ample reason to brag about the education and social support initiatives his wife spearheaded, even if many attribute little of your success to those endeavors.”

“Yeaaahhh… no offense to Duchess Suncrest or to my teacher, but I spent way more time teaching other foals in school than I did learning. Whatever, if she wants to take credit then I don’t have a good reason to make an issue out of it. The pegasus school, from what the girls say, is pretty nice, so who knows? Maybe her contributions have helped there.”

“It may be easier to allow her the victory than it would be to argue it,” Senior agrees.

“So Duke Suncrest and co first, then Duchess Eventide and her peerage?”

“Correct. Marchionesses Coltifornia and Manesota will be present, as will Marquis Mexicolt. Marchioness Colorodeo was unable to attend.” Celestia adds.

“Oh, wonderful. We are ever so excited to see the good lady Sanction Rebuke Coltifornia,” Blueblood comments with a sneer. “How long must we endure her presence before she slithers back to San Franciscolt?”

“Vladimir!” his wife scolds.

“What? She’s the vacuous sow that allowed Clearwater Estates to be sold off to those worthless Ambermill buffoons!” The stallion snorts in disdain and turns away. “I have two pages of insults in my journal set aside specifically for her esteemed self.”

Noble rolls her eyes while the princess quietly giggles. His wife sighs and looks at Cure to explain, “Clearwater was amongst his favorite producers of chardonnays. The family that owned the estate lost their only heir in an accident back in eighty-eight. When they passed unexpectedly in oh-one it defaulted to the crown. The estate was very quickly auctioned off to the Ambermill family who decided to introduce their own vintages under the Clearwater label. Vladimir has been adamant that the quality has been inadequate since then.”

“Inadequate, she says!” he mocks with a scoff. “Those fools cheapened every ingredient to the point the swill,” he sneers, “is unrecognizable as chardonnay at all. Concord Press’ Ninth Century Private Reserve is inadequate in comparison, beloved. The ‘New’ Clearwater vintages are trash not worth the wax used to seal them!”

“I’m a little lost here,” Cure admits. “What’s all that have to do with the marchioness?”

“Everything!” the stallion energetically declares, throwing his hooves in the air. “I just know she ensured the estate would fall into their hooves! The Ambermills are cousins on her grandsire’s side and, conveniently, were the only family notified that the Clearwater Estate auction had begun!”

Celestia sighs and shakes her head. “I’ve told you a dozen times, nephew. That’s not true! Your allegations were investigated thoroughly. The Ambermills simply placed a higher bid than anypony else, I assure you.”

Rather than accept the explanation, Senior scoffs and turns away. “You were shown manufactured evidence! The Beringers would have been a far better option, I assure you!”

Noble Due sighs again and shakes her head. “Not this again…”

“It’s a travesty!” Senior declares. Cure can only assume this is a common complaint; Junior is shaking in mirth between the two, his face buried between his forelegs as he smothers his laughter. Senior turns back to Cure and adds, “I only have a half of a case remaining. I was saving a couple for when Junior succeeds me, and the others for my sweetlings’ special days.

“You will, of course, be present, so look forward to whichever occurs first, young colt. You shall never have such a rich, well rounded vintage again.” He continues with a wistful tone, “The balance, the viscosity, the way the sweetness of honeysuckle and plum gives way to the more subtle acacia before the crisp tartness of the grapefruit rounds out the experience.” He draws in a deep breath and solemnly adds, “It shall spoil every other wine you sample thereafter.”

“It sounds good, but ya know, I can probably reproduce the stuff with my talent,” Cure suggests with a shrug. “If ya want me to give it a try just bring a bottle and let me scan it.”

Senior’s eyes nearly bug out of his head at the suggestion. “TRULY?” he eagerly asks.

“You just saw me regrow an eyeball. I’ve made blood and organ cloning trees. Unless there’s something inorganic being added in I doubt it’ll be that difficult. I should be able to replicate the effects of aging it in barrels and everything, but even if I can’t reproduce it, I could fool your taste buds into thinking it’s the same.”

“DETOUR!” the stallion shouts as he leaps to his hooves and turns around, reaching for the slot to speak to the driver. The noise and motion earn a whine from his snoozing daughters, both of whom bury their faces between their respective pillows and the princess’s tummy. “Auntie! We must make a detour to Goldenrose immediately!”

“We are not going to your home, nephew,” she sternly rebukes, locking the slot shut with her magic.

“But… but… auntie!” he whines as he looks between her and it. Junior absolutely loses it, snorting in laughter in a very undignified way. Noble presses her face against the carriage’s glass window and sighs a third time.

Celestia just gives the stallion a firm look. “You can send a runner to fetch a bottle, nephew, but we have important ponies to meet.”

Senior’s bottom lip quivers as he gives the mare a pleading look. She stares impassively back, not giving a millimeter. Finally, he takes a deep breath and blows out a long sigh, slouching back in his seat. Snout wrinkled in annoyance, he admits, “A runner cannot get to it! I have the last bottles locked in an underground vault to which only I have the key. No matter!” he shouts, rallying. “I shall make the trip myself immediately upon our arrival at the castle.”

Cure reaches in his mane and pulls out his Sending crystal, floating it to the stallion. “You can use that to Send a message to your coach driver to meet you at the castle. It may save you a few minutes.”

“Fantastic thinking! I assure you, young stallion, if you are indeed able to reproduce the vintage then I shall be in your debt!”

“Cool. Just whenever you do finally meet my family, don’t tell my dam.”

Author's Note

I'm publishing this early (Sunday night) because I'm unsure if I'll have much time to do anything tomorrow.

The big event has finally happened! I'm sure there would be far more ceremony involved, not to mention tons of paperwork and whatnot, but that sounds like as much fun as a meeting with a tax preparer or a lawyer, so all that's getting skipped. I suppose that's fairly in line with canon, though, as i can't recall any such thing happening with Twilight.

The next chapter is done but that "big life change" has shat all over my productivity. The last three weeks were, unfortunately, not accommodating in regards to my writing schedule. I wish I could say it's been a fun vacation, but of the last twenty-five or so days only two were any kind of fun. Meh, such is life at times.

I'll definitely release 81 next week (it takes place immediately after this chapter) but I'm not sure 82 will be ready the following Monday. I'll keep you all updated as I have done all along, at least.

As always, thanks for taking the time to read, rate, and comment.

Enjoy!