A Conspiracy of Order

Prince Blueblood groaned as he rolled over on his lounge seat. The white-furred prince mumbled to himself, idly gesturing about with a forehoof toward the tray of food that his servant had brought back from the festival for him. Most of the food had looked positively atrocious – common folk never seemed to have any standards – but Sweet Specter had been surprisingly convincing as to its quality.

And he had been rather hungry and thirsty the night before, and his great-aunt had closed the kitchens early. What was a prince to do when the servants were out partying and he had to make do with…less?

But now…

“Mmmph…”

The petulant prince grumbled as he floated the tray over and found it empty. He rattled it from side to side, his magic surrounding it for a moment and flipping it upside-down before tossing it to the corner of the room. The unicorn floated the pitcher of cider that Sweet Specter had brought back, hoping that there might be a few more drops inside, but just like the tray, it was empty.

“Hmmph. Hardly the sort of luncheon that a prince deserves…”

Blueblood tossed it as well, uncaring as it clattered against the floor. The unicorn rolled out of the lounge chair, feeling a little wobbly on his hooves, but he barely paid any attention to that. After all, it was merely a bit of the wobbles, nothing like the time that he had gotten drunk on the hard stuff and made a mild fool of himself at the royal banquet. He’d hardly had…

He didn’t remember how much cider he’d had over the night. Sweet Specter had been asked to refill the pitcher multiple times, he remembered that much, but that had been hours ago. Surely…

Surely…

Blueblood tottered to the balcony attached to his quarters, looking down at the festival not that far off. The commoners were all but dancing though it was hardly midday, and they looked like they were having…fun.

Fun.

The white-furred unicorn shook his head, huffing hard enough to make his face shake. It gave him a headache.

“Oh, Sweet?”

The other unicorn appeared as if from nowhere, eyes bright and head tilted to the side.

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Tell me that there’s more of that…strangely delicious food.”

“I’m afraid not. You ate it all last night. Even the, ahem, small portion that I had hoped for.”

“You’re a commoner. You can get more when you’re on break.”

If he ever gave Sweet time off. He honestly wasn’t sure that he ever had.

Shaking his head, he walked around his quarters, feeling a stirring between his hind-legs. The dignity of a prince required keeping that from showing, of course, but Blueblood barely cared in his private quarters. Didn’t matter here. Didn’t really matter anywhere when he was already this stirred up.

Still…

He looked over his shoulder at Sweet Specter. The other unicorn tilted his head and looked elsewhere, clearly trying not to stare.

Hmmph. I am a prince. And I shouldn’t…

Ugh. It was hard to think. He thought that getting drunk on cider meant that he should have a headache, not be completely muffled up and feeling so…so warm. Everything felt warm, he realized, everything from his gut down, and he swore that his cock continued to twitch and pulse and throb in a way that just…

Why…

Things…

Difficult…

He knew what he needed. If he felt good while having the common food, he could just have it again. That was simple enough. He looked over his shoulder at Sweet Specter.

“Go and get me more of these…treats,” he said dismissively, gesturing at the tray and pitcher with his hooves. “They please me.”

“Your Highness, I could, but it would take me some time to get there and back again. The festival is busy as can be.”

“You’re telling me that a prince has to wait? Like one of – one of them?” he asked, pointing out the window with a forehoof.

“If you want me to bring it back to the palace, Your Highness, I’m afraid so.”

“What horrendous service.”

He pouted as he walked back to the balcony. This time, he remembered to walk with more of a casual-short step, keeping his hind-legs from spreading quite so far and making sure that his steps covered his sheath. It wasn’t opening, thank Celestia, but it was feeling heavier than it should. Was he cider-horny or something? He hadn’t felt something like that since he was a colt, and the very idea that a prince like him might suffer from something like that felt utterly ridiculous.

And yet…

He stood at the railing, looking down at the public again. There was definitely a sense of…need down there. Blueblood rolled his head to one side, his blonde mane falling over his face before he used his magic to push it back into place. It wasn’t what he wanted, none of this was what he wanted.

What did he want, though?

Food. I’m starving…

There, that was it. Starving. He just wasn’t thinking straight. If he went to the kitchen, he’d get something and –

Wait, no. His great-aunt was using the cooks down at the tents today, doing her part to add to the festival with palace-level quality. Not that the commoners would appreciate anything of the sort.

“Oh, am I going to be forced to lower myself so much as to go down there?” he muttered under his breath.

“If I may, Your Highness?” Sweet Specter asked.

“Hmmph.”

“I know the stallion who made the cider I brought back last night. He’s…suitable company in short bursts. He might be able to give you something quickly instead of leaving you waiting.”

“You assume that I would enjoy the company of…them?”

“It would be good to put in an appearance, at least, Your Highness,” his servant said, bowing his head. “And it would make your great-aunt happy to see you showing yourself to the ponies.”

“Hmmmph. I don’t particularly like the idea of going into the festival. It’s so…dirty.”

“I will have the cleaning spells at the ready, Your Highness.”

“Hmm…”

Blueblood wasn’t keen on the idea of leaving the palace. Normally, all his creature comforts, as well as the servants that attended to his every need, were available at a mere ring of a bell. Until the end of the festival, however, he had to share all but Sweet Specter with his great-aunt and the ponies that had come from all over Equestria. The threat of dirt and filth was a potent one, but at the same time…

“Ugh. If I must.”

“Shall I gather your cloak and bags, Your Highness?”

“Do. I will not be caught without some hint of fashion out there.”

As Sweet Specter bowed his head and darted about the prince’s quarters, Blueblood wondered if it was really worth it. He could just sleep off the fuzzy feeling in his head and deal with waiting until Sweet Specter could fetch the goods back to him. It would probably be better for him than leaving the palace.

But then he would have to wait. And he hated waiting.

“Ugh, this is horrendous,” Blueblood muttered as he all but pranced through the lines of tents and stalls. “Does nobody keep this place clean?”

“Apologies, Your Highness, but there are too many ponies here for that kind of cleaning. And everyone has the right to attend, according to your great-aunt’s invitation.”

“Hardly the suitable crowd for Canterlot.”

“As you say, Your Highness.”

It was hardly satisfying to berate Sweet Specter when the unicorn only agreed with him time after time. He hated the fact that he couldn’t have a proper argument, while at the same time he was rather satisfied that his servant knew where he belonged. It was an annoying sort of feeling.

He huffed every time that they found a puddle in the earthier parts of the festival grounds. Lacking a proper bridge across the puddles, he had to keep taking steps to the side, and the common ponies were not so attentive as the servants in the palace. They were always in his way, always stepping in front of him, never seeming to see that he was a prince and deserved obeisance from each and every one of them.

“This cider better be magnificent,” he muttered under his breath.

“It will be, Your Highness. I had plenty of it last night, myself.”

“When?”

“Before I came home.”

“Hmmph. You were drinking with them?”

“They…offered it to be. As a gift.”

“I see…well, at least they know their place.”

He turned away from Sweet Specter, ignoring the slight blush on his servant’s face. Whatever the other stallion was thinking, it could wait.

Blueblood didn’t know why he was so obsessed. Oh, he had been taken by whim before. The time that somepony had brought him chocolates from Manehattan, he couldn’t think of anything else for a month. He’d been inconsolable, crying and begging for them. And he’d been in his late teens at the time, too. He’d even turned down the idea of going there. After all, he was a prince; shouldn’t the treats come to him?

But even that felt different than this. There was an…an itch, that was the best way to describe it. An itch in his mouth and his stomach that begged for more of those treats. He’d taken them slowly last night, enjoying them, wallowing in the strange warmth and fuzzy-headed tingles that came with eating them. It had been easy to take it slow when he had so many of them, but now that he was out, he was as frazzled as a strung-out old mare going through whiskey-apple withdrawal.

“Where is this stallion?” Blueblood muttered as they passed yet another cider stall. “We’ve seen so many already.”

“Patience, Your Highness. We’re almost there.”

“I would hope so. I’m getting tired.”

“I know, Your Highness, I know. Soon, I promise.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that he wanted the cider and the treats again as soon as possible, he would have turned around and gone back to the palace long ago. As it stood, he was barely able to keep pushing forward with the promise that this would take less time than going back and waiting. He could feel the dust creeping up around his hooves, the stains that were slowly taking shape on his cloak, and the constant din was past annoying and becoming infuriating. He hated being in public with ponies below his social status. The balls and the banquets were far better than this, and they didn’t allow –

“Big Mac! Excuse me, sir. Big Mac!”

Sweet Specter trotted ahead, and the unicorn prince looked up with a raised eyebrow as his servant rushed forward. He ran for a stall that looked vaguely familiar, something that had been in Canterlot before. Perhaps even in the palace, for all that he recognized it. A tan-orange mare trotted up to the stall proper, while a red-furred stallion walked up to join his servant on the side.

“Your Highness, this is the place,” Sweet Specter called.

It was just as dirty as the rest of the festival, but his servant seemed to recognize them, so that was a start. He pranced forward with some small celebration, his mouth already watering for the drink. Sweet Specter turned to the stallion once more.

“I’m sorry to bother you –”

“Do not apologize to them,” the prince said, tossing his head back. “We are here for one reason, and one reason only: the cider. Commoner, give us three barrels of your best, and we will be back to the palace to enjoy it in our proper setting.”

The red stallion looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. Rather than pushing him, however, Sweet Specter bobbed his head slightly.

“My apologies, Big Mac. My lord here is –”

“What did I just say about apologizing?”

“Your Highness, he is the one that has the cider that you want. If you want to get it, you’ll have to be at least a little polite.”

“You mean that this is not another gift?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Ugh. This is beyond the pale…”

“Yyyyyup,” the red stallion said.

“Oh, he speaks. Don’t do that again.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that they were already there and would have to go back through the entire festival to be somewhere clean again, Blueblood would have left right then and there. The very idea of having to mingle with the commoners – he still hadn’t quite forgiven that mare, Rarity, for tricking him into thinking that she was someone important at the gala so long ago – was almost sickening. He had his own ponies to spend time with.

But they had the cider…

And the other treats…

Just the one. Just this one time, and then I will be back to my proper place doing my own things.

“Fine. What is the cost?” Blueblood asked, tossing his head back.

“Heh, yer gonna need to do a drinking contest with my brother here,” the mare behind the stall said. “Ya win, and ya get the cider and the treats for free.”

“…Interesting. And if I lose?”

“Double the cost.”

“…Agreed.”

After all, he was a prince. He doubted that a commoner could match him, even one so large as this ‘Big Mac.’

Three mugs of cider down, and Blueblood was wobbling on his stool. He swayed left and right, right and left, and the tent seemed to spin around him. The bits on the table between him and the other stallion were getting more and more spread out, filling up the space and making a small tower that just kept getting bigger with each drink. It was the pot for payment, and it would, of course, keep getting bigger the more that he drank, but –

Hic.

Oh, he was dizzy, and more than that, he was feeling that same heat that he’d felt the tail-end of back at the palace. All the cider was getting to him alright, and it was doing it in a way that he had never felt before. Even that sense of being cider-horny way back at when he was younger was nothing like this. It was like –

Hic.

Like being completely dozed out on this stuff, his sheath feeling so full and – oh, it was slowly oozing his cock out, his shaft dropping under the table as he took another sip of the cider. His magic made that just a little more difficult than it should have been, the golden apple drink sloshing out and over his chest before falling to his stomach.

“Messy stuff…” he muttered, shaking his head. “Should be…should be easier to drink…”

“Yuuuup.”

“Do you say anything else?”

“Yuuuup.”

“Like what?”

“Noooope.”

“Great. Lovely. Wonderful ‘common’ convers-conversation.”

Blueblood wobbled back again, having to grab the table with a forehoof to keep from going over. Oh, this was going to give him a headache tomorrow, he was sure, but at the same time…

At the same time, he felt surprisingly good. He wanted to keep going, to keep this bubbly warmth spreading through him. It was as good, if not better, than the tingling horny feeling –

Horny.

Blueblood giggled as he leaned against the table. Big Mac cocked his head to the side, the other stallion rolling the straw in his mouth over to the other side.

“Hmm?”

“Just…figuring out what’s wrong with me.”

“Hmmm-mm?”

“I’m just hoooorny.”

And saying it to a commoner. Oh, he was beyond drunk if he was doing that. He was somewhere between absolutely ploughed and blacking out. It would probably be a good idea to stop there, to go back to the palace –

But he still had all those bits on the table. He had to earn them all back. And he had to be getting close to drinking the other stallion under the table. Just a few more mugs and he’d be there.

As he swung the mug back again, tasting the sweet-bitter apple drink, he realized that Sweet Specter was nowhere to be seen. The other unicorn had disappeared at some point, drifting off somewhere outside the tent, and he’d never come back. Disgraceful reasons, probably; the other stallion had always been a bit of a problem.

But he’d deal with that later. For now –

Hic.

He had to put the mug down, his shaft finally pushing all the way out and throbbing with need. A little embarrassment filtered down to the cider-soaked thing that he called a brain, and he shook his head.

“Oooooh Celestia…”

“Spinning?”

“Yep.”

“Need to go down?”

“Yep.”

Blueblood tried to stand up, but the most he could do was tumble off his seat. He hit the floor with a loud thump, and his cock twitched against his stomach and ground against the floor at the same time. A dull giggle followed, and he shook his head.

“I’m drunk-horny. Drunk-hornyyyyyy.”

“Yuuuuuup.”

“What’s in that stuff, anyway? So good…”

“Heh.”

The other pony’s slight smirk disappeared. It was so slight that Blueblood wouldn’t have noticed it if everything else in Big Mac’s expression hadn’t disappeared with it. The moment that the red stallion walked around the drinking table, it was like staring at a statue, one that had been carved with no emotion, no feeling, no thought. It was just…blank.

A stone that moved.

Blueblood’s blurred vision dropped to the shaft that was slowly making itself obvious between Big Mac’s legs. The commoner walked right over him, standing with his shaft hanging lower and lower. The head touched the prince’s lips before it stopped growing, and despite everything, Blueblood couldn’t quite close his mouth.

What…why…

His body was on fire, he realized. On fire with need, on fire with desire, on fire with everything that came with that lust that he had been vaguely aware of with every sip. He was just too drunk to notice it all the time; his thoughts were bouncing around, sliding all over the place and – hell, he was doing that even now as a cock was sliding into his mouth and –

Gluk.

It fit right into his throat, soft but long enough and substantial enough that it managed to lodge itself in place. Blueblood’s head spun as he tasted the thick shaft in his mouth, but that wasn’t the worst part.

That came a second later as a dull hiss filled his ears and a powerful, thin heat ran down the back of his throat.

This…this commoner is – oooooh…

It was so far down his throat that he couldn’t taste the urine sliding down to his guts, but he could feel the tingle that came with it. The tiniest bit of his brain that wasn’t washed away by the previous drinks made the comparison and realized what was going on.

He’d been drinking urine.

He’d been drugged.

And now, he was getting it right from the source.

Blueblood barely felt his throat swallowing, trying to keep itself clear so that he could keep breathing. In the background, he half-expected to hear some gloating, some villain that had finally gotten what he wanted, but there was none of that. The only thing that he heard were soft moans in the distance, just a little bit away and separated by the walls of the tent, but it was too soft for him to make out.

Swallow.

Swallow.

Swallow.

There was so much pouring down his throat, and he couldn’t keep up. Some of it oozed out from his lips, while the rest made his stomach feel swollen and bloated to the nth degree. His head spun, his eyes rolled back, and his cock throbbed, bouncing up against his belly. Every swallow brought another throb, and he groaned around the mostly-soft cock jammed into his throat as he kept on swallowing.

Another.

Another.

Another.

When it finally stopped, he couldn’t move. All he could do was focus on breathing and the intense throbbing, pulsing, tingling in his cock. It was like every bit of that cider-urine heat had been forced right down to his cock, balls, and – strangely – his anus. He could feel every throb, every pulse through them, as if they were the only things that mattered.

The cock pulled out of his throat, and he wheezed. His legs didn’t want to move, neither the front or back ones. He couldn’t even say anything as Big Mac walked around him and nosed at his hips. Blueblood submitted to the gentle nudging, his hips rising, his legs pushed and braced so that he had his back-end up and his head down against the ground.

He heard something, a little rustle, but that was all before –

Squelch.

His breath caught in his throat as something slid into him and a shock ran straight through his body, pulsing from his ass right up to his head and then back down again. If the cider had him tingling with heated need, then the shock was like the lightning bolt that the tingle would grow up to be. A spurt of pre-cum hit the ground, and –

Shock.

Blueblood gasped, his mouth hanging open, a hint of drool oozing from the side of his muzzle. He ground one hind-hoof against the ground –

Shock.

His cock slapped his belly like a hoof on a drum. He would have moaned, but his mouth didn’t want to work. Nothing from the neck up wanted to work.

Shock.

The pleasure slapped his cock against his belly again, another jet of pre-cum hitting the ground. The tingling lack of control ran down his neck, hitting his shoulders, starting to spread out into his forelegs.

What…what –

Shock.

His orgasm hit him like an avalanche as he came. His cock jumped again, but this time the white flood that followed puddled under him. The numbness spread down his forelegs, and one of them moved. Not much, but enough to get under him, a brace that was more solid than anything that he could manage for himself.

Shock.

Another blast of pleasure, another orgasm. His thoughts were receding, falling further and further back. He was aware of his other forehoof moving, twitching, clumsy at first but getting more and more natural. They pressed down, lifting him up without the slightest wobble.

How –

Shock.

Shock.

Shock.

Blueblood lost count of the orgasms that he had, and the overwhelming pleasure became more of a background bliss as the thing in his rump was getting more and more swollen, almost like something thicker was trying to push its way inside of him. His body moved, muscles twitching, adjusting, tugging here and there inside of him. His neck moved, lifting his head up as he stood normally, staring straight at the other end of the tent as that thing in him kept…kept pushing that button and…and…

Shock.

The latest burst of pleasure came with something else. He felt it sliding out of the thing inside of him, wet and warm and almost a little too smooth. A plant or something, something that –

He would have moaned if he had the control to do it. Instead, the last of his control wheezed out in a slight huff between his teeth. Something attached to his prostate, wriggling in, attaching itself to his insides. It kept spreading, like fast-growing roots, spreading further and further through him and making his asshole feel stretched out. His pucker was…was so warm…his insides…so good…

Orgasms.

Pleasure.

Bliss.

Obey.

He felt a word echo in his head, and he realized something else was in there. Something that could think. Something that could explain what was going on.

Something that could tell him what to do.

He was so dumb, so stupid, that he couldn’t even remember why that might be a bad thing. He just kept staring straight ahead, the thing inside of him making him close his mouth a little tighter and swallow to keep the drool inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Big Mac walked around him, stepping to the back of the tent and opening it up. He had a split-second to see Sweet Specter pinned under the mare from earlier, eating out her pussy, before Big Mac straddled a barrel and started letting loose with what was left in his bladder.

They were drugging everything. They were –

Shock.

Obey.

Shock.

You are a Drone.

Shock.

You are part of the Nest.

Shock.

You will obey the Nest.

Whatever resistance that the pitiful prince had left exited right out his cock as the plant milked his mind and his prostate in equal measure. He faded, unable to think, only able to enjoy what was given to him.

The hedonist stallion turned drone walked back toward the palace, a faint sheen of root juice along his rim that was swiftly drying with each sweep of his tail. Blueblood-Drone had been trained and altered, and while he still had some hint of the former spoiled brat that he had been, the parasite was more in charge than in most drones. There was no point in keeping anything more than the bare minimum needed for imitation. The rest was so vile that it could be forgotten as soon as it was practical.

As the prince and Sweet Specter walked back to the palace, their bags laden with cider meant to be passed out among the uninfested in the palace that couldn’t come down to the festival, the Nest’s plan played out on repeat in their minds. They were to spread these foods as the new ingredients of choice among the kitchens and the servants, encouraging them to want to buy these foods rather than anything else and keeping the palace well-supplied with the drugged, tainted goods. This, in turn, would make any sort of expansion from the Nest-Tree, long term, much easier when the servant ponies were already eager for more.

They were also supposed to go on a hiring spree, something that Prince Blueblood was allowed to do, but had never actually done. Blueblood-Drone ran through those instructions, going through the list of infested ponies that could be brought in, added to the ranks of those inside the palace. If the rest of the plan to infest the Princesses worked out, then they would not need this, but if it didn’t – or if they only infested one – then they would need as many infested in the palace as possible.

Clop.

Clop.

Clop.

Blueblood-Drone didn’t look back at his servant. He could – it would be ‘in-character’ for the host – but it was not needed. His focus was on the mission. The Nest had taken him in, and he was grateful for its support, and its presence, and the pleasure that it offered in addition to the direction that it promised. From now on, he would always know what to do. From now on, he would always feel right about the things that he was asked to get done.

He was no longer a prince, but a drone of the Nest was far better than a Prince of Canterlot. He would do his part. They all would.