The Conjuration Wizard

When Celestia had mentioned that she had enlisted someone to help me prepare for the upcoming summit, I did not expect it to be Prince Blueblood.

The last time I had seen the prince was during the Gala, when he used Rarity as a shield against a flying cake which resulted in Rarity strangling the prince half to death. I had not seen Blueblood since that night — and in all honesty — I forgot he even existed.

The castle gardens were quiet, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze was accompanied by the soft chirping of song birds. I sat at an ornate table set with the expected trappings of tea and light refreshments. This was the exact same table, and exact same place that I once had tea with Celestia, though those thoughts were fleeting as I barely glanced at the table or the tea. My thoughts churned, caught between skepticism and outright disbelief.

Prince Blueblood. Of all ponies. Really?

The memory of the last Gala flashed through my mind, and I couldn’t help but smirk. Watching Twilight Sparkle’s friends completely crash the party had been one of the evening’s highlights. That pompous, preening stallion was to be my mentor in diplomacy?

I leaned back, folding my left arm across my chest. My Wizard’s Arm rested atop the table, detached for the moment. Its absence felt strange but not unwelcome. I’d grown used to constantly wearing the prosthetic, though it served as an uncomfortable reminder of Chrysalis and the price I’d paid.

A lot of things reminded me of that day.

The sharp clink of hooves on the garden’s stone path drew my attention. I turned to see a pristine white unicorn stallion approaching, his blonde mane perfectly coiffed and his attire immaculate. He wore a tailored royal blue waistcoat with gold embroidery, the ensemble practically screaming wealth and vanity.

Prince Blueblood.

His posture was as flawless as his attire, his nose tilted upward as if the very air offended him. When his gaze fell on me, he paused, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

His expression shifted into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ah, you must be the infamous Consort of the Moon,” his voice was as polished as his appearance. “Sebastian, was it?”

I raised an eyebrow, deliberately not standing. “Prince Blueblood,” I said evenly, nodding in greeting.

He sniffed, his expression one of measured disdain. “I see Auntie Celestia was not exaggerating about your lack of decorum. No matter; I am accustomed to managing… raw material.”

I bit back the first response that came to mind. Luna’s voice echoed in my head. She had asked me to be patient with this nephew of hers.

Blueblood gestured to the seat across from me with an overly dramatic flourish. “May I?”

“By all means,” I replied with a gesture for him to sit across from me. “Who am I to deny you a seat?”

He seated himself with an exaggerated level of grace, his every movement calculated for maximum elegance. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Blueblood inspected the tea set with a critical eye, before finally pouring himself a cup.

“It is both my honor and my burden,” he began, his tone dripping with self-importance, “to impart upon you the fine art of diplomacy. A skill, I might add, that requires subtlety, tact, and a certain… finesse that I fear you may lack.”

“Good to know where I stand,” I said dryly, folding my left arm across my chest again.

He waved a hoof dismissively. “Oh, don’t misunderstand me. I relish a challenge. And you, my dear fellow, are undoubtedly a challenge.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at his audacity. “And what, exactly, will this ‘challenge’ entail?”

Blueblood sipped at his tea, his expression unchanging. “For a start, we will address your demeanor. Diplomacy is an art form. One that requires a delicate balance between strength and charm. It is paramount that you learn to command a room without raising your voice. With diplomacy you must bend others to your will with words alone.”

“And you think you can teach me that?”

He set his cup down with an audible clink, fixing me with a look that might have been intimidating if not for its theatricality. “I am Prince Blueblood, heir to one of the most illustrious lineages in Equestria — no, in all of Equis. In the matters of diplomacy, there are no finer tutors in the realm.”

I met his gaze evenly. “Alright, Prince. Teach me your ways.”

Blueblood’s lips curled into a self-satisfied smile. “Excellent. We shall start with the basics. Tell me, Sebastian, what is the first rule of diplomacy?”

I shrugged. “Don’t insult the other party?”

“Close,” he said, steepling his hooves. “The first rule is to listen. Only by understanding your adversary — or ally — can you hope to sway them.”

He leaned forward slightly, his tone turning almost conspiratorial. “Now, let us see if you can manage even that.”

And so, my first lesson in diplomacy began, under the tutelage of the most insufferable prince in Equestria.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_

The first week was an exercise in restraint.

Blueblood’s lessons began each morning with the same pompous flourish: a self-important proclamation of the day’s topic, often including a backhanded comment about my ‘rough edges.’ Whether we were seated in the gardens or pacing through one of the castle's lavish meeting chambers, his voice carried the same over the top theatrical lilt, as though he were addressing an audience of admirers rather than a single reluctant student.

"You must understand, Sebastian," he said on the third day, gesturing with a gold-tipped cane he’d just recently taken to carrying for dramatic effect, "diplomacy is as much about appearance as it is about words. A diplomat who slouches might as well grovel."

"Got it," I replied, adjusting my posture on the overly lavish chair. "Stand straight, don’t grovel. Life-changing advice."

He shot me a withering look, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. "Sarcasm, Sebastian, is a poor substitute for wit. Remember that."

I gave him the bird.

He looked confused by the gesture, and deigned to ignore it.

The second week introduced practical exercises, which, to Blueblood’s apparent delight, provided ample opportunity for further critique.

In one session, he orchestrated a mock negotiation, casting himself as a cunning noble entangled in a fictional land dispute. His portrayal was flawless, gliding effortlessly between syrupy persuasion and cutting dismissals. When it came time for my rebuttal, he interrupted me with a sharp crack of his cane against the floor.

"No, no, no! Your tone is all wrong," he announced with a theatrical sigh, his expression a mix of irritation and condescension. "You’re addressing a dignitary, not a tavern thug. Try again — with some sophistication, if you please."

"Of course, sophistication," I echoed, my tone deliberately neutral as I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Got it."

By the session's end, my patience with Blueblood was wearing thin. Despite my irritation, Blueblood seemed as invigorated as if he’d spent the day at a spa.

He was enjoying this, I thought, suppressing a groan. Probably far more than he was letting on.

By the middle of the second week, cracks had begun to form in his polished veneer. During an especially tedious discussion on the interpretation of body language, I caught him unsuccessfully stifling a yawn.

"Am I boring you, Prince?" I asked, unable to hide my amusement.

He straightened immediately, his expression indignant. "Not at all! I was merely… contemplating your progress. You’ve improved — marginally."

"Marginally? Oh my, such high praise," I replied with a smirk.

He didn’t respond immediately. He instead adjusted the lapels of his jacket. When he finally spoke, his tone was quieter, nearly begrudging. "You’re not as hopeless as I once feared."

"From you, I’ll take that as the highest of praises."

His lips twitched into something resembling a genuine smile, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

By the end of those two weeks our dynamic shifted slightly. Blueblood’s critiques, while still biting, were less frequent, and I found myself begrudgingly respecting his mastery of the craft. He, in turn, seemed to be warming to the challenge of shaping me into something resembling a diplomat.

As we wrapped up one of our last sessions that week, Blueblood leaned back in his chair, studying me with a contemplative expression.

"You know," he said, swirling the tea in his cup, "you have potential, Sebastian. Rough, unpolished, and maddeningly stubborn potential, but potential nonetheless."

"Thanks, I think," I replied, meeting his gaze.

He set his cup down, his expression uncharacteristically earnest. "The next two weeks will test your patience. But if you truly wish to represent Auntie Luna — and by extension, Equestria — you must persevere. Sebastian, diplomacy is a skill that demands constant refinement."

I nodded, taking his words to heart despite his usual flair for dramatics. "Then let’s see what the next week has in store."

His smile returned, this time with a hint of mischief. "Oh, you’ll see, Sebastian. You’ll see."

And so, as the second week drew to a close, I found myself strangely anticipating what the insufferable prince had planned next.

The third week began with an air of subdued tension. Blueblood, true to his theatrical nature, had declared it the ‘Week of Refinement.’ He greeted me in an empty meeting room with a sweeping bow and a knowing smirk.

"This week we will look at the principles of persuasion and manipulation in detail. Subtlety, dear Sebastian, is the key to shifting the balance in your favor without your adversary even noticing it.” He produced a folder full of documents, each document containing fictitious scenarios of diplomatic crises: trade disputes and their effects, border conflicts and internal rebellions. "Your task," he said, "is to come up with a solution to each problem and present it to me as though I were a foreign dignitary."

I skimmed the first scenario — a tariff disagreement between two neighboring regions. “Let me guess,” I said, glancing up at him. “You’ll be playing the dignitary?”

“Who else?” he replied with a flourish, settling into his chair as though it were a throne.

The exercises were grueling, not because of their complexity, but because of Blueblood’s relentless criticism. He interrupted often, pointing out flaws in my phrasing or demeanor. “No, no, no!” he exclaimed at one point, slapping the armrest of his chair. “You cannot simply demand compliance. Diplomacy is about guiding others to believe they want to agree with you. Try again.”

It was infuriating, yet by the end of the week, I began to see the method in his madness. His interruptions grew less frequent, his critiques more constructive. I even caught him nodding approvingly during one particularly heated exchange.

“You’re learning,” he said grudgingly after I concluded a mock negotiation. “Slowly, but you are learning.”

The fourth week brought a shift in focus. Blueblood introduced me to the art of reading a room. We spent hours in the castle’s great hall, observing the comings and goings of petitioners and nobles.

“Watch him,” Blueblood whispered, nodding toward a well-dressed stallion speaking with a group near the fountain. “Note how he keeps glancing at the exit. He’s eager to leave but doesn’t wish to appear rude.”

I followed his gaze, noting the subtle signs Blueblood had pointed out. “And her?” I asked, gesturing toward a mare who was gesturing animatedly with her wings.

“Ah, she’s dominating the conversation,” Blueblood replied. “Notice how the others lean slightly away? They’re intimidated.”

I was surprised by how engaging the lessons were, and I actually appreciate Blueblood’s take on things. Even still, his arrogance was pretty grating, but it was tempered by a genuine passion and skill for his craft.

As the days passed, our dynamic shifted further. Blueblood’s barbs became less pointed, his praise more frequent. I, in turn, began to see past his pompous exterior, recognizing the keen intellect and unwavering dedication to both Equestria, and his craft.

By the end of the month, we had fallen into an easy rhythm. I now find myself laughing more often than not at his dramatic proclamations, even if Blueblood’s ego is as overblown as ever. He seemed to relish the challenge of pushing me to my limits, and I always did enjoy a challenge.

On the final evening of my training, Blueblood invited me to join him on the castle’s west balcony. A bottle of fine wine and two glasses awaited us, the setting sun casting a golden glow over the city below.

“This,” he said, pouring the wine with practiced elegance, “is a momentous occasion. You’ve endured my tutelage and emerged… tolerable.”

“There’s that high praise again,” I said, smirking as I accepted the glass he offered. “If you’re not careful the other nobles might think you may like this ‘barbarian’.”

He smirked, and raised his own glass. His expression was uncharacteristically at ease. “To progress, and to the art of diplomacy.”

We clinked glasses, the sound ringing softly in the evening air.

Blueblood took a long sip of his wine, his gaze drifting toward the horizon where the first stars began to peek through the darkening sky. I leaned against the balcony railing, swirling the wine in my glass with my silver hand. The silence between us was comfortable, the kind that comes from two people who had sparred verbally enough to earn a mutual respect.

Still, there was something I’d been meaning to ask him. And considering this was our last scheduled evening of training, it felt like the right time.

“Blueblood,” I began, breaking the quiet.

“Yes?” he replied, not bothering to look away from the horizon.

“Why did you use Rarity as a shield against that cake?”

The question hung in the air for a moment. Blueblood didn’t react at first, continuing to gaze out at the fading sunlight. Then, he chuckled, a low, sardonic sound that carried none of the usual grandeur in his tone.

“Ah, that,” he said, setting his glass down on the railing. “I wondered when someone would bring that up again.”

“I’ve been curious,” I admitted after draining some of my own wine. “It’s not every day you see a noble shove someone else into the line of fire, especially not someone like Rarity.”

Blueblood’s expression turned wry, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “You assume, of course, that my actions were driven by cowardice or selfishness.”

“Well… kinda, yeah,” I said bluntly.

That earned a bark of laughter from him.

“Fair enough,” he said, shaking his head. “But let me enlighten you, Sebastian. Rarity didn’t care about me. She cared about what I represented. A prince. Prestige. Influence. She didn’t see me. She saw a golden opportunity to elevate her own status. And she was quite determined to secure it.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised at his candor. “So you’re saying she deserved it?”

“Not quite,” he replied, his tone lighter now. “Deserved is a strong word. Let’s just say I gave her an honest glimpse of what life with me would truly be like. It was a valuable lesson, one that she took to heart, judging by the delightful strangling that followed.”

Despite myself, I chuckled. “You’re really something, Blueblood.”

“Why, thank you,” he said, inclining his head as though I’d paid him the highest compliment. “But do you see my point? She wasn’t interested in me. She wanted the title. The power. The fairy tale. And I am under no obligation to humor those who see me as nothing more than a trophy.”

I considered his words, nodding slowly. “You might be an ass, but you’re not wrong.”

“An ass, perhaps,” he said with a smirk, “but a principled ass.”

We lapsed into silence again, the wine flowing as Celestia’s sun disappeared completely, leaving the sky awash in shades of deep indigo.

Blueblood took back up his wine, his gaze turned thoughtful as Luna’s moon rose, casting its silver glow over the city.

“Sebastian,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically earnest, “there’s something you should know.”

I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

Blueblood took a measured sip of his wine, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the last rays of sunlight gave way to Luna’s ascending moon. When he spoke, his tone was deliberate, carrying the weight of what he intended to convey.

“Sebastian,” he began again, setting his glass down and folding his hooves atop the railing. “You are the consort to the Goddess of the Moon. That title alone places you in a league far above any of Equestria’s nobles. But it is not just the title that has them watching.”

I leaned back in my chair, swirling the wine in my glass. “This is about more than just the summit or diplomacy, isn’t it?”

He inclined his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Astute. Yes, this is about perception, power, and pecking order. Let me explain.”

He stood, pacing a few steps toward the railing, his figure silhouetted against the rising moonlight. “You died, Sebastian. Died. And resurrected yourself. Whether that’s the truth or some embellished tale, it hardly matters. The world believes it, and that belief is power. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you subdued a changeling queen — Chrysalis herself. Do you have any idea what that makes you in their eyes?”

“A walking target?” I offered dryly, taking a sip of the wine.

Blueblood chuckled, a low, rich sound. “Partially correct. But more than that, it makes you second only to alicorns. A mortal who has not only survived the impossible but triumphed against it. That terrifies them. And when the nobles are terrified, they scheme.”

I arched an eyebrow. “They’ve been quiet enough so far.”

“Because they don’t yet know what to do with you,” he countered, turning to face me fully. “At first, they left you alone because you were an unknown quantity — and because they’re scared of Auntie Luna. Her reputation extends to you, as her consort. But now, you’re back on your feet, and soon you’ll be attending one of the most significant political events of our time. They will see this as their opportunity.”

“To do what? Use me? Undermine me?”

Blueblood’s expression hardened, his usual air of arrogance replaced by something sharper. “Both. You must understand, Sebastian, that your rise has been meteoric. Unprecedented. To the established order, you’re a disruptor, a wildcard. Some will seek to curry favor, hoping to ride your coattails to greater power. Others will see you as a threat to their influence and will look for ways to diminish you — or worse.”

I set my now empty glass down, a single silversheen finger tracing the rim of the glass. “So what’s your advice?”

Blueblood smirked, though it lacked his usual condescension. “Firstly, know your worth. You are not some pawn to be moved on their board. You are a player in your own right, and they must be made to see that. Secondly, understand the game they play. Diplomacy, my dear barbarian, is war by another name. It is fought with words, alliances, and leverage. You must be prepared to counter their moves before they make them.”

“And lastly?”

He stepped closer, his gaze steady and unflinching. “Do not underestimate them. These nobles may not wield swords or magic, but their weapons are no less dangerous. They have spent generations honing their craft, and they will exploit any weakness they perceive. Be vigilant, Sebastian. Always.”

I nodded slowly, his words settling over me like a weight. “You sound like you’re preparing me for battle.”

“In a sense, I am,” he replied, his smirk returning. “But don’t worry, I’ve trained you well. You’ll manage to stumble through without embarrassing us too badly.”

I chuckled, raising my glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

We refilled our glasses, then we clinked them again. For a moment, we stood watching as the moon climbed higher, its silvery light bathing the castle grounds.

“Blueblood,” I said after a while, my tone quieter, “why are you telling me all this? You didn’t have to.”

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Because, Sebastian, despite your flaws — and they are numerous — you’re not entirely insufferable. And because you’re family now, whether you like it or not. Luna chose you, and that means you matter to us.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. Before I could respond, he drained the last of his wine and set the glass down with a flourish.

“Now,” he said, his usual arrogance returning, “shall we adjourn before I say something sentimental? I have a reputation to uphold, after all.”

I laughed, following him back inside. “Wouldn’t want to tarnish that, would we?”

As we stepped into the warm glow of the castle corridors, I couldn’t help but let the earlier conversation tumble through my mind. One detail stuck out, though, refusing to let me move on. Blueblood’s casual mention of ‘delightful strangling’ nagged at me like an itch I couldn’t scratch.

“So,” I began as I slid my hands into my coat pockets, “about that ‘delightful strangling’.”

Blueblood paused mid-stride, his shoulders stiffening ever so slightly before he turned to face me. His expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the faintest flicker of… was that embarrassment?

“Ah, yes,” he said smoothly, his tone as light as if I’d asked him about the weather. “What of it?”

“Well,” I said, leaning against the wall, “it’s not exactly a phrase you hear every day. Care to elaborate?”

He gave me a thin smile, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Not particularly.”

I raised an eyebrow, unable to suppress a grin. “Come on. You can’t just drop something like that and not explain it. Delightful strangling? Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Sebastian,” he said, his voice dripping with mock patience, “there are some things that are better left to the imagination. This, I assure you, is one of them.”

“Oh, I disagree,” I said, crossing my silver arm over my flesh one. “I think a little clarity would go a long way here. You’ve got me picturing all kinds of things, and none of them are—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, holding up a hoof. “Whatever your imagination is conjuring, I insist you put it back where it came from.”

I smirked, relishing his discomfort. “You’re not exactly helping your case, you know.”

Blueblood sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why do I even bother with you?”

“Because I’m family now,” I said, grinning wider. “And because you think I’m tolerable, remember?”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Then, with a flourish, he straightened his collar and adjusted his posture.

“Well, this has been… enlightening,” he said, his tone breezy as he began walking again. “But alas, I have pressing matters to attend to. Far too pressing to continue indulging your absurd curiosity.”

I kept pace beside him, my tone teasing. “You know, dodging the question only makes it more suspicious.”

His glare could have frozen the sun. “Goodnight, Sebastian.”

But I couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Oh, come now — ‘Uncle Sebastian’ has a nice ring to it. Goodnight, Nephew.”

He didn’t dignify me with a response. Instead, he disappeared around the corner, his coattails flaring behind him like a dramatic exit on a theater stage.

I lingered for a moment, a grin tugging at my lips. “Absolutely priceless,” I muttered, shaking my head. “That one’s never going to get old.”

As I walked toward the throne room for Night Court, I made a note to bring it up again — preferably at the most inconvenient moment possible.

After all, that’s what family is for, isn’t it?