He Who Speaks for the Sun

"Dear Blueblood,
You never cease to amaze me! Seven years old already! It feels like just yesterday you were sitting on my lap begging me to read The Very Hungry Parasprite and now look at you! Reading and writing all on your own! I'm so unbelievably proud! I asked my scribes to put this book together for you. You spend so long staring at the maps in my office, asking about all the counties. You'll make a fine diplomat when you get older, I'll bet!

Remember, my little prince, I love you so much. No matter what you do or where you go, I will always love you.
Your Favorite Auntie,
Princess Celestia"
—Note written on the inside cover of Prince Blueblood's copy of The Precocious Princeling's Guide to Diplomatic Relations

Chapter 12: Grave Violence

The funeral was held in the palace gardens, in the shadow of the willow tree Sandalwood had loved. He lay in his open coffin, hooves folded over his breast, his face serene in a peace he had never known in life. Blueblood and Trixie attended, sitting silently among the Caliph’s mourners and hangers-on. Blueblood felt something akin to pity as he stared at what had once been Sandalwood. He struggled to tear his eyes from the body as various council members gave speeches lauding the life of their dearest leader and personal friend.

This was going to set things back. The entire city was in mourning. Businesses were closed, banks were shut up, temples were encouraging attendance in record numbers to pray for the Caliph’s immortal soul, and the palace was as taciturn as a tomb. To force a council meeting now, especially as a foreigner, would come off as disgustingly callous. Everything was political, and what was politics if not preserving your reputation on a national stage?

“In conclusion,” A horse nearly as old as Sandalwood rambled as he stood at the podium, adjusting his spectacles. “Good luck in the next life, old friend. By Sun and Moon, we’ll play senet again someday.”

He approached the coffin with bleary eyes, sniffling softly as he laid a pawn beside his old friend.

Trixie leafed through the hastily printed program she had been handed at the start of the ceremonies. Nudging Blueblood’s shoulder, she pointed to the next speaker on the agenda.

Wormwood.

Duke Fairweather took his place at the podium and swept the crowd with his gaze. There were no tears in his eyes, no sorrow in his expression. Blueblood sensed something sharp and calculated in his mein, a grim determination in the face of disaster. How far along were his plans? Things were proceeding as he had predicted: the Caliph was dead only days away from his Summer Sun Sobriquet. Blueblood scanned his program and found that Fairweather was the only foreigner to speak at the funeral. Had Sandalwood known the extent of the duke’s betrayal? Or did he die surrounded by false friends with plastic smiles all secretly awaiting his downfall?

What a horrific way to go.

“It is a tremendous honor to speak here today,” Fairweather ran a hoof through his salt and pepper mane, swallowing hard. “I am not, by birth, a Sarab. But I’ve made this beautiful country my home. I thank you all for accepting me, my wife, and the countless other ponies in our midst.”

The duke’s eyes fell upon Blueblood and Trixie, lighting up with a faint, knowing smile.

“Sandalwood was my Caliph, same as you. He believed in me when no one else did. It was his guidance that let me establish Fairweather Firearms here in Sutaf. His encouragement that allowed me to persevere when the times got tough. His kindness that allowed me, a foreigner, to sit on the esteemed royal council to help build a better, stronger Saddle Arabia.

“But more than a Caliph, Sandalwood was my friend. I’ll never forget his laughter when he beat me in a game of Senet, or the fierce pride in his eyes when he regaled me with long tales of Sarabian history. I remember the way he smiled when he held his son. I remember his quiet strength during every national crisis.” Fairweather’s eyes grew misty. Trixie knew crocodile tears when she saw them.

The duke wiped his face with a silk handkerchief. “But one thing I’ll remember most about Sandalwood was his dedication to harmony. We have a saying in Equestria, ‘It takes harmony to change the world’. No one I’ve ever met has embodied that saying more than Sandalwood did. He understood that above all, harmony needed to be preserved.”

His eyes moved across the assembled councilmen, politicians, and robber barons like a predator seeking a sick member of the herd.

“From my time spent here among you, I’ve met many who shared his vision. Harmony, peace, and prosperity for all.” Fairweather’s wings spread dramatically behind him. “And I know he leaves this nation in capable hooves.” He gestured with a hoof towards Cedar, seated statue-still beside his father’s coffin. His eyes, however, never left the crowd. He was staring straight at Blueblood. “Come what may, harmony will be preserved. Upon Sandalwood’s honor, I will do whatever it takes. We will do whatever it takes.”

A wave of applause swept the crowd. Fairweather nodded solemnly as he stepped towards the coffin. He reached into the pocket of his vest and produced a single, pressed flower. Blueblood recognized it instantly. It was a sunburst lily; the regional flower of Canterlot.

“Goodbye, my Caliph. Goodbye, my friend.” Fairweather said, his voice cracking once with feigned grief. “May your name be writ in the stars one day.”

As he watched Fairweather return to his seat, Blueblood had a feeling he was going to be receiving a meeting as soon as the body was buried.

*****

The last prayers were given, the coffin was sealed, and Cedar gave his departed father one final farewell. The casket was hoisted onto the shoulders of several of the Caliph’s closest advisors. Of the six horses who carried it, Blueblood recognized only Marshmallow. The casket would be carried down main street, Sutaf’s old royal road, and would be laid to rest in a tomb prepared for the Caliph beside the wall.

Blueblood chose not to follow them. He had seen the tombs once before and had no desire to stand among the dead once more. The last thing he needed now was more bad omens.

Refreshments were served in the garden for those who remained. Bite-sized quiches, pan-seared oats, and fresh lavender cakes were brought out in large covered dishes. Trixie filled her plate and returned to a table at the edge of the garden where Blueblood had taken up residence. He was stressed.

“Indigo, eat something.” She pushed a cake in his direction. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I had a glass of wine last night,” Blueblood said, shrugging. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yes, you are. That’s why you’re stressed.”

“I’m not stressed.”

Trixie placed the cake into his hoof. “You are. I can tell. Now stop making me be your mother and eat.”

Blueblood nibbled on the cake with a vacant expression. His shoulders were taut, his eyes were detached, and his expression was glum. “I’m not looking forward to my upcoming chat with Fairweather.”

“I wouldn’t be either if I were you.” Trixie popped a quiche into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “After that speech he gave today, you’re really gonna throw a wet blanket on his party.”

“He doesn’t strike me as someone who can take a loss with dignity.” Blueblood mused, picking at Trixie’s oats. “After I deny him, we’re going to need to get a council meeting as soon as possible. He’ll move fast to consolidate power, and he has the advantage of being a part of the inner circle.” He sighed. “I’m so sick of playing from the back hoof.”

Trixie put a foreleg around him and squeezed. If he could hug her last night when he thought she was dying, then she deserved to return the favor. For once, Blueblood didn’t try to mask his emotion. He turned in his seat and embraced her fully. Trixie smelled lavender in his mane. They released each other like nothing had happened.

“Thank you,” Blueblood muttered, gently squeezing her hoof.

“You’re gonna do fine.” She gave him a warm smile. “No one gets politics more than you do.”

As if on cue, Fairweather approached their table. He held himself differently. He was more rigid, more upright, and more confident. Beckoning Blueblood with his hoof, he had fully shed his foppish facade. This was a stallion Blueblood truly believed had been in the Royal Navy.

“Blueblood, old friend,” His smile was smaller, more conspiratorial. “May I have a word with you?” He glanced to Trixie and noticed their hooves linked together. “Don’t worry, miss. I’ll have him back to you in just a moment.”

One more squeeze, and then Blueblood was up and moving. Fairweather didn’t speak, moving through the mourners with a silent grace. The two of them crept past the edge of the gathering, where servers were doling out portions of food to the various bleary-eyed guests. Fairweather led him across a gravel-strewn clearing towards a neat little cluster of olive trees. He gestured for Blueblood to sit on the stone edge of an oil press, but the prince demurred.

“I presume you realize what this means for us.” Fairweather didn’t waste a second. Right into business. He struck a match, lit a cigarette, and sucked nicotine. “This is the moment we’ve been waiting for, Blueblood. The Caliph is dead, his son is waiting to take the throne, and he’s going to need an advisor.” The duke blew smoke through his nostrils like a pensive dragon. “You’ll be that advisor. The power behind the throne. A Caliph in all but name, and even that could change.”

Blueblood swallowed hard, fanning a hoof by his face to disperse the acrid cloud. Fairweather continued.

“You can feel it, can’t you? The country is on the brink of chaos. It needs a strong hoof to guide it. It needs your hoof, Blueblood.” His eyes were pleading as he stepped closer. “So what do you say? Will you take the throne?”

Blueblood had been mulling over his reply from the moment Fairweather had made him the offer. He had to choose his words carefully. Sucking his teeth, he began his response.

“It’s flattering beyond all measure that you think I’m capable enough to be Caliph.” Blueblood tried to keep his voice flat and quiet. “But I’m not the right pony for the job.”

“Don’t be modest, Blueblood.” Fairweather gestured his worries away. “You were born to rule! Canterlot didn’t recognize your talent, but I did!”

“It’s not modesty.” Blueblood shut that down immediately. “Would I make a good Caliph? Perhaps. But if I take this position, then I lose any chance at Canterlot. I can’t give that up. I’ve fought too long and too hard to just let it go and go traipsing around ruling countries that aren’t my own.”

Fairweather’s cigarette flared. “Think about what you’d be giving up. You’d be abandoning Saddle Arabia to another Sandalwood. Can you walk away and leave them to that? To another half-century of poverty? Bullets fired into protests? Blood in the streets and revolt in the air?”

“No.” Blueblood exhaled hard. “I’m not going to let them suffer like that. But this isn’t the way we fix things. We can’t go around uprooting governments we don’t like just because—”

“They keep slaves, Blueblood!”

“Let me finish, damn you!” The prince snapped, pounding a hoof against the bark of an olive tree. “We can’t uproot governments because we think we can do better. Equestria isn't perfect either. I know that better than anypony. All we would do is bring over our flaws and impose them on someone else. We need to let Saddle Arabia change for herself.” Blueblood took a deep breath. “There’s plenty living here who want to see Saddle Arabia change for the better. All we’re doing is standing in their way.”

“We don’t have time to let Saddle Arabia figure out whether she wants to be a dictatorship for eighty more years.” The duke spit into the grass. “We have the opportunity to change things right now, Blueblood. We can fix things.” He moved uncomfortably close to the prince, laying a heavy hoof on his shoulder. “Don’t you want to be on the right side of history?”

“I intend to be.” Blueblood jerked his shoulder away.

Fairweather stood there with his hoof extended for just a moment too long, his eyes flushed with frustration.

Blueblood straightened his tie. He didn’t want to give away too much of what he knew about Chicory. The last thing he wanted to do was play his cards too early and let Fairweather get ahead of the curve. “I’ve found another way. A way that doesn’t involve putting myself on the throne.”

“And what way would that be?” Fairweather arched an eyebrow incredulously. He puffed on his cigarette and tapped embers from its tip.

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” Blueblood managed a faint, slightly playful smile. Let him play from the back hoof for a change. “I’ll be calling a council meeting as soon as the fervor over Sandalwood’s death dies down. I trust you’ll be patient?”

The duke dropped his cigarette to the grass and stomped it out with his hoof. “Two days. I’m giving you two days to either put a solution forward or accept my offer. That’s it. On the third day, I’ll take matters into my own hooves.”

“Understood.” Blueblood returned a shallow nod. He and Fairweather shook on their deal, and Blueblood slowly backed out of the conversation. He watched as the Duke spread his wings, gave them a single, massive flap, and took to the skies.

Two days.

That was more than Blueblood had been expecting. He could work with that.

*****

Trixie picked at her food as she awaited Blueblood's return. Every time he went and negotiated with Fairweather, she half expected him not to come back. She jabbed her cake with her fork and worked her mouth. Weren’t there usually open bars at funerals? Or was that weddings? She couldn’t remember. Regardless, liquor would have greatly helped her to deal with this day.

Someone slid into the seat beside her. Trixie turned in her seat, hoping to see Blueblood beside her.

“Miss Briar,” Cedar looked up at her with an utterly crestfallen expression. “Thank you for coming.” He screwed up his face in thought as he dug for words in his memory. “Saddle Arabia is embedded to you.”

The little horse was holding himself so stiffly that Trixie wasn’t sure he was breathing. He had puffed out his chest, lowered the tone of his voice, and— Trixie took a slight whiff of the air. Was that cologne? Oh, Celestia, what were they doing to this poor kid?

“I think you mean indebted.” Trixie corrected gently. She pushed her cake over to him and he stared at it hungrily.

“I knew I got something wrong.” Cedar huffed, slumping forward until his head hit the table. “I’m never gonna be a good Caliph like Dad.”

Trixie didn’t quite know what to say. Her mouth hung open as all the wrong words turned over on her tongue. She finally settled on something quietly kind, something suggesting he would get the hang of it, the same way he had been getting the hang of magic.

Then he started to sniffle with his head down.

Then his lip started to quiver.

Then Cedar was fully in tears, his back shuddering with sobs as he kept his face rigidly pinned to the table, refusing to look up and show his emotion. Trixie felt an ache go through her. He was trying to emulate his father.

Trixie didn’t know the first thing about being a Caliph. Blueblood was her only legitimate link to any sort of royalty, and even that relationship was often distant. She had no titles, no lands, no regal authority to throw around. But Trixie knew sorrow intimately.

Slowly, sweetly, she lifted Cedar’s chin from the table. His eyes were red and puffy and glistened with tiny diamond tears. He tried not to look her in the eyes. He stiffened his back and tried to tamp down his sniffles. Trixie didn’t let him. He was a child. A royal child, yes, but still a child nonetheless. And a child deserved to cry like one.

Trixie pulled Cedar to her chest and held him tight. In a split second, all the titles and authority in the world didn’t matter. Cedar pushed his face against her coat and cried. Really cried. Trixie suspected it was the first time he’d been allowed to since his father had died. She felt his hot tears soaking into her, felt his hooves squeeze her as tight as they would allow, and felt his entire body tremble.

“I’m so sorry,” Trixie whispered as he held the newly ascendant Caliph in her hooves. “I’m sorry.”

Cedar’s father had loved him. Trixie had experienced so much of Sandalwood’s memory that she couldn’t doubt that. Cedar’s mother had never known him, and his own memory of her was nothing but a faint shadow. All he had left to comfort him were tutors and advisors who were so intent on making him into a Caliph that they couldn’t see his sadness.

It took some time before he had cried out the worst of it. His sobs grew weaker, the tears stopped flowing, and his grip went slack. He finally sniffled, pulled his face from her chest with a sticky, peeling sound, and wiped his eyes. Trixie offered him a napkin to blow his nose.

“Thank you, Miss Briar.” He let her gently brush the streaks of tears from his cheeks. “I’m sorry that I’m not—”

Trixie squeezed his hoof. “Don’t be. You don’t have to be a Caliph just yet.”

“But my teacher said—”

“You’ll grow into it.” Trixie gave him a fragile grin. “Don’t worry about growing up too fast. You’re allowed to be a kid, Cedar. No matter what your teachers say.”

He snorted and leaned against her, his hooves still shaky and his nose still running. His eyes drifted from hers and back to her plate. Cedar licked his lips. “Miss Briar?”

“Hm?”

“Can I still eat the rest of your cake?”

“It’s all yours.”

Cedar grabbed her fork and dug in. He scooped globs of frosting off the cake and ate them without bothering to try the actual cake itself. Trixie grinned to herself. He was still a kid, no matter what they tried to force upon him.

Trixie’s eyes shifted from Cedar as she saw Blueblood approaching. He looked somewhat less distressed than she’d been expecting. That was good news at least. Cedar glanced up from his cake and cocked his head.

“Who’s that?” He mushed around a mouthful of icing.

“That’s Prince Indigo,” Trixie said as Blueblood arrived at the table. “Indigo, this is Cedar.”

Blueblood half-bowed. “I’m sorry about your father, emir.”

“If you’re a prince,” Cedar glanced between the two ponies. “Is Miss Briar a princess?”

“Oh, no no no!” Trixie tried to quash that rumor as quickly as she could. “Indigo and I are just—”

“Friends.” Blueblood finished for her. Trixie gave him a slight side-eye.

“I thought you said coworkers?” She raised an eyebrow incredulously.

“A lot has changed since then,” Blueblood replied, noncommittally. “Consider yourself bumped up to a friend.”

“Why don’t you make Miss Briar a princess?” Cedar cocked his head.

“It was lovely getting to meet you, emir.” Blueblood dodged the question entirely, his cheeks faintly glowing. “But Briar and I do have a lot of work to do, so we really must be going.”

Trixie practically leapt from her seat, bidding farewell to Cedar with another long hug. One of his innumerable tutors stood by, keeping a close eye on the soon-to-be Caliph.

“How long have you been this friendly with the Emir?” Blueblood asked as the two of them left the funeral and headed back into the hollow silence of the palace.

“Since the Ordainment Ball,” Trixie replied. “How long have I been upgraded to friend, rather than coworker?”

“Don’t make me bump you back down.” Blueblood chided as they ascended their staircase to the diplomatic wing.

“I’m just curious since you seemed adamant that we weren’t friends in front of Fairweather.” She arched her eyebrow.

Blueblood held his breath and let it out with a slow hiss. “I’ll just be honest, I think you’re the only pony I can actually call a friend.” He alighted on a landing and turned to face her. “But I don’t want Fairweather to know that. I can’t turn you into a target.”

“Let him target me,” Trixie smirked defiantly. “I can take care of myself, Indigo. You know that.”

“I know but—”

“No buts.” Trixie shoved him playfully. “If I wasn’t ready for danger, I wouldn’t have followed you this far.”

Blueblood returned the favor and shoved her back. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Look out for yourself first.” Trixie sidled up to him and pulled him into a hug. Blueblood didn’t fight it but squeezed right back.

“I just—” Blueblood fought with the words, his lips twitching as he tried to force them out. “I just feel bad that I dragged you into this.”

“If I wanted to go back, I would’ve taken a train to Equestria already.” Trixie disengaged from the hug and brushed her mane from her face. “I want to be here, Indigo. We’re in this together. I’ve gone through this much already. What’s a little more gonna do to me?”

Blueblood could practically see the ghost of her from the night before flickering in his vision. Eyes strained, jaw clenched, blood frothing at her lips and dribbling from her nose as she wrestled with magic she couldn’t comprehend. That’s what staying could do to her.

Blueblood shook the thought from his mind. The last thing he needed right now was to think about losing her, especially not when the end was in sight.

“Fairweather is giving us two days.” He changed the subject with all the tact and subtlety of a brick to the skull. “After that, we need to go before the council immediately and present Chicory as Cedar’s mother and Sandalwood’s successor.”

“Then we put her on the throne and wash our hooves of everything?”

“So long as the council votes in our favor.” Blueblood pushed open the door to their room. Chicory was sitting on the balcony watching the funerary procession as it wound its way through the city streets.

“How long, Indigo?” She asked without looking back at him. “How long until I can see my son?”

“Two days.” Blueblood shed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. “Once we reveal you to the council, you’ll be free to spend the rest of your life with him. But first, we have to win.”

Blueblood levitated a sheaf of papers, a fresh pot of ink, and a quill to the table. He fell into the chair with a weighty thud and took a deep breath.

“Strap yourselves in. It’s going to be a long night.”

“When isn’t it a long night?” Trixie rolled her eyes. “Should I order dinner?”

“Yes, please.” Blueblood dipped his quill into the ink and set it to paper. “I want to get this done tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll be meeting with as many of the council members as we can. Then we’ll bribe, cajole, lie, threaten, and generally do whatever it takes to secure their vote.”

“It doesn’t sound very honest to me.” Chicory frowned.

Blueblood’s lips curled into a smirk. “Of course not. It’s politics.”

*****

Hours and hours wore on. Their arguments were set down in writing, rewritten, refined, and rewritten again. Dinner arrived late, and they shared trays of roasted veggies with a white wine sauce, warm flatbreads, and cups of mint tea. Blueblood gave his speech to the council no less than four times, and every time he tried to read it, he found another error that needed correcting. It had to be perfect. It had to flow without flaw and be so persuasive that the council would drop their thoughts to take power for themselves in favor of a rank outsider.

The sun had set and darkness had spread over the gardens. The moon was half in shadow, half in light. Blueblood rubbed his temples and stepped out onto the balcony for some fresh air. The effort was stifling him. He took a deep breath of the night and tried to steady himself.

He had more time than he had expected, and yet it still wasn’t enough time. To change the ruling regime of Saddle Arabia was a project that Blueblood would have measured in years, if not decades, and he was being asked to do it after only weeks in the country.

Celestia believed that he was the only pony for the job. If he let her down here, the last shred of his dignity would be torn away. She would insist she loved him. Tell him that everything will be okay. That she could still salvage his work when she dispatched her favorite student to pick up the pieces.

But what good was love if he did nothing to deserve it? Blueblood’s spine throbbed. He had to prove he was worth loving.

The palace felt quiet. Mourning had come and gone, and it seemed the palace had cried itself to sleep. The only sound was the faint din of hooves marching on cobbled roads; likely Palace Guards returning from burying the Caliph. Blueblood exhaled as he turned his back on the gardens and returned to the room. Chicory munched on a piece of flatbread as Trixie sipped her tea. Blueblood could feel their exhaustion radiating through the air.

“Alright,” Blueblood scooped up his notes and tossed his mane. “Let’s go over this one more time.”

Trixie pushed her tea to one side and leaned over the back of her chair. “One more time, and then we sleep, okay?”

The prince checked the time. Just after midnight. Trixie was probably right. He needed a good night's sleep.

He nodded quietly as he cleared his throat.

“New evidence has come forward when it comes to Caliph Sandalwood and his relations. His throne—”

Blueblood’s ear flicked as he heard something. Voices echoed from somewhere in the palace, talking all too loud for the somber atmosphere. Chicory noticed it as well. Trixie frowned.

“Someone had too much to drink, perhaps?” Chicory offered a suggestion.

Something dreadful and cold filled Blueblood’s stomach. The hair on his neck raised. The air was charged like he was awaiting a lightning strike.

“Indigo—” Trixie tried to stop him as he headed for the door. “Don’t!”

“I just want to see what’s going on.” He slung his coat around his shoulders. “I’ll be right back, promise.”

“I’m with her,” Chicory said, her voice was low, like she feared being overheard. “Don’t leave. Let the Palace Guard sort it out.”

Blueblood paused, his hoof trembling on the doorknob. He sucked in a nervous breath as he released it.

Gunshots suddenly echoed through the marble walls. All three of them leapt nearly a foot in the air. Blueblood flew to the door and locked it tight in an instant. Screams followed the shots, cries in Sarabic for more ammunition, to raise the alarm, to protect the palace at all cost. Blueblood and Trixie’s blood froze when they heard harsh, barking replies ringing out.

Replies not in Sarabic, but in Equine.

“Move, move, move!”

“Cover me!”

“Split up! Catch them in the crossfire!”

More gunshots. Pained shrieks from wounded horses. Whoops of triumph and bloody, rattling gurgles.

“What’s happening?!” Chicory leapt into motion like a trained soldier. She shoved a chair under the handle of the door and dashed to the kitchen to grab a knife from the block.

The truth dawned too late as usual. Blueblood’s throat constricted. “It’s a coup.”

“What?!” Trixie’s horn lit up as she tried to ready a defensive spell. “But… But Fairweather—”

“Lied to my face.” Blueblood snarled. Reality was rushing into him. “He wanted me to be the new Caliph. He assured me that he could get the council on his side.” He paced, every nerve firing at full speed. “He was always planning this. He said his wife could help him.” Blueblood twisted his hooves in his mane. “Celestia’s mane… He’s going to kill the rest of the council members.”

Chicory suddenly went stock still. “Indigo. My son!”

All eyes were suddenly on her as her shoulders tensed to breaking.

“He’s going to kill my son!” Knife shaking, Chicory suddenly pushed past him and rushed to the door. Blueblood and Trixie had to drag her back, step by step, kicking and crying.

“Chicory, they’ll kill you!” Trixie snapped, shoving her harshly into a chair. “We have to—” Her voice broke. Trixie looked to Blueblood, who looked like he was about to crack under the pressure. “Indigo, what do we do?”

“I don’t know!” He clutched his hooves to his head. “I’m a diplomat, damn it! Not a soldier!”

Chicory had reverted to speaking Sarabic, her head hung as she babbled out a seemingly endless stream of prayers.

Trixie grabbed Blueblood’s chin and forced him to meet her eyes. “Indigo, we need a plan.”

“I’m not—”

“I know, I know you’re not a soldier. But you’re not just a diplomat, either. You’re a prince, damn it!” She gripped his shoulders hard. “Now act like it!”

Blueblood went rigid. The tears that had started to twinkle in his eyes went dry. Trixie could sense something had changed in him.

“Cedar,” Blueblood said, exhaling his stress. “Cedar is the key to this.”

Chicory’s eyes were wide as saucers. “But he could—”

“He can’t kill Cedar.” Blueblood’s voice was hard. “Without Cedar, he’d never be legitimate. He can distance himself from tonight as much as he wants, but he knows no one would accept a pony on the throne. Aster proved that there's enough resistance to the thought. He wants to be the power behind the throne, not sit on it himself.” Blueblood rationalized things out, his hooves trembling. “He needs the emir. That’s the key.”

“The key?” Chicory was breathing heavily, clutching the knife like a lifeline. “What does that mean?”

“It means we need to get Cedar and get him out of here.” Blueblood’s tremors left him as he started to craft a concrete plan. “If the emir lives and opposes Fairweather’s claim to the throne, then Fairweather can never win.”

Chicory rose from the chair, tucked the blade into her belt, and turned her gaze to Trixie. “Teleport me to the slums. There are thirty brave, armed souls there waiting to fight. We’ll blink them to the palace and—”

“We won’t have time.” Blueblood dismissed the idea immediately. “Get Cedar out of the palace. If we can do that, we can get him to the slums. From there…” The prince cast his eyes out the balcony window, staring at the silver, moonlit dunes of the desert. “We leave Sutaf.”

“We need to stay and fight.” Chicory insisted. “This is our city. We’ll gather troops in the slums and retake—”

“These are trained Equestrian mercenaries, Chicory.” Blueblood tried to impress the sheer scope of what they faced onto her. Another volley of gunshots thundered from the hall. “We’re not taking the palace back. We need to get out of here. We can form a government in exile. Bring you and Cedar to Equestria or the Gryphon Kingdoms. I don’t know yet, we’re having to plan this all in the moment.”

Blueblood smelled smoke. Something in the palace must have caught fire.

“But first, we need to get to Cedar.” Trixie took a deep breath and tried to steady her nerves. “I can try to teleport the three of us over to Sandalwood’s room, the one we saw yesterday. That should get us close.”

Chicory took Trixie’s left hoof in hers. Trixie extended her right to Blueblood, who shook his head.

“You two find Cedar.” He met Trixie’s confused gaze with the smile of one condemned. “I’ll meet up with you outside the palace.”

“Indigo, you can’t stay here!” Trixie pled. The sound of shots was growing closer. They heard hooves pounding the carpeted halls of the diplomatic wing. The chaos that was engulfing the palace was growing closer. “Please. Please don’t leave me.”

“Find Cedar,” Blueblood repeated, tenderly touching Trixie’s shoulder. “I’m going to try and tie them up here as long as I can.”

“I’m not gonna let you stay here and die!” Trixie let out a shuddering exhalation. “Damn it, Indigo—”

“Briar, go!” Blueblood hissed. “We don’t have time!”

“Not without you!” She squeezed his hoof. “When I said we were in this together, I meant it!”

Voices in panicked Zebrish called out down the hall.

“Back to your rooms, now!” Somepony screamed orders that came muffled through their door.

“I promise I’ll catch up with you outside the palace.” Blueblood tried to reassure her. “But I need you to trust me. Just this once.”

Trixie sniffed and shook her head. “You’re using my words against me. Bastard.”

“Please.” Blueblood took a step closer. “I trust you. Now I need you to trust me back.”

"Promise me," Trixie stared up at him, tears glittering in the pockets of her eyes. "Promise you won't die."

Blueblood was out of time and out of options. Before his terror at his own vulnerability could catch up with him, he pushed himself forward. He pressed his lips to Trixie’s cheek with a faint smack.

“I promise not to die.” He murmurred.

Trixie grabbed his shoulders, pulled him tight against her body, and kissed him back. Deeper than he had anticipated. Blueblood’s heart nearly snapped as she broke off their embrace.

“You’re an awful kisser by the way.” Trixie breathed out a sour laugh. “I’ll find you after we’ve got Cedar. We'll meet you outside Lineage Park. Promise me you’ll be there.”

“I promise.” Blueblood was in too deep to say anything else. He wiped his eyes and steeled himself. The second he said what he was thinking, he would put an irreconcilable crack in the indifferent armor he wore. He said them anyway. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Trixie managed an earnest smile. She gripped Chicory’s hoof and gave Blueblood a self-assured nod. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

And like that, they were gone.

Blueblood felt an odd sense of calm wash over him. He could hear the hooves barreling down the hallway, yet they felt so muted in his ears that they hardly mattered. Digging the ebon box out from beneath his bed, he levitated Pride from its velvet resting place and tucked its shards into the lining of his suit jacket. He felt safer knowing it was on his body.

Next, as voices at the door began to call his name, he trudged to the kitchen and poured himself a shot of whiskey. Blueblood downed it and felt its fire course through him. He needed every ounce of courage he could muster. He dipped the tip of his hoof in the bottle and dabbed drops of the liquor along his cheeks and neck. Breathing deeply, he grimaced. He reeked like a drunk.

The prince scattered the speech he had been preparing to the wind and grabbed a piece of parchment from the table. He needed to send a letter home, but he didn’t know the words. Closing his eyes, Blueblood knew there was only one thing he could say.

My dearest Auntie Celestia,

I’m sorry. I’ve failed you.

You will hear horrible things said about me. They’re all true. But know that above all, I did these things because they were my only—

“Prince Blueblood! Open this door!” A guttural voice shouted. Hooves were pounding against the wood. “We mean you no harm!”

Blueblood blotted out his last sentence.

But know that above all, I did these things because they were right.

Your favorite (and only) nephew,
Prince Vladimir Blueblood, First of His Name

The green blaze of dragonfire reflected in Blueblood’s eyes as his letter burned. There was only one thing left to prepare.

Blueblood ignored the battering sounds coming from the door, even though he could hear the wood beginning to splinter. He stared at his crown, running a hoof across its bejeweled surface. Tears misted his eyes as he realized that he would have to renounce it. Resting the silver band lightly on his brow, Blueblood readied himself to commit the unforgivable sin.

“Huh? Who’s there?” Blueblood slurred his voice, stepping to the door and kicking the chair aside. “Somepony looking for me?”

Almost instantly, three ponies staggered through the now open doorway. Two unicorns and an earthpony. Both unicorns had blades at their hips. The earthpony carried a musket slung around his body.

“Prince Blueblood of Equestria, I presume?” One of the unicorns, a dapper-looking fellow with a verdant coat approached the prince, his nostrils flaring at the smell of whiskey. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just a little.” Blueblood winked conspiratorially. “And you are?”

“Lieutenant Blitz Krieg of the 114th Celestial Dragoons.” He clicked his hooves together. “We’re here to protect you, your majesty.”

“Protect me?” Blueblood snorted. “Why?”

“As I’m sure you’ve noticed,” The other unicorn, dressed in full uniform with a stylistly pomaded mane, chimed in. “The palace is under attack.”

“Fairweather gave us explicit instructions to make sure you weren’t harmed.” Krieg smiled as warmly as an armed unicorn could. “We’re here to escort you and your friend to the Equestrian District.”

“Well, as you can see, she’s not here.” Blueblood shrugged and wiped his face with his sleeve. “She went out for something, I forget what. You can go back and tell Fairweather that I’ll be fine.”

Krieg reached into the pocket of his tunic and removed a pair of handcuffs. “Your majesty, we’re not asking. We have our orders. You can come back willingly, or in chains. Your choice.”

Blueblood stared at the cuffs, blinking slowly. “I’m sorry, I’ve had a lot to drink tonight, and I’m not quite sure I follow. What are you doing here?”

“We're setting things right." His conviction rang in every word. "We served with Fairweather from Mareocco to Zebrabwe.” Krieg stepped forward, his horn starting to shimmer. Blueblood noticed the faint glow forming around his blade. “We’ve seen what happens when rulers get too complacent. Sometimes, you need to move the world for harmony’s sake.”

Krieg paused and held out the cuffs towards Blueblood. “And the only way to change the world is through harmony. Sometimes, harmony just needs a little push.”

Blueblood glanced from one pony to the next, his glossy eyes seeming to weigh his odds. “Well, looks like I don’t have a choice.”

He sighed and slouched.

Krieg and the other ponies nodded to each other. The earthpony gestured to the door with his musket.

“But now you’ve got me thinking.” Blueblood shifted uncomfortably, shedding his jacket and stretching. “Is this,” He motioned vaguely towards the noise in the halls. “Is this harmony?”

“Prince Blueblood, we’re running on a very tight schedule.” Krieg was struggling to maintain his polite facade. “We really need to get you to—”

“Because I’ve heard a lot about how harmony can change the world.” Blueblood let his jacket hang in his hooves. “But see, I’m starting to think that’s not how it works.”

“Your majesty, I’m sure this is all very interesting, but—”

“Do you know what really changes the world?” Blueblood raised an eyebrow and grinned far too broadly. “C’mon, I’ll give you a hint! You ponies probably know it better than anypony in the world!”

Krieg screwed up his face and rubbed his temple with the tip of his hoof. “Fine. Tell us so we can move on with—”

Before he could finish, Blueblood threw his jacket toward the lieutenant and lit his horn. Twenty shards of meteoric platinum lanced from the fabric and nearly sliced Krieg to ribbons. His fellow soldier saved his life, managing to deflect most of the blade motes with a shimmering ward. Krieg staggered back, pressing against the wall in sudden terror as he looked down at the gash Blueblood had drawn across his chest.

The Prince’s blade coalesced around him, linking together into a single, tapering sword that flickered silver in the gloom. The carefully concocted image of a drunken noble burned away, leaving behind only the truth of who he was.

“There’s only one way to change the world.” Blueblood snarled hatefully. “Intentional, directed violence.”

In an instant, Krieg’s blade was out, burning a deep scarlet. “Applethorn, Cabernet, on me!”

The other unicorn, Applethorn, Blueblood supposed, flashed his sword and dashed into the fray. The Earthpony leveled his musket and began to stalk around the outskirts of the fight like a big game hunter tracking his prey. The two unicorns lunged and Blueblood danced backward, parrying their blows with well-practiced defenses.

“Think about what you’re doing, Blueblood!” Krieg shouted, shattering his blade and launching four shards downrange. “You’re betraying Celestia! You’re betraying Equestria herself!”

Blueblood swatted Krieg’s blade motes out of the air with the flat of his sword. All the politeness he had covered himself with for diplomatic purpose melted away, and for the first time in what felt like forever, his vitriol had a target.

“I’m not betraying Equestria,” Blueblood replied, ducking beneath a wide, arcing assault from Applethorn. “I’m betraying geldings like you.”

Blueblood’s eyes flickered to Cabernet, who had leveled his musket. Two fragments of Pride broke off and sliced across the carpet, lacerating the earthpony’s tendon. He screamed, fell to one side, and slapped the firing lever with a hoof that was already in motion. The bullet went wide, shattering a window with a crash.

“And I’ll tell you why.” Blueblood wove between Applethorns’ furious slashes before blocking an overhead blow from Krieg. Shattering the lieutenant’s snout with a headbutt, Blueblood pressed his advantage, harrying him with two swift thrusts that his comrade intercepted. “I’m doing it because I hate you.”

Cabernet had managed to slam another cartridge into his musket, clacked the barrel back together, and drew a bead on the prince. Blueblood whirled a shard in his direction, missed, and threw himself to the floor to avoid the follow-up shot. He waited for the sting of a bullet but felt none. Applethorn hammered him with a kick to the chest that sent him skittering. Shaking blood from his face, Krieg launched his blade motes in a deadly, glittering cloud. Blueblood reached with his magic and overturned the table to shield himself. The steel shards embedded themselves in the wood a heartbeat later. Applethorn vaulted the fallen table and pounced on Blueblood, who narrowly dodged the chop of his heavy sword.

“And I don’t just mean you personally.” Blueblood locked blades with Applethorn and rolled to his hooves. He was still fighting from a low crouch, and his foe was crushing him with their magical strength. “I hate everypony like you too.”

With a twist of his blade, Blueblood disengaged and let Applethorn’s momentum carry him forward. He staggered as he stepped into the prince’s guard, and Blueblood sprang to his hooves with a stroke of his blade. He felt it bite through cloth, then flesh, then tissue. Applethorn tried to scream, but it came out strangled. His eyes flickered downward to see Pride’s edge embedded in his gut.

“I hate you because I’m better than you.” Blueblood spat violently. “Petite bourgeois coming to Saddle Arabia to roleplay like you’re nobility!” He snorted with exertion as Applethorn gasped for air. “Pathetic!”

The prince left nothing to chance. He drew his blade deeper and tore it out in a spray of crimson. Applethorn lay disemboweled behind him as he scowled at the remaining two ponies.

Outrage at his comrade’s death overpowering his pain, Cabernet rose to his hooves with a roar, throwing himself at Blueblood and attempting to club him to death with his gun. Blueblood caught it on his blade, but the sheer strength behind the attack made his horn ring with feedback. Tearing his blade from the table, Krieg renewed his assault, swinging his sword like an axe. Blueblood twisted between them, whirling like he was on a dance floor in Canterlot, dodging, deflecting, and redirecting their fury.

“Play like princes all you want, but you’re nothing to me.” The prince split his blade in two as the soldiers struck from both sides. “You didn’t have a personal fencing tutor!”

Slapping aside a thrust from Krieg, Blueblood spun the twin halves of Pride around and thrust both behind him. Cabernet screamed in pain. Hot blood oozed onto Blueblood’s back. Rearing on his forelegs, he bucked the earthpony back and left him to bleed on the carpet.

Krieg aimed a thrust at Blueblood, who deftly parried it and closed the gap between them. He didn’t bother with his sword this time. He punched the lieutenant cleanly in the face, snapping his head back. Refusing to let his enemy recover, Blueblood pressed himself chest to chest with the unicorn, gripping him like they were partners in a waltz.

“You didn’t spend months learning every Canterlot dance by heart!” Krieg attempted to disengage, only for Blueblood to hip-check him and kick his hooves out from under him. Desperately, Krieg broke his blade and slung mote after mote at Blueblood, forcing him to retreat. The lieutenant forced himself to stand, scarlet dripping down his face as he recalled his shards and leveled his sword.

Blueblood breathed heavily, his lungs filled with the wet-penny scent of fresh blood. “You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as me.”

"Shut up." Krieg spat gore on the carpet.

The prince lunged, righteous fury surging with every prodding thrust and vicious slash. Meeting his aggression as best he could, Krieg blocked, dodged, and struck back with all the strength he could muster. It wasn’t enough. The soldier made a desperate thrust, but his aim was sloppy. Blueblood struck back before Krieg realized he had missed. Pride surged forth and caught the lieutenant under the chin. The point of the blade stabbed upwards, through the jaw, through the skull, until it had destroyed the unicorn’s subconscious.

Krieg’s body went slack, but his mind survived just long enough for Blueblood to whisper. “And you don’t deserve to rule.”

Retracting his blade, Blueblood let the body that had been Krieg fall to the floor. With a flourish, he cleaned the blood from his blade and exhaled slowly. There was no coming back from this. The Precocious Princeling’s Guide to Diplomatic Relations could not have been more explicit in its condemnation. Yet here he was, fighting against his own people for the sake of a foreign power. Blueblood reached up to touch his crown, reassuring himself that it hadn’t vanished the second he drew his blade. Celestia was sure to revoke his claim to the throne for this.

He was a prince no longer.

Leaving his titles scattered among the bodies on the floor, Blueblood took a deep breath and pushed forward. Trixie and Chicory were going right into the teeth of the enemy. He intended to give them a diversion. Blade at the ready, Blueblood sprinted through the hall towards the sound of gunshots.

Descending the steps from the Diplomatic wing, Blueblood was greeted by a scene of chaos. Injured and dead horses had been left where they fell, the ones still alive groaning and clutching their wounds. The 114th had already moved on, cutting a bloody swath through the palace. Blueblood trotted over black and white checkered floors, turning off at a fork to enter the section of the palace where Sandalwood had been sequestered.

The splintering of a door greeted him as soon as he clambered up the carpeted stairs. Two ponies, an earthpony and a pegasus, were already in the process of dragging one of the Caliph’s advisors out of her bedroom. She screamed as she was forced to her knees and the Earthpony leveled his musket at the back of her head.

Blueblood didn’t have time to think. Five shards of his blade sailed forth, one of them embedding itself in the muzzle of the gun. When the firing lever was slapped, it backfired, lacerating the earthpony’s shoulder as he frantically grasped the wound. The pegasus whirled on Blueblood, throwing the advisor to the side in a choking, sobbing heap as she flapped her wings and sped toward her assailant.

Two more shards attempted to clip the pegasus’ wings, but she had slammed into Blueblood before he had a chance to see if they connected. A punch flattened the former prince, snapping him back until he collided with the wall. Blueblood pirouetted to one side, narrowly avoiding a steel-edged wing that raked the drywall he’d leaned on.

“We need backup here!” The pegasus sounded the alarm. Another slashing wing caught Blueblood’s foreleg, cutting deep enough to draw both blood and a scream from him. He swung his blade, but his foe was quick. She dropped low and peppered him with body shots until his midsection was covered in bruises. Blueblood staggered back, gasping for air and trying to ready his sword, but the pegasus refused to let him breathe. She moved like a yellow blur, nearly severing his head with a sweep of her wing. Blueblood managed to backstep quickly enough to avoid it, the breeze of its passing like ice on his throat.

A brief glance down the hall showed that the earthpony was back on his hooves, and a unicorn had returned to assist them. Blueblood couldn’t let them overwhelm him. As the pegasus swung again, Blueblood weathered her punch and barrelled into her full force, wrapping both hooves around her midsection and tackling her to the floor. Blueblood locked his knees into her sides and pinned her in place, raining down hoof blows against her guard. The blade motes he had hurled returned to him, and Blueblood thrust all seven of them through his enemy’s chest. She retched and stiffened as he ripped them out again, rolling off of her just in time to put a marble pillar between himself and an incoming sweep of orange flame.

The advisor, a cream-colored horse with a braided black mane, put both her hooves over her head and cried prayers to the sun and moon. Blueblood caught his breath, hot air scalding his lungs and making him cough. He looked down at his foreleg. The cut wasn’t terrible. It stung horrifically, but he would live.

Throwing himself back into the fight, Blueblood was met with a punch from the injured earthpony that utterly flattened him. He hit the floor, gasping as the air was forced from his lungs. He rolled over the scarlet rug and slid on the blood-slick tile before finally skidding to a stop. Finding his balance, Blueblood looked up to see the earthpony already thundering toward him like a hurricane.

Two motes of Pride embedded themselves in the mat. Mustering all of his magical strength, Blueblood yanked the rug out from under the approaching pony, staggering him just enough for Blueblood to meet his charge with a sweep of his blade. He struck well. Blueblood heard the pony's heavy corpse hit the floor hard. His head followed seconds later.

No time to celebrate. Three bolts of bright green magical energy streaked through the hall, the unicorn at the other end content to approach at a leisurely walk as they wove spells with their shimmering horn. Their black jacket billowed around them as they swept their hoof and bathed the hall in rolling fire.

With twelve shards, Blueblood forged a staircase above the blaze, barely breaking his sprint as he vaulted over the incoming assault. He shattered the rest of his blade and showered the battlemage below with eight shards of meteoric platinum. The unicorn barely flinched as they threw out a ward to protect themselves, retaliating with a sweeping blast of invisible force that cut Blueblood down right as he landed. Blueblood was crushed against a stone pillar, the gash on his foreleg spurting blood. He reached for Pride with his magic, but the unicorn intercepted his spell. Their eyes looked utterly bored as they approached the former prince, lightning flickering at the tip of their horn.

“It really is a pity.” They said with a lazy, Appleoosan drawl. “Prince of Equestria throwin’ it all away like this.”

They leveled a hoof at his chest like a damning accusation. Enough electricity coursed through their limb that Blueblood could feel it in the air. It smelled horribly of burning hair. With his connection to his sword severed Blueblood had only one option. He slithered out of his necktie looped it around the unicorn’s throat before drawing it as tight he he could. Their spell broke as they choked and gasped for air. Strangulation was hardly an elegant way to break a spell, but Blueblood had to take what he could get.

Pride reformed on its way back to him, and Blueblood cut a wide crescent in front of him. The Unicorn slipped his grip, but not enough to avoid Blueblood’s real target: their horn. Blueblood managed to cleave a chunk out of the bony protrusion, and an outpouring of magic shoved him backward. The battlemage shrieked bloody murder, clutching their skull and retching with pain. Without their spells, Blueblood’s sword made quick work of them. The hallway was quiet aside from the murmurings of the advisor he had saved.

“Go,” Blueblood commanded, gesturing for the horse to leave the way he had come. “Hide somewhere in the diplomatic wing. They think it’s been secured.”

She nodded, too shaken for words, and tore off through the halls like a bullet.

Blueblood’s gashed foreleg hurt to put weight on. The bruises along his sides were throbbing in time with his heartbeat as he cleaned his blade once more and prepared to press on. He could already hear commotion deeper in the wing as the word spread. Someone was flanking them. Send backup.

Rounding the corner, Blueblood pressed himself into a dimly lit alcove beside a stairway, just in time for a platoon of ten soldiers of the 114th to jog past his hiding place.

"Damn it, they're dead!" Somepony yelled from the previous hall. "Shit! You told us he was just a prince!"

"Search these rooms! He couldn't have gone far!"

Blueblood ascended the staircase and found himself standing in a hall of Sarabian history. Grand tapestries hung from the walls, separated by gorgeous stained glass windows that cast the tile floors in a moonlit rainbow. The rise of Arfaj the prophet, the first and second Unification Wars, the Seige of Sutaf, and the surrender of the last jackal warlord lined his path. He breathed heavily as he tried to avoid putting weight on his injured hoof. Every time he stepped on it, a jolt of pain made him grunt and grit his teeth.

“Blueblood.” A coldly familiar voice echoed from the opposite end of the hall. Illuminated in the prismatic glow was Captain, standing there as rigid as inevitability. Her leaden coat was splotched with blood that was not her own. Her blade dripped with ichor, every drop echoing through the silent hall. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Captain.” Blueblood’s voice came out weaker than he would have liked. “Call this off. We don’t have the right—”

“We have every right.” She interrupted. “You had your chance. You rejected it.” Her blade glowed a burnt bronze color as she took a single, decisive step toward him. “Now leave. Go back to Equestria. Your presence is no longer required.”

“And if I refuse?”

You’ll return to Equestria in a body bag.” Captain said the words as if they were already fact. Her eyes landed on Blueblood’s blade. “What’s her name?”

“Pride.” Blueblood pointed with the tip of his sword.

“Fitting.” If it was meant to be derisive, her tone didn’t betray it. She spun her own blade in the dark, feeling its weight fondly. “Her name is Abnegation.”

Blueblood inhaled sharply. “May I ask why?”

“No.” Another step forward. Her hoofbeat seemed to echo forever. “I am not a mare of words.”

Blueblood shifted his weight off his bad leg and readied his blade. His promise not to die weighed heavy on his mind.

He had never been terribly good at keeping promises.