The Princess's Speech

“BAR THE DOORS!”

You hear the words from the chamber a second before the doors slam shut before you with a boom. Even though it is tradition—symbolic of the Equestrian Parliament’s independence from the Crown—it jars you.

Even Rainbow Dash, wearing her Royal Flying Forces dress uniform, and commanding your escort, is set on edge by the scripted disrespect. She takes up her position next to the doors, the armor-clad bodyguard of your Household Cavalry—Earth Ponies, Unicorns, Pegasi, and now Thestrals—guarding you from all sides.

Applejack steps forward, into her role. She raises the silver rod held over her gowned shoulder, the six-pointed star at its top a reflection of your mark.

She strikes the door three times with the rod. Three loud cracks echo.

The doors open, and you peer inside as Applejack enters in your stead.

“WHITE ROD!” comes a call from inside.

You stand patiently outside as Applejack bows, first at the Bar of the House, and then before the Speaker’s rostrum.

“Mister Speaker,” Applejack says in her most formal voice, “Her Majesty requests that this Honourable House—“ she pauses to bow twice, to the Prime Minister, and to the Leader of the Opposition, “—permit her to enter, and address the Members from the Throne.”

”Ay, hope you brought a book, this’ll be a snoozer.”

The chamber chuckles, and you almost do. It’s a jape from Longhammer, the blunt-spoken, curmudgeonly ex-miner, Member for Horsover, beloved by his constituents, who has made such jests for the last thirty Speeches.

Apparently, he knows your reputation too.

”Granted,” says the Speaker, as the chuckles die down and formality fills the Chamber.

You watch as the Sergeant-at-Arms, a large Earth Pony, removes the massive gold mace, symbol of the Parliament, from the front of the rostrum, hoists it effortlessly on his shoulder, and walks to the side next to the Speaker’s dais. Applejack lays the thin silver rod—representing your authority, representing you—in its place, turns about, and gives you a subtle nod.

You enter and ascend to the Throne, cleverly placed above the doors of the horseshoe-shaped Parliament Chamber, so that the Crown never crosses the Bar of the House.

You sit silently, as your attendants drape the train of your gown to the side.

You see everyone, the members below and the dignitaries above in the galleries, all standing, all eyes upon you.

You swallow nervously, then hope no one saw that.

You watch as Fluttershy bows before the Prime Minister, accepting the jeweled purse containing the speech with the Government’s legislative priorities for this session. The PM wrote it, but with the Crown’s—your—input, to avoid partisanship, boasting, or blame-casting, which a good Monarch, she taught you, must avoid. But Prime Minister Starwish seemed to know this, and you made few notes on his draft, all of which he accepted.

Fluttershy flies up to you, and presents the purse with a bow. You open it with magic, and draw out the text, printed in a booklet of thick vellum parchment and large type.

You check the subtle version mark on the cover… before you realize everyone is still standing!

You quickly engage the Royal Canterlot Voice, and say, “My friends, pray be seated.”

The entire chamber sits.

In the gallery, you see the unmistakable form of Yona—a yak, former pupil, your friend—and five other students from your former School of Friendship.

With their new Headmistress.

Of course she came. Of course she brought her best students.

“You got this,” you see Starlight Glimmer mouthing the words, and they restore your soul.

You take a deep breath, assuming the role she had chosen you for, all those years ago.

”Mister Speaker, Members, and Friends—“ you begin, “It is mindful of the legacy of service and devotion set by my predecessor, Princess Emeritus Celestia, that I deliver this, the first Princess’ Speech of a new monarch. I pray the years ahead may be kind to us.”

There is no applause; there never is.

”Though our late War against three of Equestria’s most powerful enemies ended in victory, the rifts in our society they exposed remain deep, and troubling. My Government will work to rebuild and strengthen this land—not only buildings and monuments, but our institutions, our society, our alliances, and the trust of our peoples.”

Peoples. An awkward term, but it works.

And so it goes, for the next twenty-five minutes.

You read carefully, enunciating, without any hint of fear or favor from the Crown, from the Throne, from you.

“Tapping additional funds for public works.”

“New legal frameworks” to help integrate the Thestrals into all areas of society.

Expansion of rail service to Yakyakistan, Kirinya, and the Dragonlands, “to deepen our ties with these, our neighbors.”

A “forward-looking defence and security review” meant to “encourage public confidence” and “gain, and keep, the trust of our allies.”

As quickly as the Speech began, you come to the traditional conclusion.

“Estimates of public revenues and expenses shall be provided, and other measures may be laid before you.” Parliament getting its Power of the Purse, and the traditional catch-all in case something unexpected happens.

You pause, but stifle your relief.

“My blessings be upon you in your counsels.”

You close the booklet, and return it to the purse that Fluttershy holds out.

All stand, again. Your attendants unfurl your gown as you descend, shielding you as you depart.

Rainbow Dash renders a smart salute as you pass, then moves forward to command the soldiers escorting you, setting them marching along and around you and your friends. You hear Applejack and Fluttershy’s distinctive steps behind you and your long royal train.

You turn to your ladies-in-waiting. Pinkie Pie is trying her hardest not to bounce, yet you can’t help but see the spring in her steps.

“Same time next year, Darling?” you hear Rarity whisper.

You allow yourself a smile as you walk back towards the Robing Room, where you can finally take off the Crown, and become just Twilight Sparkle.

Until next year, anyway.