One Thousand and One Neighs

by Drakkanien
edited by a friend

It wasn’t easy being a Prince. Contrary to what the common pony might think, the lives of Canterlot royalty were dictated by a strict schedule and unyielding protocol. Every waking moment - even morning routines, meals, and leisure - was seamlessly intertwined with affairs of state. To be a royal was to surrender privacy and have almost no time for oneself.

Which is why Blueblood always took full advantage of these rare moments.

“… latest delivery from the cellar. We’re a bit short on brut champagnes, not surprising given their popularity with the guests.” Raven Inkwell was saying from her corner of Blueblood’s chamber. As usual, she was half-submerged in her notes, a faint smudge of ink was on her cheek where she’d absentmindedly brushed her quill tip. She didn’t seem to notice it.

“Not like any of these moths will know the difference.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Keep some of the brut for the important guests, and send out some less popular bottles.”

Raven didn’t reply, but he heard her scribbling furiously in her notepad.

Prince Blueblood leaned back in his seat, legs stretched out comfortably, while his Royal Valet de Chambre fussed around him with various brushes, tiny scissors, and bottles of ointment and perfume, all gliding deftly in the skilled hooves of his. The feeling of such dedicated, skilled grooming was blissfully relaxing; he could almost feel his worries slipping away in the comforting rhythm of his Valet’s perfected motions.

“... guest list.” Raven droned on, shuffling more papers. “Though it may not be wise to invite both…”

He heard hooves approaching and, from the gait alone, knew it was Lavender. After a murmured whisper, Raven’s chatter stopped with an audible snap of her jaws.

Now, silence reigned, broken only by the quiet hums of the Valet, the snip of scissors, and the faint spritz of a cologne spray. After a moment, the valet stood back, and with a pleased sigh asked, “Ve touch ze hoofs today, oui?” His accent was thickly Prench, an exotic thing he had never tried to hide. It gave him an aura of authenticity and helped secure his place at Canterlot’s court. That, and he was a master of his craft.

“Yes, yes, just a simple trim and file, nothing fancy.” Blueblood murmured, half-submerged in the relaxed spell of the grooming once more.

The valet replied with a brisk: “Immédiatement!” then set to work, carefully choosing fine-tipped tools to shear and smooth the excess from the Prince’s hooves. The gentle scratching and grinding sounds soon lulled him, until the valet wrapped one of Blueblood’s hind hooves in a warm, wet towel and moved on to the other.

“Oh là là!” The valet’s voice, full of surprise, shattered the serenity of the groom, making Blueblood open his eyes in slight alarm. He glanced down, noticing that the valet had donned a jeweller's loupe over one eye, his expression focused as he inspected something embedded in the Prince’s hoof.

Blueblood cleared his throat, trying to get his valet’s attention, but instead managed to catch this of Raven’s and Lavender’s, and the two mares turned to him, ceasing their gossiping.

“What is it?” Blueblood asked, impatience clear in his tone as he wiggled his hoof in front of the valet’s face.

The valet didn’t respond immediately but instead secured the leg in a stand, pulling out a pair of sturdy metal tweezers from his ‘torturer kit’. “Zere is a shard in ‘is ‘oof, right where ze sabot connects. Should it not ‘ave been itching, non?”

Truthfully, his hoof had itched for days, though he’d thought it would simply go away on its own.

“Ow!” Blueblood yelped as the valet prodded the sore spot with his tweezers, and Raven and Lavender jumped back, startled. The Prince would have kicked if his leg weren’t immobilised.

“Hm, yes, it ‘urts, non?” The valet asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer. “Mesdames, ‘old ze Prince still. I will extract - no kicking! Or it will ‘urt more, eh?”

Before Blueblood could protest, both mares had moved in, firmly bracing their hooves against him, their Earth Pony heritage evident now more than ever. The valet snapped his tweezers with a sharp, almost threatening click.

“I don’t like this…” Blueblood mumbled, his earlier sense of calm entirely gone, replaced by growing unease.

None of them responded, too focused on their task. After a moment, Blueblood felt a tingling at the itchy spot as the valet grasped the shard. The tingling turned to discomfort, and then to sharp pain as he began to pull.

“Prince, do not kick! Ze hoof, it is swollen - it will ‘urt, but less once ze shard is extracted, oui?” Lavender and Raven pressed harder against him, holding him steady as the valet continued to work.

There was another sharp tug, and then, suddenly, the pain was gone, replaced by a hollow sense of relief as the strange pressure vanished. Blueblood took a shaky breath, noticing now how just sweaty he was.

“There, there…” Lavender cooed, her tone soothing as always. She pressed a cold, damp cloth to his face, wiping away beads of sweat.

“Oh là là, such a lot of blood!” The valet exclaimed, holding the bloodied tweezers over a tray, where something heavy fell with a metallic clang. “I am amazed ze Prince could stand on zat ‘oof at all!”

Blood?

Blueblood suddenly felt weak. As Lavender and Raven loosened their hold, he leaned forward to examine the tray. The valet was carefully rinsing the wound with warm water, but Blueblood’s eyes were drawn to the tray, where a shard of dark purple crystal, over an inch long, lay gleaming amidst specks of blood. His blood.

The sight made him queasy, and before he knew it, the Prince’s vision darkened as he slumped back into his seat, the world fading to black.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The grand events held in Canterlot Castle’s gardens were prestigious affairs, attracting ponies of importance, those who thought themselves important, and those aspiring to become so. This was, after all, their chance to mingle in the vicinity of Equestrian royalty - an opportunity that, for some miraculous reason, seemed to elevate one’s standing among their peers.

Tonight, the section of the garden selected for the event was set amid lily patches and around an ancient oak tree, a favourite spot of Princess Celestia. It was open enough to host festivities, with just enough bushes and flowers scattered around to make navigating the scene more ‘exciting’. After all, no pony would dare stumble over and crush one of the Princess’s chosen blooms.

But, as with all gatherings of this kind, there was one universal problem: they were often terribly boring.

It wasn’t the activities, music, or food at fault; they were all impeccable. Tonight, a group of young artists from the Canterlot Art Academy had been hoof-picked and tasked with creating live pieces under the scrutinising eyes of the mighty and wealthy. Each artist tried their best to impress, hoping to win the patronage that could change their lives. Though some were visibly nervous, occasionally sloppy, that hardly mattered. The art itself was merely the backdrop for the evening’s real purpose: socialising of the privileged. At the end of the event, each student’s work, whatever its state, would be auctioned off, with proceeds going to some charitable cause.

The music was stellar. While a number of talented ponies had taken the stage throughout the evening, now only a single mare remained in the spotlight - her charcoal-grey fur gleamed in low light and a sweeping, dark mane brushed to perfection was like a veil obscuring her features. She was playing a cello taller than herself, and with such mastery that ponies - guests and staff alike - paused just to listen. The drawn-out notes pulled at everypony’s heartstrings, drowning their worries and making them forget, if only for a moment, about the cruel world around them. Blueblood made a mental note to send a bouquet and a bottle of champagne her way after the performance.

The Prince himself did his best to avoid what he found dull about these parties: the guests and sycophants who had managed to smuggle their way inside. No pony ever had anything original to say. They were all overly careful not to step on any hooves, and this utter lack of backbone was what irritated him most. He was only met with recycled gossip, empty compliments he’d heard a hundred times, or polite, mundane chatter leading nowhere. Like his dear aunt, he craved excitement, a hint of intrigue - anything to break this spell of monotony. Alas, nothing of the sort seemed likely to occur tonight.

With a resigned sigh, Prince Blueblood turned to his martini, took a sip and a lick of salt, his pale blue eyes scanning the crowd. He knew he shouldn’t drink after this morning’s incident, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze soon landed on another group of ponies approaching his secluded spot. He groaned inwardly, reasoning in his mind that he’d already done his share of socialising for the night. Steeling himself, he set his expression to a mask of polite neutrality, preparing for the inevitable.

In the approaching group, Blueblood spotted Chancellor Neighsay walking side-by-side with Perplexity, who looked as though she had enjoyed a bit too much of the fruit punch. She leaned heavily against the Chancellor, her steps a little unsteady as her wings occasionally flared, making his task of propping her up… challenging, to say the least.

Unfortunately, Blueblood’s attention was pulled away as the first wave of sycophants reached him. They shuffled their hooves nervously, whispering and chuckling among themselves. Blueblood resisted the urge to roll his eyes and turned to face them, already eager to be done with this latest bout of dull flattery.

His senses were soon overwhelmed by their idle chatter and choking scent of their expensive perfumes.

“Oh, Your Highness!” Sne mare started, her voice a shrill, flashing an overly bright smile his way. “You simply must tell me where you have that exquisite bow tie made. Only you could carry off such refinement, really!”

Another stallion leaned in, nodding earnestly. “Indeed, and I must say, Your Highness, you have an impeccable eye for fashion. It’s no wonder you represent our kingdom’s elegance with such finesse.”

“Yes, indeed!” Chimed in a mare from the back. “And, I heard your insights into the Manehattan expansion project were brilliant - I simply must hear more. It’s such a privilege to hear about Equestria’s inner workings from a prince himself…”

“Yes, yes.” Another sycophant interjected, raising his voice to be heard over the others. “And if there’s anything you require assistance with, Your Highness, anything at all - why, I would be most honoured to offer my own humble services…”

Blueblood’s ears began to itch as they spouted such empty words of praise. He loathed this ritual, yet shooing them off was out of the question. Some of these sycophants, with their questionable morals, were children, nieces, or distant relations of truly influential figures - the kind of ponies whose favour, even the Prince of Equestria, would rather keep.

With a thoughtful hum, he listened to their babble, nodding along and giving inconclusive responses that left his audience oddly satisfied. His torment finally came to an end as Neighsay and Perplexity pushed to the front, panting slightly from their effort.

“My Prince.” The Chancellor greeted, using his orange-hued magic to lift Perplexity with his spell and put her on a nearby chair. She gave a small, cute ‘Eeee!’ and lazily flapped her wings before being unceremoniously set down with a soft grunt. “There is a certain… delicate matter we need to discuss.”

“And what that may be?” Blueblood had a very good idea what this may be all about.

The sycophants, appeased by their round of flattery, began settling in comfortably around the arbour. Servants swarmed in to arrange small tables, drinks, and snacks, making the Prince’s private spot a hub of activity, much to his displeasure. He’d been hoping for a quiet end to his evening.

Neighsay studied him with the practised eye of a seasoned courtier, attempting to see past the Prince’s polite mask. After a moment, he let out a defeated sigh. Between the two, Blueblood was by far the shrewder player at court.

“It’s been several days since Lady Ahrisham was confined to her chambers.” Neighsay began, adjusting his cravat. “And yet there has been no movement on the Saddle Arabian proposal to ransom her.”

True enough - several scrolls and letters had arrived in Blueblood’s office bearing that request, and he had ordered Lavender to burn all of them on sight.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, esteemed Chancellor.” Blueblood replied coolly, with a subtle venom to his words. Perplexity, even in her tipsy state, recognized this suitability in his tone, her ears flicking back as she gestured for Neighsay to drop the subject. He promptly ignored her.

Coughing into his hoof, the Chancellor continued: “Is that so, my Prince? I seem to recall personally overseeing the translation and ironing out nuances of a few of those letters before they were delivered to you.”

Blueblood grimaced and his eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed. He turned to Neighsay, giving him a glare as he let out a sharp huff through his nostrils. “You’re overstepping your bounds, Chancellor.” He replied, pronouncing the title in a way that made it sound like an insult.

“Am I?” Neighsay pressed, undeterred. Blueblood had always admired the Chancellor’s boldness and brash attitude. But it was only a good thing to witness from afar. Now he was beginning to understand how aggravating it could be to find oneself on its receiving end.

Blueblood grumbled, feeling an unpleasant itch intensify in his bandaged hind hoof as his heartbeat quickened with agitation.

“Why are you so insistent on meddling in this… affair?” His voice trembled with barely contained emotion, his perfect and calm mask slipping for a moment.

“Because I care deeply about Equestria’s reputation on the international stage, sire.” Neighsay took a sharp breath. “And right now, you are staining it.”

Blueblood said nothing, averting his gaze with a low, angered rumble. Yet he couldn’t ignore the truth in Neighsay’s words.

“I understand taking time to weigh options, seek counsel, or even drag negotiations to pressure the other side.” The Chancellor tapped his hoof with each point. “But here, we have nothing to gain by waiting and everything to lose.

Blueblood had no immediate reply. After a long, uncomfortable pause, he finally exhaled heavily, muttering, “My aunt has set you to it, hasn’t she?” It was not a question so much as a statement disguised as one.

The Prince didn’t bother to hide his frustration. A scowl twisted his otherwise handsome features, and he narrowed his eyes in a dangerous manner. Once more, he - Celestia’s own nephew - found himself but a pawn in her endless game.

Chancellor Neighsay averted his gaze, coughing a few times as if to clear his throat. He was never any good at lying. Now, as he struggled to find an excuse, beads of sweat began to gather on his brow, making his discomfort painfully obvious.

“Pah, I already know the answer, Chancellor.” The Prince hissed, his displeasure clear.

The music, the distant murmur of conversations, and the surprisingly theatrical snore reached their ears as Prince and Chancellor glared at one another, neither speaking a word. Finally, when the tension was nearly unbearable, Blueblood sighed.

“What is their proposal?”

Neighsay invited Blueblood with an inclination of his head towards the table where Perplexity was just… napping. Her head was atop the table, resting on her folded hooves, her breathing slow and even. Yet her ears remained poised, twitching and swivelling around, almost as if they had a mind on their own, independent to their owner, aligning themselves to every noise, every conversation taking place nearby.

Both stallions took their seats, only for a server to promptly appear at their side. Blueblood dismissed her with a wave of his hoof - they wanted to chat, not drink.

“She’s such a lightweight.” Neighsay murmured, glancing at Perplexity. With a sigh, he unclasped his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. Perplexity shivered slightly at the touch but quickly snuggled into the purple cloth, muttering something incoherent to herself.

Leaning close enough to avoid being overheard, Neighsay continued. “There’s no one in Ahrisham’s entourage with enough grasp of Equestrian to negotiate directly. Her servants can hardly communicate beyond a few words.”

His breath smelled of champagne.

Blueblood nodded slowly. The Saddle Arabians seemed painfully out of place in Equestria, unacquainted with its language and customs… all except one. A single mare had spoken their tongue so perfectly that she hadn’t even a trace of an accent. The thought of her alone - of their strange encounter - sent a shiver down his spine. The memory of her slitted, golden, snake-like eyes that he saw for just a single moment, stirred something deeply uneasy within him. He shook his head, dispelling the thought.

“Does that mean she plans to negotiate her own release?” He asked, his voice strangely unsteady - a shift that caught Neighsay off guard.

“Yes, it appears so.” The Chancellor nodded. “In at least two separate messages Lady Ahrisham requested a personal audience with you, sire.”

Prince Blueblood grumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt trapped, as if the walls were closing in, squeezing the life and will from him. He was running out of excuses and connections to delay what was beginning to feel inevitable.

It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to. With a weary sigh, he slumped back against his chair, swirling his long-forgotten martini in the pale blue grip of his magic. One last olive floated in it, catching his eye.

Without much thought, he raised the glass to his lips and downed the whole thing, chewing the olive thoroughly. Its savoury, briny taste balanced the martini’s dry bite.

But even that small comfort failed to ease his mind.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The event stretched well into the night, Luna’s Moon now drifting past its zenith, beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. There were still a few hours of darkness left, just enough for Blueblood to shut his eyes for a brief nap. It wouldn’t be a full, restful sleep, but it would be better than nothing.

Stifling a mighty yawn, Prince Blueblood headed toward the castle, accompanied by nothing but his own thoughts. Around him, servants bustled through the gardens, tidying away all traces of the party as quickly as possible. A small group stood around a bush of white lilies, crushed after somepony had stumbled through it. They attempted to prop up the bent stems with sticks, to straighten the delicate leaves, though their efforts were in vain - it was evident that the plant would wither.

Blueblood’s eyes flicked toward a cart laden with leftover bottles of liquor. For a fleeting moment, he fancied grabbing a bottle of something strong to ease him into slumber… but a queasy feeling in his stomach told him it was a bad idea. He shook his head and continued on.

As the official host of the evening, Blueblood was the last to leave, having seen off each important guest with proper farewells. It lifted his spirits a bit, the praise of truly influential ponies did wonders for his ego, no matter how honest it truly was.

The walk to his chambers blurred past in a sleepy haze, his hooves guiding him on their own. By the time he arrived, he was so drowsy he barely registered his surroundings and almost smacked horn-first into his own door.

His unceremonious entrance startled Lavender awake. She blinked at him, her eyes bleary from sleep, though he lacked the energy to scold her for dozing off on the job, especially since he’d been out for most of the night. Mumbling a vague, uncharacteristic for himself greeting combined with wishes of good night, he stumbled to his bed and let himself fall face-first onto its plush, welcoming surface. The warmth of the blankets and the gentle, comforting scent around him helped lull him further.

Before he knew it, Prince Blueblood had already drifted into the land of dreams.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

He didn’t know how long he’d been wandering through these wastelands. Days? Months? Years? Minutes…? Time seemed to love tangibility here. Then, he saw it!

The Light.

It was everywhere, consuming his vision, his senses, his entire being. He felt it all around him, touching his fur, seeping through his skin, and reaching his very core. It felt… cool, yet not unpleasant.

It was good. It made him feel whole.

He wanted more.

He craved nothing but to be one with the Light.

To merge. To be a part of it.

Then he blinked, and it was gone… No, not gone. It was still there, but a distant speck, a thin strand piercing the dark horizon above the wasteland.

He yearned to follow it, to join it. Now and forever! All he had to do was begin the journey.

But before he could lift a hoof and take that first, decisive step, a hiss sounded from behind him.

He knew this hiss.

Whirling around, he saw it. He saw HER.

A mare with no name, fur like desert sand and a purple snake coiled around her neck. Her eyes were golden, her pupils slitted like those of her pet, staring directly into his.

As he glanced downward, he saw the serpent’s fangs sunk into the mare’s neck, where thin rivulets of venom and blood seeped from the wound, trickling down her chest and dripping to the ground.

He couldn’t look away; he could only stare. Their gazes joined.

He wanted to recoil, to flee. His hooves felt like lead, heavy, unresponsive.

He wanted to scream, to plead. But his jaw was locked shut, unable to produce even a whimper.

Why was she here? Was she trying to stop him? To haunt him? Why?

The mare and her serpent seemed to inch closer, not walking but simply growing in his vision, filling his senses with dread, fear unlike any he experienced before, until…

“ENOUGH!”

A voice cut through the darkness, shattering the dream into a thousand pieces.

A dream… yes. Somehow, Blueblood had known all along that this was a dream, though he only now managed to grasp it fully. Until this moment, he’d lacked the clarity to think, he could only to experience.

Breathing heavily, he looked around, scanning his ‘surroundings’. He was in a vast emptiness, neither warm nor cold, with tiny sparks floating all around. Each spark was no bigger than a grape, though as they drifted closer, they seemed to swell, growing in size. He could barely see a flicker of movement within them, but before he could focus on any single wisp, he heard the gentle rustle of feathers.

He didn’t need to turn to know just who it was.

“Luna.” He greeted the Princess of the Night, his tone casual.

True to his words, the midnight-blue Alicorn soon emerged from the infinite expanse, flying overhead in a wide arc. Her form blended elegantly with the vastness around her. She seemed energised, more powerful than he’d ever seen her, almost… frightening. This was her domain, after all - she was the impartial ruler of dreams.

“Prince Blueblood.” She replied, her voice formal as she regarded him coolly with her teal eyes. With a soft clop, she landed in front of him, flapping her wings once, a subtle scent of moonflowers drifting toward him as she folded them neatly at her sides. “You were experiencing a nightmare. We… decided to intervene.”

His… nightmare? Yes, it certainly was one. The mere memory of the Saddle Arabian mare’s snake-like eyes sent a cold shiver down his spine, making him forget nearly everything else about the dream.

A strange sense of déjà vu settled over him as he wracked his brain, trying to remember. It felt as if he had experienced this - or something similar - before.

Shaking his head, he turned to Luna and spoke in a defiant tone. “While I thank you for your timely arrival, it was nothing I couldn’t handle myself.” He assured her, puffing out his chest. “Just a little bad dream.”

“A little bad dream, you say?” Luna echoed, the corners of her lips curling into a smirk. “Shall I refrain from intervening next time you suffer one?” Though her tone remained formal, there was a smug, teasing edge to it.

It took Blueblood a moment to grasp what she was implying, and when he did, he panicked.

“W-wait, no!” He stammered, taking a step back, his ears flattening against his skull.

The sound of Luna’s melodious laughter filled the void, making his ears burn with embarrassment. She was laughing at him.

“Blueblood.” Luna began, finally stifling her laughter as she looked him in the eye. “I will overlook your request to stay away from your nightmares, but only this time.”

That was a relief.

“But while we are on the subject - what made you so… terrified?”

As he blinked, Blueblood realised they were no longer in the vast, starlit emptiness. Instead they found themselves in a cosy-looking chamber, warmed by a crackling fireplace with two comfortable pillows laid out before it. The scent of burning cedar filled the air, soothing him further. Before he even fully finished the thought, he was resting atop one of the pillows, allowing his shaky legs to rest. He didn’t question how his body could feel so weak within a dream.

“I… don’t fully know.” He admitted, feeling strangely willing to share his thoughts. He noticed that Luna, now seated on the other pillow, had removed her shoes and let out a tired sigh. She was looking into the fire, though one of her ears remained aimed right at him.

It was strange, sitting together like this with Princess Luna. She was his aunt, just as Celestia was - he shared blood with them both. Yet, he had never felt the same warmth or connection with Luna as he did with Celestia; their interactions were always polite but tense.

But not tonight. Tonight they were almost familiar.

“Why don’t you try describing it to me?” Luna suggested, somehow now holding a steaming mug of coffee in her magic, the words #1 Princess printed across it.

He turned his gaze toward the flames, watching their orange flickers dance across the split logs, and took a soft breath. “I… I will try.”

Only when he finished retelling his dream did Blueblood realise how much of it had already slipped away from him. What he’d expected to recall as a lengthy, terrifying story had dwindled into fragments - mostly centred around that haunting pair of golden eyes. It was… disappointing and frustrating.

“It’s not uncommon for the mind to discard a dream’s details.” Luna offered in a comforting tone, bringing her mug to her lips for a hearty sip. “Most ponies forget them mere moments after waking up.”

“But it was so vivid.” Blueblood protested. “And besides, I’m still dreaming!” He added with a pout, only to find a sugar cookie pressed against his lips by Luna’s magic. Though the gesture was a bit forceful, he had to admit - the cookie was quite good.

“Are you?” Luna asked playfully, quirking one eyebrow. “One dream has already ended, and another has begun. But right now you’re as close to lucidity as a pony asleep can be.”

Blueblood clamped his muzzle shut. To be honest, he didn’t really understand dream magic. Arguing with Luna - an authority on dreams - was pointless.

“I don’t know, and I hate it.” He muttered, chewing on the cookie and wiping his mouth with a fetlock. “But I’m certain of one thing: this wasn’t the first time I’ve had this dream.”

Luna gave him a questioning look.

“I-I can’t explain it, but… I just have a feeling.”

“And yet all you remember is the glare of the snake's eyes.” She observed.

“I know who they belong to.” He retorted, more annoyed at himself and his faulty memory than at Luna’s comments.

“The soothsayer, yes.” Luna nodded, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Perplexity was quite thorough when she reported your fixation with her. And yet… no pony but you has mentioned ‘snake eyes’ on her.”

That was true. Ever since the Saddle Arabian had been put under close watch, there had been no reports of any ‘strange’ behaviour from her. In fact, she had kept an uncharacteristically low profile, her appearances becoming more infrequent and sudden.

“She’s… creepy.” He admitted, showing a rare hint of vulnerability in Luna’s presence. “And I know nothing about her: who she is, what drives her, what her blasted name even is!” His voice softened, almost defeated. “It’s maddening.”

“Ah, I believe I understand.” Luna nodded, taking another long gulp of her coffee. Somehow, her mug stayed miraculously full, the beverage always at the perfect temperature for drinking. “But you must know by now that not every game begins with all the pieces visible.”

“She’s just a pawn.” He replied, his tone dark and proud. “If a well-placed one.”

Luna rolled her eyes but chose not to challenge him directly on the matter. “You do see, though, that even a pawn can disrupt the moves of a more important piece.”

Her words gave Blueblood pause. He turned his gaze from the flickering flames to Luna’s teal eyes, searching for the right rebuttal. He failed to find any.

“What am I supposed to do now?” He instead asked quietly, his voice carrying a frustrated undertone.

“You can’t waste your energy chasing after a single, elusive piece.” She met his gaze, turning fully to face him. “If you’re out of options, then go for the enemy King. Right now, she’s exposed and vulnerable, completely at your mercy.”

Of course. Why else would Luna trouble herself to speak with him here, in his very own dream, of all places?

“Not you too…” Blueblood felt his mood sour again, and he tried to look away, yet for some reason, his eyes remained locked with Luna’s. “Neighsay already droned about it into my ear for about half the night.”

“My sister is quite insistent that the matter be settled, Prince.” Luna pressed on, wings twitching against her sides. “This farce has dragged on for too long. We don’t wish to step in and overrule your authority, but if you delay much longer you may leave us no choice.”

“I…” Blueblood swallowed, feeling more out of his depth than ever. The familiar comfort of the chamber in this dream was now turning oppressive, suffocating him. “I’ll… think about it.”

“No,” Luna replied, her voice firm, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Blueblood did not like it, he did not like it at all. He was being cornered - commanded, even - leaving him with no room to manoeuvre. ‘Perhaps…’ he thought, wracking his mind. ‘There must be some way to salvage this. I just need to…’

His desperate thoughts were interrupted when Luna sharply clicked her tongue.

“No more ‘thinking about it,’ no more stalling, finding excuses or dodging responsibility.” Her words were pointed, each one striking with enough force to make him recoil.

For a long, tense moment, her gaze locked him in place, unwavering and focused, until he couldn’t bear it any longer and finally exhaled. He hadn’t realised until that moment how much he was trembling under her intense judgement.

“You will resolve this tomorrow.” Luna said, her tone decisive, leaving no space for a single ‘but.’ “Personally.” She added. “No more delegating, no more hiding behind others.”

For a brief, absurd moment, Blueblood considered the unthinkable - pleading. But a single glance at Luna reminded him that such a trick would be futile.

Defeated, he hung his head and muttered a faint: “Of course.”

“Good colt.” Luna brushed her wing across his head in a light, approving pat, mussing his previously perfect mane. “When you face your hydra, you’ll see she is not nearly as fearsome as you imagine her to be.”

“That’s not…” Blueblood started his protest, then cut himself off, ending with an annoyed groan. “Ugh…”

“Rest now, Prince of Equestria.” Luna’s voice softened, her tone soothing and even melodic. Almost like a spell, her words blurred his vision, and he felt the sensation of his body begin to fade. “And let your thoughts drift to gentler dreams. I will await your answer in the waking world.”

With that, she was gone, and the dream dissolved with her, leaving Blueblood adrift in the soft quiet of sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The sharp clatter of hooves echoed through the grand corridors of Canterlot Castle as a lone pony cut his way toward the Diplomatic Wing, deliberately taking the longest route possible. The last time Prince Blueblood had visited this part of the castle was in the aftermath of a disastrous magical storm that had left parts of the complex in ruins. Now, there was no sign of the calamity - no gaping holes, no piles of rubble. Only faintly lighter patches on the walls hinted at where repairs had been made, and certain spaces, conspicuously empty as if begging for statues or tapestries, suggested something was still missing.

There however was a new addition, so strange and exotic that it instantly caught Prince’s attention - healthy, verdant vines climbed the walls behind an exotic shrine likely devoted to one of Zebrica’s animistic deities. Weathered stones and seashells, perhaps collected from distant rivers or coasts, lay in a semicircle around a shallow clay bowl. The bowl’s rim was worn smooth from countless offerings over the years, and inside, a mix of dried herbs and leaves slowly burned to ash, their earthy aroma rising in a faint tendril of incense smoke.

Blueblood paused before the shrine, ostensibly fascinated. In truth he was merely seeking an excuse to delay the inevitable, if only for a single moment. He leaned in closer, feigning interest with whatever petty deity it represented, studying the arrangement of stones and shells.

What he did not expect however, was the sudden approach of another figure - a zebra, as ancient as time itself and shrouded in dusty patchwork robes. Her acrid scent reached him first, an overwhelming mix of burnt herbs and ash. Then came the rustling of heavy cloth and the soft jingle of jewellery as she shuffled closer. When she stepped beside him, the fumes beneath her robes became overwhelming, stinging his eyes and forcing him to retreat a step, coughing as tears welled in his eyes.

Ignoring him entirely, the zebra shuffled into place before the shrine, her movements practised as if she did so thousands of times in her life. Then - her hoarse, throaty chant began, the words spoken in a language Blueblood did not recognize.

Still coughing and squeezing his eyes shut, Blueblood stumbled backward from the alcove, desperate for fresher air.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Mkabayi.” A teasing voice caught him off guard. It was Perplexity.

“Quite an intense individual, mhm?” She added, her yellow eyes glinting with amusement.

Blueblood inhaled deeply, clearing the acrid fumes from his lungs, as he glared at the mare. “What are you doing here?” He demanded, coughing, though he already knew the answer.

“Oh, just witnessing a devout Zebra performing one of their water rituals.” Perplexity replied innocently, glancing over his shoulder.

True to her words, Mkabayi continued her ceremony, carefully pouring water from a gourd into several small wooden bowls arranged before the shrine. Into one, she dropped a pinch of ash from the incense bowl; into another, she placed fresh herbs. Blueblood, however, paid little attention to her ritual, his attention completely on the Bat Pony before him.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

“Tsk!” Perplexity clicked her tongue, her grin widening. “Partially not true.”

Blueblood rolled his eyes and stomped past her with a huff. Annoyance - a feeling far too familiar these days - boiled within him. “Luna clearly doesn’t trust me to resolve the matter on my own.”

“Well~” Perplexity began, clearly ready to push his buttons further, though a single sharp glance from him silenced her. She shrugged, then added: “I’m here to witness the entire thing.”

There was more to her presence, Blueblood knew, but he decided not to press the issue. Instead, he grumbled and strode toward Lady Ahrisham’s quarters, leaving Perplexity behind.

“Uh, wait!” Perplexity squeaked, hurrying to catch up. Her leathery wings flapped, and her hooves clattered on the marble floor as she rushed right after him.

“You are not going in there with me.” Blueblood stated flatly as a tremor ran through him. The door to Ahrisham’s quarters was now in view, an unassuming but imposing barrier almost at the end of the corridor.

It wasn’t just a matter of pride. Allowing Perplexity to accompany him would all but guarantee that every word exchanged during the conversation would be reported directly to Princess Luna - a scenario he was eager to avoid.

“Well, I hope not.” Perplexity’s grin threatened to split her face in two. “That’s a janitor’s closet.”

Blinking, Blueblood glanced at the door he was approaching, noticing for the first time the small, neatly engraved label confirming her words.

For a moment, he froze, emotions swirling within him: frustration, embarrassment, and the creeping absurdity of his situation. He could scream, laugh, or simply collapse in defeat - perhaps all three at once. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned away.

Only then did he notice the actual door to Ahrisham’s quarters: sturdy pine set beneath a decorative limestone arch carved with intricate floral patterns. It was elegant and light, fit for a mare of noble birth.

Taking tentative steps before he was right in front of the door, Blueblood swallowed hard. He ignored Perplexity’s presence hovering at his side, though he practically could feel her gaze boring into the very back of his skull.

He hated to admit it, but Luna had been right. He was afraid to face his hydra.