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                One Thousand and One Neighs                
                      -by Drakkanien-                      
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              I. Just Another Boring Court...              
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I. Just Another Boring Court...
by Drakkanien  
edited by a friend
Prince Blueblood struggled to contain a yawn.
It has been many days since Princes Celestia’s monthly court session started, numerous ponies and non-ponies came and went, bothering the Solar Diarch with their meaningless petitions, most of which, Prince thought, could be resolved on their own with a bit of resolve and elbow grease. These nobleponies, and to Blueblod’s displeasure (he shuddered involuntarily at the idea), commoners, flocked the pristine halls meant only for the heroes and best of the best of Equestrian society, trampling expensive carpets with their dirty hooves, showing no reverence towards their liege! Such lack of respect, such… familiarity was enough to make him scowl, causing some of the nearby petitioners to jump back in fright at the intensity of his glare.
Casting one last, dismissive look at the gathered crowd piling up in heaps at the foot of the throne’s stairs, Blueblood thought to himself: ‘What hour is it…?’ Then lifted himself off the sturdy chair he rested upon, to look at a sundial in the middle of the throne room, conveniently bathed in a shimmering ray of sunlight seeping through one of the myriad stained glass windows. One could even see lazily floating particles in this column of light, a sight both mesmerising as condemning the maids and cleaners of a poorly done job. ‘Quarter past noon...’ To Blueblood’s horror, the meeting did not take several days, it barely started! Feeling like a foal during a boring, soul-sucking lecture, he let out a low groan, audible only to those around it, (namely Raven Inkwell, auntie’s favoured chronicler). Prince lowered his head against the desk he was sitting at, making a low ‘thump!’ sound as his skull and horn hit the hard wooden surface.
“Your highness…” A hiss and a nudge against his side, surprisingly strong. “It doesn’t befit for you to lie atop the table in such… indecent manner.” Another poke, this time a sharp one as a tip of a writing quill jabbed him under the ribs! It certainly left a splotch of ink on his fur… though at the very moment, Prince could not care about it.
“It is not like anything interesting ever happens here.” Blueblood replied, his tone low, barely above a whisper. If anypony other than Ms. Inkwell dared to lie a hoof on him in such improper a manner, they would be dragged away by guards by now! Raven Inkwell however… Raven was privileged to do so, within reason.
“You could at least pretend you are listening.” The older mare chidded, her voice raising a bit. “Besides… ponies are watching.”
That last part caused Blueblood to stir and flutter his weary eyes open. Indeed - dozen or so nearby equines were aiming their colourful heads right at him, not even pretending to look elsewhere. Some were plainly gawking, their muzzles wide open, some pointing their hooves. Everypony was talking, exchanging gossip and adding to an unpleasant murmur and noise prevailed in the throne room. Noise which made Blueblood’s ears ring. With another groan, he lifted himself up, flaring his horn with a dull blue of his magic, straightening his impeccable mane and any and all ruffles on his cheeks that might appear due to his little ‘nap’.
“Fine…” He grumbled, blinking once… twice… three times, composing himself again. “I fail to understand how auntie manages to sit through all of it and keep her nerves. I do not speak only about petitioners mind you! Just sitting so long on one’s flank can’t be pleasant.” As he said it, Prince raised his hoof, to which a diligent servant reacted, approaching their table and filling Prince's glass with fresh and tasty mint & lime water. If Blueblood had his way, it would be some fine vintage of his choice - alas, drinking so early was discouraged at Celestia’s court.
“Years of practice?” Ms. Inkwell offered, quirking her eyebrows, her attention quicking shifting from Prince beside her to the court floor where another pony, a stallion in the colour of mud and ash, was grovelling at the foot of the throne. Ms. Inkwell’s held a plain quill in the muzzle, dipping it in an inkpot, scribbling everything what was said and done (officially, between liege and subject) along with necessary dates, timestamps, names… anything that could be useful to a vast machine of Caterlotian bureaucracy!
“Or a very good cushion…” He proposed, fighting off yet another yawn.
Blueblood’s ice-blue eyes scanned manged individual now putting his request before Princess Celestia… How could anypony dare to stand in front of Her in patched clothes, unkempt mane and dirty hooves, leaving grimey stains on the red carpet and bits of dirt all over the floors? It was unthinkable, disrespectful and demanded punishment, or at least a proper scolding! Alas - to Prince’s dismay, it looked like he was the only pony caring about proper etiquette when approaching one’s ruler.  
Tilting his ear towards the stallion, he listened to his plea. Of course, this uncouth pony was begging to get relief from a debt.
“... swarms ate our entire granary! Not even a single nail grain was left.” Commoner gasped, his accent thick, holding a straw hat against his chest, which as Blueblood noted, had a sizable bite mark on its wide brim.
‘These bite-marks…’ Prince mused, chewing inside of his cheek, feeling a headache quickly approaching. Aunt’s pupil miscast many spells over the years, some of which cause harm and terrorise ponies to this very day.
“That’s horrible! What a horror!” Some of the ponies from the crowd called, breaking above the usual murmur, covering their mouths with hooves, pinning back their ears and offering words and gestures of sympathy towards the unfortunate farmer who lost all of his livelihood and means to support himself and his family. The crowd became rowdy, too rowdy for Prince’s tastes, still - he understood them. Stallion’s story tugged at heartstrings of lesser ponies.
“Another freeloader…” He grumbled almost out of reflex, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a hoof, lifting a cooled glass of mint & lime water to his lips. Though before the first sip of delicious liquid touched his lips and tongue, he quickly corrected himself. “Justice where it is due - if he lost everything, including his fields, he can’t work.”
Ms. Inkwell paused with a gasp. “Oh! Has Prince’s ice-cold heart thawed a little?” She spoke teasingly, taking a tiny break to fix thick-rimmed glasses resting on the tip of her muzzle, sliding them back up!
“No…” He spoke, setting the glass back on the table, his magic dispersing, even as he rolled tongue, mulling over the taste of this surprisingly refreshing water! “... I am stiffly against handouts, as you know. Bits should be earned, not given.”
“Then what changed your mind?” Ms. Inkwell asked, giving Prince a sidelong glance with her brown eyes.
For the longest time, Blueblood didn’t have an answer for that. Luckily his water proved to be a good enough excuse for his silence. “A hard working pony losing their livelihood because of things outside of their control was simply… unjust.”
Ms. Inkwell did not reply, but a smile on her muzzle grew a little.
Princess Celestia, in all her magnanimous wisdom, spoke, her big, snow- white feathery wings trembling gently on her sides as she regarded this unfortunate soul with her soft, pale magenta eyes. It was clear she was moved by the stallion's words, her kindness being only dwarfed by her compassion. “Your family and your farm fell on hard times, Wheat Whacker.” Celestaia’s voice, as always, was caressing everypony’s ears, sounding both melodious and comforting, putting anypony who heard it at ease. Whether it was a spell or not, it did not matter, as it instantly hushed the crowd, making all ponies aim their hopeful eyes at their liege. “ While it is not a common practice, the Crown will heed your call for help and buy out your debts and help your family get on their hooves.”
It was boring. ‘Little problems of little ponies.’ Blueblood thought as a court erupted in stomping and cheers at Princess decree. However he was amazed at the power and respect his aunt commanded, one single word, a note of her voice was enough to turn a rowdy crowd of ponies towards her, shushing all chatter! He himself could not fathom doing anything of such magnitude, even though the title of Equestrian Prince held a lot of influence.
Shaking his head, dismissing these idle thoughts Prince once more focused on the court floor as another petitioner trotted onward, taking the place of now teary and a very grateful stallion slinking into the crowd, courageously stepping between the two burly guards in gilded, ceremonial armour.
This time the pony before the throne was a mare, barely an adolescent. A noble Unicorn - her fur was short, neatly groomed in colour of a bright blue, same as her, clearly intentionally, bushy mane and tail. It was also a somepony Blueblood saw passing a few times around Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. He couldn't recall her name… not like it mattered - if he did not remember somepony’s name it clearly meant they weren’t worth the bother!
Mare was composing herself for a moment, pulling out a rather lengthy scroll from her green, cloth saddlebags… The scroll in question snared on something inside of them, making her tug and tug with her magic… till she fell over, landing on her flank, causing a few ponies in the vast crowd to chuckle. Even Princess Celestia looked amused at the little, silly display, giggling in an elegant manner into her gilded hoof. Bashful, young mare folded her now tinted red ears back, using her fuchsia coloured magic to pull the entire scroll out, taking in several deep breaths.
Blueblood took this moment of interlude to glance around the throne room. Despite the sheer number of bodies filling the throne room, nopony was acting impatient, shuffling on their hooves or trying to ‘cut’ the line. Nobleponies weren’t arguing with those of common birth over primacy during such events and even rabble themselves weren’t stirring any troubles. Everything was going smoothly and orderly, like in a well oiled clock! While a lesser noblepony could call such setting boring, as Blueblood did, though for completely different reasons, Prince found solace in such calm and orderly behaviour. There was a room for improvement, there always was, though compared to several previous sessions it was almost acceptable. Almost.
The forgotten, blue mare, which Blueblood just now realised had a sun and a raining cloud for her Cutie Mark, started speaking. Words were falling quickly out of her muzzle, though she did not speak nonsense, oh no! As she prattled in a very excited manner to the Princess (and anypony daring enough to try and follow what she was talking about) it quickly became clear what it was all about - weather.
“Your Majesty! Esteemed court!” She bounced in place, standing on the very tips of her hooves. Even in her glee she did not forget proper manners - bowing first to the Princess, a deep and submissive gesture that made her chest barely brush the crimson rugs underneath her, then towards other members of the court at hoof - shallower, yet still respectful motions, showing everypony her pure Canterlotian upbringing. Blueblood thought this was commendable behaviour, himself responding with a subtle nod of his head.
“After years of studying cross-regional weather patterns, I have developed a model that leverages cumulative stratospheric thermocline modulation, combined with targeted nimbus stratification in order to optimise cloud dispersal ratios. By fine-tuning the dew-point threshold across specific isobaric regions, we can ensure a more consistent precipitation yield, particularly in arid zones such as Appleloosa. Early models show a potential increase in crop yield of up to 6.5% through the redirection of cumulonimbus currents via pegasus-guided jetstreams, effectively stabilising the local humidity levels and minimising cold-front collision risks...”
“I do not envy you having to write all of that down, Ms. Inkwell.” Prince Blueblood mused, feeling lost after just a few words. It wasn’t just the deadly pace this filly set with her speech, but the sheer weather technobabble rolling off her tongue, incomprehensible to anypony not trained in the field.
Ms. Inkwell seemed to be almost able to keep up, though she looked extremely focused. A tiny vein pulsated on the side of her temple, her muzzle was scrunched and tongue was out. Thick and oily drops of sweat slowly rolled down her muzzle as she was scribbling, her plain quill furiously stroking the pieces of paper on the table, nearly cutting into it with sharp end, splashing ink from inkwell around with each quick refill. Ms. Inkwell usual sharp jabs and wit were absent, indicating a state of deep concentration. It looked as if she, or at least the vein, were about to burst at any moment!
Luckily that did not happen, the coated blue mare stopped her ramble for a second… two… then three… indicating her impropau lecture on whether patterns and how they affected neighbouring regions indeed it was indeed over and done! She was not merely taking in another gasping breath.
Ms. Inkwell on her part seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, about to collapse atop the table, wiping her face with a colourful, embroidered handkerchief. To Prince’s surprise, she was able to keep up with the crazy weather mare, even if her mouthwriting suffered a little in the process and splotches of dark, oily ink on the table stared back at them like eyes of the abyss.
Princess Celestia took a surprisingly long moment to compose herself and formulate any manner of coherent reply. Her left wing was flared, feathers on its edges unusually ruffled and it was coming around the Alicorn, as if Princess shielded herself with it from the verbal onslaught directed her way. With a chuckle, Blueblood admitted it was… oddly comforting to see his aunt in such a state, with few hairs out of place and pale, magenta eyes widened in surprise. However, Princess Celestia did not allow herself to be phased for long - with a single gentle shake of her head, Alicorn’s ethereal mane regained its lustre and once again started to flow gracefully behind her back, carried by a not tangible breeze.
“Your report...” Alicorn started, tapping hoof against her chest, touching the glowing, purple gem on her golden gorget, which glowed a bit brighter with each gentle rap. The act seemed to comfort her a little. As the Princess spoke, Blueblood couldn’t help but notice that his aunt’s tone was a bit perplexed, but it did not lose any of the subtle power and softness it had. “... was very detailed and thorough, a result of many gruelling years of research.”
“Yes, Princess!” Blue mare eagerly quickly nodded her head a few times, all too happy to hear her beloved Princess notice her efforts. Young mare was now rolling her scroll, securing it neatly in its simple case before stuffing it, almost carelessly, into her capacious cloth saddlebags. “It started ma-a-any years ago as a school project when I was just a little filly. Oh, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I was first looking up, staring with wonder at the clouds for the first time and recording their patterns, how Pegasi operated them, but look!” She pointed at herself. “Here I am now!”
This little, innocent gesture combined with cheery words and a smile so big it threatened to split the mare's face in half, earned her a kind smile from Equestria’s timeless diarch. Blueblood knew well there were few things that could make his aunt happier than her ponies finding joy in embracing their special talents and pursuing their dreams. “I admire your dedication Ms. Spring Rain.” Princess spoke softly, corners of her lips curling upwards.
‘Spring Rain, so is her name.’ Blueblood thought to himself, so quietly his words were inaudible. Yes, he remembered her name, even as it was tossed into a dark and dusty corner of his mind, just for it to resurface today.
Glancing to the side, Prince noted Ms. Inkwell was writing things down at a much more comfortable (for herself) pace. Loose strands of dark hair fell onto her muzzle, her tight bun was in a mild disarray, thick rimmed glasses slipped almost all the way to the very tip of her nose and the elegant collar she wore was slightly crooked… but other than it - Ms. Inkwell fared well.
“And I am happy to hear you have such promising results.” Princess Celestia continued, crossing forelegs in front of herself in a comfortable manner. “While I cannot promise that your research will be used to improve weather right away, I’m certain the fruit of your passion will benefit ponies all over Equestria and beyond. In due time.”
A careful and reserved reply, Blueblood expected nothing else from his aunt.
Spring Rain's ears dropped a little at the remark, she would have to wait to see any results of years of her work, though the barely noticeable frown quickly became a wide, beaming smile. “Yes, Princess! Thank you Princess!”
“I am certain - after I consult your research with the Cloudsdale R&D team and confirm your results, I will be able to extend my patronage over you. Equestria needs fresh, bright minds as yourself.” Celestia mused with a tiny smile and a joyful glimmer in her eyes.
Spring Rain on her part stood there as if rooted in place, her jaws wide open, her legs rigid, unable to move even a single muscle, completely paralyzed from awe, shock and joy!
Seeing her rather… static response, Princess let out yet another tiny giggle, subtly waving her hoof at the nearby servants. These dutiful and almost ‘invisible’ ponies were quick to remove Ms. Rain from the foot of the throne, setting her under the wall to recover, as if she was some strange, blue sculpture. After the filly was out of the way, Princess rose from her seat, looking over the gathered ponies from her elevated spot, announcing in a few brief words: “Court session is suspended! Please, everypony take an hour-long break.”
With her announcement over and without any other ceremony in the way, the Princess descended from her throne amidst more energetic murmurs from the gathered crowd, many ponies took to the exits, looking for drink and snack, eager to go for a walk or chat amongst themselves in a less official setting. Gazing after them, Celestia even spread her wings and stretched on her way down the stairs, if only a little. It would not be proper for her to do so in front of her subjects! As the Alicorn carefully moved to the foot of her throne, her hoofsteps muffled on the red carpet, she gave Ms. Inkwell and Prince Blueblood a subtle, inviting nod of her head.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“Ah~!” Princess Celestia moaned, finally able to move her wings. Those sizable curtains of plumage were stretched out all the way up over the diarch's back, rolled slowly around in small circles, each motion accompanied by a small, but satisfying pop as joints finally got to exercise in a significant manner for the first time in hours.
Finally, she dropped them down her sides, a pleased smile, her pale magenta eyes slightly unfocused. Princess tucked her wings neatly against her barrel, casting a quick glance over her feathers to see if any were crooked or out of place. Luckily none demanded her immediate attention.
The Council of Equestria, gathering of the most important and influential ponies in the nation obliged by bounds of blood, fealty, contracts and simple loyalty, was standing in a back chamber of the throne room, shuffling on their hooves and like their Princess - stretching their stiff limbs. These high and mighty ponies commanded vast resources and had considerable influence, being able to affect lives of thousands on a whim. Yet here in the back, huddled all together around a singular, round coffee table, sipping their choice of beverage and exchanging a common gossip, they looked not unlike any other group of ponies in one of a myriad of cafés in Equestria.
Underneath all these expensive clothes, intricate jewellery and stern masks, they still were her little ponies at their very core.
“Your Majesty.” Celestia’s ears perked up and turned to a pony addressing her. Soon her gaze followed after the source of the voice, slightly to the right and down. There, right beside her stood a very light grey mare with a familiar, dark brown mane.
“Ah, Raven.” Princess greeted her favourite scribe, a warm smile spreading on her lips. “I see you are still in one piece, despite Ms. Spring Rain's best efforts to the contrary.” There were tiny sparks of mirth in Alicorn’s eyes, events of the past hour being little more than an amusing memory to her!
“Please, Princess…” Raven felt an urge to rub her face with her hoof, instead she fixed the pencil behind her right ear. She couldn’t hide her frown however. “I know some ponies can get overly excited when meeting you, but every time such… blabbermouth appears I know I am in for a bad time.”
Celestia clouse-mouth giggled at Raven’s obvious displeasure, quickly disarming her with a question: “Have you had any coffee yet?” Solar diarch asked, tilting her head to the side, squinting her eyes. “I’m sure some aromatic mocha with chocolate sprinkles would improve your dour mood~”
“Princess…” Raven found herself rolling her brown eyes, still - a small smile appeared on her muzzle. Being so familiar with Princess Celestia that she knew of her comfort drink was nice. Fixing her fashionable collar and red neck scarf, addressed her liege once more: “I didn’t come here to bother you with minor unpleasantries I face.”
The overtly official and professional tone used by Raven told Celestia something of note transpired. Something demanding her attention. “Oh?” Alicorn shifted on her hooves, facing her loyal secretary, her face serious. “Don’t tell me we ran all out of cream pies. Again?”
Corner of Raven’s eye twitched. “Princess. This is not a joking matter.”
“Well fine~” Celestia relented. “What seems to be the issue?”
Raven flipped through her tiny notepad procured from numerous pockets on her sleeve, dotting a few points, nodding to herself for a few seconds prior to speaking again: “We have… a number of unannounced guests.”
“Guests?” Princess asked, quirking up one of her eyebrows. Now it was her time to be surprised and serious. “You know I’m not restrictive when it comes to hosting ponies in the castle, who are they?”
“That is just the thing Princess.” Raven flipped through her notebook, searching in vain for answers. “We… I do not know!”
“Hm?” Celestia was genuinely surprised. There were very few things that slipped Raven Inkwell’s attention.
“This group, I for certain know they are all together, arrived recently, just two hours ago when we were in the thick of the court session. They were seen carrying a lot, and I really mean a lot, of luggage, and demanded to see you.” Mare explained, loose strains once again poked from her otherwise neat hair bun.
Princess Celestia let out a hum, closing her eyes for a moment, thinking. “What happened afterwards, obviously we didn’t see them at the court session, nay?”
Raven was now feeling nervous, her hooves and ears twitching. “Chamberlain, Mr. Stamp, send them away.” She admitted. “He said you were busy at the court, to which the guests did not react well… leaving most of their things in the middle of the entrance hall.”
“Do we at least know their number? What did they look like?” Another voice, proud and dignified belonging to an older stallion, interjected. Both mares swiftly turned their heads to see just who was speaking.
To nopony’s surprise, it was the esteemed Chancellor Neighsay. His lean and tall figure along with capacious purple cloak covering most of his body and cold, calculated turquoise eyes made him appear dangerous, despite the obvious frailty of his aged body. On his breasts, to the right, was pinned a faded EEA symbol.
Raven shrunk a little under his piercing gaze, nonetheless she was quick to reply flipping through her notes, unwilling to defy Chancellor’s demands. “They were ponies!” Mare squawked, before catching herself - coughing once into her hoof composing herself. “Strange ones, sadly I didn’t get any good description from both Chamberlain and guards who reported this incident to me.”
“Where are they right now?” Neighsay demanded, tapping the point of his right hoof against the marble floor in an impatient gesture. While his tone was harsh, it was completely justified given the circumstances.
“Well…” Raven mused, scrunching her nose, flipping her notes closed. “I do not know.”
“That is against any and all protocol for some… strange creatures to roam freely, unsupervised, in the halls and corridors of Canterlot castle.” The Chancellor spat, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a hoof.
“Please, Chancellor.” Celestia spoke up, a kind smile once more appeared on her serene features, warming the cool atmosphere of this conversation and putting everypony, almost everypony, at ease. “I am certain there is nothing to worry about.”
“How can you say it, Princess?” While respectful, Chancellor clearly took advantage of his position to address his liege in a familiar manner, speaking in a heated voice, his greying, dark tail swishing behind him in an agitated manner. “These ponies might be thieves pilfering the castle as we speak, or agents of Chaos seeking to bring ruin to our nation!”
His rather violent outburst earned him a few chuckles from both Celestia, Raven and nearby members of the court who couldn’t help but listen in.
Folding his ears back, Neighsay grumbled, his voice low, bashful: “It might be extreme, yet allowing unknown ponies to walk around the castle is simply…”
“Improper?” Another voice quipped in as a sound of measured, light hooves reached everypony’s ears. There was no need to guess to who it belonged to as an absolutely dashing stallion approached this little conversation circle. His recently groomed coat and perfumed mane told those gathered he barely managed to get away from skilled hooves of valet de chambre.
“Prince!” Celestia chirped, her expression softening at the sight of her nephew. Her pale, magenta eye scanned his impeccable appearance, no single hair was out of place, no bit of coat was ruffled. “I see you slipped to get a through groom.”
“It was very relaxing.” Blueblood admitted, offering a single nod to Chancellor Neighsay, which was quickly returned.
“I hope you managed to get a bite to eat, I would hate to hear you skip another meal because of your grooming or work~” Despite the teasing undertone in Celestia’s voice, there was some genuine concern for the well-being of her nephew.
Ms. Inkwell, no longer under a crossfire of questions, managed to straighten her legs and back. She took a moment to look over her rather dishevelled appearance, the end result of this quick inspection had her frowning. Compared to Prince, she looked as if something big chewed and spat her out!
“Well…” Blueblood chewed on the inside of his cheek. “... you got me there. But it is not a big deal, auntie.”
Every time Blueblood called Princess Celestia in such a manner, it made her all warm and fuzzy on the inside. How could she not dot all over him after saying that? “In such a case let me treat you with a slice of a pie… we really are not out of it?” The last part was addressed to her lady-in-waiting - Ms. Inkwell.
Raven quickly shook her head in a ‘no’, making Princess Celestia giddy, trotting in place in a barely contained excitement! She was quick off to chase after the nearest servant to make them fetch some more snacks for her and her nephew.
With his aunt distracted for a moment, Prince turned towards the esteemed Chancellor. “Do we know anything about our… mysterious visitors?” He spoke in a lower tone, as if he did not wish Ms. Inkwell to overhear them.
The mare in question excused herself to get some freshly brewed coffee. All that talk earlier made her crave chocolate-sprinkled mocha and she was keen on getting one!
“I didn’t manage to get much from Celestia’s aide. ” Neighsay grumbled, sitting back on his hunches as he folded forelegs over his chest, casting the back of Raven’s head an intense look. Look that made the mare jump almost as if a hot coal touched her flank. She glanced around, confused, before turning again to finish preparing her high-calorie coffee.
“Whoever these ponies are, they did not send any correspondence announcing their arrival.” Neighsay finished with a sharp nod.
“You would know it best - you are the Royal Chancellor.” Blueblood joined Neighsay in a nod. Neighsay might be a difficult character, but he always did things by the book and fulfilled his duties to the best of his ability. There was no reason to question his competence.
“Exactly. All the letters of any importance go through my hooves first, what I fear is - it may be the beginning of a diplomatic incident.” There was a hint of worry in the Chancellor's voice. “One misplaced letter, one wrong gesture and we might be knee deep in…” Neighsay did not finish his sentence. It might be for the best.
“You appear to know more than you let on.” Prince Blueblood noticed, squinting his eyes and clicking his tongue. “Explain.” It was not a request, but a command. Something Prince could aim even at a Chancellor himself given his position and blood relation to the Crown.
“I just might have a vague idea that something would take place.” Neighsay started. “But I would lie if I said exactly what, or if it would happen today or any other date.”
Prince made a ‘go on’ gesture with his hoof, listening.
“Two moons ago we received a letter - a scroll to be exact. It was contained inside a richly decorated casing with so many jewels and with such intricate patterns that the case itself could be treated as a piece of jewellery art.” Neighsay recalled, stroking his short, ashen beard with a hoof. “There was one problem with it - nopony could read the scroll itself!”
This little outburst made Prince jerk back his head in surprise, the commotion also caused Raven to tilt her ear and listen in, even if the mare was still adding more chocolate shearings to her mocha mug.
“It was written in a language so strange, or so obscure that none of the linguistics experts I hired knew how to decipher it.” Neighsay’s voice assumed a more agitated colour, it clearly was a mystery that he was unable to crack and it weighed heavily on him. “I assure you, my Prince, I did not stop merely with languages currently used, but also several rare and even dead tongues, granted experts on them are all historians and archaeologists, along with cipher-breakers on a slim chance the letter itself was one. Alas - all the efforts and bits yielded no results.”
“That is quite perplexing.” Blueblood admitted, using a bit of his concentrated magic to straighten his bowtie, himself trying to come up with a solution. He turned up blank, besides - even if he had an idea, he was certain the Chancellor already thought of it a long time ago. “What was the method of delivery?” He tried to nudge Neighsay a little, spying with the corner of his eye as his aunt turned and started to trot their way, carrying two platters of what looked like a marzipan cake. The top of it was cut and rolled open creating an opening for berries of various kinds to be sprinkled on top. It looked lovely and made Prince realise he didn’t have anything to eat since very early morning!
“It must’ve arrived with other correspondence.” Neighsay was quick to report. “One day after we pick-up our mail it was delivered to my desk, further questioning of our staff brought in no results. Centerlot mailponies and postal sorting workers do not recall it ever being processed by them.” He paused for a moment. “I-I am drawing a blank here, Prince. It’s not as if this scroll just… appeared out of thin air!” It wasn’t often when Chancellor Neighsay allowed himself to admit defeat.
Blueblood did not have time to reply, as Princess Celestia trotted close and sat on her hunches right next to him. A nudge to his side with her big, fuzzy and warm wing turned out to be even more relaxing than his recent groom. Prince fought hard against the urge to just… lean in and rest against Princess, shut his eyes for a moment and take a nap… Just as he was about to flutter his eyes close, she passed him a platter of marzipan delicacy. It smelled delicious. “There! It took a bit longer than I expected, but trust me – it’s worth every minute of the wait~” Celestia spoke in a playful tone, herself levitating her own plate and a cake fork in the golden aura of her magic.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Blueblood did the same - picked up his own fork to cut a tiny piece of cake and float it to his mouth. It was, not surprisingly, very good. Canterlor castle hired only the best of the best of chefs from all over the Equestria (and sometimes beyond), their skill oftentimes rivalling only their ambition and experimental streaks. Still - Prince’s response was as haughty and reserved as always, as if not to stroke egos of their underlings too much. “It is… passable.”
“Have we learned more about our mysterious guests?” Princess asked, folding some of the marzipan on her plate with the use of her fork, before piercing it with her fork and then impaling an especially ripe berry. She looked more excited than concerned about the recent developments!
“Not really.” Blueblood admitted shaking his head and swallowing another bit of his cake. He didn’t even notice when he consumed half of his slice… and it wasn’t as if they were small pieces. “Chancellor Neighsay has a hunch that it might be related to a mysterious letter, well a scroll, Crown received some time ago.”
“A mysterious letter? Hm, plot thickens!” Princess mused happily, already done with her slice… her pale magenta eyes looked with longing towards the snack table where the rest of the delicious cake, along with other tasty bits, remained… still - she restrained herself. For now she just transported her plate and fork there for staff to collect and clean. “What about it?”
Neighsay was quick to perk up, his ears cutting the air as he coughed into his hoof and set down a cup of tea he was sipping from. “Ahm, that is correct, my Princess. I did not bother you with the scroll because as I said to Prince here - nopony was able to decipher it thus far. The words are either nonsense or it is a language so old, so obscure, I wasn’t able to find any experts to finally read it.”
“Hm, that is mysterious~” Celestia admitted, her eyes sparkling with hardly contained glee. “We will have to solve it somehow - but we will converse about our mysterious correspondence later. The break is coming to a close and I would hate to occupy the last precious minutes of your rest with more worries and work.” Princess said poignantly, aiming her eyes at her Chancellor. “That includes you as well, Raven.”
Ms. Inkwell, being called out like that, sputtered, spitting out her pencil, which clattered to the floor, somehow managing to fall right at the crack between rugs, making a lot of noise. Embarrassed mare could only stammer: “Sorry.” Before she hid her notes and put this unruly writing accessory where it belonged - behind her ear.
Satisfied with results of her ‘scolding’ that sent her servants away to finally tend to their own needs, Celestia turned her towards Prince Blueblood, extending her mighty wing over his withers in a light, warm and fuzzy hug. A hug which, despite being seen by other members of royal council, Prince returned, leaning heavily against Celestia’s side. Alas - the gesture did not last and soon they parted, even if both now shared a genuine smile.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“... slander and disgrace, I won’t stand by it!” A very purple, round low-born Earth Pony stallion with a greying, dark green mane shouted, his voice a bit too high-pitched to take his words seriously. He threw a handkerchief on the ground, exhaling heavily through his nostrils, hard enough for clouds of steam to appear.
In Blueblood’s opinion he looked like a plum.
The varying party he petitioned against also showed up at the court, it was in the form of elderly Unicorn mare, so frail and thin that it looked as if a faintest breeze could topple her over. Her coat was greyish-white, faded. Perhaps one hundred years ago when she was young and spry it was in some vibrant hue, today however, with all the powder added on top of her fur, she looked as pale and transparent as a ghost.
Despite the weakness of her body this ancient mare managed to keep her head high and spoke in a voice betraying the strength of her mind. “Do not dare to insinuate that I am at fault here.” She barked, words sharp. “I had an agreement with your father, one that you will keep, despite you trying to wiggle out of it like a worm you are.”
“Nopony knew you would live for so long, you hag.” The ‘plum’ burst, stomping his hoof angrily, his face became very red from frustration. “You outlived him! Everypony that was a ‘witness’ to whatever deal you two shook hooves to.” He called, his voice just an octave below shout.
“Isn't the word of a noblemare worth anything these days?” The ‘ghost’ replied sharply, huffing as she attempted to look as dignified as possible, which, miraculously, worked.
Blueblood noted that even though stallion’s arguments were valid - there were no documents, notarial or otherwise, concerning any manner of deal binding affected parties obliging them to do (or not do) certain things. However it didn’t exactly rule anything out just yet. Verbal contracts were very common in Equestria, both in times of old and today. He turned to Ms. Inkwell, trying to spy on her notes to see if he missed any details. Prince paid no further mind to these two bickering, they were going in circles for the last quarter of an hour and it didn’t seem like it could change anytime soon, despite Princess’ best attempts for both parties to remain civil and see the reason.
Seeing nothing that would grant him immediate insight, Prince stood up, looking towards his aunt seated atop her throne. To any onlooker, Princess Celestia might appear as pristine and magnificent as ever, but Blueblood’s acute eyes picked subtle hints of hear wearines: tremble of her slightly folded ears, misplaced feathers and barely noticeable shadows under her tired eyes. It was the moment where their gazes connected, Celestia gave her nephew the subtlest of nods as if urging him to step in.
So the Prince of Equestra stepped in.
“I do agree with Sir here.” Blueblood started, his tone haught, collected and low, yet it worked like a charm. Both parties quickly ceased their argument, turning their heads in surprise. Rapping his hooves over the surface of the table, before pushing himself off of it and trotting over, he continued: “Deals of such magnitude…” Here he whisked Ms. Inkwell notes, earning him a muffled ‘Hey!’ and a huff from the scribe-mare, he went to the first page. “... ‘transfer of land in exchange for care and maintaining of favourable living conditions, along with attaching the family to the noble title of the affected party.’ require a written contract.”
Ms. Inkwell notes were something one always could rely on. Blueblood needs to ‘borrow’ her for his own future court rulings.
“That is correct.” Elderly mare quipped, now looking older than ever, her shoulders sagging and eyes dropping.
Prince raised a hoof, before floating notes back to fuming Raven, who still sent annoyed looks his way. “Tsk! No interruptions.” He hissed. “The only evidence of anything of such nature happening is a single notary record, granting lands of Mrs…” Blueblood forgot her name, not like it mattered now. “... as the last of her house with no relatives that would be able to argue over inheritance, to Mr.”
‘Plum’ stallion nodded sharply, his anger subduing as he heard Prince listing out all the evidence in the matter. A grin started to spread across his round features.
“The notarial record doesn’t specify for what reason or why the land transfer took place, just that it took place. It appears to be a donation.” Blueblood noted, using his magic to correct his bowtie, a tick of his.
It was as if all energy and will left the ‘ghost’ mare's form, it was clear that coming to Canterlot all the way from the middle of nowhere where she lived at took a lot out of her, both physically and mentally. Here she waited, anticipating a final blow. Opposite to her the ‘plum’ stallion appeared to be positively glowing, a grin on his face almost threatened to split his face, as he was about to get rid of a decades old obligation.
“However…” Blueblood’s words rang like a bell, making everypony hold in their breath, focusing on their Prince, the atmosphere tense with a nervous anticipation. “... while the exact details of the ‘deal’ in question are unclear, as neither parties can recall it in full, I am willing to give Mrs. benefit of doubt and on the fact that she is of noble birth - her words, just as mine, are binding.”
Murmurs started amongst the gathered in the throne room with dozens of ponies wondering just what that could’ve meant for the final verdict. His words caused quite the shift in both ‘ghost’ and ‘plum’, mixed feelings and emotions crossed their muzzles, one of hope, one of displeasure, though neither dared to speak just yet.
Prince allowed the gathered ponies to whisper and chatter for a moment longer, as they began to understand just what was about to happen. As their eyes turned towards him, full of wonder and perhaps even expectations, Prince could not help but feel empowered by the crowd's approval. He loved attention and reverence, though he did not let it appear obvious, maintaining stern expression and air of authority around himself. A quirk of his brow, a sharp angle telling everypony he was not pleased with ‘plum’ stallion conduit.
“It is clear you are eager to see your obligations lifted Mister, but this court does not operate on the principle of convenience. It operates on the principle of justice.” He said the last word with palpable sharpness, making nearest ponies, including both varying parties, recoil ever so slightly. “The nobility of Equestria, such as myself, have their words bound by oath, tradition and law. Lady’s claim, though lacking any written document to back them, remains valid on such merit.”
The ‘plum’ stallion’s smile faltered, he stood taller on tips of his hooves, puffing out his chest about to object, but Blueblood cut him off with a single gesture.
“Verbal agreements are not without weight.” Prince allowed the words to linger. “Words of a noble stand as a substitute to written contract.”
The elderly mare blinked in shock, as if not believing her very own ears. Slowly, her frail form seemed to straighten as if a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She opened her mouth, but no words came out, only a look of relief.
The 'plum' stallion, on the other hoof, turned a shade darker. “This is outrageous! You can’t just…”
“I can, and I have,” Blueblood interrupted once more, his voice stern, echoing through the surprisingly quiet and still chamber. No other voice but his could be heard, all gossip, all murmurs, all whispers ceased. “The notarial record may be vague, on purpose perhaps, but it does not negate the fact that you are benefiting from land once owned by her family. Until there is clear evidence to counter her claim, I expect you to honour your father's agreement, as imprecise as it may be.”
The stallion’s face twisted in anger. “This is favouritism! You’re only siding with her because she’s a noble!”
Prince Blueblood meets the stallion’s outburst with a cold, steady gaze. “I am siding with the law. And the law applies equally to all, noble or common birth.” He let his words linger and sink in. “If the case was reversed, if somepony’s legitimate claim was being dismissed on a technicality, my ruling would be the same - and I would stand by it with the same vigour. Right now I see a stallion wishing to get rid of his obligation placed upon his family. This is not justice.”
The still silence of the throne room prevailed, nopony dared to make even a squeak. Air here was thick with tension. Prince took a moment for his verdict to settle, before he turned to the elderly noblemare. “You have my word and assurances that the matter will be enforced, starting today. Agreements you made won’t be ignored as long as Miste. maintains access to your family’s land.”
Finally, he turned back towards the arguing stallion, who, despite his anger, managed to contain it, unwilling to defy Prince’s verdict. “Your father’s promise binds you, regardless of your discomfort. To negotiate terms is one thing, to void them without compensation is another.” Standing taller, above everypony in the throne room, save for Princess Celestia herself, Prince Blueblood announced: “Dispute is concluded.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It took roughly eight minutes for the next petitioner to muster enough courage to step forward after ‘ghost’ mare and her ‘plum’ stallion opposition departed from the foot of the celestial throne. Ponies, ever timid creatures, were unnerved by such a harsh display of justice, which inspired some and frightened others. However there was one mare, a Pegasi no less, who decided to cut the line, taking advantage of reluctance of other supplicants. Just as her brazen hooves started to clop against the crimson rug rolled before the throne, several of the ponies in the very back of the chamber let out startled gasps. At first this bold, winged mare paid them no heed, stomping forward, heavy hooves bruising the floors, yet with every step she took, her resolve diminished and the gasps and cries from the back increased both in volume and urgency.
Finally, a little annoyed, she stopped, turning around to see what this ruckus was all about, only to gasp herself, feathery wings flaring instinctively as she stumbled back, her earlier boldness crumbling as the eerie fog rolled closer.
Thick, swirling blue clouds of smoke poured through the cracks of the thick, decorated doors warding entrance to the castle’s throne room. The doors themselves were thick, made of dark, oiled and polished mahogany wood with brass finishes and bolts, simple but effective in design; yet they did not stop the smoke from coming through the tiny space at the bottom, nor where the doors joined together.
Panicked, colourful equines tried to back away from the low-hanging fumes, falling onto another, merging into one, single herd. Despite their fear, those who were squished by outburst of panic, fallen and tripped, were quickly pulled back on their hooves by others to safety. Equestrian spirit was strong in all of their hearts - helping others was in the pony's nature.
Well-trained, if few in number, a throng of Canterlotian Royal Guard rushed forward to either aid the frightened or to separate them from the creeping fog, their gilded armour shining in sunlight pouring through the stained glass windows, pictures of heroes. If it came to it, every single one of these mares and stallions would live up to these champions, both new and old, willing to give their lives for their fellow equine and their Princess.
The guards creeped forward, weapons at the ready, eyeing the mysterious fumes they picked up its scent - intense, earthy, warm, and a bit smokey, with a touch of sweetness, scratching at the back of their noses. Many of these ponies were feeling the smell of Myrrh for the first time in their lives, confusing them. If not for the tense atmosphere, such scent alone would put them at ease.
At this very moment doors leading to the throne room burst open, more of the smoke rushing forward, obscuring sight and bathing half of the chamber in its exotic fragrance. A fragrance thick with myrrh and spices, warm and heady, like a desert breeze drifting through an ancient and exotic market. Some of the more meek equines called out in fright as their hooves touched the thick, swirling clouds, scrambling even further back and away from it. Guards were prepared, for the first time lowering their weapons as if expecting those unknown assailants to rush them through the cover of the smoke.
Yet the expected bleakest scenario did not happen, instead music started to play. Tonbak, a wooden hoof drum offering a quick beat, sharp metal strings of santur and setar, almost in argument with one another, their tones similar, but pace and colour of the strings distinct enough even for an untrained ear. As the music filled the ears of the ponies inside of the throne room and incense settled, hovering now just at the hoof level, everypony could be witness to a display of exocity and prowess: duo of ponies, unusual in shape, bare, surprisingly lean and tall, towering a head over Equestrians, stormed forward inside bearing flaming sticks in their muzzles. They performed acrobatic movements seemingly impossible for an equine body, twirling their flaming sticks, creating an illusion of fire rings around their bodies as they danced, for the acrobatics were in sync with each other, with music. As the strange melody swelled, their pace increased, but also precision, they were now moving close to one another, almost at a threat of burning the other with their masterfully wielded flames, causing previously frightened Equestrian to gasp in shock and ever every time a flame passed through mane or grazed coat of the dancer.
As the performance continued, more and more ponies felt at ease, seeing that it was not an attack and not even a fire outbreak, but rather an unexpected show. Members of the Royal Guard were not placated as easily, but even the most paranoid amongst their ranks withdrew their weapons, seeing that this ‘enemy’ did not come at them. When the song reached its ultimate crescendo, ponies, petitioners and otherwise, were almost pushing against the backs of valiant guards who were eager to give their limbs and lives for their safety, curious to see more!
When the music finally went silent, performers stopped in front of the crowd, their rich, amber eyes scanning the overjoyed faces with barely a hint of previous fright. They slowly rolled their flaming sticks in their muzzles, finally grasping them horizontally and extinguishing them with a quick, jerking motion. A deep bow followed, aimed at the gathered crowd, earning a stomping of hooves and numerous cries of approval.
Dancers, never lifting their bowed heads, retreated back towards the doors as more of their brethren stepped in - first came four steel-clad stallions in strange armors composed of tiny, connected metal plates worn on top of richly decorated, shining robes of striking colours - crimson, blue, rose and yellow. No single warrior had the same robe colour and pattern, their long sleeves shimmering with silver and golden threads. The most striking feature of their suit of armour were polished, full face masks, resembling a pony face. Like their clothes poking from under metal plates of their armour, each was distinct, decorated in a subtle, but an intricate manner. All four of these soldiers carried a short bow with a quiver and a wide, curved sword, though neither of them wielded any arms right now, letting them rest on their backs and sides. Their presence clearly upset the Equastrian Royal Guards, clearly threatened by these heavily armed individuals and their, at glance, superior equipment.
Once the steel-clad warriors were certain the room was safe, they gave a signal, few quick spoken words in a language nopony could understand, causing those nearby (including the Equestrian soldiers) to glance over their fellow equines in mild confusion. However, they weren’t given even a minute to process that perhaps foreigners just stormed the Canterlot castle’s throne room, when she walked in.
Each step was measured, unhurried, and taken with great care. The mare's hooves were delicate, trimmed so perfectly that they shone in the sunlight as if they were made of gold. Her fetlocks and ankles had a thin layer of pearl-white fur, though nopony saw mare’s legs, for they disappeared underneath her flowing, sapphire robes. A glance upwards revealed she was a Unicorn, her visage hidden behind a thin vein, yet the pride of any member of her kind protruded proudly above her head, poking from under her sparkling golden mane and spiralling upwards, straight as and elegant, glowing… ablaze with a subtle hint of her magic - pale blue flames enveloped her horn in its entirety. Her eyes, dark as depths of an ocean, aimed straight ahead at a lone figure sitting atop the celestial throne, they betrayed both her awe, reverence and curiosity.
Behind her, a young stallion, barely out of his colt's years, carried a banner, gently swaying with each of his steps - a fiercely orange tapestry with a crimson rosetta circle, in it - black desert dunes alight with white and blue flames with both Sun and Moon visible, circle of the Sun to the left, crescent of the Moon to the right. A coat of arms of an ancient dynasty.
Mare’s slow gait took her through the throne room, ponies, even Equestrian Royal Guard, parted, unable to withstand her commanding aura for more than a single, fleeting moment.
Once at the foot of the throne, she bowed deeply, her forelegs outstretched, her chest against the trampled with hooves of dozens of ponies red carpet, speaking loudly:
“Auramazdā xšāyatīya xšaçā sunauš, anāyakašma paryastiyā avaθā frāya frābaraštā. Adam padāyamiyā hōviyaš xšāyaθiyā kārakaša auramazdā xšaçā. Anāyakašma šāmiyā auramazdā xšāyaθiyā!”
Author's Note
Hello, Drakkanien here!
This story is my first attempt at writing AND publishing on Fimfiction.
This story cooked for lo-o-ong time in the oven, it my own custom take on 'Saddle Arabia' setting and a bit more medieval Equestria, focusing more on magic and chivalrous conduit. I plan on 16 chapters in total, unless, of course, there will be a change of plans, merging or splitting chapters as I go.

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            II. Delegation from a Faraway Land             
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II. Delegation from a Faraway Land
by Drakkanien  
edited by a friend
There were very few things that managed to surprise Prince Blueblood once he came to age. He was a colt from a renowned and influential house, his family possessed enough land and wealth to allow him to have anything he wanted whenever he wanted. His cravings were fulfilled without a single question or ‘but’. He grew up as a pampered, arrogant stallion who had all the right and wrong reasons to feel more important than anypony else. But today, after witnessing the grand entrance of Saddle Arabians, he learned a new meaning of the word ‘opulence’.
He would obviously deny that when the dark blue clouds of incense started pouring through the crack of the doors leading into the throne room affected him. He was positively unnerved, a shy breath away from sharing the panic of his more faint-hearted subjects. His thoughts at the very moment went to fire - an outbreak like this could easily suffocate him and it would not be easily extinguished! Fires were something Prince had a first-hoof experience with. However after the doors swung open, no flames could be seen flickering. The ‘dangerous’ clouds rushed forth, he picked up their scent - myrrh and spices, not ash and smoke choking breath from his lungs. Prince calmed down, letting out a breath he was not aware he was holding. Stopping the tremble of his right hoof came naturally, though he swiftly concealed it by fixing his bowtie. Using hooves, not magic.
His gaze instantly went to his aunt, looking for comfort in her warm radiance. Alas, Princess Celestia did not look his way. She appeared on edge, though unlike everypony in the throne room, there was no hint of fear in her eyes - just concern. Alicorn stood on all four of her hooves, tall and regal, her magnificent feathery wings spread to their full length, trembling slightly above her as if she was about to take into the air if needed. Her vibrant, long mane and tail, previously carried on an unseen breeze, now moved as if roused by a gale, betraying Celestia’s agitation. Gone were all the traces of boredom and weariness from Equestria’s Solar diarch, replaced with tension. Yet this image quickly melted away once the doors swung open and Princess Celestia inhaled, her eyes previously sharp and focused, widening slightly in confusion or surprise. In that very moment she allowed herself to relax, sitting back on her worn, but comfortably looking cushion. Princess even let out a light giggle, knowing something nopony else has. This helped Blueblood to put his mind at ease, as he realised he wasn’t in any immediate danger.
The next part of the grand entrance helped ease Prince’s mind even more. Though what a common pony saw during the performance of the fire dancers was just a skill and showmanship, to Blueblood acute eye it was a mere distraction. While everypony’s eyes were drawn to oiled bodies and their spinning flames, a dozen of quick moving unseen servants carrying coffers of various shapes and sizes slipped behind them. These chests themselves were richly decorated, covered in brass and silver studs and plates. Some were painted in intricate patterns, with reds and blues being the dominant colours. They all looked heavy, judging how the taut bodies of the ponies carrying them strained under their weight. Coffers were dropped on the floors with a thud, a sound muffled by the swelling exotic music and murmurs of the gathered ponies. One could only wonder what manner of riches were stored inside of them!
“Whoa…” Blueblood heard a voice from his left, making him turn one ear in that direction. Beside him Ms. Inkwell stopped writing, now standing propping her forelegs on the flat surface of the table, her eyes wide in wonder as she watched the duo of dancers perform their routine. At this very moment they leaped up, passing each other in the air, landing with a flourish, performing a wide arc with flaming ends of their sticks. “Are they…?” Ms. Inkwell started, only to be cut off by Blueblood.
“Saddle Arabian fire dancers?” He finished Raven’s question, not even gracing her with a glance. Blueblood’s voice was low, carrying but a slight tremor, betraying his previous weakness. Stallion’s gaze trailed after the shining figures of the performers. “Yes.”
“They look different from the delegation we received previously.” Ms. Inkwell noticed, adjusting her thick-rimmed glasses with a poke of her hoof.
“Pah!” Prince scoffed, feeling his bravado returning. “I wouldn’t call the envoy we received back then as a proper ‘delegation’.” He argued. “They had no flair, no taste, came and went unnoticed. Now this…” He pointed with his chin at the quickly retreating duo of ponies who were quickly replaced by armed guards. “I call an entrance!”
The tension, which was almost gone thanks to the show, returned, making some of the ponies in the crowd upset once more. Their nervousness was not as great as it was initially. Prince Blueblood on his part did not feel threatened by the presence of armed strangers, quite the contrary - he knew it was just another show of power. Somepony here played their diplomatic game, showing off their pawns and assets. They were clearly counting on their entry to impress and possibly coax a more favourable deal without any unnecessary negotiation.
Prince smirked, almost gleeful - he managed to see through the Saddle Arabian game.
Ms. Inkwell tensed a little when she saw a flash of weapons on the foreigners. Seeing armed ponies was unusual in Equestria outside of rare guard, but Blueblood paid no heed to her whimpers. He himself was looking towards the other table on the other side of the throne, where Chancellor Neighsay sat at with other members of the council. To his pleasure he noted none of them were in any form of distress - it would not speak well for the most important ponies in Equestria, bar the Princesses and himself, to lose their wits under pressure.
Standing up and cutting through the middle of the throne room, Prince Blueblood approached the table reserved for the councillors, leaving Ms. Inkwell on her own. Mare’s eyes were still on these four exotic and armed equines. She was tapping her hooves nervously, her duties as a scribe completely forgotten for a moment.
“Your highness.” Always dutiful Seneschal Usurers greeted his Prince standing up from his chair and straightening, offering Blueblood a respectful bow.
Other Councillors, including Chancellor Neighsay, Constable Drustan and Mistress of Secrets Perplexity also rose from their seats, turning their attention from commotion taking the palace at the entrance, bowing their heads before the Prince.
Blueblood seized them, inspecting these dignified stallions and mare with great care, studying them closely.
Chancellor Neighsay, or more specifically - Lord Neighsay of House Properous, was a tall Unicorn stallion almost past his prime. His greying dark mane, beard and tail, faded azure-grey coat were clear indicators of his age. However the calculating look of his turquoise eyes told anypony that his mind remained as capable as ever. Blueblood found his overseeing of EEA while still maintaining duties of a Chancellor commendable, though heavy bags under stallion’s eyes pointed it was paid for with less than ideal amount of sleep, making him a bit irritable at times.
Seneschal Usurers, head of the legendary House Cuptor, was one of the richest ponies in the nation. He owned many businesses and led the largest trading guild in Equestria. Lord Usurers had a keen business sense, which seemed to run in the family, given how many successful investments Cuptors made in recent years. While not the youngest, he still held on strong, his coffee coloured feathers and coat shone brightly in daylight and neatly combed, reddish mane fell down his neck. Prince knew very little about him, beside being a diligent and stubborn individual that helped Equestria stay above the red line for over twenty years now.
Constable Drustan from the banner of Steadfasts, despite being a skilled duelist and strategist, never had an opportunity to try out his martial prowess in a real battle. Equestria was a mostly peaceful nation with little internal strife, most external threats were subdued millennia ago. The position was mostly ceremonial and limited to maintaining a limited number of guards in Equestrian outposts. Despite it, this dark green, with completely greyed from age mane and tail, Earth Pony stallion took his position very seriously. His eyes were mismatched, right being a dull brown colour, while left was white and blind. Blueblood found Lord Drustan boring on most days, but on the other hoof his overly serious demeanour and unwillingness to let even slightest offences slide created a number of dramas that Prince found hilarious and entertaining!
A mysterious and sensual Lady Perplexity Obscura, a minor noble whose house only recently attained any notoriety with her being hoof-picked into the position of Equestian Master of Secrets. It didn’t sit well with Prince Blueblood that somepony of such low importance held such a prestigious position, however Lady Perplexity was a devoted servant of aunt Luna and had a talent for finding out secrets. Her loyalty was never a question and it was a quality paramount in her position. She, like other councillors, was an older mare close to her forties. She sported a pale purple mane, dark yellow eyes and most ashen grey fur he Prince Blueblood has ever seen. Her most striking feature were her large, leathery wings, adorned with sharp claws at the joints. Indeed - Perplexity Obscura was a Thestral, commonly known as a Bat Pony.
“Councillors.” Prince Blueblood started, his tone official, yet he spoke hurriedly, well aware they didn’t have much time. “In a few minutes Equestria will wage a battle, I do not know what this new ‘enemy’ is, nor what they want. It is obvious however, they treat today’s engagement very seriously and arrive prepared.” He glanced over his shoulder at the back of heads of colourful rabble, the standoff between the guards was still ongoing.
Prince’s metaphor did not go over Council’s ears, even if it took Lord Drustan a moment to realise his Prince was not speaking in a literal sense. Once he did, he looked almost disappointed.
“We need to devise a strategy.” Blueblood finished.
“I wholeheartedly agree with you, your Highness.” Lord Usurers spoke first, his speech slow and very articulate, even if he ended every other word with an annoying smack of his lips. “Yet we do not know what and who we will negotiate with.”
“That is the real issue - we will have to extend negotiations.” Neighsay hummed, tapping a hoof against his short beard. “It won’t be hard to convince Princess Celestia to have Princess Luna included in the talks.”
“Good thinking.” Perplexity complimented the Chancellor, her voice low, almost purring, smokey. “It will give me more time to try and find any… leverage.”
“It may be problematic.” Neighsay quipped, rapping his hooves against the half-moon table they were seated behind. “If our guests are who I think they are, you might stumble upon something you have never faced before - language barrier.”
“Oh?” Perplexity lifted both of her fluffy ears and quirked her eyebrow at Chancellor.
Neighsay used his orange-hued magic to tug on the collar of his cloak, feeling a bit hot. He had some explaining to do. “It is a mere speculation of mine - we received a letter two moons ago from outside of Equestria, a letter which we failed to decipher.” He noted. “And now…”
“As if we needed tricks and espionage to negotiate a good deal.” Seneschal Usurers said calmly, smacking his lips again and again, causing Prince Blueblood to wince every time he did so.
“Not everypony has your nose for sniffing out every tiniest bit of gold, Cuptor.” Lord Drustan grumbled impatiently, splayed back on his chair.
Usurers did not seem bothered by the comment, quite the contrary - he grinned widely with an open mouth like an oversized, brown toad. “That is why I’m here with you on this very council - sniffing out opportunities for the good of Equestria.”
“Enough.” Prince Blueblood commanded, mildly annoyed. All councillors went silent. “We will council over it later.” His fuzzy ear swivelled towards the crowd as the voices coming from it picked in intensity and volume. Somepony of importance was approaching. “It is time - let us be on our guard.”
With his words heard, Blueblood turned around and briskly trotted back towards his table where Ms. Inkwell waited. As he crossed before the front of the stairs leading up to the throne, he cast one, brief look at his aunt. Princess Celestia returned his gaze with a nod and a tiny, kind smile, though a twitch of her right wing urged him to take a seat.
“Right, right.” He muttered, hastening his steps.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The sight of foreign envoy cowing before the Solar throne tickled Blueblood’s ego. The fact this exotic mare spoke strange, melodic words with such reverence only intensified the sensation. Though he didn’t understand the language, he guessed it was a formal greeting. She knew her place and the role she had to play today.
A thorough look over her bowed form revealed little - most of the mare's body was concealed in a thick, flowing satin robe. Its main colour was a shimmering sapphire accented with darker midnight blues. Outer layer was intricately decorated with silver threads in floral patterns, depicting plants Prince Blueblood had never seen in his entire life. With each breath the mare took, with even the slightest motion, these images seemed to come to life and move on their own. It was as if the pony watching could almost step into that exotic garden roused by a gentle desert breeze.
Her mane was a brilliant shade of gold, cascading down the right side of her neck in a glimmering waterfall. Now, as she knelt, it was pooling on her side, sprawled on a crimson carpet leading all the way to Princess’ Celestia throne. Blueblood noticed a gilded hair net nestled in her mane - a caul interwoven with intricate strands, crusted with a myriad of tiny jewels. Under the afternoon sun, they sparkled with a phantasmagoria of colours.
Jewellery adorned every part of her: draped across her robe, woven through her hair, and hanging from her ears. When she fidgeted beneath Celestia’s scrutinising gaze, Blueblood could hear a faint sound of jingling when these pieces struck one another. The faint, musical jingle of the jewels echoed softly in the throne room creating an ethereal atmosphere, creating an illusion that this mare was not a mere mortal.
For a moment, even Prince Blueblood found himself enthralled by this vision. The spell only broke once she began to speak again, her foreign speech drawing him back to the present.
"I greet you, Monarch of the Sun!” Mare proclaimed, her voice reverent, soft, yet carrying a strength demanding everypony’s attention. It carried more than a hint of her Saddle Arabian accent, thick yet adding her tone a surprisingly melodic edge. Everypony’s eyes and ears were on her, including pale magenta Princess Celestia’s.
“One that makes light, one that makes Sun roam the sky, one that brings Day and dispels the Night, one that brings happiness and life.” She continued. “I stand here before you in awe of your magnificence, bearing gifts and kind words of my liege.”
Blueblood’s ear twitched as he processed her words, his satisfaction replaced by a sense of unease. She was reverential, overly so - but there was more to it. Her praise for Celestia’s dominion over the Sun and day came natural for everypony, anypony. For a thousand years, Celestia had been the sole ruler, the one who raised the Sun and guided the day. But it has recently changed. Princess Luna was back. And the way the envoy phrased her tribute seemed almost... exclusionary.
Was this ignorance? A calculated slight? Or simply an unfortunate choice of words? Blueblood’s eyes narrowed as he tried to read the envoy’s intentions, but her expression was calm, serene, revealing nothing.
Celestia hesitated, just for a moment, a faint flicker of surprise crossing her features before she spoke: "You may rise." she said, her voice warm but her eyes sharper, as if searching for the hidden meaning in the mare’s words.
“As you command, Your Majesty.” The envoy rose to her hooves straightening to her full height, once again making Equestrians realise just how much taller she was. She stood a head over even the burliest of the Royal Guards, yet her slim figure and delicate hooves only enhanced her ethereal qualities. Her gaze remained fixed right at the throne where Princess Celestia remained perched, her serene smile not betraying a hint of her thoughts.
“We spent a very long time on the journey.” She continued, her tone reverent, her shimmering eyes wide with awe. “Braving treacherous deserts and unnamed wastelands, sailing across wild seas plagued by monsters and storms. Yet we did not relent, knowing what awaited us at the end.” She paused for a long, dramatic moment, casting her eyes around at the faces of gathered ponies. Her eyes flickered towards the stained glass windows depicting various noteworthy events in Equestria’s history - the defeat of Grogar, ending the Chaos of Discord and banishing of the Nightmare.
“I am Ahrisham, in your tongue - Mirage. I came here carried by desert winds of Saddle Arabia, to speak on behalf of wise and merciful Sultan Hormazd, Atar Yazdana, bearing gifts, news and a plea for the righteous ruler of Equestria.” The envoy - Mirage, performed one more deep and servile bow before the Alicorn Princess.
“At-tar Yazdana…” Prince Blueblood mused to himself, butchering the ancient name in the process. “My memory might be spotty on the subject, but the last Saddle Arabian delegation had the patronage of a different lord. This name... it’s unfamiliar. - it wasn’t so… tongue-twisting.”
“I-I think you a-are right, Your Highness.” Ms. Inkwell whispered, shivering.
Blueblood scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a dismissive hoof wave. “Hmhf. I never heard this name - Atar Yazdana. It must be unimportant then.”
Prince’s attention was once again drawn to the foreign envoy - Ahrisham. Mare sharply clicked her tongue giving a signal to her entourage. As one, a dozen Saddle Arabian servants moved forward, carrying heavy chests that had slipped from Blueblood’s mind. They arranged themselves in a neat half circle before Celestia’s throne. There were eight chests, each unique - crafted from dark, sturdy wood, intricately painted, and reinforced with polished brass, silver, and shimmering jewels.
Ahrisham was strolling before the chests, counting and nodding, speaking hastily in her melodic, native tongue. Ahrisham never, even for a moment, has turned her back to Princess Celestia.
“Wise and merciful Sultan Hormazd bids me convey his deepest admiration for Your Majesty.” She declared, stopping just before the throne. “Your wisdom is a beacon that guides through the darkest storms; your might secures peace as steadfastly as the mountains, and your prosperity shines like a jewel across all lands. He is honoured to stand in alliance with Equestria, whose virtues are as boundless as the sky and whose name is known to all.”
Alliance? Blueblood’s ears perked up at the word. Beneath the flowery praise, it was a single, heavy term that drew his attention. What alliance?
Prince’s brow knitted as he tried to recall all the treaties and agreements Equestria has signed in recent years. He went over them one by one - modifications to trade treaties, student exchanges, border adjustments with the Crystal Empire… Only one document came to his mind, signed by Haakim of Saddle Arabia a few years ago. He did not recall details contained in it, but he was certain it did not involve anything of such magnitude!
“... for not being able to inform Your Majesty.” Ahrisham's voice interrupted Prince’s idle musings. She was pacing slowly across the throne room, turning right before Prince’s and Raven’s table, wafting them in her heavy, sweet perfume. It was composed of vanilla, honey and lilacs, Blueblood noticed. “Days of strife and conflict were plenty. Yet now His Majesty is happy to inform the Princess of Equestria, that Saddle Arabia is once again united under the banner of Atar Yazdana.”
Celestia's expression softened, though she took her time to respond. “I am overjoyed to hear it.” She said, after a lengthy pause. “How does the old Sultan fare? News from Saddle Arabia is scarce in Equestria.”
Ahrisham’s eyes sparkled with delight as she let out a light, melodic giggle, sounding like the chime of silver bells. “Your curiosity honours me and all of Saddle Arabia, Your Majesty.” She bowed deeply, brushing floors with her extravagantly long mane.
“My liege, wise and merciful Sultan Hormazd, is in good health. Recent events may have added a few wrinkles to his brow, but such is the burden of any ruler. I am certain Your Majesty knows best that ensuring the well being of your subjects is a very taxing duty.” Ahrisham sang, her voice carrying over the entire throne room, tickling the ears of any curious pony that was listening in. “Yet in the end, with providence of the Eternal Cycle, he preserved - reclaiming lands of his forefathers and bringing all of his unruly subjects back to the fold.”
Blueblood’s eyes narrowed further, as he listened to the news. War was unheard of in the land of Equestria, where harmony reigned. To hear somepony speak about it in such a casual manner… It was strange, even unsettling. Was it how ruling looked like in more barbaric lands, where one decision of a ruler or could shatter lives of countless souls?
“With his guidance, peace was finally achieved, and with it, we could reach out to our ancient allies.” Ahrisham’s horn lit up with a pale, flickering flame, casting an eerie glow over her face, turning towards the chest with offerings.
Blueblood watched, intrigued. He was no expert on magic, but he could recognize the unusual, almost wild quality of her channel - a sharp contrast to the refined, controlled spells of Equestrian unicorns. It completed the image of the Saddle Arabians as rough, untamed desert dwellers in his mind.
Ahrisham approached each chest in turn, her magic gently lifting their heavy lids. The first chest spilled out a cascade of round golden coins, rolling and bouncing across the red rugs and marble floor. The next revealed bolts of satin cloth, shimmering in colours of the rainbow, reflecting in the late afternoon sunlight. Another held wax-sealed boxes, their labels hinting at exotic spices. Next held sticks of incense, their heady, earthy scents tickling the nostrils of those nearby. Yet another chest contained finely tailored garments, each more vibrant and intricate than the last. The last was most unusual - smaller than the other, no bigger than a jewellery box, bound in straps of reinforced dark iron, commonly used to create items resistant to magic. Inside, on a soft pillow, laid a single, purple gemstone pulsating with a dim light. Each opened chest added to a growing display of Saddle Arabia's wealth, filling the throne room with scents and colours rarely experienced within Equestria’s border.
“Please accept our humble gifts. They are but a sliver of wonder and mystery of our home, Saddle Arabia.” Ahrisham concluded her grand speech, bowing deeply before the Solar ruler for one final time.
It took Prince Blueblood several moments to process what he had just witnessed. The whole thing was confusing, even surreal. The envoy’s entrance was a spectacle and an obvious show of power. Mare’s reverent words - were they mere flattery, laced with faux pas and ignorance, or a genuine attempt to attain Equestria’s favour? And the gifts… When Blueblood saw the staggering wealth of exotic goods laid out, he was momentarily stunned.
His stupor was broken only when he noticed Ms. Inkwell cradling a sizable coin in her hooves, her eyes wide with wonder. With a swift, sharp motion, Prince swatted at her hooves, causing her to drop the coin. “This gold belongs to the Crown.” He growled, making her yelp, more in surprise than in pain.
“I-I… y-yes, Your Highness.” Ms. Inkwell said sheepishly, folding her ears back.
With this pleasant distraction over, Blueblood stood up rolling his shoulders.
Princess Celestia and Ahrisham were still conversing, though nothing significant was exchanged between them now. Prince Blueblood was still unsure about the envoy's social status. Given she represented her liege before the foreign ruler in such a masterful manner, she certainly had a noble upbringing. Unless, of course, Saddle Arabia became one of these gauche ‘republics’. Prince mentally scoffed at the idea.
Princess Celestia, seeing her nephew take strides towards her guest, paused, tracing his movement with her pale magenta eyes. This brief interruption caused Ahrisham herself to stop and turn her head towards Prince Blueblood. She was looking at him with those dark and deep as oceans eyes, the only visible feature, beside her mane and horn. Was she studying him, bathing in his magnificence?
From up close Ahrisham looked even more imposing, easily standing a head taller over Blueblood, almost as tall as Princess Celestia herself. Her satin robes flowed around her with even the tiniest of her movements, catching and reflecting light. Mare’s perfume was pleasant to Prince’s senses, but he found it a bit distracting.
Noticing that the envoy was simply regarding him, one of her eyebrows raised in an unspoken question, Blueblood coughed into his hoof. Soon it should dawn on her the reason for his approach. His aunt received her praises, now it was his turn!
Another quarter of a minute passed with her merely tilting her head to the right side, mare’s expression remained puzzled.
Prince Blueblood tapped his hoof impatiently against the red carpets, still waiting. Surely, it wouldn’t take this mare that long to acknowledge him and his titles. Yet, she just tilted her head again, as if pondering over him like a puzzle.
Finally, she spoke, her tone light and questioning: “... you are?” Ahrisham probed, lowering her neck to be on eye level with him. The gesture felt very demeaning, as if she was speaking to a snooty colt. It made Blueblood nostrils flare in annoyance.
Before he could give her a proper tongue lashing for disrespecting a royal, Princess Celestia spoke up, her tone oddly mirthful: “This is my nephew - Prince Blueblood and my Royal Liaison.”
“Equestria has a prince?” Ahrisham blurred out, her tone confused. The question struck Blueblood like a slap; he recoiled visibly, taking a step or two back. A prince, unacknowledged in his own court? Preposterous!
Around him, a few ponies stifled giggles. Raven, Perplexity, and even his aunt seemed amused by Ahrisham’s ignorance. Their laugh was subtle, but to Blueblood, it felt mocking. It made his ear burn.
With a heated huff, Prince stomped his hooves against the floor before turning sharply and storming out through the backdoor of the Canterlot’s throne room.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“How could she say such a thing!” Blueblood was not happy.
“I don’t know, Your Highness.” Replied a soothing, feminine voice from behind him.
“To not know about me? Me!” Prince’s voice turned into a whinny, he really was distressed.
“It is truly outrageous.”
“I would understand if it were a poorly disguised insult,” Blueblood huffed, nostrils flaring. “A deliberate slight, meant to undermine me in front of the court, but…”
“But?”
Blueblood’s lips trembled. “... she completely had no idea who I even was!”
Prince Blueblood was in a state of disarray. After storming out of the throne room, he had retreated to the safety of his chambers. A good, hot, and relaxing soak seemed the perfect remedy for his frayed nerves. Yet, even as he sank into the steaming water, the soothing warmth failed to wash away the memory of recent events. Frustration did not leave him, despite assigning Lavender, his maid, to scrub his back.
The light purple Earth Pony mare, with warm orange eyes and a neatly tied medium-length green mane, stood at the edge of the tub, her hooves and forelegs glistening with soapy water as she worked the foam into his coat. She listened to his tirade, nodding politely when necessary. It wasn’t the first and very likely the last time she did so.
The bathrooms in Prince Blueblood’s suite were, in his mind, a modest thing. A spacious hall of polished white and pink marble, adorned with intricate carvings and ornate, decorative columns that stood at strategic points. In the centre, a hexagonal bath, large enough to accommodate a dozen ponies. The tub was deep enough for a full, relaxing submerge; marble shelves lined its edges, ideal for lounging. The entire room overlooked the castle gardens, the windows were high enough to prevent any wandering eyes from spying on the occupants. Of course, a curious Pegasus could still sneak a peek, but they’d have to fly past vigilant winged sentries to do so.
Closing his eyes Blueblood let Lavender do her job. She ran her strong hooves over his shoulders and neck, smoothing any ruffled patches of his fur and inadvertently massaging him. Though not the most skilled masseuse, Lavender was competent enough. But even her best efforts failed to distract Blueblood’s agitated mind.
“Harder,” Blueblood barked, and Lavender obediently applied more pressure. It did not work at all, and only made the massage uncomfortable causing him to grunt.
Noticing his discomfort, Lavender paused, pulling back from the tub and stepping away with a soft, wet clop of her hooves. She moved to bring Prince’s favourite shampoo in hopes it would help soothe him. The bottle rested together with all the soaps and ointments inside the drawer resting against the wall.
“That’s impossible, my Prince,” Lavender cooed into his ear upon her return. “Everypony in Equestria knows who you are, even ponies living under a proverbial rock.”
Lavender’s words made corners of his lips twitch upwards. It was true, everypony in Equestria heard the name of Prince Blueblood! Yet, the moment his thoughts went to Ahrisham, this smile turned into a scowl. “In Equestria - yes. But outside of it?”
“Sire, you worry too much.” Lavender tried to say gently, pouring a reasonable amount of shampoo on her outstretched hoof, before applying it to Prince’s blonde mane.
Blueblood grumbled as she began to massage his scalp, careful not to let a drop of shampoo sting his eyes. Gradually, he began to calm, inhaling the familiar, clean scent, letting the warm water soothe his tense muscles… Yet, every time his body relaxed, he heard that voice again: ‘... you are?' spoken with a thick, melodic accent.
“Gah!” Blueblood shouted, kicking his legs against the water, sending a small wave splashing over the edge.
Lavender jumped back with a startled gasp, barely avoiding the splash. “P-Prince!” she stammered, her ears pinned back against her skull.
“I can’t get her smug face out of my mind!” He called, splashing hot water once more, before slumping in defeat against the back of the tub. His imagination already was hard at work reshaping the memory in his mind. In it Ahrisham’s word became even more deliberate and insulting than they were in reality - with the entire crowd of ponies bursting into laughter, pointing their hooves at him.
It reminded him of the only other time he had been so humiliated - at the Grand Galloping Gala, years ago. A single mare had dared to upset him in a similar way, but he had long since buried that memory. He hadn’t seen her at any subsequent events, and he liked to imagine she had been so frightened by his displeasure that she had never dared to show her face again in fright of his wrath. The thought lifted his spirits, if only a little.
With a heavy, audible groan, he sank deeper into the water until only the top of his head, his nose, eyes, and horn poked out, steam curling all around him.
Seeing his distress, Lavender stepped closer to the tub, careful to avoid slipping on the damp floor. ‘Prince could be so overly dramatic at times.’ She thought. “Crying about it won’t help.”
Blueblood’s ears twitched, and his head sank even lower, until his nostrils were submerged. He blew out a stream of bubbles, making a low, irritated noise.
“My Prince!” Lavender tapped her hoof against the honed marble floor. “Please act the part.”
He didn’t respond, so she leaned against the edge of the tub, her eyes softening. “If it bothers you so much, perhaps you should bring it up with Princess Celestia?” She suggested, tilting her head slightly.
This seemed to catch his attention. His ears perked up, and he resurfaced slightly.
“You are still Equestria’s only prince.” Lavender continued. “If you feel disrespected by somepony, especially a foreign envoy, surely you have the right to seek her counsel.”
“Well… maybe, but…” Blueblood hesitated, lifting his head above the surface of the water. “She was one of the ponies who laughed at me.”
Lavender raised one eyebrow, not believing what he just said. “Mhm, I can’t imagine Princess Celestia being mean to anypony.” She said, dipping her hooves into the water and resuming her gentle massage of his scalp. “Especially not to you, sire.”
“You’re right,” Blueblood muttered, his tone softening as the soothing sensation of her hooves finally calmed him. “You can take the rest of the day off…”
Lavender’s ears perked up. “Thank you, my Prince!” She brightened at the thought of going home early.
“… after you’re done clipping my hooves.” He added, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
Her ears drooped a little. “Yes, my Prince.” She said, with a resigned sigh. “Let me just rinse your mane first.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Prince Blueblood emerged from his chambers an hour later with his hooves trimmed to perfection and his mane and coat smelling pleasantly of floral balm. He had to admit that the bath, combined with Lavender’s treatments, had left him feeling much better. Not enough to thank her for it, of course, but as he left, she could clearly see a new spring in his step.
Lavender might be a mare who spoke out of turn, but her advice had proven invaluable at various points in his life. He always had to make a show of resisting it, if only to preserve his precious pride.
Using his unicorn magic to perform a few last-minute fixes, Prince Blueblood started to trot towards Celestia’s study. It was quite a distance from his chambers, but he didn’t mind the exercise. If anything, it would help clear his head a bit more.
At this late afternoon hour, the corridors of Canterlot Castle were mostly deserted, save for the occasional guard or two in their gilded armour. Each one tensed and saluted as he passed. Blueblood mostly ignored them, sometimes throwing in a single nod. The thick carpets muffled the sound of his hooves, allowing him to overhear distant conversations from the castle staff and guests.
“...make out of it?” “...would be wise to not ask…” “...smelled so nice, I can’t put my hoof…” “…thought it was a fire, I almost…”
Prince shook his head. The voices were barely audible, forcing him to strain his ears to catch any words, and none offered anything useful. He had no idea how Perplexity managed to do this all day - listening to pointless gossip and somehow picking out just the right bits.
As he moved through the wide, open corridors of the castle, his eyes passed on a centuries worth collection of art, sculptures, paintings, bas-reliefs and more. His hooves take him on their own towards his favourite pieces. His eyes drifted to a marble statue of a rearing Pegasus, wings outstretched, as if preparing for flight. It looked almost life-like, each straining muscle carved with painstaking detail. Normally, he would have paused to admire the delicate carvings of each feather, but today he rushed past without a second thought.
When ponies contemplated the opulence and décor of Canterlot, their thoughts often went towards works of countless artists that worked to beautify the place with their talents. Few however took note of one, very important factor - space. The castle was big, open enough even for a Pegasi to comfortably fly through the halls over the heads of the ponies. Reason for such open areas was twofold - in times of old it allowed flying defenders to get behind the enemy. Nowadays however it was a show of wealth, as maintaining so much open interior space was expensive. Despite the efforts to heat the castle during colder seasons, the vast halls remained unpleasantly chilly.
After several minutes and two staircases that left him slightly out of breath, Prince Blueblood arrived at the doors of Celestia’s study. Without the decorative arch and sun patterns above, they would have looked like those of any ordinary chamber. The two-pony-high doors, made of polished oak reinforced with brass, were decorated with a mix of sun and moon symbols carved directly into the wood. Subtle enough to be omitted by somepony not paying attention.
Surprisingly, there were no sentries standing guard outside.
Without thinking, Prince used his horn magic to grab the handle and push the doors inward. He didn’t care if she was busy, or even if she was inside at all for the matter. He needed her advice and comfort right now. If she wasn’t present, he would simply wait. A thought of browsing one of her myriad books or even napping on one of the sitting pillows seemed quite appealing.
As the door swung open, bathed in his arctic-blue aura, Prince Blueblood found something surprising.
Everypony was here.
His aunt, Princess Celestia, sat behind her ornately carved desk, which was larger than those made for an average pony. She wore a pair of cute half-rimmed glasses, her pale magenta eyes peeking over them, slightly smaller than usual due to the lenses.
Next to her, unexpectedly, was aunt Luna, her eyes half-closed. She was nursing a sizable mug of freshly brewed coffee, the scent of which filled the room. She looked as if she had just rolled out of bed, still swaying slightly, her mind seemingly stuck in the realm of dreams. Occasionally, she leaned against her sister as if she was about to fall into the warm embrace of sleep again.
Around a low coffee table, the councillors were huddled, lounging on the oversized, alicorn-sized pillows. They seemed quite comfortable in the presence of not one but two princesses, their conversation broken only by Prince’s entry. Each had a cup of their favourite beverage, complete with as many sugar cubes as they desired. At a glance, only Lord Drustan sweetened his tea, stirring it slowly with a silver spoon.
But one pony stood out from the rest…
‘Her’ Prince stiffened, his freshly brushed coat bristling.
“Ah, Prince Blueblood.” Aunt Celestia chirped, a warm smile brightening her already radiant features. “We were just talking about you.” Her horn glowed with a gentle, golden aura.
Before Blueblood could react, he felt the familiar warm tingle of Unicorn magic envelop him, his eyes widening in panic. His hooves scrambled against the polished floor, trying to resist the pull, but it was no use. The golden aura of the Alicorn's spell was too strong, effortlessly drawing him deeper into the chamber. As he was pulled past the threshold, the massive oak doors swung shut behind him with a resounding thud, trapping the poor prince inside.
His aunt could be so inconsiderate, especially when she wore that knowing smile - she had another absurd idea brewing.
With no way to make a dignified escape, Blueblood sighed in resignation. Using his magic, he straightened his mane, dishevelled by the Alicorn's spell, and tried to don his professional mask. An Equestrian Royal should always look their best, especially under pressure.
His bright, blue eyes scanned Celestia’s study. It was in the same disarray he remembered. The moderately spacious chamber, nestled in the Eastern wing of the castle, had two windows that let in the world outside. The soft, orange light of the setting sun seeped through, diffused by violet curtains. The dull, purple walls desperately needed a fresh coat of paint, though for some reason, Princess Celestia wouldn’t allow it. ‘Perhaps she didn’t want other ponies rummaging through her things?’ A stray thought shot through his mind.
Ancient, dusty shelves of black wood, their edges meticulously carved with geometric patterns, lined the back wall. Cloth-bound books of various shapes and sizes, along with rolls of scrolls, filled the shelves. A pony had an equal chance of finding a treatise on some long-forgotten mystery or a cheap romance novel on them, a genre his aunt was oddly fond of. The floorboards, softer and warmer than the stone outside, showed their age, creaking when somepony stepped on just the right plank in just the right spot.
SQUEAK
The sound made Blueblood grimace as he hurriedly lifted his hoof, stepping more carefully towards the heavy desk where his aunts sat.
“What is the meaning of this gathering?” He asked, casting his eyes at the councillors, then back towards a half-asleep aunt Luna. “I was not informed about any private council taking place.”
It was a lie. After his rather humiliating exit from the throne room, at least half a dozen messengers had knocked on his chamber door. Naturally, Blueblood instructed Lavender to send them away. He wasn’t in the mood to hear whatever news those ponies were so desperate to deliver.
“As it turns out, our guests require assistance with a certain very…” Princess Celestia paused, glancing to her left where ‘she’ was seated. Blueblood didn’t even bother to grace this visitor with a fleeting glance. “… delicate matter.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Blueblood retorted, feeling a migraine approaching. He resisted the urge to massage his temples, for now. “What is this ‘delicate’ matter we’re speaking of?”
“I think it would be best if the mare in question explained it herself.” Celestia said, nodding toward Ahrisham, who, despite her tall stature, seemed to shrink as she sat awkwardly on one of the borrowed pillows.
“Esteemed Prince.” Came that voice - strange, thick with an accent, yet surprisingly melodious, each syllable drawn out in a way that made the fur on his neck stand on its ends. “I first would…”
“Enough,” Blueblood interrupted, raising a hoof. “Let us talk business.” He was eager to be done with this ordeal, biting back the urge to ask, ‘Why do you even need me here?’ He knew better than to act so brazenly in front of his aunts.
Ahrisham’s muzzle scrunched at his obvious hostility, but she complied with his request. Blueblood almost did not notice that her veil was gone. “So be it.”
Shifting slightly on her pillow, she began her tale once more. Blueblood, for his part, ostentatiously refused to look in her direction, pretending instead to be amused by Princess Luna, who had dozed off entirely, her chin now resting on Celestia’s shoulder. She was still cradling her mug of hot coffee, tilting it just enough for drops to trickle down its edge, one at a time.
“... as I was saying - parts of the desert that were previously suitable for settling can become desolate overnight. We even experienced entire villages being swallowed by the storm, with few survivors to tell the tale. Worst of all - it is slowly encroaching towards fertile regions suitable for land-tending and husbandry.”
“Concerning.” Usurers mumbled, smacking his broad lips.
“How fast does it spread?” Princess Celestia asked, rolling her right wing as if to rouse her sister. It did not work, and only made Luna mumble and snuggle deeper into the soft feathers.
“The measurements are… imprecise, to say the least, Your Majesty.” Ahrisham replied, her tone oddly subdued. In the intimate setting of Celestia’s study, she was not as intimidating as she had been earlier. “On most days, it creeps forward, taking a few yards of land. But sometimes, it halts for weeks… only to surge ahead, swallowing entire swathes of land in a single day.”
“Equestria is pretty far from your homeland. Why come here?” Neighsay grumbled, raising his cup of white tea.
“That is correct, Lord Chancellor,” Ahrisham said, turning to him. “Equestria, being so far away, was not our first choice. But it remains, more or less, the magical capital of the world, and right now, we need magical expertise above all else.”
“That’s fair…” Perplexity added, cradling her cup of honeyed mango tea with the tips of claws on her wings. “But what about the Zebra shamans, their mysticism and alchemy? You’re practically at Zebrica’s doorstep.”
“Yes, however…” Ahrisham hesitated, carefully choosing her words. “Due to a delicate political situation, we couldn’t count on our neighbours’ help.”
This evasive answer everypony in the chamber to pause and look at the Saddle Arabian envoy. A variety of curious, questioning and even suspicious looks are being aimed her way. Even Prince Blueblood who was till this point trying to avoid glancing her way, turned, only now noticing that despite wearing the same thick and incense scented robes, the mare forgo her headdress and veil, exposing her elegant, elongated snout.
“What kind of… delicate situation?” Neighsay asked, though the question was on everypony’s mind.
“The wise and merciful Sultan Hormazd’s rise to power was not as smooth as our chroniclers would have you believe.” Ahrisham began. “We have few allies to call upon - fewer still who can truly aid us.”
Drustan, silent until now, set down his overly sweet tea with a loud clink. “And why should we bother?”
Several ponies gasped. Blueblood had to admit his thoughts were mirrored by Drustan’s words, though he wouldn’t have been so blunt.
Ahrisham recoiled slightly, her eyes flickering, as she turned towards the offending stallion, eyeing him.
“Lord Drustan, is it really…” Usurers croaked.
“You can’t just…” Perplexity started, only to be silenced by the combative Constable.
“Why?” Drustan pressed. “Saddle Arabia’s problems, or whatever you are calling yourself these days, are not Equestria’s.”
The chamber fell silent. If a pin was dropped right now, it would resound with unnatural clarity within these walls.
“You are obliged to.” Ahrisham spoke with confidence.
“What?” Several ponies, including Blueblood, stammered, their eyes wide.
Princess Celestia’s ear twitched. Her magenta eyes narrowed, searching Ahrisham’s face. Then, they widened, as she uttered a barely audible: “Oh…”
“Sultan Hormazd, may his reign be long and prosperous, is head of an ancient dynasty.” Ahrisham said, her tone devoid of her usual accent. “A millennium ago, when the Sun and Moon roamed freely across the skies, a bond was forged - sealed with blood, meant to endure transcend mortal lifetimes.”
“That is some poppycocks.” Drustan grumbled, folding his forelegs. “I’m to believe a tale from a thousand years ago obliges us now?”
In response, with a deliberate flick of her magic, Ahrisham lifted a heavy, hexagonal scroll casing from her satchel and set it down on the desk. The golden patterns shone in the light, revealing intricate carvings - six scenes, each telling a fragment of a story. For a moment, the room was silent, all eyes on the artefact. Blueblood leaned forward, trying to make out the details, alas - it was too far.
Chancellor gulped audibly, his eyes fixed on the scroll. Even Princess Luna, still half-asleep, stirred at the noise, her cyan eyes fluttering open.
Celestia’s eyes widened at the sight of the scroll. Princess’ lips pressed into a thin line, and she kept her eyes locked on the scroll casing. It was as if she was lost in a memory, one that had suddenly resurfaced after centuries.
Blueblood felt a cold drop of sweat run down his back at his aunt’s uncertainty. It was never a good thing when any of the mighty Alicorns behaved in such a manner.
Chancellor Neighsay’s breath was caught in his throat. “Is it... a copy?” He gasped, his usually confident voice oddly uncertain. Perplexity, always sensitive to the well-being of others, scooted closer to him, wrapping her leathery wing around his withers. He did not react to her touch.
A tiny giggle played at the back of Ahrisham’s throat as she shook her head, allowing her long, golden mane to sway gently. “No,” she said. “I apologise, but the mere thought of making a copy of such a sacred relic… It is amusing in just how offensive it is.”
She composed herself, coughing delicately into her hoof before continuing. “This scroll is the written proof of my words.”
With a pale blue flame enveloping her horn, Ahrisham opened the casing and unfurled its contents. The scroll was a thin, long sheet of silk, adorned with an ancient script written in elegant, tight strokes. The symbols seemed to glow faintly with an inner light, though it might have been a mere trick of the light.
“And how do we know it’s not a forgery or just a parlour trick?” Drustan barked, still unconvinced.
“It is not,” Princess Celestia replied softly. Though her voice was the quietest in the room, it was enough to make Lord Drustan cease any protests.
Princess Luna, now fully awake, darkened her gaze as she saw the ancient treaty laid before them. She glanced at her sister, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.
“We had almost forgotten about it. Yet…” Luna’s eyes scanned the text. “... one glimpse was enough for the memory to return with full force.”
A tense silence filled the room, far more tense than before.
“Will you aid us then?” Ahrisham asked, breaking the stillness, her tone strained.
Princess Celestia’s eyes remained fixed on the scroll, her expression unreadable. For a moment, no one moved. Around the coffee table, the council members exchanged glances, some uncertain, others resolute. Slowly, Celestia lifted her head, her gaze meeting Ahrisham’s.
“Equestria has always honoured its commitments.”

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                       III. An Omen                        
//-------------------------------------------------------//
III. An Omen
by Drakkanien  
edited by a friend
The first thing Prince Blueblood noted about their Saddle Arabian guests was that they were very loud. Equestrian ponies by no means were quiet creatures, eager to cheer, shout and sing. But that didn’t even come close to how energetic and jovial their Eastern cousins were. Whether arguing or simply talking, they raised their voices as if to be heard by everypony around, seemingly unbothered by the looks sent their way.
This behaviour wasn’t limited to the dozen or so servants Ahrisham brought; it extended to the mare herself and her personal retinue. Her conversations with her wizard and soothsayer filled the halls with melodious vocalisation. The soothsayer spoke both Equestrian and her own tongue. Blueblood couldn’t help but note that the strange, even eerie soothsayer spoke flawless Equish, without even a hint of an accent - something Perplexity found... perplexing. She did not elaborate further on the subject…
In truth, Blueblood attempted to not pollute his mind with these guests, even trying to avoid them whenever possible. It worked fine for almost a week. He was however very well aware that sooner rather than later he would have to interact with them, despite his reservations.
Stirring his morning coffee, a brew strong enough to rouse even the dead, he cast his blue eyes around the table. One of the upsides of eating breakfast with his aunts and the select few lucky (or unlucky, depending on the perspective) ponies was that Saddle Arabians did not participate. Not because they hadn’t been invited, oh no. Aunt Celestia had extended the invitation to Ahrisham, but she had politely refused, saying she was occupied during the morning hours.
It was completely fine by Blueblood. At least he could enjoy the breakfast in peace.
Today’s petit déjeuner had a very small attendance. Besides himself, only his aunts and Ms. Raven were present. In all honesty, Blueblood preferred these intimate meals, free from other dignitaries breathing down his neck or counting how many times he stirred his coffee (seven times in total, four to the left and three to the right). These were ponies around whom he felt more or less comfortable.
“... light for Your Majesty.” Ms. Inkwell mused from over her cinnamon croissant, some crumbs stuck to her muzzle. “First thing in the morning, ten-o-clock, so we have a few hours to prepare, you were asked to attend the grand re-opening of Best of the Best Boutique…”
“They always do the ‘grand re-opening’ whenever they change paint there.” Princess Luna mumbled into her coffee mug, protectively cradling it with both of her silver-shoed hooves.
“... speaking of you, Princess Luna.” Raven carried on unphased, though a tiny smirk graced her lips. “Teachers of Vanhoover’s Elementary requested explicitly for their Princess of the Night to attend one of the reading classes.”
Princess Luna groaned audibly, sticking her entire muzzle into her coffee mug. After a moment she asked, her snout still inside the mug: “When?”
“Around noon today, though, they asked you to arrive as early as half an hour earlier. Foals are very excited at the prospect of meeting their princess.” Raven nodded sharply and drew a check mark with a pencil in her notes.
“You should be happy, dear sister. You always complain that your little ponies rarely invite you to their events.” Celestia said with a smile, cutting a small piece of her pancake and levitating it to her mouth.
“We are overjoyed.” Luna raised her head, blinking one eye at the time, her tone monotone. Tip of Princess’ muzzle was dripping with coffee. “We just need a moment to collect our thoughts.” Her eyes swivelled towards her mug. “And more coffee.”
Celestia giggled into her hoof, far more spry than her nocturnal sibling. Her pale magenta eyes fell on Blueblood, and he instantly realised something: she had that smile on her muzzle.
“Oh no.” Prince mumbled, feeling primordial dread dawn upon him. He started to chew his sweet bagel a bit faster.
“Nephew~” Celestia’s voice was warm and sweet, too sweet.
Blueblood pretended he hadn’t heard her, even though his ears visibly twitched at the sound of his aunt’s voice.
“I have been thinking - since Ahrisham expressed her interest in learning more about Equestria and our culture…” She began.
“No, Auntie...” Blueblood's plea fell on deaf ears.
“... visiting cultural sites and even engaging with Canterlot ponies of her own volition…”
“Please…?”
“... perhaps you could accompany her? Show her and her entourage what life in Canterlot is like.”
“... have mercy…”
“Please, Blue,” Celestia said with a sigh, using his pet name. The mere mention of it brought a scarlet blush to the Prince’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “You are being dramatic.”
“Why me?” Blueblood struggled to hold in a whinny. “You are well aware of our… animosity.”
“From what I’ve seen, it's very one-sided,” Celestia mused, chewing on her pancake before adding more whipped cream to her meal.
“You know well enough I have every reason to be... upset.” The word felt awkward on his tongue, but he didn't want to use anything stronger.
“Ahrisham wanted to apologise for her misconduct…” Celestia noted, shooting a glance toward Luna.
The Lunar Princess had finished her coffee and was now questioning Raven for more details about the reading class she was set to attend. She looked happy at the thought of the visit, even if her nose was still damp and a shade darker.
“... yet you avoided her every time she tried.” Celestia continued.
“I have my own reasons.” Blueblood retorted. In truth, he had none - he was being petty, and he knew it.
“I don't require you to like her.” Princess Celestia pointed out, her tone gentle but firm. “But you should at least hear her out. Then you can decide whether to hold a grudge or not. Otherwise, it wouldn't be just.”
Prince Blueblood grumbled at his aunt’s words. He knew she was right, and he wasn't too happy about it. Antagonising a foreign envoy did not befit a royal. After a long pause, he replied, massaging his temples with his hooves. “I... I'll consider it, Auntie.”
“Splendid!” Celestia chirped, finishing her pancake. She gracefully rose from her seat, letting out a light sigh as she stretched her feathery wings. “I trust you will do the right thing, nephew.”
With that, she gestured to Raven, who quickly excused herself and followed the Solar diarch out of the Great Hall, leaving Princess Luna and Blueblood to finish their breakfast in peace.
An awkward silence settled over the table, interrupted only by the soft clink of cutlery against plates and the occasional slurp of coffee.
“Could you pass me the sugar, please?” Princess Luna asked suddenly.
“Of course.” Blueblood replied, using his magic to slide the tiny silver bowl and tongs over to her.
The quiet lingered as Luna took a single sugar cube and dropped it into her midnight-black brew. They didn’t exchange any words for nearly a full minute.
Standing up, leaving a few crumbs of bagel on his plate, Blueblood cast one last glance at the Princess of the Night. “I should be going. Have a nice...”
“We understand you.” Luna blurted out, her voice low, eyes fixed on the depths of her coffee mug.
“Understand what, exactly?” Blueblood asked, taken aback, his expression puzzled.
“Singed pride hurts the most… we… I know it very well.” She lifted her cyan gaze to meet the Prince’s eyes.
He scoffed. “I assure you, dear aunt, this is not a matter of a bruised ego.”
Luna merely narrowed her eyes at him, making Blueblood’s scowl deepen.
“Have it thine way, ‘nephew’.” In Luna’s mouth, the word lacked its usual warmth. “We can’t learn your lessons for you.”
‘There is no lesson to be learned here.’ Blueblood thought, biting his tongue. It wouldn’t be wise to talk back to somepony like Luna.
“I…” He swallowed. “... appreciate that you allow me to make and learn from my own mistakes.”
Princess Luna's face brightened slightly, making Blueblood almost regretful that he did not mean any of his words.
“Perhaps Celestia is right about you.” She said with a smile, turning around and starting to trot away, her muzzle still stained with coffee. “Have a good day, nephew.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Freed from the Grand Hall, Prince Blueblood trotted briskly through the wide corridors of the castle, his mood brightened after a sweet pastry to complement his bagel. He was still savouring the lingering taste, smacking his lips, when he heard it.
"My Prince!" A voice called from somewhere behind him. Blueblood quickened his pace, not in the mood to deal with Canterlot's bureaucrats this early in the day.
The voice gasped and heaved, its owner speeding up, hooves clattering and even the faint flapping of wings suggesting a hurried advance.
Rolling his eyes, Blueblood finally turned, and was greeted by the slightly winded visage of a heavy-set, round Pegasus stallion. His reddish mane was in disarray, and he lifted one wing, gesturing for a moment to catch his breath. "A-a moment," he panted. "I need to... to..."
Blueblood tapped his hoof impatiently, his expression a carefully neutral mask.
"Your Highness." The esteemed Seneschal, Lord Usurers, straightened up, using the tips of his feathered wings to fix his high-standing collar. However, the decorative brooch pinned there remained crooked.
"Yes, Lord Usurers?" Blueblood asked, taking a subtle step back to avoid the scent of a sweaty pony.
"I was hoping to find you. Or one of the Princesses." The stallion replied, each word finished with an annoying smack of his lips, causing the Prince's ears to twitch.
Blueblood gestured for him to continue, his own curiosity piqued despite himself.
After a final, deep inhale, Usurers managed to regain his composure. "Ahm..." He cleared his throat. "There has been an incident in the Diplomatic Wing."
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The Diplomatic Wing was one of the most beautiful yet busiest areas in all of Canterlot Castle. It was also the largest, dwarfing even the Royal Quarters. Unlike other wings, which often stood empty for most of the year save for an occasional servant tasked with cleaning, this part of the castle complex remained occupied year-round. Dignitaries and envoys from all over the world had their private quarters and offices here, making it the most diverse place in all of Equestria. Seaponies, Hippogriffs, Griffons, Buffalo, Yaks, Diamond Dogs, Zebras and more mingled together, forming friendships, rivalries, and striked deals within these walls and adjacent gardens. A number of embassies, designed to reflect the nations they represented, offered a sense of home far away from home to these esteemed guests.
On any other day, Prince Blueblood would have stopped to chat and mingle, especially since he had avoided this part of the castle for nearly a week. But now, his hoofsteps were urgent, leading a small regiment of tense Royal Guards toward where the Saddle Arabian temporary embassy used to be.
Used to be.
Lord Usurers had been precise in his explanation: a part of the Diplomatic Wing had been consumed by a raging storm that had somehow manifested indoors, pouring out through the embassy’s doors and windows. The damages were severe and still mounting as the thunderstorm grew in intensity.
When Blueblood arrived at the terrace leading toward the Zebrican sector of the wing, he found the scene both mesmerising and terrifying. His ears instinctively pinned flat against his skull as he jumped behind the nearest guard to use her as a shield. Poking his head above her armoured frame, he watched as dark, purple clouds circled overhead, visible through cracks in the damaged roof. Bright lightning occasionally lit the sky, making him shrink even further. Thunderbolts, while sparse, still assaulted this sector of the palace, causing fires and warping whatever they hit. Floors and walls were cracked and charred where bolts had struck, and parts of the stone had melted under the intense heat. Window shutters either hung pathetically from their frames, swaying in the gale, or had been entirely ripped off, while glass was strewn across the floor, mixed with dirt, branches, and leaves. Parts of the outer walls had collapsed in places, and sections of the roof were missing.
What struck Blueblood as most intriguing were the dull, purple crystals growing in clusters here and there, seemingly close to the spots where lightning hit. Some were hoof-sized, while others were as tall and wide as a pony, protruding from walls and floors at odd angles. Several of these crystals lay shattered on the ground, brittle as dried clay, breaking under the slightest pressure. Being a unicorn, Blueblood sensed a lingering magic within them, and with a bit of concentration, he detected a familiar sensation - like a failed spell: empty, disappointing, stiffening.
Shaking his head and lifting his eyes over the guardsmare’s back, he saw an unusual pony nearby. To his surprise, it was Celestia’s star pupil - Twilight Sparkle! She was dishevelled, with wild strands of mane sticking out at odd angles, and her purple fur was stained with soot and debris. She stood where the Saddle Arabian embassy doors once were, her horn alight with an intense hue of pink magic.
“Why...” He began, raising his tone and poking more of himself out from behind his improvised pony-shield. “...whenever there is some magical mishap in Canterlot, are you always at the centre of it?”
At the sound of his harsh voice, Twilight’s ears folded back, her spell breaking. She spun around, her dark hair flailing in the wind, giving him a sheepish look. “Uh, um… the spell… it got out of hoof... I didn’t mean to... I... I…” She stammered, still the same anxious student he remembered.
“You are lucky that I’m good friends with your brother, Twilight Sparkle. Otherwise, I would be...” He paused dramatically, pushing the guardsmare forward, despite her increasing annoyance, finally stopping right in front of Twilight, purple crystal shards crunching beneath his hooves. “...upset.”
Prince Blueblood scanned the wreckage around them. Pieces of what had once been a statue lay scattered nearby, its larger fragments the only reminders of the masterwork it used to be. Restoring this ancient hall to its former glory would take considerable time and resources.
The guards who had arrived with Prince Blueblood, except for the mare he was using for cover, quickly dispersed. They searched for the injured and tried to restore some semblance of order, urging onlookers to keep their distance and find shelter. The guardsmare, unlike Blueblood, avoided stepping on the brittle crystals, carefully shovelling them aside with her hooves.
More and more victims of what appeared to be a violent magical anomaly began to emerge from their hiding spots at the sight of help. Some were limping from injuries caused by falling debris or stray splinters, though none seemed to be gravely hurt. ‘There will be so much paperwork to sign’, Blueblood thought, watching a Zebra shuffle past them, favouring one of her back legs. Such an accident in the middle of the embassy complex was bound to cause an uproar.
“What happened?” Blueblood asked, giving Twilight a pointed look. He braced himself internally for the flood of magical jargon he knew was coming, hoping he could catch at least a word or two that might explain the mess.
“I was testing a theory concerning the expansion of the Crystal Desert.” Twilight began, using her pink-hued magic to wipe a streak of soot from her cheek. “I was trying to stabilise the crystals produced by the storm, because…”
As if under a spell, Twilight’s words became incomprehensible. Blueblood’s ears twitched as she started rambling about advanced magical theory, some of which he was hearing for the first time. A quick glance at his makeshift shield revealed that the guardsmare was even more confused by Twilight’s ramble than he was.
Twilight’s lecture seemed endless... For somepony more versed in magical theory it likely could be an enlightening thing, alas - Blueblood was not such a pony. As he listened on, he could almost feel smoke coming out of his ears…
Luckily, before he could test the theory of whether his mind would sizzle under the continued assault of magical buzzwords, a mare in golden armour approached them. Her eyes shifted uncertainty between the silent Prince and the nervously chattering Twilight, then fell on her unfortunate comrade. She maintained a stoic expression, though tiny sparks in her eyes hinted that her colleague had just earned herself a new nickname. Eventually, her gaze settled back on Prince Blueblood.
“Permission to report, sir!” Lieutenant barked, snapping a salute with her wing. Her ears twitched with each word uttered by Twilight.
“Granted.” He nodded, poking his head up from over his barricade.
Twilight did not seem to notice the presence of another pony nearby, continuing her one-sided discourse.
“We have completed the initial survey.” the Lieutenant replied. “There are five casualties, including one serious, and one missing. Interviews with compliant witnesses are in progress.” She laid out the basics. “The storm over our heads…” As if on cue, a lightning bolt struck what remained of the roof, making several ponies yelp. The Prince himself ducked behind his cover, nearly dragging the guardsmare down with him.
“H-hey!” The mare yelped, her hooves slipping on the shards of glass, crystal, and clumps of dirt. Blueblood paid her no heed.
“...appears to be weakening, though we have already sent for a local detachment of Wonderbolts to take care of it.” the Lieutenant continued.
“Uh… good.” The Prince mumbled, only the top of his head poking out from behind his ‘hiding spot’. “Do you know when they are…?”
“ETA is said to be twelve minutes from now.” the Lieutenant snapped, checking her simple, sturdy pocket watch.
That was an acceptable answer in Blueblood’s mind.
Twilight’s words had become little more than background noise at this point. The mare, however, had managed to procure a piece of chalk from somewhere and was drawing diagrams on a nearby wall.
“Any details on that missing pony?” Blueblood questioned further, placing his hooves on his shield’s gilded armour, once again finding the courage to poke his head out. His eyes shifted from the Lieutenant to the sky, as if expecting another lightning bolt to strike at any moment.
“Not much. All we know is - one of the Saddle Arabians did not show up after the incident.” Her voice was a bit strained. “It doesn’t mean anything just yet.”
Prince inhaled sharply. “Of course…”
Standing to his full height, Blueblood tried to compose himself, even though his legs trembled beneath him.
“You know what to do lieutenant.” He motioned towards the mare with his hoof. “Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir!” She saluted once more before trotting off, barking orders at her subordinates, casting one last look at the mare-turned-shield before leaving Blueblood to suffer through Twilight’s lecture.
“…and that’s why attempting a harmonic convergence of thaumic energy within a crystal matrix must account for nonlinear fluctuations in the resonant frequency, especially when dealing with the arcane equivalence principle!” Twilight finished, blinking as if just now realising she was not in her study but in the midst of a destroyed castle wing. It chipped away a bit at her resolve, making her ears flop back in embarrassment.
“I… yes.” Blueblood muttered, giving Twilight a shallow nod. “But what does any of that mean in laypony terms?”
“Oh! Right.” Twilight shuffled sheepishly, picking up a shard of purple crystal with her magic and crushing it into a fine dust. “The crystals you see around here? They are very - and I must emphasise this - very unstable! Don’t touch them, and it’s best not to even come near them.”
That was easier said than done, as shards of these crystals littered the floor. Blueblood nudged aside the pieces beneath his hooves.
“That leaves me with one more question - what are you doing here?” The Prince asked bluntly. “I dread to think what kind of sorcery you tried to perform in the Diplomatic Wing of all places.”
“Princess Celestia sent me a letter.” Twilight replied, as if that alone was her entire defence. “I-I was supposed to help with the project Ahrisham was working on, b-but…” She stammered. “It was supposed to be simple research! But now it’s a mess…”
Blueblood had little idea what this ‘project’ might be. He hadn’t paid much attention to the Saddle Arabian delegates’ requests after their first private meeting, but he recalled something about seeking counsel on magical matters... What exactly was it, though? He couldn't quite remember.
However, he knew one thing - he had found his culprit.
“Do you know where Ahrisham is now?” The Prince asked, glancing around as if expecting the Saddle Arabian mare to pop out from a hiding spot.
Twilight shook her head. “I lost track of her right when the storm erupted. I tried my best to contain it and didn’t pay attention.”
“She might be with others after they were rounded up.” The previously silent guardsmare finally spoke up.
Blueblood shot her a heated look - one meant for servants who spoke out of turn - but it didn’t seem to faze her in the slightest. He snorted. Crystal Ponies like her did not revere Canterlot royalty as they ought to.
“Lieutenant Peach Sunrise already performed a headcount, no?” She reasoned, looking with the corner of her eye at the agitated Prince. “All the wounded and witnesses are likely gathered someplace outside of the afflicted zone.”
“Good thinking!” Twilight chirped, feeling a bit lighter at the thought of leaving this cursed place. “Let’s get going.”
With a salute, the mare started to escort both Prince and Twilight out of the storm zone, accidentally tripping Blueblood on occasion making him stumble.
He was certain these were no accidents, but had no way to prove it.
As the trio neared the exit from the Zebrican section of the Diplomatic Wing, a low, whistling sound came from above. The noise intensified, and soon, through the holes in the roof, they spotted colourful streaks cutting through the dark clouds. Lightning flashed across the sky, yet the streaks deftly dodged each strike. They engaged in a perilous dance, slicing the storm into smaller fragments, dispersing whatever sinister magic held it together.
“Oh no…” Twilight gasped, looking up, her wide, violet eyes filled with worry. “What if they get hit by lightning?”
“That’s kind of in their job description.” The guardsmare snickered, leading them out of the storm-ravaged area and pushing open the heavy oak doors with both hooves.
Once they were through, it felt as though an oppressive weight had lifted from their shoulders. Their legs shook, and their breaths came quicker, as if they’d just finished a gruelling exercise. Blueblood noticed how much brighter the colours seemed on this side. Though the same sunlight came through, everything appeared livelier. A glance back revealed how dull and drained the area they’d left behind looked.
‘Must be because of these dark clouds.’ He mused, following after his ‘Shield’.
True to ‘Shield’s’ words, Canterlot’s Royal Guard had set up a rendezvous point just outside. More nurses bustled about than there were injured, bandaging wounds, pulling shards of glass and other debris, and questioning patients.
By a large window overlooking the Zebrican sector’s terrace, a number of Saddle Arabians gathered, their expressions mixed, from tiredness and dejection to fright and even anger. Some gazed at the storm, wincing each time lightning cleaved the clouds. Dust and debris clung to their colourful clothes, splinters tangled in their manes and tails. Their leader, Ahrisham, was in a heated exchange with Lieutenant Peach Sunrise. She held a handkerchief to her cheek, its once-white fabric now stained with crimson.
“No, I don’t know where she is...” Ahrisham sighed. “But I’m almost certain she’s fine.”
Blueblood noted that she dropped her thick accent, her tone nearly that of a native speaker.
“How can you be so sure?” Peach Sunrise pressed, stomping a hoof, her feathers ruffling with irritation. “For all we know, she could be buried under rubble!”
“I just am.” Ahrisham’s tone was firm as she pressed the handkerchief more tightly to her cheek. She winced and the red stain grew a little. “The Cycle does not claim its prophet so easily.”
Lieutenant Peach Sunrise exhaled in frustration, waving around a quill and parchment with the tip of her wings. “Fine. At least give me her name…”
“She doesn’t have one.” Ahrisham replied with a slight smirk.
The Lieutenant glared at her.
“It is true! Snake ate it.” Ahrisham sounded convinced of her words.
“Lieutenant!” Blueblood’s ‘Shield’ called, her heavy hooves hitting the floor as she saluted her acting commander. “Prince Blueblood and Twilight Sparkle wish to speak with Lady Ahrisham!” She announced in one breath, gasping as she finished.
“I can speak for myself,” Blueblood said wryly, pushing past her, no longer needing his pony-shaped barricade.
Despite his recent ordeal, which left several of his hairs sticking out at odd angles, Blueblood managed to look presentable, almost regal. Yes, his bowtie was a bit crooked, and his hooves were dust-streaked, but it gave him an appropriately hooves-on look, ideal for the situation. Puffed up, he fixed his cold, blue eyes on Ahrisham. Despite her towering height, Blueblood remained unflinching.
“Ahrisham…” He did not bother with her title. “I’ve been informed of the incident that took place here.” He said with exaggerated politeness, as though this were a simple court chat and not an interrogation.
Ahrisham glanced at him, then at Twilight, then out the window to the swirling storm clouds. “You’d be correct, Prince.” She let out a tiny, resigned sigh.
‘So now she remembers I am a Prince.’ Blueblood thought, satisfied.
“That storm.” Ahrisham motioned to the sky. “Is but a piece of a magical anomaly that’s slowly consuming my homeland. What you see here is but a fangless, clawless infant - easily contained.” Just then, lightning struck, scattering the streaks fighting it.
“You know very well what it is,” he observed, casting a glance skyward.
Ahrisham nodded, her expression wary.
“Then perhaps you can explain how this storm ended up here, so far from your home?” It was spoken as a question, though any foal could sense the accusation.
Ahrisham swallowed audibly, clearly uncomfortable. She cast a brief glance at Twilight before refocusing on Blueblood. “One of the crystal cores we used in testing... didn’t react well to a spell.”
He gestured for her to continue.
“It... shattered, sending razor-sharp shards everywhere. Worse - it triggered a chain reaction with other, lesser crystals we had in storage, sparking the storm that now looms over us.”
“And you thought it wise to do such experiments here, when there was a real danger of unleashing such a calamity over Canterlot Castle?” Blueblood’s voice dripped with smug satisfaction. He had heard everything he needed.
Twilight tried to interject, “It wasn’t like that; it was an accid—”
Neither of them paid her any mind.
Ahrisham considered Blueblood’s words, her expression guarded. “Our experiment wasn’t a complete failure.” She replied carefully. “We learned—”
“That’s not what I asked.” Blueblood interrupted sharply, tapping his hoof impatiently. His eyes held a triumphant gleam.
Ahrisham sighed, her eyes fixed on him. “I knew there was a risk and still proceeded, hoping that Twilight’s methods would contain it. They didn’t.”
Blueblood let out a happy hum, Ahrisham didn’t even attempt to deny her involvement, which only made things easier for him.
Blueblood hummed, pleased. Ahrisham hadn’t tried to deny her involvement, making it all the easier for him. “Seize her.” He ordered with glee, his voice oozing with satisfaction.
“Wait, what…? No!” Twilight protested.
The two guards looked between themselves, then at Blueblood, Twilight, and finally Ahrisham, seeming uncertain.
Ahrisham didn’t flinch, though her magic faltered, letting the handkerchief slip from her face, revealing a dark cut still oozing blood.
“You heard your Prince,” Blueblood barked at the Royal Guards. “I want Lady Ahrisham detained and held accountable.”
“Blueblood! You… you can’t do that!” Twilight stomped her hoof in defiance.
“Oh, but I can - and I will. It’s well within my authority.” He said smugly. “Somepony has to be held responsible.”
Twilight sat on her haunches, folding her forelegs, her mane frizzing slightly as she fumed.
“The charges include but aren’t limited to: extensive destruction of the Zebrican sector, endangerment of lives, conducting dangerous experiments without permit in a populated area, resulting in…” He looked around. “How many injured?”
“Five.” Peach Sunrise replied.
“Five injuries.” He paused. “That’s sufficient to warrant imprisonment.”
Ahrisham, silent through Blueblood’s speech, winced at the mention of casualties. She was reckless and was now paying the price of it.
With the Prince's authority reaffirmed, the guards had no choice but to obey. They stepped toward the slightly trembling Ahrisham, urging her to come with them. She moved without protest, casting one cautious glance over her shoulder.
Her Saddle Arabian entourage, however, was far from pleased. Although they couldn’t speak or understand Equestrian, they knew well what it meant to be escorted out by armed guards. They burst into an uproar, first calling out to their lady in their melodic tongue. Whatever her reply was, it didn’t satisfy them. The air filled with the stomps of hooves and angry shouts. Some even gnawed on the hafts of their knives, as though preparing to fight. But Ahrisham’s commanding tone swiftly quelled them, her calm authority reminding them that now was not the time. Still, the fury in their eyes was unmistakable as they watched her taken away..
With Ahrisham led off, Blueblood and Twilight were left standing among the distressed Saddle Arabians.
“Well, I hope you’re happy now, Blueblood.” Twilight grumbled, her gaze following the guards and the arrested envoy.
“I assure you, I am positively ecstatic.” Blueblood’s tone held a hint of smugness. Was it petty? Certainly. But at that moment, he couldn’t resist indulging in it.
The unsettled foreigners seemed completely at a loss for how to proceed now that their only anchor in Equestria had been removed. They exchanged glances, murmured in their native tongue, and some even dared to look toward Blueblood. He paid them no mind - their problems were theirs alone.
Without so much as a glance back, he turned to leave. Twilight called after him weakly, but his mind was already occupied with less pleasant, though more pressing, thoughts.
And why was his hoof so itchy?
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Today’s crème brûlée was especially delicious in Blueblood’s mind. He spooned a bit and levitated it to his mouth, humming as the creamy treat melted on his tongue. A bit of sweet and sour aftertaste of a blueberry he crunched alongside excited his sense of taste! Oh, today he certainly would take a second serving of a dessert. He never asked for it, always mindful of his line.
“...seen the latest interview with Sapphire Shores?” A pony nearby whispered conspicuously loud. “She finally spilled some details about the colt paparazzi have been snapping pictures of for the past three weeks!”
“No!” Another voice gasped. “Where did you read it?”
“In Cosmarelitan!” The first pony replied enthusiastically, followed by the soft rustle of magazine pages.
“...quarterly report. Infrastructure spending shot up sharply with the Manehattan harbour expansion. If we don’t plug this hole soon, we may need to cancel the project.” Usurers' voice droned on, accented by the familiar click of his lips smacking. The sound made Blueblood’s ear twitch.
“Over my dead body,” another voice replied - gruff and itching to argue at the slightest provocation.
“Perhaps,” Usurers shot back with a smile one could practically hear. “Do you suggest another loan? It’s not as though we have many lenders left.”
At the far end of the table, Perplexity’s curly tail rose as she ducked under the cloth to retrieve spilled legumes, muttering apologies repeatedly to the mixed amusement and annoyance of the ponies around her.
As conversations merged into a steady hum, Blueblood filtered out the noise, letting it fade into the background. Only within the castle’s walls could casual gossip mingle with discussions of state affairs that impacted the lives of millions of ponies.
As he sat deeper in his comfortable chair, savouring the last traces of the crème brûlée on his tongue, Blueblood allowed himself a quiet moment to reflect. Ahrisham’s arrest had been more than a personal triumph. True, the satisfaction of finally putting that defiant mare in her place felt deserved, yet it was not mere vengeance that had guided him. No, her reckless actions had endangered lives, and the law was explicit on such matters. A spell gone awry could not simply be brushed aside as an accident without consequence. Had it been any other pony - diplomat or commoner alike - the law would demand accountability, and here, it was no different. This decision, he reasoned, upheld the principles of fairness and justice that he held above all else, ensuring that Equestria remained a place of order and accountability, even for esteemed foreign envoys.
“Ahm, my Prince.” A servant’s voice came from the left side, interrupting Blueblood’s tranquil and self-indulging thoughts.
Blueblood shook his head, turning toward the intruding pony. She was as plain as any Canterlot castle servant, with no notable features to set her apart. Holding back a biting remark about interrupting him during his meal, he gestured with a hoof for her to continue. He was in a good enough mood to show some leniency to his lessers.
“S-somepony wishes to speak with you.” She stammered, ears folding back against her skull. She added, in a near-whisper. “She says it is urgent.”
“Urgent?” Blueblood echoed with a lazy arch of his eyebrow. “Urgency is rarely a priority in my dealings. Tell this… whoever they are, that they can wait until I am finished.”
Almost as if out of spite, he prepared himself mentally for a third serving of dessert and perhaps a generous glass of wine or cognac. To aid digestion, naturally.
Blueblood heard the servant leave, her hooves clopping meekly against the floor. Perhaps she really had left someone waiting outside with an important matter? He shrugged. If it was truly pressing, they could afford to wait for his judgement. Meanwhile, why shouldn't he indulge a little longer? After all, it was the day of his triumph!
Humming, he lit his horn, his blue aura drawing the dessert platter closer. Conversations around the table began to die down, and soon enough, everypony’s gaze was fixed on him. A few excitable ponies even gasped as the Prince helped himself to a generous slice of saffron and vanilla custard tartlet.
Was the sight of Equestria’s only Prince taking yet another serving of dessert so remarkable? Apparently, yes. The thought amused him; it could spark a few gossips - Celestia’s reputation for baked goods was proof enough!
Blueblood paid them no mind, leaning back comfortably in his chair with his treat in front of him. He was about to take the first, delicate bite when…
A massive, purple serpent slithered onto the table, coiling comfortably and displacing platters and silverware. It locked eyes with Blueblood - its gaze golden, intelligent and unblinking. The snake opened its hood, revealing its amber underside, and flicked out its black, forked tongue.
Screams and shouts erupted in the Great Hall as ponies scrambled to their hooves, hurling plates and cutlery in their frantic retreat.
The serpent ignored them, its unsettling focus solely on Blueblood.
“E-easy there…” Blueblood managed to say, his voice shaking as a primal fear gripped him. In his eyes the creature seemed enormous, easily large enough to swallow a pony whole!
The beast did not react and instead moved its head closer, rising tall above the terrified Prince.
Just when the Prince thought his life was about to be snuffed out, a combative cry echoed through the hall. Lord Drustan and one of the royal guards had regained their senses and rushed to his aid. The guard wielded her standard-issue spear, while Drustan, lacking a proper weapon, had grabbed a sturdy silver platter; what he lacked in equipment, he made up for with raw fervour.
They charged at the serpent, each taking a different side of the table to distract the beast. The snake, however, was undeterred - turning its unblinking gaze from Blueblood, it aimed its intense stare at the guard. She halted mid-step, then fell to the ground, trembling. Its gaze shifted to Drustan, who either was too close for the spell to affect him or was too enraged to fall under it. With a loud CLANG!, Drustan struck the snake’s head with the platter.
The creature hissed, its maw gaping open to reveal two long fangs and rows of razor-sharp, hook-like teeth in the back of its mouth. Its fangs glistened with clear venom, droplets of which fell onto the table, marring the cloth and wood below.
Blueblood could only watch, paralyzed with terror. He wanted desperately to flee, yet found himself rooted in his chair, forced to witness the battle unfolding before him.
Before the fight could escalate further, a voice rang out - quiet, yet compelling enough to calm the serpent and stay the formidable Lord Drustan’s hoof.
“Cease this madness.” It was no request, nor even a plea, but a command, delivered in a silky-smooth tone that would allow for no argument.
As if entranced, everypony turned toward the voice. Even Blueblood, still frozen, managed to twist his head to see the source of such authority.
In the Prince’s view, the mare was unassuming, almost bland. She was tall, like other Saddle Arabians, with fur the colour of desert sand and a mane as dark as polished mahogany. Unlike her kin, she wore little - only loose wraps of fine cloth around her barrel and legs. Strapped to her left foreleg was a long, S-shaped dagger with a perfectly polished blade and an ivory or bone hilt. As Blueblood’s gaze lingered on her, he noticed tiny scars on her neck, like puncture marks. And her eyes… those golden, slit-pupil eyes - just like the serpent’s - unsettled him. They seemed to bore straight into him.
The Prince blinked in fear, and the illusion seemed to break. Her eyes were only a warm, deep gold, but they still seemed to peer into his very soul.
With a light hiss, the serpent slithered toward her. The crowd tensed as she extended her left foreleg, allowing the snake to coil around it, winding up her frame until it draped itself around her neck like a glistening, purple shawl. Its head rested near her ear, almost as if it were whispering secrets to her. Blueblood could have sworn he heard faint words in a strange, ancient tongue, just beyond the edge of his understanding.
“You told me you’d get me an audience with the Prince.” She murmured to the serpent, stroking its smooth, shining scales with one hoof. “But I did not expect you to make such a scene.”
The serpent did not speak, or make any move, however the mare reacted as if it replied, corners of her lips twisting in a smile.
“What is the meaning of this?” Drustan demanded, not so easily intimidated by the eerie magic. He stomped forward, still gripping the dented silver platter in his mouth - the indentation in the middle was a clear mark of where it had struck the serpent’s head.
The sand-coloured mare remained silent for a few moments, still stroking the serpent coiled around her. Her gaze drifted from Drustan to Blueblood and back again. “Suzu is willing to overlook this assault; Equestria’s ponies' ignorance is well-known to us.”
Suzu - the serpent in question - lifted its head from the mare’s neck, its unblinking stare fixed on Drustan.
The Constable, though momentarily halted by the snake’s intense gaze, held his ground. “... what?” He managed to mutter, just as the serpent and its enigmatic keeper shifted their attention back to Blueblood.
“Beings such as I rarely entangle themselves in the affairs of ponies.” The mare spoke again, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Blueblood. “But sometimes, it is inevitable. A strand to be untangled, a knot to resolve, a thick skull to be bashed in…” She regarded him with a long, scrutinising look, tilting her head from side to side. “Which one are you?”
Blueblood shared Drustan’s confusion, though his was tinged with indignation. Were all Saddle Arabians so ignorant and disrespectful, constantly forgetting their manners when addressing royalty? If it weren’t for the unnerving glow in Suzu’s eyes, he would have voiced his displeasure outright. Instead, all he managed was a small, pathetic croak.
He coughed, clearing his throat to regain composure. “If you’ve come here to beg for your master’s freedom, you may as well leave.” He kept a wary eye on Suzu, marvelling at how anypony could be so at ease with a snake coiled about them. “I do not negotiate with those who forget their place.”
The mare laughed darkly, shaking her head. “Your fate and that of Ahrisham are already entwined. There’s no need for me to meddle further.” Her smile was faint but knowing. “No, I am here to nudge you toward another path - which I already have.”
“You what?!” Drustan called out, outraged.
The mare offered no reply, not even a glance at the fuming stallion. Her gaze stayed fixed on Blueblood, silent judgement within it. He felt himself sweat under the weight of her stare, an inexplicable urge to look away but finding himself unable to.
“… What… what path?” He finally asked, a growing sense of unease gnawing at him.
Still, the mare did not answer. She turned instead, her steps soft yet deliberate as she disappeared through the servant’s door. Blueblood’s mind raced with the urge to call for guards, to have her arrested, yet he couldn’t summon the will. He let out a defeated sigh, sinking back into his comfortable chair. His eyes drifted to the saffron and vanilla custard tartlet before him, which somehow remained intact through the entire ordeal.
With a sudden flash of anger, he struck it off the table with a swipe of his hoof, watching it splatter across the floor. What had been a day of his triumph had soured, leaving only a bitter taste in its wake.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“… in my ledger. But the reports I have on hoof are… inconclusive.” Perplexity’s voice, sweet yet raspy, mused as she shuffled through a stack of papers, touching them with just the very tips of her clawed wings.
“How is that even possible?” Blueblood’s tone betrayed his annoyance, his frayed nerves starting to show. “You know everything that goes on in the castle!”
“Almost everything.” She corrected him, a small smirk playing on her lips as she skimmed another file.
They stood in what she called her office, though to Blueblood it was little more than a glorified janitor’s closet. A cramped, dim space, it was walled with row upon row of tall cabinets and shelves, all filled with records and secrets, files stacked high enough to make reaching the desk feel like navigating a maze. A couch with an EEA-style coat draped over one arm sat in the corner - likely for napping, he assumed. Almost no sounds from outside came through, making their breaths and shuffling appear louder than they really were.
He felt boxed in, while she moved with ease, seeming to know every inch of this cluttered domain. But he hadn’t come to comment on the decor or to argue. He needed information.
“I didn’t pay much attention to her, because…” Perplexity flipped the ledger towards Blueblood. It was open on page with ‘Saddle Arabian #17’. A surprisingly detailed charcoal portrait of the mysterious mare greeted him. “... she is completely unremarkable.”
Prince’s eyes scanned the scarce information contained in the file. There was nothing in it, not even a name - there wasn’t a single mention of the dangerous, pony-eating snake she seemed to keep as a pet. With a grumble, he tossed it back at Perplexity, who flailed her wings and forelegs to catch her precious ledger.
“Hey!” She growled. “Watch it! This thing is important.”
“Maybe.” He scoffed. “And yet it doesn’t have what I need. Heck - I learned more about this mare with my today's run-in with her than you throughout the entire week!” He berated her.
Perplexity’s ears folded back as she had no rebuttal to Prince’s words. She just cradled her ledger against her chest, casting her eyes down. “W-well…”
“Don’t give me that look.” Blueblood interrupted her. “I need everything you got on her - all the reports, including the most trivial notes. Maybe something slipped through.”
“With all due respect, my Prince, you don’t need to tell me how to do my job.” She muttered, biting her lower lip, her pronounced fangs showing in a faint pout.
“Apparently, I do.” He pressed, though he was quick to soften his tone. There was no point in antagonising her further, however satisfying it might feel. “You saw it yourself at dinner - there’s something off about her. And her snake…” He shuddered involuntarily, recalling those golden eyes staring down at him. “It’s no ordinary beast.” His voice dropped to a near whisper.
Perplexity clearly hated it, but with a resigned sigh, she muttered, “...fine,” and pushed her ledger deeper into the drawer before standing to retrieve notes on their target: mysterious Saddle Arabian number 17.
It took her several minutes to gather every scrap of information they had, and, to both her and Blueblood’s surprise, quite a lot of it existed. At least a hundred tiny notes, no larger than slips torn from a notebook, now littered the desk.
Blueblood picked up one at random. It had a date, time, location, and a single, concise line: ‘SA-17 in engaged conversation with Feather Touch (castle servant). Topics: weather, work, Cutie Mark/destiny. General small talk.’
“There are a lot of them.” He noticed, hopeful.
“Mhm… I didn’t even realise how many!” A voice came from behind a stack of boxes.
Finally, Perplexity emerged from the depths of her lair, cobwebs and stray notes tangled in her mane. She tossed a slim folder onto the pile, sending a few slips flying, though she didn’t seem to care.
“Phew!” She wiped her brow with a fuzzy fetlock. “That should be everything.”
Blueblood looked at the stack, humming thoughtfully. “Well… let’s get to it then.”
For the next four hours, they poured over the slips and pages of mostly useless observations. They were interrupted only once when a servant arrived with their lunch (lettuce, cheese, and tomato sandwiches with a pitcher of spiced tea).
Blueblood chewed his sandwich, scattering crumbs over the desk as he frowned at another note.
“Like I said.” Perplexity gasped after draining her tea, flicking her tongue over her lips. “There’s nothing on her. No dirt whatsoever. She’s never even slipped up once.”
“And that itself is suspicious.” Blueblood replied, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “She’s a foreigner, yet she navigates the castle as if she’s lived here all her life.”
Perplexity gave him a pointed look. “Please, your Highness. I’m the paranoid one between the two of us, and I still can’t find a hint of anything unusual.”
“Then there has to be something we’re overlooking.” Blueblood argued as his tone grew sharper.
“Perhaps,” she mused, setting her cup aside with a yawn and stretching her wings as best she could in the cramped space.
Blueblood surveyed the mountain of notes before him. A hundred trivial notations, a dozen minor mentions in other files, and two full reports, one covering the snake incident from today - all adding up to nothing. It was too… innocent. The mare came and went freely, merely watching or making small talk with seemingly random ponies. A migraine began to pulse in his temples, and he rubbed them, eyes shut in frustration.
Then he noticed something.
“If there’s truly nothing on her.” he began slowly, gesturing at the heap of notes. “Why is there so much?”
“Well…” She sucked in a breath, glancing away. “You told me to watch their every move… so I did. That includes our Missus Mystery.”
Blueblood nodded; he had been very specific about monitoring the Saddle Arabians.
“Have any of the others drawn this much attention?”
“Hmm?” Perplexity frowned, thinking. “Off the top of my head, no…”
“Exactly.”
Her eyes narrowed as she caught his meaning, her other eyebrow lifting slowly. “...oh.”
They set to work comparing SA 17’s sightings to those of the others in Ahrisham’s entourage. Even the envoy herself had far fewer mentions within a single folder, compared to the stack of snippets covering the mysterious mare’s every movement.
That really put things into perspective.
“She… she was everywhere.” Perplexity breathed, as she started adding pins onto a map of Canterlot Castle, sorting them by date and time and connecting them with a web of red string. Blueblood realised that her map was much more intricate than the one given to him, showing hidden passages, peepholes, and secret entrances. Two of these led into his own chambers, and he made a mental note to have Lavender place some furniture to block them.
Blueblood’s eyes scanned the complex web they created, each pin showing where the mysterious mare was spotted. Some of the pins connected to those next to them, but more often than not the next sighting was in a completely new part of the castle! There was no pattern or reason to them, almost as the mare disappeared in one place just to appear in another.
That was a lot of running for only one week.
"She doesn’t follow any routine, yet she’s been everywhere.” Blueblood mused, nudging a piece of string with a touch of magic from his horn, causing it to slip free. Perplexity huffed, irritation flashing across her face as she moved to fix it.
“Yeah.” She murmured, tightening the string and testing it with the tip of her claw. “But I still don’t see the point - what is she after?”
“I don’t know.” He admitted. “But I intend to find out.”
They both fell silent, eyes tracing the map and scattered notes as they exchanged thoughtful hums. After a long, tense minute, Perplexity’s eyes lit up.
“There’s a very simple way to figure it out.”
“What do you mean?” Blueblood asked, blinking his weary eyes.
She gave him an amused look, a wide grin slowly spreading across her face.
“What…?”
“Ahrisham.” She replied with a smirk, the corners of her mouth twitching.
Blueblood just stared, blank-faced.
“Oh no.” He protested. “I didn’t go through the trouble of having her arrested just to confront her now.”
“Well, it’s the easiest and most direct way to get your answers.” She said, practically dangling the suggestion in front of him.
Blueblood took a deep breath, straightening as he assumed a formal tone. “Then, in that case, I command you to conduct an interrogation of Lady Ahrisham.”
Perplexity snorted. “Nuh-uh, not happening.”
“What? Why not?” He spluttered, stunned by the open defiance.
“She’s an envoy, remember?” Perplexity poured the last of the sugared cinnamon tea into her cup. “You might get away with a few questions, but a full interrogation?” She shook her head. “Nope.”
“But why not?” He pressed, planting both forehooves on the desk and scattering the slips of paper they’d so carefully arranged.
“If she complains about it to Princess Celestia…” Perplexity said with a raised brow. “It’s not going to end well for any of us.”
“What if she will be unable to tell…?” Prince proposed carefully, though his intent was clear.
“Blueblood!” Few ponies dared to call him out, fewer - use his name when they did. Perplexity apparently was one of such ponies. “I can’t simply make sompony so in the spotlight go quiet or ‘vanish’ like that.”
Blueblood grumbled, clearly unhappy with where this was heading. It seemed like he really had no other choice.
“So if you want answers, your Highness.” Perplexity said in a sly tone. “You’ll have to ask her yourself.”

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                   IV. The Royal Torment                   
//-------------------------------------------------------//
IV. The Royal Torment
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.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                 Intermission - Afterparty                 
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Intermission - Afterparty
by Drakkanien  
edited by a friend
Every party eventually fizzles out as the last of the guests drift away, leaving behind only the stragglers and staff to tidy up. This evening was no different. Prince Blueblood, the master of this very ceremony, had already departed, his exit the final cue for the remaining attendees to follow suit.
Now, only two ponies of note lingered in Canterlot’s Royal Gardens, finally allowed to drop the masks they had maintained throughout the night. The buzz of conversation and the scrutiny of important - or soon-to-be-important - eyes had dissipated, leaving behind a quiet stillness broken only by the faint rustle of leaves and the distant clinking of glassware as castle staff went about their cleanup.
Seated around a small, wrought-iron table, Neighsay and Perplexity sipped their respective drinks, exchanging subtle smirks and lingering glances. Their antics went unnoticed by the bustling servants, who were far too preoccupied fixing the aftermath of the soirée to pay any mind to two seemingly inconspicuous guests.
“It’s been such a long night.” Perplexity yawned, baring sharp fangs that gleamed faintly in the moonlight. The display might have unsettled a faint-hearted pony, but Neighsay did not seem to be bothered by it. She rocked back and forth in her chair, each sway eliciting a creak of protest from the ancient piece of furniture.
“Mhm…” Chancellor Neighsay mumbled, his usually focused eyes now heavy with exhaustion. His eyelids drooped, his energy almost completely spent. But as he caught Perplexity mid-yawn, a sly smirk curved his lips. His horn flickered to life, bathing the table in a soft orange glow. With a gentle snap, he closed her mouth shut.
“Hey!” Perplexity whined, her protest more playful than serious as she rolled her jaw theatrically, testing if it was still working as intended. “What was that for?”
Neighsay’s smirk grew, even as he kept his expression stoic, but his eyes carried subtle sparks of mischief. “You were about to swallow a moth.”
Perplexity let out a snort, a grin tugging at her lips as she resumed rocking in her chair, her bat-like wings shifting slightly against her sides. “You’re being silly again.”
Neighsay didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he chuckled softly, as he leaned back in his chair. His gaze drifted upward, drawn to the night sky. Despite the thick cloud cover, the stars of Luna’s poked out forming Celestial Crown, shimmering like scattered diamonds across the grey and black tapestry.
As Neighsay’s gaze drifted back down from the glittering stars, he was startled to find a pair of yellow eyes staring directly into his, far too close for comfort. He blinked, confused. At some point, while he’d been lost in thought, Perplexity had silently climbed onto the table, her movements so deft and soundless that even his keen senses had failed to notice.
“Uhm…” He stammered, instinctively leaning back in his chair, unsure of what had gotten into her this time. Before he could form a proper question, her head darted forward, and she pressed her lips to his in a light, fleeting kiss.
The contact lasted no more than a few seconds, but it was long enough to make his cheeks flush. A sudden, if wellcome, heat spread through his veins, he cursed his body’s betrayal of his usual stoic demeanor.
“You reek of brandy.” Perplexity teased as she pulled back, though she remained close enough that their breaths mingled in the cool night air. Her tone was light, but her mischievous grin left no doubt that she was fully aware of the effect she had on him.
“And whose fault is that?” Neighsay retorted with a roll of his eyes, quickly gathering what remained of his composure. He forced a laugh to mask his fluster, gesturing at the dark stain on his crimson coat. “You made me spill half my drink all over myself!”
“Oh, pfft.” Perplexity dismissed his complaint with a snort, her leathery wings shifting slightly as she adjusted her balance atop the table. The moonlight highlighted the delicate veins in her wings, adding an almost ethereal quality to her otherwise impish demeanor. “It worked, didn’t it?”
Neighsay narrowed his eyes at her, though the corners of his mouth betrayed the beginnings of a smile. “True…” He admitted begrudgingly. “Though I’m not convinced it’s a respectable method of extracting us from a conversation.” His gaze drifted back to his coat, where the strong aroma of spilled brandy clung stubbornly to the fabric. “Let’s not make a habit out of this.”
Perplexity responded only with a giggle, her fangs glinting in the faint light. With an effortless leap, she hopped off the table, landing gracefully on all four hooves. The movement was smooth and precise, a stark contrast to the exaggerated tipsiness she had displayed earlier in the evening.
Gone was the carefree, slightly clumsy partygoer she had portrayed mere hours ago. In her place stood the Royal Master of Shadows, always attentive, always watchful, always ready to spring into action at a moment of notice.
They went quiet for a moment, neither speaking even a single word, lost in their own thoughts.
“Do you think we managed to convince him?” Perplexity finally broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. The thoughtful pause between them had stretched on for too long now.
By ‘him’, she obviously meant their Prince.
“I’ve done everything in my power to be persuasive.” Neighsay replied as he cast one last, almost longing look at the nearly empty glass before him. After a brief hesitation, he shook his head and pushed it aside. He’d had enough for one evening.
“But will it be enough…?” Perplexity pressed, baring her sharp fangs briefly as she chewed on her bottom lip, an uncertain flicker twisting her typically confident demeanor.
Neighsay exhaled and shrugged in a dismissive manner.
“Yeah… I thought as much.” Perplexity muttered, dropping her ears.
“You know how stubborn Blueblood can be.” Neighsay retorted, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, as though the mere act of mentioning their Prince might summon him from the shadows. His eyes darted around the empty garden, scanning for any stray ears that might be lurking nearby. Seeing they were alone, he continued. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear his ancestry included a mule.”
A raspy chuckle escaped Perplexity before she could stop it. “So the rumors say.”
“Let’s not spread them further than necessary.” Neighsay warned with a soft laugh of his own. “He’s painfully sensitive about how others perceive him, despite his claims to otherwise.”
Perplexity nodded her head in a silent acknowledgment, though there was no hiding her fanged grin.
“We should be going.” Perplexity murmured softly, her voice barely rising above the quiet rustle of the garden and distant shuffling of servants. She stretched her leathery wings with a light flutter before tucking them tightly against her sides. A shiver ran visibly through her frame, her delicate evening dress doing little to shield her from the chilly mountain air of Canterlot’s nights.
Neighsay sighed as he rose from his chair. Without hesitation, he draped his crimson coat over her withers once more. “At this rate, it might as well be yours. You’ve already shed all over it.” He teased, plucking a few stray grey hairs from the inner lining of the coat and holding them up as evidence.
Perplexity let out a snort, the teasing earned a small, genuine smile. She eagerly accepted the well-worn cloak, pulling it tighter around herself and snuggling into its warmth. “Mhmn~” she hummed softly, her voice carrying a faint, playful note as her ears flicked forward in contentment.
The soft clicks of their hooves sounded gently against the stone pavement of the Royal Gardens as Perplexity and Neighsay left the scene behind. Perplexity’s ears swiveled instinctively, scanning for any signs of pursuit. The faint sound of their own hoofsteps reassured her - no one was following. When they passed through the grand castle doors and into the familiar corridors, she exhaled a small sigh of relief. The castle walls always felt safer, more predictable.
Her shoulders, however, remained tense. She couldn’t shake the habit of glancing back, her sharp eyes flicking toward every shadow and darkened corner. It wasn’t paranoia - she argued with herself - but vigilance, the kind of her role demanded.
“You’re doing that thing again.” Neighsay’s voice cut through, pulling her from the web of her own thoughts.
“Wh-what thing?” Perplexity stuttered, blinking as her glowing yellow eyes refocused on the Unicorn beside her.
“Staring right at me while being completely lost in your own head.” Neighsay smirked, a playful glint in his tired eyes. He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers. “And, for the record, you were about to walk into that wall.”
“I was not!” Perplexity shot back, her tone upset. She turned to glare at him, her reflective eyes glinting in an almost menacing way.
“Fair enough.” Neighsay chuckled, shaking his head as he lit his horn with a soft orange glow, casting light over the path ahead. “But you were close. Admit it.”
Perplexity huffed, pointedly ignoring him as they moved down the dim hallway. The flickering light of Neighsay’s magic illuminated their surroundings, casting long shadows on the polished stone walls.
They passed a cross-shaped intersection where four statues of rearing ponies stood at the corners, their stony gazes locked on the center of the corridor. As Neighsay’s light danced across their faces, Perplexity’s eyes narrowed. For a fleeting moment, she could have sworn the statues twitched, their expressions shifting ever so slightly.
“It’s just my imagination.” She muttered under her breath, blinking rapidly as she looked again. The statues were still - silent and unchanging.
“Hm?” Neighsay turned an ear toward her but kept his gaze ahead, his hoofsteps sluggish, if steady.
“Nothing.” Perplexity brushed it off with a small yawn. “I just think we could’ve done more to persuade him…”
“Stop that thought right there.” Neighsay interrupted, his tone sharper than usual. He stomped a hoof for emphasis, but the thick rug beneath them muffled the sound, robbing it of its intended weight. “We made our attempt. If somepony doesn’t want to be convinced, there’s no use trying to force it. It won’t work.”
Perplexity tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Isn’t that what you do all the time, though?”
Neighsay hesitated for a moment, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well… yes. But only because I know where to apply pressure.” His voice softened, taking on a more conversational tone. “I find the right leverage. That’s how you ‘ease’ negotiations.”
“You’ve enlisted my help for that plenty of times,” Perplexity noted, her lips curling into a sly grin.
“And you’ve been remarkably good at it,” Neighsay admitted with a nod. He couldn’t deny her usefulness - nor her knack for uncovering what others tried to hide.
“What’s stopping us from digging for some royal dirt on Blueblood, then?” Perplexity asked, her tone turning mischievous as she brushed a strand of her purple mane out of her face.
“A few things, actually.” Neighsay replied quietly, exhaling through his nose. “First and foremost, he’s a vengeful stallion who loves holding a grudge. Isn’t this entire mess happening for that exact reason?”
Perplexity nodded her head in agreement, dipping her ears slightly.
“But most importantly.” Neighsay continued. “He’s our Prince. Not some external party we can pressure or maneuver to get our way.”
Perplexity’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she quipped, “It’s not like rank has ever stopped you before, Mr. Chancellor. You handle both internal and external affairs with that silver tongue of yours~”
“Pah!” Neighsay scoffed, rolling his eyes. “There’s a difference between pressuring some overly ambitious noble or a meddling diplomat and trying to blackmail your own Prince. Especially one as petty as Blueblood.” His gaze flicked toward her with a knowing smirk. “And without a strong enough hook to keep him in check, his wrath would be unavoidable. A nosy mare like yourself knows it best.”
Perplexity flared her nostrils in a theatrical manner, as if to prove his point.
“Exactly.” Neighsay chuckled lightly, though his tone grew more somber. “No, I’d much rather sleep soundly at night without knowing secrets of such magnitude. Some lines aren’t worth crossing.” He bowed his head slightly, a clear gesture to signal the end of the topic.
“Oh, fine…” Perplexity moaned in mock defeat, stretching slightly, letting out all manner of cutesy sounds. “But that still leaves us with a stubborn Prince who refuses to clean up after his own mess.”
“You don’t have to remind me.” Neighsay grumbled, betraying his own fatigue. “My office has been trying to smooth over the feathers he ruffled for weeks now. But after tonight…” He shook his head with a sigh. “I feel like I’m completely out of arguments.”
“That will definitely upset Celestia.” Perplexity remarked, her tone teasing.
“Princess Celestia.” Neighsay sharply. He followed it with a long sigh, his shoulders sagging slightly as the weight of the situation clearly had an adverse effect on him. “But you are right - she won’t be happy.”
Perplexity tutted softly as they neared the ornate doors to her chamber. Like every other member of the Royal Council, she enjoyed the privilege of residing within the castle’s luxurious suites. Most council members took full advantage of this convenience, save for Seneschal Usurers and Constable Drustan, whose duties often took them far from Canterlot and into the distant corners of Equestria.
As they reached her door, Perplexity raised a hoof to push it open, but then paused, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought.
“I think…” She started in a low voice, as she glanced at Neighsay from the corner of her eye. “... there’s still a way.”
“Hm?” Despite the weariness, Neighsay’s ears perked up, tilting toward her.
Perplexity’s lips curled into her signature smirk, the kind that always made ponies wonder just what was going in her head. With an almost feline grace, she pushed away from the door, her previous lethargy giving way to renewed energy. “I know just the pony for the job!”
Before Neighsay could ask for clarification, she began walking with purpose. Her stride quickly turned into a trot, and then, with a powerful flap of her leathery wings, she took to the air, disappearing into the dimly lit corridor ahead.
Neighsay stared after her with a mix of confusion and curiosity. But the only response he got was the faint rustle of wings as her silhouette melted seamlessly into the darkness.
He stood there for a moment, processing her sudden burst of energy. Finally, with a tired sigh, he shook his head. “That mare never ceases to baffle me…” he muttered under his breath.
Seeing no point in chasing after her, the Chancellor turned and began heading toward his own suite. It had been a long day, and whatever scheme Perplexity had in mind, it could wait until morning.
“Damn it!” He cursed under his breath. “My coat… I will have to order another one. Again…”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Perplexity’s wings carried her silently through the darkened halls of Canterlot Castle. The shadows seemed to part for her, wrapping her in a familiar embrace as she flew through the twisting corridors. The faint glow of her yellow eyes allowed her to see the path ahead and avoid any obstacles.
Her destination loomed ahead - a tall, intricately carved door bearing the crescent moon and stars of Princess Luna’s emblem. Landing softly on the polished floor outside, she folded her wings neatly against her sides and adjusted her mane with a flick of her hoof.
Despite being on familiar terms with the Princess, she still felt a little nervous.
Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Perplexity rapped a hoof against the door.
Author's Note
Another (2nd) intermission!
Yes yes, I know - I should focus on the main story instead, but these little things were bouncing around my head and there was no room for them in main chapters. They were too long and required perspective shift from Blueblood's PoV.

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               V. Words as Sharps as Daggers               
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V. Words as Sharps as Daggers
by Drakkanien  
edited by a friend
Despite her brief stay in Equestria, Ahrisham’s personal quarters had slowly started to resemble a chamber pulled straight from Saddle Arabia. Anyone entering had to pass through a beaded curtain made of colourful glass strands. The beads shimmered in the light and rattled faintly when disturbed, making it nearly impossible to enter unnoticed.
The scent of incense hung thick in the air, a blend of jasmine and sandalwood that tickled Blueblood’s nostrils without becoming overpowering. His eyes were immediately drawn to the tapestries lining the walls. Simple in design, they featured geometric patterns common in Saddle Arabian art, but their purpose was twofold. Not only did they provide decoration, but they also served to muffle sound from both inside and outside the room, making the space unusually still.
The architecture and furniture of the chamber remained distinctly Equestrian in origin, a mare with her army of servants could not change it, but everything had been rearranged to suit Saddle Arabian preferences. Ponies typically favoured cosy, cluttered spaces, but Saddle Arabians preferred expansive interiors, perhaps due to their larger stature or cultural norms. Desks, chairs, and cushioned seats were all pushed to the edges of the room, leaving the centre open save for a low coffee table surrounded by an excessive number of pillows. The table was littered with books and scrolls of various shapes and sizes.
Blueblood’s gaze fell onto the materials strewn across the table. While the chamber might evoke Saddle Arabia, the reading material was decidedly Equestrian. Volumes of poetry, law books, research on traditions, and even a few romance novels were piled in an organised chaos. To his surprise, one book in particular caught his eye: a copy of Lexicon CVIII, an addendum to civil law bearing his own name. Seeing it here felt oddly personal, almost targeted, and he couldn’t shake a feeling of unease.
Perplexity’s presence, while initially irritating, was proving to be comforting. Though Blueblood would never admit it aloud, her familiar antics were a welcome distraction in this alien environment. At the moment, she was fussing over a teapot on one of the side tables.
“It’s still hot.” She remarked, tapping her leathery wing against the porcelain.
Blueblood rolled his eyes, pointing at the pot's spout. “The steam is a dead giveaway.”
Perplexity merely snorted in return.
The two worked quickly, quietly scouring the chamber. Their hooves made no sound on the thick rugs, and their movements were precise, even if only one could be considered ‘practised’ in the art of sneaking. At one point, Perplexity seemed tempted to peek through a stack of correspondence she found, but a sharp hiss from Blueblood stopped her. They had no time for such pleasant distractions.
A muffled voice from the next room froze them in place. Blueblood and Perplexity exchanged tense glances, then relaxed as the tone of the conversation became clearer - it was a casual, playful exchange. Letting out their collective breath, they abandoned their attempts at sneaking and approached the archway leading to the adjacent chamber.
“... please stop wiggling, or you’ll make me miss my mark!” A melodic voice, laced with an exotic accent, floated through the air, accompanied by a soft giggle.
“I can’t help it!” Replied another voice, this one distinctly Equestrian but with a slight foreign feel to it. “You’re tickling me!”
“Alright… let me just…” Another fit of feminine laughter followed, just as Blueblood and Perplexity stepped into the room.
The adjacent chamber was set up like a study, though its furniture and shelves had also been rearranged much like the previous room. The air was stale and faintly musky, motes of dust swirling in the sunlight streaming through a single window.
Lady Ahrisham was present, of course, her attire unusually simple for a mare of her stature. She was bent over another pony - a Crystal Pony, no less. The Crystal Pony’s polished jade-like coat shimmered in rich green hues, accented with darker patterns that swirled like smoke beneath the surface. She wore gilded armour marking her as a member of the Royal Guard, though her plumed helmet was clearly absent.
The mare lay on her belly atop a large sitting pillow while Ahrisham carefully worked with gem-cutting tools on her withers. Each gentle tap of the chisel sent the Crystal Pony squirming and giggling.
Blueblood stood there, frozen in confusion. He knew very little about Crystal Ponies beyond common gossip and surface-level observations. Was this some kind of necessary maintenance? A cultural ritual? Or worse… could it be a bizarre display of affection? Celestia forbid - a mating ritual? The thought alone made his stomach churn.
Ahrisham gave the chisel one final, precise tap before extinguishing the unusual flame-like glow of her magic. Setting the tool aside, she leaned in to blow a fine layer of gemstone dust off the mare’s back.
“There,” Ahrisham chirped. “I removed the chip. If I had some finer sandpaper, I could polish it better, but…”
“Oh, stop.” The Crystal Pony waved a hoof dismissively, laughter still bubbling in her voice. “It already feels so much better, Princess.”
“Princess…?” Blueblood blurred out faster than he could bite his tongue.
Both mares turned to him, startled. The Crystal Pony’s red-amber eyes went wide, her jaw slack as she stammered: “Uh…”
Ahrisham fared better, swiftly recovering from her initial surprise. Her dark sapphire eyes locked onto Blueblood’s, studying him for a single, silent moment. The intensity of her gaze felt almost like a challenge.
“That is merely an error in translation, Your Highness.” Ahrisham explained, rising gracefully to her hooves. She offered him a small bow, her tone as measured as her movements. “In my tongue, I am Aspaspās - a Royal Mare. Ponies of Equestria seem to interpret this as your word for Princess.” Her accent was noticeable, as she made no effort to conceal it.
“I… see, yes.” Blueblood began, flicking his ears, though he made no effort to pretend he understood.
With monumental effort, he tore his gaze away from Ahrisham’s piercing eyes and studied the green-hued Crystal Pony. There was something familiar about her, as though he had seen her somewhere before. His intense scrutiny had no effect on her - she met his gaze with a casual neutrality. It was a surprising reaction given how most ponies reacted to a sight of an Equestria’s Prince, though she was no ordinary pony. Before he could place her, Ahrisham’s voice interrupted his musings.
“Your arrival was completely unannounced, Your Highness.” She fussed, hiding away her gem-cutting tools. The sight of them raised questions he didn’t feel like asking - not yet, at least. He had more pressing matters to address. “Had I known you would be gracing me with your presence, I would have prepared properly for such an honour.”
“That was precisely the point.” Blueblood replied, straightening his back and shaking off the remnants of his initial surprise. “I wanted to catch you unawares - to converse in a more… natural setting.” A white lie, one he could easily get away with here.
“You are too kind, Your Highness.”
The entire exchange was tense, full of just the kind of carefully rehearsed politeness that Canterlot nobility thrived on. It was a dance they both knew well - Blueblood by years of practice, Ahrisham by necessity. Neither said anything of substance, those were the rules of this frustrating game.
Meanwhile, the Crystal Pony had risen from her position on the floor, having retrieved her missing helmet and placed it securely on her head. Her amber eyes flicked between the Prince and the Saddle Arabian, her large frame easily towering over both of them. As a Royal Guard, she appeared right at home amongst them, even if her role was reduced from protector to a mere decoration. She was a monument of calm, strength and confidence, unphased by their talk and presence.
Ahrisham closed her eyes briefly and exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing. When she spoke again, her tone was casual, the guarded note gone. “We both know why you’re here, Prince.”
“Do we now?” He asked, his tone careful, wary. Just how much did she know? While Perplexity’s talent for sniffing out secrets was unmatched, discretion was another matter entirely. Had she been discovered?
“Of course.” Ahrisham’s horn glowed faintly as she used her magic to lift two empty teacups from the floor. She passed by Blueblood, carrying the porcelain to the adjacent room and placing them with practised ease onto a side table. “You arrived unannounced, alone, after ignoring more than one of my previous requests for an audience.”
“I didn’t…” Blueblood began, turning instinctively to exchange a glance with Perplexity - except she was gone.
His eyes widened slightly as he cast his eyes around the room, but there was no trace of the ashen-grey Bat Pony. Not a strand of her mane nor the faintest sound of her leaving. It was as if she had vanished into thin air, leaving him utterly alone. Internally grumbling, Blueblood already condemned her for abandoning him to endure this ordeal all by himself.
Forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he faced Ahrisham again. “You are quite perceptive.” He said, his tone dripping with sarcasm he didn’t bother to conceal.
“Har har.” Ahrisham replied, her mock laughter free of malice. “I’m merely listing the evidence, Prince of Equestria.”
With a tap of her hoof, she pressed a small brass porter bell. Though it made no sound, a servant appeared within moments, balancing a tray on their back. They moved with practised efficiency, collecting the used teapot and cups while leaving behind fresh ones. Blueblood noted that, like most of Ahrisham’s entourage, the servant lacked wings or a horn.
“Do you have a preference for your tea?” Ahrisham asked casually, her previous tension already dissipated. “I’ll settle for saffron rose. Have you ever tried it?”
“No, never.”
“Oh!” Her eyes lit up, and she rose onto the tips of her hooves, brimming with excitement. “Then I simply must treat you to some.”
Before he could protest, she chirped a few quick words to her servant in her melodic, native tongue. With a low bow, they departed, the clatter of the beaded curtain marking their exit.
Even at a glance, Ahrisham’s behaviour was far from the norm for Equestrian nobility. While she carried herself with undeniable authority, she displayed a casual demeanour that set her apart from the stiff, hierarchical norms of Canterlot. Her interactions with servants were uncharacteristically warm, and her attitude toward Blueblood lacked the unquestionable reverence he had grown used to. It reminded him, in a small way, of Aunt Celestia - relaxed, yet commanding.
“You are forgetting your decorum.” Blueblood noted, his tone sharper than intended. He gulped, realising in this moment that she was deftly steering the conversation, leaving him struggling to maintain control. “Is this how an esteemed mare like yourself addresses a Prince?”
To his surprise, she laughed again. It wasn’t a mocking sound; rather, it was melodic, almost pleasant. And that made it worse.
“Oh, Your Highness,” Ahrisham said lightly, her tone carrying but a teasing hint. “There’s no need for such pretences within the privacy of my chambers.”
He froze, utterly bewildered. No self-respecting noble of Equestria would say such a thing. Among Canterlot’s elite, status was everything, a mantle to be clung to with ferocious tenacity. Yet Ahrisham dismissed hers so casually, as though it were an afterthought. For the second time, she reminded him of Celestia - and that unsettled him deeply.
The silence between them hung heavily, weighing on Blueblood’s mind. Ahrisham, however, seemed entirely unbothered by it. She used the moment to tidy up her ‘office space,’ carefully gathering books, scrolls, and letters from the low coffee table that he and Perplexity had noticed earlier. Blueblood’s gaze lingered on the disturbed correspondence. Had Perplexity, despite her earlier promise, given in to her nosy tendencies?
His musings were interrupted by the sound of surprisingly heavy hoofsteps. The source - the green Crystal Pony guard - shuffled into the room. Her presence here demanded an explanation, and Blueblood took the opportunity to change the subject.
“What is she doing here?” Blueblood asked, indicating with his chin toward the green guardsmare.
The guard froze mid-step, two of her hooves, one front and one back, still raised awkwardly. She didn’t turn her head, but her amber eyes darted toward the Prince, her pupils shrinking. She looked, for all the world, like a foal caught with her hoof in the cookie jar - startled and oddly amusing.
Ahrisham, pausing mid-sort of her scrolls, peeked over the pile at the frozen mare. She stifled a giggle before answering.
“Oh, that is my jailor - Molly.” Ahrisham said plainly, a small smile gracing her features. Then, after a moment’s pause, she added carefully, almost as if asking a question. “I thought she was appointed to me by you, Your Highness…? She’s been with me since the very first day of my arrest and hasn’t left my side, not even for a moment.”
Blueblood turned his attention back to Molly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her more intently.
“Molly…” He mouthed slowly. “That’s an odd name for a pony.”
“Yessir!” Molly replied, snapping to attention with a stiff salute. “It’s short for Malachite, Your Highness.”
“Shield.” Blueblood spoke flatly. “You were my shield.” His tone devoid of emotion even as his expression shifted slightly, his eyes widening in realisation. For some reason an itch in his bandaged hoof reminded him of the mare and her peculiar antics.
He didn’t fancy the idea of having a witness to his conversation with Ahrisham. Perplexity, when she was around, could at least be trusted. But this mare? No. She wasn’t even from Equestria - her crystalline form was evidence enough of that.
“You are dismissed.” Blueblood said with a sneer, waving her off with his hoof. “Lady Ahrisham and I have important matters to discuss, and we don’t need an extra pair of long ears eavesdropping.”
Molly opened her mouth, clearly about to protest, but Blueblood silenced her with a sharp click of his tongue. “No arguments!” He snapped, leaving no room for debate. He didn’t need to explain his reason before her.
The guardsmare hesitated but ultimately obeyed the command, retreating from the room with stiff, heavy steps. Ahrisham watched her leave, giving a brief, casual wave before turning her unreadable gaze back to Blueblood.
“Now, with all the distractions out of the way…” Blueblood began, only to be interrupted by the sound of jingling glass beads as the door opened again. A Saddle Arabian attendant entered, carrying a tray with fragrant herbs and an assortment of sweets, just like ordered.
Efficient and silent, the attendant placed the tray on the coffee table with practised precision, arranging it neatly. She then collected the teapot and cups from earlier, bowing deeply before leaving without ever turning her back on either Ahrisham or Blueblood.
Blueblood couldn’t help but note her poise. Her movements were precise, fast, and utterly unobtrusive - qualities that made for a perfect attendant. Despite his appreciation of a quick witted servant, he groaned internally. The interruptions were relentless and numerous today, and the longer they dragged on, the more he resented every moment spent in this wing of the castle. It felt as though fate itself had conspired to torment him.
“Perfect~” Ahrisham purred, already inhaling the aroma of her favourite tea blend. Black tea, saffron threads, dried rose petals, a pinch of cardamom, and a drizzle of crystallised honey were laid out in neat cloth bags on the tray. Without hesitation, she emptied one into her cup, her horn glowing faintly as she attempted to bring the water in the porcelain pot just below boiling.
With no other option, Blueblood joined the ritual. He levitated one of the herb bags into his cup, settling it at the bottom while waiting for the water to steep.
His gaze drifted to the tray of treats. A particular baklava caught his attention - a delicate piece crusted with finely chopped pistachios and glazed with what smelled like honey and rosewater. Its moist, golden layers seemed to promise a small culinary adventure. For a moment, he considered indulging, but the thought passed quickly. No matter how inviting it looked, he couldn’t bring himself to give in.
“Best tea is made with water a shy breath away from boiling.” Ahrisham instructed, narrowing her eyes as she worked her heating spell on the pot. “If it’s too cold, the water won’t draw out the herbs’ essence. If it’s too hot, we risk scalding the ingredients and ruining the mix.”
As she spoke, she dismissed the spell and carefully brought the steaming pot to their cups. She poured just enough water to soak the herbs before setting the pot aside.
“The choice of water is also important.” She added, a small smile gracing her features as the pale glow around her horn extinguished. “The right spring, the proper treatment… all of it enhances the flavour.”
They could do nothing now but wait. The tea needed time to infuse with the saffron, cardamom, and other herbs, and to cool to a drinkable temperature. Blueblood’s gaze met Ahrisham’s briefly before flicking away; the exchange felt awkward, especially given the stark contrast between her casual tone and his rising agitation. He couldn’t help but note how much she seemed to appreciate tea - just like Celestia did.
It was the third trait she shared with his beloved aunt. Surely, no mere coincidence could account for this.
“We didn’t come here to discuss your tea-making skills, did we?” Blueblood finally broke the silence, his voice steady, though it carried a certain edge to it. His words made Ahrisham turn fully to face him.
Only now did he notice the white bandage on her cheek, stained with fresh crimson. He faintly remembered her pressing cloth to her face during their meeting all those days ago. The wound clearly hasn’t healed yet. Blueblood pushed the observation aside, determined not to let it distract him. He pressed on.
“After my order to contain you within these chambers…” He gestured to the spacious and opulent room that served as her ‘jail cell.’ “... I’ve had more than one unpleasant encounter with members of your entourage.”
For a brief moment, Ahrisham’s expression wavered, the careful mask cracking just enough for her brows to twitch in concern. “I can scarcely believe anyone would intentionally offend you, Your Highness.” She replied, her words coming after a pause that lingered just a bit too long.
“That may be true.” Blueblood’s smirk deepened, growing sharp and predatory. “But whether intentional or not, it doesn’t change the perception of the slight.”
Ahrisham hesitated, her gaze shifting between their steaming cups and the Prince’s face.
“There will be time enough to enjoy the tea.” Blueblood remarked, tapping his hoof against the table. He didn’t break eye contact, his tone calm but heavy as the tension between them became palpable. “Let’s talk while it cools, shall we?”
“Indeed.” Ahrisham inclined her muzzle slightly, raising it just enough to reclaim some of her composure. “The tea is still too hot for drinking. In the meantime, we can… iron out some crumpled edges in our relationship.”
The faint curl of her lips betrayed her enjoyment; she was eager for their verbal sparring to begin. Blueblood suspected she had been growing bored in confinement.
“Foreign envoys on Equestrian soil are guaranteed robust privileges.” She began, her tone smooth and measured. “Ones which I’ve been denied due to a certain… incident I took part in.”
Blueblood blinked - once, twice, three times. It was a valid argument. Diplomatic immunity was a thorny issue, and harming a delegate was akin to insulting the ruler they represented. However…
“I was acting within the laws of Equestria and my authority.” He countered, his tone sharp. “Your actions, though unintentional, endangered the peace of Canterlot Castle, caused widespread destruction…” He paused for effect. “And endangered the lives of those present at the scene.”
The weight of his last point would have carried more force if Blueblood had bothered to check on the condition of the injured. He didn’t, of course.
“Are you going to put me on trial for a mere misstep in judgement?” Ahrisham tilted her head, her golden mane flowing like a waterfall to one side. “I’m eager to pay the price for the accident, but keeping me confined here serves no one.”
“That may be true - holding you here has no purpose.” Blueblood admitted, his voice low. “But I must say, I find it immensely satisfying to have you locked up.”
The words escaped before he could stop them, the frustration simmering within him for the last couple of days boiled over at last. He took his teacup, still too hot, and raised it to his lips. The heat stung his tongue and lips, but he didn’t care. He sipped carefully, trying to steady himself.
Across from him, Ahrisham blinked, visibly startled by his bluntness. Any carefully rehearsed scenarios she had prepared for this conversation seemed to crumble to dust. Few could anticipate such a raw malice, after all.
“You try to escape responsibility for your actions.” He continued, driving the point home. “Thinking that if you toss enough shining coins our way, it will make the issue disappear.”
“Mayhaps.” She retorted, flaring her nostrils in mild agitation and folding her forelegs elegantly one atop the other. “I have enough gold and influence to do just that, Prince. Isn’t it one of the privileges stemming from our birthright?”
This struck a familiar chord within Blueblood. Ahrisham didn’t even try to deny that her status let her trample over laws and customs whenever she pleased. She knew her place in the world and was not afraid to take advantage of it. Even now, her title was naught but a tool to achieve her ends.
“These are dangerous words.” He spoke in a low tone, narrowing his eyes. “Some ponies might take them the wrong way.”
Ahrisham met his gaze without wavering, though the smirk had faded from her features.
“Are you one such pony?” She probed carefully, using her magic to tear off a piece of croissant and lift it to her muzzle. The treat was stuffed with light, puffy chocolate-walnut cream.
“Perhaps~” Blueblood replied in a lighter voice, a faint, impish glint appearing in his azure eyes.
Ahrisham’s gaze intensified as she studied the Prince’s features carefully. She chewed on her treat before swallowing and taking a gamble. “You are not.” The mare finally said.
He quirked an eyebrow but made no attempt to interrupt her just yet.
“You might be petty and crave little more than to avenge the slight I unintentionally caused you, but you are also very much aware that keeping me here is a misconduct, even if you could justify it.”
Prince Blueblood scoffed. Only he could call himself petty - and only in his own thoughts. Somepony else saying it out loud? Unforgivable! Still, he had to admit - she had read him correctly.
“You are treading on thin ice here.” He warned, though the blank look on her face told him she didn’t understand the expression. “Right…” Blueblood pressed a hoof to his forehead. “Ice - you might not even know what it is.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Ahrisham retorted with a tiny, amused snort. “It’s crunchy and good for cooling drinks!”
Blueblood rolled his eyes, now suffering through a mental image of Ahrisham crushing ice cubes in her jaws. He muttered softly, “Why am I not surprised you think ice is for chewing?” under his breath.
A brief pause settled between them, neither making a sound. Both the Prince and the envoy took the opportunity to finally sample their tea. Blueblood discovered, to his surprise, that it was quite pleasant. He was more of a coffee pony - following in Luna’s hoofsteps - but he couldn’t deny that the cardamom and saffron notes gave the drink a surprisingly luxurious aftertaste. He quite liked it.
“Savour the taste, Prince,” Ahrisham coaxed, taking a delicate sip and allowing the dark, bitter liquid to roll over her tongue. “Feel the warmth, the earthy, relaxing notes… let them take you.”
For a single moment, Blueblood allowed himself to be entranced by the sensation, but as quickly as the spell came, it was dismissed with a flick of his head.
“Do not try to distract me.” He snorted, setting his teacup aside with an angry click. “I already feel that the longer I spend talking to you, the more I get entangled in the web you spin.”
“Oh, Prince,” Ahrisham tutted in an almost playful manner, as if to dismiss his concerns. “Just because we are locked in a mortal duel of wits, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t enjoy every moment of it~”
Blueblood actually laughed at her words. For the first time since entering Ahrisham’s chambers, he felt the tension ease. It was as though he had reached a breaking point - beyond which there was only one way forward: downward.
“There is some merit to your words.” He began with an exhale. “Perhaps I have tangled with the nobles of Canterlot for too long. Their now all-too-familiar intrigues have grown bland and boring.”
Ahrisham tilted her head, listening.
“I can’t quite put my hoof on it, but something about this exchange feels… thrilling.”
“It’s all about the stakes.” Ahrisham said softly.
He glanced at her, the previously hostile shadow in his eyes all but gone, replaced by a spark of curiosity.
“Intrigue in Canterlot is little more than a dance of geldings.” She reasoned. “No one really gains or loses anything in the petty affairs that take place here.” She set her empty teacup on the table with a soft click, as if to accent her point.
“I wouldn’t say that.” He retorted. “Outdoing the competition and gaining the Crown’s favor are hardly petty pursuits - especially when entire fortunes can hinge on a single, lucrative deal.”
“Yes, but in the end, all they risk is their wealth.” She countered. “No one here dies under mysterious circumstances, nor is anyone pulled from a well or found years later, dried up inside a collapsed wall. There are no bloody vendettas, no clans clashing in endless feuds.”
A cold shiver ran down Blueblood’s spine at her words. Was that truly how Saddle Arabians conducted their internal struggles? He could hardly fathom ordering somepony to ‘disappear,’ let alone speaking about it with such casual indifference as if one conversed about weather!
The thought was horrifying, making him almost regret dismissing that Crystal Pony guard and wondering just where Perplexity had gone… And yet, it fascinated him.
“Devious…” The prince breathed. “I see that Desert Ponies shy from no trick to gain the upper hoof over an opponent.”
“It is a necessity.” Ahrisham replied plainly. “Our foes - political, ideological, or otherwise - are just as, if not more, ruthless. When survival depends on the game, you either adapt or perish.”
Blueblood wondered whether she was exaggerating or not. And if not… how many died because of her decisions and how close she came to forfeiting her own life?
“And I take it you’ve continued this game even here, in Equestria?”
“Naturally.”
Blueblood hummed - a sound almost like a snort. Compared to what he just heard, Equestria’s intrigue was akin to a foal-play - toothless and gutless. He had to note however the lack of tender touch in the Saddle Arabian approach - in politics not everything was a nail and not every tool at your disposal was a hammer.
“So now I understand why you sent that creepy mare with the snake after me. You wanted me to hear your ‘message.’”
Ahrisham froze momentarily, casting a wary glance his way. Of course, she was aware of his encounter with the sand-colored soothsayer - gossip spread through Canterlot Castle faster than fire over a dry savannah. Even under house arrest, she had heard enough to guess what had transpired.
“You may not believe me, for I have not earned your trust, Prince of Equestria, but she does not answer to me.”
“That is… surprising.” Blueblood replied, tilting his head. “Isn’t she part of your retinue? Isn’t she acting on your orders?” He lifted a tiny silver fork in his magic and began picking at a piece of halvah from a nearby platter.
Speaking to Ahrisham about the cause of his nightmares was easier than he had expected.
“She is… and she is not.” Ahrisham said evasively, averting her gaze toward the pile of booklets and correspondence nearby. “One does not control a storm, merely weathers it.”
Realizing her metaphor landed poorly in Equestria, where ponies literally controlled the weather, she quickly corrected herself. “The Prophet imposed herself upon my mission to Equestria. It was not a request. I had no choice but to obey.”
“And here I thought you were somepony important in Saddle Arabia.” Blueblood quipped, leaping at the chance to strike at her ego.
Ahrisham rolled her eyes, replying in an exasperated tone. “There is no mortal authority that can command her, I’m afraid. Wise and merciful Sultan Hormazd does not question her, and neither dare I.”
After a pause, she added. “You would be prudent not to disturb the Prophet. Like me, she is under the Sultan’s protection - but she might lack the patience I have for Equestria’s bureaucracy.”
Blueblood let out a contemplative hum. This was a veiled threat, and the idea of such a figure running unchecked through Canterlot unsettled him. Still, he wasn’t the kind of stallion to let that show.
“She’s still your wild card.” He pressed. “I came here looking for answers, yet I feel as though I've got nothing but more questions.”
“Believe me, Your Highness, I, too, have questions that I know will never be answered.” Ahrisham exhaled, her shoulders sinking. “I have learned to accept it. It lifts a great weight off one’s mind.”
“Willful ignorance may bring peace to the mind, but I am not the kind of pony who embraces it willingly.” Blueblood continued, his tone sharp, his eyes hard as they bore into Ahrisham.
“I have the feeling you’re insinuating something, Your Highness.” Ahrisham’s voice was calm, but a flicker of unease danced behind her words.
“I’ll make it simple for you, my dear - indeed, I am.” Blueblood exhaled through his nose, his smirk faint but unmistakable.
Ahrisham snapped her mouth shut, her sapphire eyes searching his face for any sign of weakness. But Blueblood’s features remained an impenetrable mask, leaving her nothing to latch onto. Slowly, her ears drooped, and a trace of vulnerability crept into her posture.
“I… I had hoped to ease your mind before we began discussing business.” She admitted softly, her voice faltering. She took a shallow breath, blinking rapidly as tiny, shimmering tears welled in her eyes. They trickled down her cheeks, sinking into the fine fur of her face before she quickly wiped them away with the back of her hoof.
She fell silent, biting her lower lip as though struggling to keep her emotions in check. It was a clever tactic, one that might have swayed a lesser opponent. But Blueblood was no fool - he recognized the trick for what it was.
“Touching.” He muttered, stirring his now-cooled tea with a silver spoon, his focus shifting away from her watery gaze to his teacup. He lifted it in his magic and took a deliberate, loud slurp, the sound piercing the quiet chamber. “But I don’t think theatrics will solve your problem.”
Ahrisham straightened, her fragile demeanor fracturing as irritation seeped into her expression. “You really are making this difficult.” She huffed, burying her face in her forelegs like a scolded filly.
Blueblood chuckled softly, setting his empty teacup aside with a light click. “Believe me, your pretty face could open many doors in Canterlot.” He leaned back slightly, his tone turning wry. “But I’ve had to steel myself against fluttering eyelashes and feigned affection ever since I was a colt of twelve.”
At that, Ahrisham raised her head, one ear fixed on him while the other flicked toward some imagined noise. She studied him intently, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I received my first marriage proposal that same year.” Blueblood continued, his voice detached, almost clinical. “And countless more since.” He allowed himself a fleeting smile - empty, devoid of warmth. “It’s amazing how quickly one learns to spot insincerity.”
A heavy silence followed, weighed with contemplation. Ahrisham broke it first, unable to bear it for any longer, her voice low and hesitant. “What will happen to me?” She asked, the question trembling on her lips.
Blueblood blinked, as if shaken from a distant memory he was recalling. Straightening on his cushion, he cleared his throat and spoke slowly and deliberately. “You will fulfill three conditions. Only then will we consider your pardon.”
Ahrisham’s shoulders tensed, a flicker of nervousness flashing across her face, her perfect mask long discarded. She tried to appear composed, but the faint tremor in her crossed forelegs betrayed her.
“First…” Blueblood began. “... you will pay a handsome ransom - a single golden coin.”
“H-huh?” Ahrisham stammered, blinking in confusion.
“Yes.” He replied, his smirk growing. “But it must be a Saddle Arabian coin. I like to collect trophies, and a piece of gold from your homeland would make a fine addition to my collection.”
Though puzzled, Ahrisham didn’t protest. Her unease mingled with confusion as she slowly nodded along.
“Second.” Blueblood continued, his tone shifting to something more commanding. It was clear he would suffer no arguments. “You will use your authority as a representative of your Sultan to sign a trade agreement with Equestria.”
Ahrisham frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line as she eyed him suspiciously. “And what would this agreement exactly entail?”
“Simple.” Blueblood said, his tone deceptively light. “Equestria will be granted exclusive trade rights with Saddle Arabia. Your imports and exports will prioritize us above all others.”
“That’s…” Ahrisham’s frown deepened as she folded her forelegs tightly over her chest. “That’s too much. I cannot agree to such terms.”
“Is your freedom not worth a few concessions?” Blueblood prodded, his smirk widening as he watched her squirm.
Ahrisham’s nostrils flared in perturbation. “My freedom is everything.” She snapped. “But I will not jeopardize my homeland for it.”
Blueblood raised an eyebrow, his expression calculated. “Then what do you propose?”
She hesitated, then drew a deep breath. “I can arrange for Equestria to have a preferred status in trade.” She offered cautiously. “Your nation would be prioritized, ensuring stronger ties between our peoples, but without the leash you propose.”
“Marvelous.” Blueblood declared, clapping his hooves together, letting the little jab flow past him. His enthusiasm, clearly exaggerated, masked his satisfaction. “That leaves us with the final condition.”
Ahrisham’s ears pinned back, her breath hitching as she braced herself for his next demand, fully expecting it to be as egregious as the others.
Blueblood allowed the silence to stretch, savoring her discomfort. Finally, he spoke, his tone dripping with smugness. “You came to Equestria seeking to understand our culture, our way of life. I propose we grant you that wish…”
Ahrisham’s eyes widened, her jaw tightening as she stammered, “Y-your Highness… what are you saying?”
“It’s quite simple.” Blueblood replied with mock innocence. “You will serve as my attendant for the remainder of your stay. You wanted to see Equestria - now you will, through the eyes of one who serves.”
Her expression shifted from confusion to shock, then to something bordering on indignation. Blueblood, meanwhile, sat back with a satisfied smile, his gaze never leaving hers.
“This is outrageous!” Ahrisham protested, her cheeks flushing with a faint shade of crimson in her chagrin. “You can’t expect me to agree to such terms!”
“Oh, but I do.” Prince Blueblood mused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Comply, or you can forget about leaving these quarters anytime soon.”
Ahrisham muttered something under her breath - a series of barely audible words in her native tongue. Blueblood couldn’t make out even a single one, but for all he knew, she could be cursing his name. Not that he cared. He had already won. It was only a matter of time before she came crawling to him to accept the deal.
He allowed for a little pause, giving her the space to gather her thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice carried the sombre note of resignation.
“It appears I have no other choice.” She sounded defeated and looked the part - shoulders sagging, ears drooped. Even the colors of her mane and fur seemed to dull, though Blueblood suspected it was just a trick of the light. “It is not the first time I have been made a slave.”
“You’re being dramatic.” Blueblood said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “And do spit out that word - ‘slave,’ pah!” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “We do not engage in such barbarity in Equestria.”
“Oh, but you do.” She shot back, her voice with traces of bitterness. “The only difference lies in the name.” Ahrisham straightened, lifting her chin in defiance, her posture regaining some of its regal dignity.
“Pardon?” Blueblood blinked, momentarily thrown off balance.
Her dark eyes bore into his, sharp and unyielding, seeming to pierce straight through him. “You say I have a choice.” she said coldly. “But we both know there is only one path forward. Refusal will gain me nothing, only prolong my imprisonment here.” She was quivering with frustration, a one more sign that confinement had begun to wear on her.
“You’re right.” Blueblood admitted, his smirk growing smug. “But nopony - certainly not I - ever claimed your punishment would be pleasant.”
Ahrisham’s jaw tightened, and more words slipped from her lips in her native tongue, no doubt more curses. She locked eyes with Blueblood, her glare full of defiance.
Finally, she exhaled sharply, the fight draining from her. “Fine.” She spat, her wings clipped. “I agree to your terms.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The doors leading to Ahrisham’s sanctum closed with a decisive thud. In contrast the quiet of the corridor of the Diplomatic Wing felt almost oppressive after the tense exchange, though Prince Blueblood found it oddly soothing.
He allowed himself a small smirk. The negotiation - or battle, depending on one's perspective - had ended in his favor. Ahrisham had bent to his will, agreeing to every term he had set. By all accounts, it was a triumph.
Yet, as his hooves echoed softly against the marble floor, the taste of victory grew bitter. He had played the game well, but it hadn’t been clean. She had been cornered, stripped of options, and he’d taken full advantage of her predicament.
Blueblood let out a long, slow breath, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. Perhaps… a little indulgence is in order. He reached into his coat, pulling out a slim, ornate silver case that he hadn’t touched in years. Inside were neatly packed sticks of finely rolled tobacco herb, a luxury few ponies could afford. He had abandoned the habit ages ago - an aristocratic vice he’d told himself was unbecoming. But now, he was tempted.
Just as he was about to light the tip with a spark of his magic, a familiar voice jolted him from his thoughts.
“Well, well! Aren’t you just full of surprises today?”
Blueblood jumped, fumbling the case as Perplexity dropped from the shadows above, her leathery wings unfurling dramatically as she landed in front of him. The silver case clattered to the ground, its contents spilling across the floor.
“You!” Blueblood hissed, his cheeks flushing in indignation. “You traitorous bat! Where in Tartarus have you been?”
Perplexity smirked, her fangs glinting in the dim light. “Oh, just here and there. I thought you’d appreciate the chance to handle things yourself for once.”
Blueblood’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “You abandoned me.”
“You didn’t need me.” She countered breezily, inspecting one of the spilled rolls with exaggerated curiosity before tucking it safely behind her ear. “You had everything under control.”
“That’s not the point!” He snapped, his voice low and venomous.
Perplexity tilted her head, her expression playfully innocent. “Isn’t it, though? You’re standing here, aren’t you? You won, didn’t you? Even if it was a bit…” She trailed off, waving a hoof in a vague circle.
“Dirty.” Blueblood finished, his tone surprisingly filled with self-recrimination. He sighed, his gaze drifting to the far end of the corridor. “I cornered her, Perplexity. Gave her no real choice.”
“That’s politics.” Perplexity shrugged. “And if you hadn’t, she would’ve done the same to you in a heartbeat. You know that.”
“I do.” He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But knowing it doesn’t make it feel any less… wrong.”
Perplexity studied him for a moment, her glowing, yellow eyes losing some of their mischief. “What now, then?”
Blueblood didn’t answer immediately. He bent down, gathering the scattered contents of his case with careful touch of his magic, as if the act itself might provide clarity. When he finally straightened, his expression was unreadable.
He said simply, his voice devoid of its usual bravado.
“I don’t know.”

//-------------------------------------------------------//
             VI. A Day from a Life of a Prince             
//-------------------------------------------------------//
VI. A Day from a Life of a Prince
by Drakkanien  
edited by a friend
“And a spot here.”
A mostly clean cotton rag moved over an already gleaming bronze surface, wiping away some imaginary speck of dust. It lingered for a moment, polishing unnecessarily.
“Hm…” The snotty voice came again. “You missed a bit here as well.”
With a very exasperated sigh, the pony holding the rag walked around to the indicated spot and began rubbing the cloth over it.
“Oh, enough! Shoo!” Blueblood called, clopping his hooves together as though dismissing an unruly servant.
His eyes scanned the bust of a devilishly handsome stallion - his own - standing in a prominent spot in his chambers. Some would say that having a statue or painting of yourself in your private quarters was the height of narcissism. Blueblood, however, couldn’t have cared less about such accusations. In fact, he embraced the rumor wholeheartedly. If there was one thing the Prince of Equestria adored, it was himself.
Giving his new attendant a light nod, he mused with obvious self-satisfaction. “You did well! I must say, you have a real talent for cleaning~”
A tall, humbly dressed Saddle Arabian mare scoffed, shooting him an annoyed glance. “I always thought I was vain.” Ahrisham quipped, clicking her tongue, “But then I met you, and the entire definition of the word had to be rewritten.”
“Tsk!” Blueblood hissed, ignoring her jab and keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his statue.
The day was still young. Warm, lazy rays of morning sunlight poured through the windows, casting a golden glow over the meticulously clean room. Scarcely a dust particle could be seen floating in the air - an achievement owed to the diligent efforts of his personal servant, Lavender. Today, however, Lavender had been granted a rare day off so that Ahrisham could fully embrace her new duties, undisturbed.
As amusing as it was for Blueblood to watch her perform such menial tasks, he had to admit they served little purpose beyond venting his frustrations. Yet to his growing annoyance, Ahrisham seemed unbothered by the demeaning chores he assigned her. At first, her composure had baffled him; now, it grated on his nerves. How could he punish somepony who hardly seemed to mind being punished, beyond the occasional theatrical scoff?
He chalked it up to cultural differences between their respective breeds.
With a hum, his horn lit up, lifting a parchment from his desk. Blueblood scanned the contents, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. It was his to-do list for the day, and from the looks of it, today would be a busy one.
“Once you’re finished…” He began, still reading the first item on the list. There was a renovation project underway in the outer bailey that required his oversight - construction visits were best conducted early. “...you need to dress properly.”
“But I am already dressed,” Ahrisham replied flatly.
Blueblood gasped, tearing his eyes from the list to scrutinize what she considered ‘clothes’. She was wearing a simple, utilitarian garb - prudish in design and dull in color. While it allowed her a wide range of motion and seemed practical for menial tasks, it was, in his eyes, entirely unsightly.
“I don’t claim to be an expert on Saddle Arabian fashion, but these filthy rags have no place near Equestrian royalty.” He declared. “You’re dressed just enough to not be naked, and frankly, in your case, the latter would be more presentable.”
“They’re not that dirty…” Ahrisham muttered, brushing at her sleeves, which were lightly soiled from her cleaning duties.
“No arguments!” Blueblood tutted sharply. “If you’re going to serve me, you need to look the part.”
It was clear that no protest would sway him.
With a not-so-subtle roll of her eyes, Ahrisham dragged her hooves toward the exit of his chambers.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Prince Blueblood impatiently tapped his hoof on the smooth limestone tiles that formed the garden pathway near the Diplomatic Wing. In recent weeks, he had visited this part of the castle far more often than he wanted, or felt he should. Alas, part of it was bound by duty, and part by his own accord. Today’s visit fell into the latter category.
With a low grumble, he flicked his arctic-blue magic, fishing an opulent pocket watch from his coat. The intricate hooves of the device moved with mechanical precision, the steady ticking a constant reminder of time slipping away. He checked the hour: eleven o’clock.
Forty-eight minutes. FORTY-EIGHT!
Blueblood was well aware that some ponies could take their sweet time preparing for the day - he was guilty of that himself. But leaving him - Equestria’s only prince - waiting outside for such a length of time, and without so much as refreshments, was utterly criminal.
Ahrisham would receive an earful when she finally emerged.
Several more agonizingly dull minutes passed as Blueblood found himself his only company - though he considered it the best company a pony could ask for. However, even he began to run out of subjects to muse upon. Frustration increased, and to occupy his mind, he levitated small pebbles, one after another, tossing them into the nearby pond. The previously serene water rippled with each satisfying plop.
“...Just can’t imagine what I am going through.” He muttered under his breath.
Talking to oneself was a habit he was actively trying to curb, but moments like these made it difficult to resist. His thoughts swirled like an endless storm, jumping from one grievance to another.
“...Pointless. Useless…” He droned on. “...all because of their incompetence…”
“A sign of madness, they say, when one begins conversing with oneself.” Whispered a raspy, teasing voice directly into his ear.
Blueblood yelped and dropped the pebble he had been holding, the stone clattering against the shingled edge of the pond before disappearing into the water. Spinning around, he was prepared to glare and scold whoever had startled him, but the sight of those mischievous yellow eyes froze him in place.
“Perplexity.” Blueblood breathed, his shoulders relaxing despite himself. Her presence always had an uncanny ability to unsettle him, though for entirely different reasons. “It’s been days since I’ve seen you.”
“That’s correct~” she cooed, her smile wide and fanged. Her sharp teeth gleamed in the sunlight, but the Prince was long past being unnerved by her predatory grins.
“When I don’t want to be seen, nopony can find me.” Perplexity added with a lazy stretch of her leathery wings.
He picked on her scent - hint of moonflowers and smoke… tobacco?
Blueblood snorted, his dour mood fading slightly. “If I didn’t know you better, I might’ve believed that. But alas, I’ve become all too familiar with your antics.”
“H-hey!” Perplexity pouted, puffing her cheeks in mock indignation.
He decided to let it go, instead asking, “Why have you chosen to show yourself now?”
Perplexity shrugged, her wings rising and falling with the motion. “You looked like you had a lot on your mind.”
Evasive as ever.
“Hmph.” Blueblood scoffed theatrically. “I find it hard to believe you’re concerned about my mental well-being. That’s hardly your area of expertise.”
“True…” She mused, flicking her tail lazily. “But I care enough to ask.”
“You? Care?” Blueblood chuckled - a hollow, humorless sound. “Let’s not be absurd.”
The very thought seemed laughable. Royalty had no need for fraternization with their staff, even one as unique as Perplexity.
“You work for the Crown.” He continued dismissively. “Your time should be spent on duty, not building... relationships with your betters.”
For a moment, her ears drooped, and an awkward silence hung between them. Perplexity twiddled with her hooves, unsure how to respond. Fortunately, they were interrupted by the soft creak of a door and the rustling of beaded curtains.
Ahrisham had finally emerged.
Blueblood turned, prepared to deliver his well-practiced scolding, only to find himself watching a ridiculous entourage pour out of her chambers ahead of her. Servants scurried to hold the doors, tossing fresh flower petals onto the path she would tread. The display lacked only fire dancers and live pigeons for added flair.
He idly wondered how all of them managed to fit inside.
He rose from his seat and approached the procession, flower petals crunching beneath his hooves. It was the moment whenAhrisham herself appeared, radiant in her exotic extravagance.
Her outfit was undeniably Saddle Arabian - brightly colored, adorned with shimmering gems and golden chains, and styled in a way that practically screamed her heritage. Her mane had been coiffed to perfection, cascading like a golden waterfall. She was, by most standards, breathtaking.
Blueblood, however, remained unimpressed. To him, she was merely presentable.
“You took your time.” He snapped, his irritation bleeding into his tone. His earlier vulnerabilities were tucked safely behind a mask of authority.
Ahrisham’s servants scattered like dry leaves before the wind, bowing deeply to the Prince as he approached.
“You didn’t specify how long I could afford to take.” Ahrisham replied smoothly, her playful tone making it clear she was unbothered. “So I took a gamble and went all out.”
Blueblood huffed but relented. “You… got me there.” He admitted begrudgingly. He should have known better than to give her any wiggle room, given the nature of their arrangement.
“Mhm~” She hummed, trotting past him, the scent of her perfume - a mix of spices, honey, and lilies - lingering in her wake. “We’re already running late as it is...”
“I wonder why…” Blueblood muttered under his breath.
“... so we should get moving!” She chirped, her mood infuriatingly light.
Her entourage began to shuffle forward as if prepared to follow her, their devotion evident in every movement. Blueblood sighed and turned to face her directly.
“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, gesturing to the gathered army of servants.
“Hm?” Ahrisham glanced back, seemingly confused by his strange question. “Oh, I thought we shouldn’t go anywhere without a proper display of pomp. Believe me, these are just the most essential…”
“Stop. Just… no.” Blueblood tapped the bridge of his muzzle with a hoof, feeling a headache building, if the pulsing in his hind hoof and temples were any indication “We’re not taking any of your lackeys. For today, and for the foreseeable future, you are my only lackey.”
For a brief moment, a shadow of offense crossed her face. Her lips twitched as though she wanted to retort, but she quickly composed herself, the fleeting emotion hidden beneath a serene mask.
“... fine.” She sighed, hanging her head slightly. “It was worth a try.”
After a few sharp words in her native tongue, her entourage bowed deeply and retreated, leaving Ahrisham alone with the Prince, even if some lingered, doubt clear in their eyes.
Blueblood’s gaze flicked to the back of the departing group, where a large, green crystalline figure stood unmoving. He didn’t need long to recognize her.
“Mare-at-arms Molly.” He said slowly, his eyes tracing the swirling shadows beneath her polished malachite surface.
“Sir!” Molly snapped to attention, offering the Prince a sharp salute. Her posture was more tense and professional than any she had displayed before.
Blueblood inspected her for a moment, his gaze lingering as he tried to piece together her presence here.
“At ease. Dismissed.” He barked, waving her off with a flick of his hoof. As quick as his curiosity was peaked, it disappeared just as swiftly.
“Uhm…” Molly hesitated, pawing at the ground with one of her large hooves. “I can’t really do that, sir. I’m under orders to remain near Lady Ahrisham at all times.”
That gave the Prince pause. He turned to face the Crystal Pony fully, his glare harsh and inquisitive. Yet, to his mild irritation, Molly didn’t shrink under the weight of his gaze. If anything, she seemed to gain confidence.
“And why is that?” He asked, his tone pointed.
“These are my orders, sir. I intend to keep them,” Molly replied flatly, her deep dark eyes locking onto his with surprising intensity.
Blueblood recoiled slightly at her unwavering stare, though he masked it with a dismissive snort. “Amusing… but whoever your commander is, my authority outweighs theirs by several magnitudes. Now - dismissed.” His voice carried a firm, commanding edge this time.
Molly stood her ground for a moment longer, her earlier fidgeting almost entirely gone. “Understood.” She said at last, nodding her head. Yet, rather than retreating immediately, she lingered for a heartbeat longer than was appropriate, casting one last glance towards Ahrisham . Finally, with deliberate thundering steps, she turned and walked away, heading in the opposite direction of Ahrisham’s departing entourage.
Her departure left an almost oppressive stillness hanging over the gardens. The space between Blueblood and Ahrisham was filled only by the sound of their breathing, both unexpectedly uneven and heavy - a subtle but telling sign that their carefully maintained masks were beginning to slip again.
“Do you have anything to say to me?” Blueblood’s voice cut through the silence, his hooves clopping against the tiled floor. The echo added an eerie weight to his question.
Ahrisham flicked her head slightly, meeting his challenge with a calm look. “About…?” She asked, her voice steady but tinted with defiance.
Blueblood motioned toward her with a slight tilt of his head, gesturing at her entire appearance as he took a few deliberate steps closer. “All of… this.”
A small, playful smirk tugged at the corners of Ahrisham’s muzzle. “Oh, believe me, if I weren’t in such a hurry, I’d have styled my mane differently. Alas…” She inhaled dramatically, her tone dripping with mock lament. “...we’re on a clock today, aren’t we?”
The corner of Blueblood’s eye twitched, a small but telling reaction. He didn’t respond instead, muttering something inaudible under his breath as he pushed past her.
Ahrisham, to her credit, let the moment pass without pressing further. Still, her small victory was evident in the visible spring to her step as she followed after him, her mood noticeably lifted.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It had been centuries since Canterlot Castle had last come under attack. Its towers and baileys, designed to keep enemies at bay, had long since traded their martial purpose for peacetime uses. The castle itself seemed as old as time - first envisioned by the Royal Sisters themselves and later completed by Princess Celestia after the civil struggle against Nightmare Moon over a thousand years ago. Since then, it had stood as the beating heart of Equestria, nestled deep within the heartlands.
The castle rarely faced conflict, the infamous Changeling Invasion of a few years ago being a rare exception. Over time, many of its once-formidable defensive structures had been transformed into workshops, storerooms, or even homes. The walls that once protected the realm now blended almost seamlessly into the surrounding city.
From the main gatehouse, whose sturdy doors stood open even at night under the ever-bored watch of the Royal Guard, wide streets stretched out, lined with stately homes and shops catering to Equestria's upper crust. Living within the castle walls was a mark of prestige, though the limited space sparked constant conflict - violations of building codes, unsanctioned expansions, and even the occasional sabotage to make room for personal projects.
Here, the pettiness and vanity of Canterlot’s nobility were on full display. Separated from the common folk, these ponies still found ample opportunity to gossip, criticize, and subtly undermine one another - whether it was over fashion choices, preferred dining establishments, or the décor of their micro-mansions.
So when a towering Saddle Arabian mare trotted down the streets, her exotic and radiant presence caused quite a stir.
Ahrisham, unbothered by the attention, relished every moment of it.
“Oh!” She exclaimed, pausing before the window of a boutique wedged between two grand homes. “Look at the colors on that dress! Why would anyone wear that?”
Her words carried clearly into the shop, drawing a sharp glare from the tailor inside.
Ahrisham moved ahead of Prince Blueblood with confidence. Her extravagant, semi-sheer dress caught the sunlight in a way that turned every eye her way. While most ponies didn’t fuss over clothing in their daily lives, the nobility considered it a subtle form of expression. A well-placed scarf or tie could speak volumes about one’s status.
Ahrisham’s imposing height and boundless energy - not her attire - were the real source of the commotion. At nearly Celestia’s size, she towered over the ponies of Canterlot, being a figure both fascinating and intimidating.
“Will you calm down?” Blueblood called after her, making no effort to trot faster to catch up. He knew better than to try to match her long-legged stride. “You’re causing a scene!”
And she was. Her presence had drawn ponies from their homes and shops, peeking through windows or stepping onto the street to gawk. One stallion had even brought his pet lizard on a short leash, as obviously the spectacle had lured him outside. Blueblood sighed, already imagining the gossip that would ripple through Canterlot for days.
“Am I?” Ahrisham finally noticed the stares. She slowed, turning her dark sapphire eyes toward the gawking ponies. Her gaze swept across the street, pausing on each offender until they hastily looked away or ducked out of sight, unable to withstand the weight of her commanding presence.
Yet the whispering didn’t stop, it only grew in intensity becoming a buzz in their ears. A few ponies even pointed at her once her back was turned.
“All I see…” Ahrisham said, her tone thick with an exaggerated Saddle Arabian accent. “... is the common rabble admiring their betters.”
Her words, dripping with condescension, caused a trio of well-dressed mares to gasp audibly. Their offense was palpable.
Blueblood had to stifle a laugh. Those mares wouldn’t soon forget this encounter. Ahrisham, it seemed, would be the talk of the town for far longer than the usual two or three days.
“How... how dare you!” One of the mares spluttered, stepping forward with indignation. Blueblood vaguely remembered her name had something to do with goldsmithing.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” She demanded, her hoof tapping impatiently against the cobblestone. Her two companions nodded furiously, offering hushed words of encouragement.
Ahrisham gave her a long, scrutinizing look, tilting her head as though evaluating a curio. “No.” She replied simply, her accent heavy and tone dismissive.
The mare choked on her outrage, while her friends gasped in scandalized unison.
Blueblood, standing back, nearly let yet another chuckle slip. Of course, this noblemare assumed her name carried weight. She had no idea she was outmatched.
“I am Gold Leaf…” The mare said, her voice rising in volume and with indignation. “... and I will not stand for this!”
Her flustered breaths came quickly as she tried to compose herself. “I have connections - connections within the castle itself!”
“And so do I.” Ahrisham replied, her accent thick as it could get.
Gold Leaf blinked, clearly unused to such direct defiance. For a moment, she faltered, then squared her shoulders and glared up at Ahrisham, feigning confidence. “I can make your life very difficult if I choose to, miss.” Her tone was polished, her words a veiled threat - a common tactic in Canterlot’s high society. “You would do well to learn some proper manners if you intend to stay here.”
Ahrisham tilted her head, her golden mane cascading over her shoulder. “I do know proper manners.” She said, her voice light and teasing. “Some of them.” She cantered in place, her tail swishing playfully. “I simply choose not to waste them on a pony who gawks at me from across the street.”
Gold Leaf recoiled as though struck, raising a hoof to her muzzle in shock.
With her point made, Ahrisham turned and trotted back toward Blueblood, who regarded her with an unamused expression.
“What?” She asked innocently, her accent nearly gone as she tilted her head. Her mane shimmered like a golden waterfall in the sunlight.
“You just proved my point.” Blueblood said, exhaling heavily.
Ahrisham glanced back toward Gold Leaf and her entourage, who were now huddled together, whispering furiously and casting angry glances at her.
“Hm… Maybe.” She replied flippantly. A sly smile tugged at her lips. “But I couldn’t resist rubbing some snotty noses in the dirt. Especially when the most offending one is just out of my reach.”
“Are you implying somepony here…?” Blueblood asked, his brow arching in a clear challenge.
“Perhaps~” Ahrisham sing-songed, turning away before he could press further. She trotted ahead, leaving the Prince to catch up.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The renovation efforts of the castle's outer bailey had ground to a halt. While all the workers and materials were accounted for, the issue - as was often the case in Canterlot - lay with the landlords and homeowners whose properties were affected by the planned works. Many were adamantly opposed to allowing any construction on their land, going so far as to summon the Royal Guard, who begrudgingly had to heed their complaints.
“I absolutely forbid you from even setting a single hoof on my plot!” A small, almost round stallion in green suspenders bellowed. He carried a pair of razor-sharp hedge shears in his magic almost as if preparing for a duel using them, his voice shrill from anger.
The worker he was addressing, a gruff-looking pony with an overseer badge strapped to side his vest, looked utterly exhausted. Clearly, this wasn’t the first such conversation of the day.
“Sir.” The overseer began, his tone strained but patient. “We have a permit, as well as your signed agreement to conduct works on the wall starting today, the 43rd day of Summer.”
He lifted a clipboard, displaying a stack of official-looking papers.
“I don’t remember signing anything like that!” The stallion cried, his mustache quivering with outrage. Bits of twigs and leaves clung to the impressive facial hair, remnants of his gardening efforts moments earlier. His well-kept garden, which stretched behind him, was immaculate - something even Prince Blueblood, watching from a distance, had to admire.
Before the overseer could respond, the clipboard was slapped from his hooves, sending the papers scattering across the ground.
The pointless bickering continued, with both ponies raising their voices in a battle of volume rather than reason. The overseer attempted to explain, while the gardening stallion countered with increasingly shrill protests.
A pair of Royal Guards stood nearby, exchanging bemused glances. Clearly, they weren’t inclined to intervene just yet, content to let the argument play out on its own.
Prince Blueblood stood a few paces away, watching the entire exchange unfold with disdain. He muttered to himself once more. “This is so beneath me…”
“Mhm.”
The sound of Ahrisham’s voice at his side made him jump slightly. She didn’t seem to notice - or more likely, she didn’t care.
“This is something Karanas should be doing…” She mused, her gaze fixed on the escalating argument.
The gardening stallion, now all red with anger, was jabbing his hedge shears at the beleaguered worker, who had taken refuge behind his sturdy clipboard. One particularly aggressive thrust pierced the thin wood, leaving the shears stuck in it. Before the stallion could reclaim his weapon, it was whisked away with a twist and a sharp tug from the worker.
Now even the guards added their voices to the fray, only increasing the volume and intensity of the argument. The worker, now clutching his damaged clipboard like a shield, watched as the guards chased the irate gardener around his meticulously maintained plot. Neither party seemed particularly hurried - more a slow-motion spectacle than a serious pursuit.
Blueblood glanced at Ahrisham, raising an eyebrow. “What even is Karanas?” He asked, assuming it was another Saddle Arabian term with a poor Pony tongue translation.
Ahrisham took a moment to process his question, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. Her eyes followed the absurd scene before them, where the gardener, now weaponless, ducked and darted while the guards half-heartedly tried to apprehend him.
“A bailiff.” She said at last. “But not quite… it’s not important now.”
Ahrisham trailed off as the situation escalated. The guards’ attempts to calm the stallion were now causing a small scene, with curious onlookers beginning to gather at the edge of the garden.
“I think we should intervene.” She said, her bordering on concern and amusement. “You have the authority, don’t you?”
“More than enough.” Blueblood replied, his voice touched with mild irritation. He started a light canter toward the unfolding chaos, his hooves clopping rhythmically against the rough stone pavement. Ahrisham followed close behind, her own steps falling in cadence with his.
Before long, both alabaster-coated ponies found themselves standing in front of the elegantly tended hedge that served as the fence for the property. They arrived just in time to witness the gardener stallion attempting to climb a decorative wisteria tree to evade pursuit.
One of the Royal Guards stood at the base of the tree, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation, while the other waited a few paces away with the construction worker. The latter guard appeared thoroughly amused, snickering at the absurdity unfolding before him. Nearby, the damaged clipboard and the offending hedge shears lay discarded on the ground.
“Sir…” The guard under the tree called up, her voice betraying signs of her fatigue. “Please get down before you hurt yourself.”
“No!” Came the indignant reply from somewhere within the tree’s branches and leaves. “You’re going to fine and arrest me!”
“I’m not going to arrest you.” The guard replied, her tone strained with patience. “And I don’t need you to be here to give you a fine.”
“What?!” The stallion’s head popped out from between the wisteria’s leaves, his impressive mustache now in complete disarray. Tiny purple wisteria leaves clung to it, and individual hairs jutted out at odd angles. “How is that legal?” He demanded, his voice dripping with outrage.
Before the guard could respond, a loud snap echoed through the garden as the branch he was perched on gave way under his weight.
With a startled yelp, the stallion plummeted from an impressive height of seven and a half hooves, landing unceremoniously on his rump. As he groaned and fluttered his eyes open, he found himself face-to-face with a ticket held neatly in an outstretched wing.
“It is to be paid within a week at the bailiff's office - inner bailey, town hall, second floor. You should be able to find it there.” The guard explained briskly, with a tiny, if smug, smile on her lip.
Grumbling under his breath, the stallion snatched the ticket from her wing, squinting at its contents with a darkening expression.
“Good day.” The guard said politely, turning to leave. She didn’t bother to wait for a reply, though the exasperated roll of her eyes as she trotted back toward her partner was impossible to miss. Her gaze fell upon the two ponies silently observing her work from the edge of the scene.
With a tiny scowl, the guard pushed past her partner and the construction worker, ready to scold the onlookers. “Nothing to see here, move alo…”
Her words faltered mid-sentence as her eyes landed on Prince Blueblood’s unmistakably regal face. Recognition struck instantly. There were few ponies in Equestria who could be identified on sight alone, and Prince Blueblood, alongside the Princesses, the Elements of Harmony, and a few notable celebrities, was undeniably one of them.
“Your Highness!” She exclaimed, immediately dropping into a deep bow, her muzzle brushing the neatly cut lawn of the fined gardener’s property.
The others present on the site turned their heads as well, their expressions ranging from astonishment and wonder to baffled confusion.
Ahrisham, meanwhile, exhaled heartily, leaning casually against Blueblood’s side. The unexpected contact made him lean in the opposite direction, his body language clearly telegraphing his discomfort. As if completely oblivious, Ahrisham leaned closer, her breath, warm and scented with honeyed baklava, tickling his ear.
“I had hoped we wouldn’t get involved in any of this.” She whispered, her tone carrying equal parts amusement and exasperation.
“Prince!” The others called out almost in unison. Their voices varied in tone - some sounded distressed, others merely surprised or acknowledging his presence.
Blueblood stiffened under the sudden wave of attention, now thrust unwillingly into the spotlight. For a long, strained moment, he fought to maintain his composure. In the end, he decided it wasn’t worth the effort.
He let out a deliberate, heavy sigh, one that carried his signature brand of exaggerated resentment - a practiced part of his act by now. With a sharp stomp of his hoof, he stepped forward, his presence commanding the focus of everypony present. However, the moment the weight pressed on his injured back leg, a sharp pang reminded him that it was far from healed. Grimacing slightly, he adjusted his step, treading more carefully on the bandaged hoof.
Clearing his throat, Blueblood cast his arctic-blue eyes over the gathered ponies, aware of the dozen or so others who had stirred from their homes. Some poked their heads out of windows, while others ventured outside to investigate the commotion.
“Attention!” He barked, his low tone almost a growl as it cut through the murmurs. Lacking a herald to announce him, he took it upon himself. “Your Prince is here.”
As if struck by a whip, all four ponies immediately straightened and jumped to their hooves. Blueblood found it mildly amusing how a single word of his could inspire such fear and compliance in Equestria’s ponies.
Fixing his gaze on the overseer, he trotted forward, stopping just in front of the brownish stallion with an unevenly shaven muzzle. Under Blueblood’s close scrutiny, the poor pony began to visibly sweat, his breaths growing shallow as if the air around him had turned heavy.
The others fared no better, though a flicker of relief crossed their faces - they were glad not to be the focus of their Prince’s supposed displeasure.
“I came here to see the progress of your work.” Blueblood said, his voice carrying an exaggerated whine. He leaned in slightly, closing the distance between them. The overseer’s pungent aroma - a nauseating mix of sweat and cheap cologne - hit him like a wall, making his stomach churn. He managed to suppress the urge to gag, though his face betrayed a fleeting grimace.
The overseer, perhaps sensing this, held his breath even more tightly, his face slowly turning a faint purple.
“But I can clearly see.” Blueblood continued, his tone laced with feigned irritation. “That you are far behind schedule.” It was a complete fabrication. He had no idea what the project’s timeline or workload entailed. Pretending otherwise, however, cost him nothing and reinforced the image of an engaged and attentive ruler.
The overseer finally exhaled with a desperate wheeze, his shoulders sinking slightly. Blueblood instinctively leaned back, putting some distance between himself and the stallion to avoid another whiff of his noxious scent.
“I-I… we didn’t mean to…” The overseer stammered, choking on his words.
“Tsk!” Blueblood interrupted, raising a hoof sharply.
The stallion recoiled, his eyes widening in alarm as though expecting to be struck. The thought amused Blueblood immensely, though he made no effort to correct the trembling pony’s misunderstanding.
“No excuses - are we behind schedule?” Blueblood demanded, his piercing gaze shifting from the overseer, whose ears flattened under the scrutiny, to the Royal Guards awkwardly avoiding eye contact, and finally to the smug gardening noblepony, who wore a self-satisfied grin on his muzzle.
The rustling of movement and low whispers around them began to grow louder as more ponies, feigning coincidence, started to ‘accidentally stumble’ upon the scene of Prince Blueblood standing in the middle of Canterlot’s streets. At least, for the moment, no pony had yet decided to interrupt with something tedious or brash.
Seeing an opportunity to redeem himself in the eyes of his Prince, the overseer began to babble, his voice quivering: “W-we were moving on sc-chedule! A-all materials and workers are ac-ac-accounted for!”
“I am not interested in meaningless details.” Blueblood sneered, his voice cutting like ice. The overseer shrank further, visibly wilting under the weight of the Prince’s disdain.
“Y-yes, of course…”
“You will get the situation under control by any means necessary.” Blueblood paused for effect, letting the weight of his words sink in. “And I truly mean - any.”
“Of course…” The overseer mumbled, daring not to lift his gaze.
“You two.” Blueblood barked, his attention snapping to the Royal Guards, who had begun inching their way towards the edge of the garden. They instantly froze, stiffening as their Prince’s icy gaze locked onto them.
“Sir!” The mare guard called out, her attempt at a salute hurried and clumsy.
“You will remain here and ensure that nopony interrupts.” Blueblood ordered, motioning to the still-quivering overseer.
“B-but we are about to fin—uh, we were still on patrol.” The stallion guard stammered, clearly trying to mask his displeasure at the sudden change in his duties.
“I am not interested in what you were doing before.” Blueblood snapped, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. “Right now, I am giving you a direct order.”
“Yes, sir!” Both guards replied in unison, their salutes now sharp and rigid, any thoughts of defiance thoroughly squashed.
That left only one remaining issue - the problematic noblepony who, in typical oblivious fashion, had completely misinterpreted the Prince’s intentions. The smug stallion was still smiling, though his furrowed brow betrayed a hint of confusion. Clearly, he had paid little attention to the actual exchange, focusing only on the fact that harsh words had been directed at those he viewed as his tormentors.
“I had hoped for some manner of intervention.” The stallion said, laughing lightly as he pointed his hoof mockingly at the two guards. “But once these good-for-nothing layabouts started harassing me, I thought it was all hopeless.”
The guards stiffened, their eyes narrowing as they shot daggers at the smug noblepony, but they held their tongues. For now.
“I did not expect the Prince himself to intervene!” The stallion exclaimed, tapping his hooves together in an overly ecstatic manner. “We’ve met already during the latest fête at the castle. I’m…”
“Mr. Birch.” Blueblood cut him off, his tone sharp. While he rarely bothered to remember the names of ponies he deemed insignificant, he had a particular talent for recalling sycophants. Cracked Birch was one such a pony.
The weight of the Prince’s tone made Birch snap his muzzle shut, his enthusiasm instantly deflating.
“I expect you to fully cooperate with the team here.” Blueblood continued, his gaze stern and unyielding. “And to set a good example for your neighbors. Let them see what is expected when these workers come knocking on their doors.”
“B-but…” Birch stammered, his expression falling as his ears flopped comically to the sides of his face. He let out a pitiful whine. “... my petunias!”
Blueblood sighed, his gaze shifting toward the garden. Indeed, there were a few bushes of particularly well-tended flowers - petunias, he presumed. He glanced back at Birch’s pleading face, then back at the flowers. With a resigned sigh, he turned toward the overseer, whose name he had not bothered to learn.
“Try not to devastate the garden too much.” Blueblood said flatly.
“Yes, o-of course! We will try!” The overseer stammered, nodding so fervently it seemed his head might detach.
Casting one final, lordly glance over the gathering, Blueblood turned on his hooves and trotted off. The crowd of gawkers parted before him like a tide bowing to the moon.
Now it was Ahrisham’s turn to follow.
Once both Prince Blueblood and Ahrisham were far enough from the commotion that nopony involved could overhear them, she broke the silence with a question that had lingered in her mind for some time.
“How are you able to do… this?” She asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper as she glanced back at the scene they had left behind.
Workers were already busy hauling building materials and measuring tools, while Birch hovered fretfully over them, fussing to ensure his precious petunias remained untrampled. Hopefully, the work would progress without further interruptions…
“Do what?” Blueblood asked, his tone - genuine surprise.
“Inspire fear in your subjects.” Ahrisham clarified. “You’ll have to forgive me, but…” She hesitated, drawing a deeper breath. “... you do not strike me as a particularly intimidating figure.”
Blueblood let out a soft chuckle at her words, his casual reaction clearly upsetting Ahrisham.
“Do you really think that to keep your subjects in line, you must enforce harsh punishments or stage executions?” He asked, his voice carrying a note of amusement.
“Usually…?” Ahrisham replied carefully, unsure of his implication. “... if you want others to dread you - yes.”
This time, Blueblood laughed outright, the sound rich and unrestrained, drawing the attention of a few passersby.
“What’s so amusing?” Ahrisham demanded, her brow furrowing as her hooves struck the pavement with slightly more force than necessary.
“Oh, I’ve asked myself the same question many, many times.” Blueblood admitted, exhaling sharply as he shook his head. His stomach gave a low, impatient rumble, and a glance at his pocket watch confirmed what he already suspected - it was well past lunchtime. “But I’ve never found an answer.”
“That is… curious.” Ahrisham remarked, surprise flickering across her features as she faltered mid-step. “Have ponies always been so meek around you?”
“Not always.” He admitted. “When I was a foal? Certainly not. And even as an adolescent, ponies didn’t react to me this way.”
They began making their way out of the castle’s inner courtyard and into the outer one, guided by little more than Blueblood’s instincts. The farther they ventured from the heart of the castle, the fewer ponies bowed or even glanced in their direction.
“It started after I finished law academy and began assisting my aunt with legal cases.” Blueblood explained, his tone distant as he sniffed lightly. “That’s when the change began. It’s been over ten years now, and somehow I’ve earned this reputation - as a harsh enforcer of justice, stepping in where Celestia’s kindness couldn’t reach. I suppose, to the common pony, I might appear as some unforgiving dragon.”
“So that’s why…?” Ahrisham began, her curiosity piqued.
“No~” Blueblood interrupted, his reply flippant. “I told you - I have no idea. It’s just my theory and little else.” Still - a subtle smile tugged on the corner of his lips.
It was clear there was some more to the story he refused to share, yet Ahrisham decided to not press the issue. Not today.
They fell into a companionable silence as they trotted through the lower city, the streets narrower and the buildings less polished than those within the castle walls. Here, in the bustling heart of Canterlot’s everyday life, it was easy to lose oneself in the hum of activity.
The scents of freshly baked bread mingled with the sharp tang of metal from a nearby forge, while merchants called out from their stalls, selling everything from fine cloth to humble vegetables. Blueblood’s stomach rumbled again, louder this time, breaking the quiet.
It was clearly time to find something decent to eat.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
“Do you have it?” Blueblood asked carefully, his tone hushed, as though they were exchanging state secrets. He watched as Ahrisham approached his table, conspicuously dressed in an elegant straw hat and oversized sunglasses she’d procured from who-knows-where.
He had to admit - the hat suited her.
“Yes, over here.” She whispered conspiratorially, flashing a grin as wide as the horizon. Seating herself across from him, she gently slid the paper bag his way. “Just like you wanted - extra dressing, extra salad.”
“Good.” Blueblood’s hooves tapped together in barely contained excitement. He was practically salivating. “Now, quickly, before somepony notices us.”
Ahrisham stifled a laugh as Blueblood snatched the bag in his magic and trotted off hurriedly, not sparing her a glance. She shook her head in amusement and followed at an easy pace, her hooves clattering rhythmically against the cobblestones. Her gait was heavier and more deliberate than a pony’s, yet graceful all the same. The sound was starting to become familiar to him, though he’d never admit it aloud.
“Why all the secrecy? It’s just a sandwich.” She finally asked, unable to suppress her curiosity any longer.
Blueblood didn’t even pause, his pace quickening. “They might be simple, but they’re exceptional.”
“And that’s the reason?” Her brows arched over the rim of her oversized sunglasses. “Wouldn’t you want your favorite spot to prosper?”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.” He grumbled, throwing a glance over his shoulder to ensure nopony was tailing them. “If it gets too popular - and it will, if ponies find out I eat there - it’ll change. Most likely for the worse.”
He led them to a quiet park nestled deep in one of Canterlot’s less conspicuous districts, far from the castle’s towering spires and the prying eyes of its elite. The air here was cooler, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and fresh semi-wild flowers. The sound of foals playing echoed faintly from the far side of the park, but their chosen spot - a shaded bench under the sprawling canopy of an oak tree - was comfortably secluded.
Settling onto the bench, Blueblood placed the bag before him with an almost reverent air. He unrolled it carefully, the rustling of paper strangely loud in the stillness, revealing two neatly wrapped sandwiches. One was on crustless wheat bread, stuffed generously with extra dressing, red onion, tomatoes, lettuce, and cucumber. The other was rye bread, layered with olives, an abundance of red onion, and a smooth bean paste. Both were wrapped meticulously in wax paper.
“Little by little...” Blueblood muttered, unwrapping his sandwich with precision. He plucked the middle piece of lettuce, now coated in an excessive amount of dressing, and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. The lettuce arced neatly through the air before disappearing into the bin with a soft slap. “... They’d change to adapt to new, snobby clientele. They’d hire more cooks, use different ingredients. It wouldn’t be the same.”
He pressed the bread slices together and took a precise, measured bite. His eyes fluttered shut, a soft hum escaping him as he savored the flavor.
Ahrisham watched the display, her brow raised. “I understand where you’re coming from.” She said, unwrapping her own sandwich with far less ceremony. “But isn’t that a bit… silly?”
“Silly?” Blueblood gasped, feigning outrage. “Absolutely not. These sandwiches are perfect. Why mess with perfection?”
Ahrisham rolled her eyes but decided not to press further. Instead, she turned her attention to her own meal, taking a hearty bite. As she chewed, she let her gaze wander across the park, noting the quiet charm of this hidden corner of Canterlot. The oak’s branches swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves dappling the ground with shifting patterns of sunlight. The chatter of distant birds completed the peaceful atmosphere.
“You seem awfully particular about your sandwiches.” She teased, watching as Blueblood dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
“They’re more than just sandwiches.” He replied matter-of-factly. “They’re an experience. And experiences must be preserved.”
Ahrisham shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re a strange one, Your Highness.”
Blueblood huffed indignantly but didn’t dignify the remark with a response. Instead, he finished the last bite of his sandwich, folded the wax paper neatly, and tucked it back into the paper bag.
“Did you get any change?” He asked suddenly, as though the thought had only just occurred to him.
“Mhm,” Ahrisham mumbled around a mouthful of rye. “But I let them keep it.”
“You what?” He turned to her, his expression one of utter betrayal. “You owe me at least two bits!”
“Are you serious?” She asked, swallowing her bite.
“I assure you.” Blueblood said, his voice rising theatrically. “I am.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
It is commonly stated that gossip can spread as quickly and as unpredictably as a wildfire - oftentimes having greater reach than information spread by heralds, meant to be heard by all. Sometimes, the farthest corner of Canterlot had already discussed an event before the fastest runner could reach the scene, galloping at full speed from the point of origin!
In Equestria’s capital, words were exchanged with astonishing speed, as if carried by the winds themselves.
It was no surprise, then, that Prince Blueblood’s latest escapade into the city was already on the tongues of everypony before the trip itself concluded. Rumors swirled about his uncharacteristic appearance without entourage or associates - a rare occurrence indeed. Whispers with added spice suggested that a mysterious mare accompanied him. If there was one thing Canterlot ponies loved, it was the private lives of the rich, influential, and mighty!
By two o’clock that afternoon, dozens of theories had blossomed about the identity of this enigmatic mare, ranging from plausible to utterly ludicrous. Ahrisham’s identity, appearance, and supposed relationship with the Prince were wildly exaggerated. She was painted as everything from a consort or secret spouse to a foreign witch who had cast a spell to ensnare him.
Notably, her Saddle Arabian origin was curiously omitted from most tales.
One particularly fervent storyteller was an aging mare tending a flower stall, who regaled anypony willing to lend her an ear with her version of events. She heard from the ‘very reliable source’ that the Prince had discovered his long-lost sibling, and together they were plotting to take over not only Canterlot but the whole of Equestria.
“Mark my words!” She declared, her voice rising with conviction. “This isn’t just some ordinary affair of royalty sneakin’ about. Oh no! This mare - his sister - is comin’ back now of all times, right when Equestria’s at its most vulnerable!”
“Vulnerable?” Ahrisham, concealed behind her elegant straw hat and oversized sunglasses, asked casually as she examined a cluster of posies. “I wasn’t aware Equestria struggled in any way of late.”
The flower seller gasped dramatically, placing a hoof to her chest as if Ahrisham’s words were a physical blow. “Oh, miss…” She exhaled, giving Ahrisham the kind of disappointed look that only elderly seemed to master. “You young ponies these days, so blissfully ignorant. Almost as if you want to not see the signs.”
“I’m not even from around here…” Ahrisham muttered under her breath, but the mare ignored her.
“... but there will be hard times.” The flower seller continued, nodding solemnly. Her well-cared-for but greying mane swayed gently with each word. “Mark my words, young lady. Hard times. More and more monsters are crawling out of Tartarus itself, tormentin’ honest ponies. Old foal tales, dismissed as nothin’ but fancy, are comin’ true before our very eyes!”
Despite her rambling, the mare’s hooves remained deft and focused, neatly arranging each bloom in the bouquet Ahrisham had purchased. Her work was precise, her words anything but.
“They said…” Ahrisham had no idea who ‘they’ were. “... they said Mare in the Moon was just a one-time thing, but look what happened after! Discord. Changelings. Crystal Empire!” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, though it was still loud enough for nearby ponies to overhear. “Each is worse than the one before - all ancient Equestria’s foes.”
“Yes, but what does this have to do with…” Ahrisham attempted to interject, only to be cut off again.
“The filly! The one everypony’s talkin’ about! She’s his sister, and she’s up to no good, I tell you!” The flower seller’s agitation grew, her voice nearly trembling with the sheer drama of her tall-tale. “One look at ‘er was enough for me to know. Up to no good, through and through!”
“Oh?” Ahrisham allowed a small smile to play on her lips. “You saw her?”
“With my very own eyes!” The older mare blinked meaningfully, pointing at her rosy-pink irises for emphasis. “Clear as day, I tell ya! Sneakin’ about with him, no shame at all! And do you know what’s most suspicious? She’s hiding her true self! Disguised, no doubt, so we won’t see her for what she is. I’d bet my entire stall on it!”
Ahrisham raised an eyebrow but kept her polite smile intact. “How very... concerning.”
“Concerning?!” The flower seller shook her head, a mixture of disbelief and pity etched on her face. “You’ve no idea, miss. Just you wait. That mare’s got the look of someone schemin’. Mark my words - Canterlot’s in for a reckoning!”
Ahrisham gave a small chuckle, exchanging a few silver bits for her flowers. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for this mysterious sibling of the Prince, then. Thank you for the warning.”
Before the older mare could launch into another tirade, Ahrisham gracefully turned and walked away, her bouquet held in her magical hold. The flower seller’s voice carried faintly behind her, already regaling another passerby with the same tale, albeit exaggerated even further with new retelling.
Ahrisham trotted hurriedly where her ‘sibling’ was lurking - sitting in plain sight, hidden behind a spread out newspaper. She shook her head, amused. “Long-lost sister plotting to take over Equestria…” She murmured more to herself than to the Prince. “They really do have a flair for the dramatic here.”
“Hm?” Prince Blueblood lifted his head from the newspaper he was reading, shooting Ahrisham a curious glance. His eyes quickly fell on the bouquet she was holding out toward him. “What is this?”
“Flowers!” Ahrisham said cheerfully, pushing the bouquet closer to his muzzle with a giddy smile. “Just like you asked.”
Blueblood sighed, swatting a hoof dismissively at the offering. Folding his newspaper neatly with his magic, he set it aside on the bench. “When I told you to get a bouquet, I meant something suitable for where I am going.”
The flowers, tied together with a simple cloth strip, were a colorful mix of wild varieties - purples, blues, whites, and yellows - creating a rustic and vibrant display.
“It looks as if somepony foraged in a field for them.” Blueblood scoffed, standing on the tips of his hooves to stretch.
Ahrisham glanced at the bouquet, narrowing her eyes slightly. “They’re so pretty.” She chirped. “I’ve never seen most of them before.”
“They’re wildflowers, a local variety.” Blueblood’s tone was sharp, his irritation barely concealed. “Ahrisham, this is not what I asked for.”
Ahrisham’s ears twitched, pressing back against her golden mane. “Then what did you have in mind?” She asked cautiously, pawing at the ground with one hoof.
“Something worthy of me - a Prince.” Blueblood snapped, his voice low enough to avoid eavesdroppers. “This... this is barely fit for a flower salad.”
Ahrisham inspected the flowers again, sniffing them delicately. To Blueblood’s horror, she nibbled a petal from one of the blooms, chewing thoughtfully.
“For Celestia’s sake, stop that!” Blueblood’s voice rose, a vein pulsing in his temple. “Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is?”
“What?” Ahrisham asked innocently, swallowing the petals she’d sampled.
“Throw that trash away and get me proper flowers,” Blueblood demanded, tapping his hoof impatiently against the pavement.
Ahrisham let out an exasperated scoff, her temper finally showing. “Proper flowers? You’re so specific about what you want, yet you never tell me what that is!” She snapped, tossing the bouquet over Blueblood’s head. He ducked, wincing as the bouquet hit the side of a trash bin, scattering petals and stems across the ground.
“Hey!” Blueblood barked, spinning around to glare at her. “Do I have to spell out every little thing for you?”
Their gazes locked, the tension between them reaching its peak.
“Yes.” Ahrisham retorted sharply, her tone cold but restrained. “You clearly expect me to read your mind, but I am not a mind reader, Your Highness.”
Blueblood snorted, stepping closer. “You speak our language, yet you know so little about us.” He hissed.
Ahrisham’s glare burned through her sunglasses, her barely-contained anger palpable. She inhaled deeply, exhaling through her nose - a calming exercise. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady but icy. “What kind of flowers do you require, Your Highness?”
Blueblood blinked, caught off guard by her sudden shift in attitude. “White roses. Without thorns. Or pink ones... but maybe a mix? Lilies might work too. Actually…”
As Blueblood rambled, Ahrisham pulled out a slip of paper and began jotting notes. Her charcoal pencil scratched furiously, only for her to cross out her notes seconds later as he contradicted himself. After a few moments, she gave up, flipping the paper over to start fresh. Her dark eyes scanned the ground, landing on a pile of sand. Scooping a pinch into her shimmering blue magic, she began weaving a spell.
“Are you even listening to me?” Blueblood’s voice startled her, louder and closer than expected.
“Ack!” Ahrisham flinched, her concentration breaking. The slip of paper disintegrated into fine grains that spilled onto the ground.
“I was…” She grumbled, staring at the wasted effort. “But then you started rambling, and we weren’t getting anywhere.”
Blueblood opened his mouth to retort, but Ahrisham silenced him with a hoof pressed to his muzzle.
Recoiling, he sputtered indignantly. “How dare you… don’t touch me!”
Ahrisham rolled her eyes, pulling out another slip of paper and scribbling rapidly in her native tongue. This time, her spell held, and a gust of wind whisked the grains of sand that once made this slip of paper, away to its intended recipient.
“You’ll have your flowers before the opera ends, Your Highness.” She said with a sly smile, looking down at the fuming Prince and taking full advantage of her taller stature.
Blueblood muttered darkly under his breath, turning on his heel. “Off you go, then.” He snapped, waving her away. “The opera starts soon, and I wouldn’t want you to be late - the castle is quite a few paces away, after all.”
“You shouldn’t worry, Your Highness,” Ahrisham replied sweetly, her tone laced with mischief. “My servants are quite diligent. I’m certain they’ll deliver above and beyond expectations.”
Blueblood froze mid-step, glancing over his shoulder with a displeased expression. “That’s not what I asked you to do - you were meant to take care of it personally!”
“You asked me to procure flowers.” Ahrisham countered, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You never specified I had to do it all by myself.”
Grinding his teeth, Blueblood strode forward, muttering under his breath. Perhaps making Ahrisham his attendant hadn’t been his brightest idea. The mare was simply too willful, if resourceful.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Prince Blueblood had never been a great admirer of opera. While the rest of Canterlot’s elite sang praises about the soaring arias and dramatic compositions, he found the performances served merely as a backdrop for far more compelling spectacles happening amidst the audience. For the nobles and power players, the real drama took place in the private boxes and lounges, where whispered deals, discreet alliances, and the occasional veiled insult passed between crystal glasses and delicate hors d'oeuvres.
Tonight was no different. Despite the rich, melodious voices rising from the stage below, he barely paid them a moment’s thought. Seated in one of the Canterlot Royal Theatre's exclusive private lounges, he held a pair of tiny opera glasses, more as a prop than out of any genuine interest in the unfolding tale of Trotsca. His gaze occasionally flitted to the stage, only to drift back to his companions: Fancy Pants, ever the charming socialite, and his striking partner, Fleur de Lis, who sat languidly at his side.
“...I’m afraid there may be no altering the Steward’s plans.” Blueblood said with a resigned sigh, lifting the glasses to his eyes for show. His tone was the perfect blend of nonchalance and boredom, though his mind wasn’t entirely absent from the matter at hoof.
“Is that so?” Fancy Pants swirled the ice cubes in his now-empty glass, his lips curling in mild displeasure. Fleur, without skipping a single beat, leaned forward to refill his drink with a practiced flick of her horn. She punctuated her task with a playful kiss on Fancy’s cheek, earning a pleased chuckle from her stallion.
Fancy leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “I’d heard Equestria recently received a rather generous ‘donation’ to the crown’s coffers. Surely that could be used to balance things?”
“Hmh!” Ahrisham, seated nearby, hummed softly but said nothing, playing the part of a dutiful attendant. She kept her posture poised, her expression serene, though Blueblood could feel her simmering beneath the surface. He dreaded the inevitable moment when she would shatter the façade and insert herself into the conversation.
Blueblood sighed, setting his glasses down on the small marble-topped table between them. “The Equestria Games went wildly over budget this year.” He said flatly, picking up his cigarette case. “I warned Celestia from the start - holding them in the Crystal Empire was a logistical nightmare waiting to happen. Transport alone drove up costs by thirty-five percent, and that’s before factoring in catering, venue preparation, administration…”
“Enough, enough!” Fancy Pants held up a hoof, his laugh cutting through Blueblood’s grumbling. “I take your point, old chap. Celestia’s boundless generosity does have its... challenges.”
“Oh, hush.” Blueblood grumbled good-naturedly, slipping a cigarette between his lips.
“I wasn’t aware you’d started smoking again.” Fancy teased, flipping open a lighter. His magic, while just as capable as that of other Unicorns - always faltered when it came to fire spells - an odd quirk for a unicorn of his lineage.
“I haven’t.” Blueblood muttered, leaning forward to accept the flame. He drew in a deep pull from the cigarette, letting the aromatic smoke fill his lungs before exhaling through his nose in a long, steady stream. “Well... not really. Only in good company.”
As he spoke, his icy blue eyes flicked toward Ahrisham, narrowing slightly.
The Saddle Arabian remained calm but visibly fought the urge to roll her eyes. Her lips twitched as if she were holding back a far less polite gesture.
She was the clear culprit for Blueblood’s addiction sparking again, something Fancy caught on near-instantly.
“If returning to your old vices is the price for employing the services of such a lovely attendant, I wouldn’t mind paying it.” Fancy said with a chuckle, only to earn a flick to the ear from Fleur. The mare’s expression remained cool, though her eyes held a hint of disapproval.
“The arrangement is... temporary.” Ahrisham replied at last, her voice low and laced with subtle tension. Her smile, while polite, did little to conceal her irritation.
“Very much so.” Blueblood quipped, taking another deliberate pull from his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling through his nose. A small cloud of aromatic haze wafted into the air, curling lazily. “Let us not get sidetr…”
“I do not believe we were properly introduced.” Fancy Pants interrupted, ignoring Blueblood’s moan of complaint as he turned his attention to Ahrisham. His eyes regarded her as if seeing her for the first time, though his polite demeanor did little to conceal his curiosity.
Ahrisham sat beside Blueblood, her long limbs folded neatly beneath her, making her appear smaller than her impressive stature might otherwise suggest. She had discarded her hat and sunglasses - the former resting on the table, the latter tucked away - revealing her striking exotic in full.
“You may call me Ahrisham.” She said smoothly, her voice carrying the faint hint of her accent. She tilted her head slightly, her sapphire eyes meeting Fancy Pants’ with an aloofness that bordered on disinterest. “In your tongue, it roughly translates to ‘Mirage’.”
“The pleasure is entirely mine.” Fancy replied with a courteous dip of his head, his polished tone as warm as his smile.
Their exchange did not go unnoticed. Fleur de Lis draped herself across Fancy’s back with feline-like grace, her languid posture betraying a territorial nature of her claim. Her eyes, sparkled with mild amusement, flicked between her partner and the Saddle Arabian mare.
“Is this really the time or place?” Blueblood whined, his irritation evident as the attention shifted away from him. He extinguished his cigarette in an ornate ashtray, the movement sharp.
Alas, the Prince’s protest fell on deaf ears. Both Fleur and Ahrisham spared him only a fleeting glance, their chiming chuckles carrying a note of quiet amusement. Their eyes met briefly, and an unspoken connection seemed to pass between them - a fleeting moment of understanding over Prince’s ‘torment’.
“Your tongue?” Fancy Pants echoed, leaning forward slightly as he mulled over her earlier words. A flicker of realization lit up his expression. “Ah! You must be a pony from the fringes of Equestria.”
Ahrisham shook her head with a soft giggle, her golden mane shimmering faintly in the low light of the box. “A miss, I’m afraid.” She replied, her tone shifting from mild irritation to gentle amusement.
“Then I must implore you - indulge me regarding your origins!” Fancy’s voice took on an overtly pleading tone, the kind of theatrical charm that endeared him to so many in Canterlot’s social circles.
“You are so dramatic, good sir.” Ahrisham said, rolling her eyes in a way that was impossible to miss, even in the dim light.
“It’s all part of the act.” Fancy admitted with a self-deprecating smile. “But I confess, I am curious. If you are not from Equestria, then from where…?”
Ahrisham’s demeanor shifted. She straightened slightly, a faint smirk playing on her lips as she recited smoothly in her native tongue, accent as thick as it could be - with pronounced vowels and measured, royal cadence:
“Utā dahyāuš aparam anāgasam ušahya āha θraθum yaθā ātarša ušahyašca rāyā. Tīriš upā pārsam āha - manā āštam.”
Her voice was melodic, the words flowing effortlessly, yet carrying a weight of antiquity. Blueblood, seated beside her, couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy at the fluidity with which she transitioned between languages. Her command of her native tongue, paired with her ability to shift seamlessly back to Equestrian, was a skill he begrudgingly admired.
Fancy Pants blinked, his blank expression holding for a beat before he burst into hearty laughter. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you just said, my dear.”
“Just as I!” Fleur added, leaning forward with renewed interest, her slender frame illuminated faintly by the soft glow of the stage below.
“It is no surprise.” Ahrisham said with a hum, drumming her hooves lightly on the table in front of her. “Old Saddle Arabian was thought to be extinct, but the current Sultan has reinstated it as the language of his court.”
“That is rather curious.” Fancy mused, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a small sip.
“You seem to be well-versed in Saddle Arabia’s internal affairs.” Fleur remarked, studying Ahrisham with a more focused gaze now.
“It is my home, after all.” Ahrisham replied with a small, enigmatic smile.
Everypony in the box, including Blueblood, seemed to accept her explanation without further question. The Prince, however, couldn’t help but feel a faint twinge of unease at how naturally Ahrisham handled herself in the social arena - a reminder that his so-called ‘attendant’ was no common mare.
The long-forgotten opera seemed to be nearing its tragic climax, though almost nopony in the box paid close attention to it anymore. Ahrisham, less accustomed to the high culture of Equestria, cast curious glances down at the stage, attempting to follow the story.
“I’ve seen enough theatre to guess how this is going to end…” She mused softly, her eyes fixed on the scene below. The swelling orchestral score reached a crescendo as the titular Trotsca staggered to her hooves, the sound of approaching guards echoing ominously through the theatre.
Grateful for a change of topic, Prince Blueblood raised his opera glasses, leaning slightly forward. He arrived just in time to see Trotsca climb atop the parapet, her mane flowing dramatically in the stage lights.
“At least in this version, she isn’t a Pegasus.” He remarked with an amused chuckle.
“I say that it only added to the tragedy.” Fleur quipped, finally joining the duo in watching the opera’s final moments. Her posture was completely relaxed. “She could’ve saved herself at any moment - yet chose not to.”
“Oh no…” Ahrisham murmured, her ears flattening against her head as she covered her muzzle with both hooves. Her wide eyes were glued to the stage, captivated by the unfolding drama.
“True…” Blueblood admitted with a faint nod, lowering his glasses as the scene grew more intense.
Onstage, the actress portraying Trotsca stood tall against the backdrop of a painted stormy sky. Her voice rang out over the hushed crowd, filled with defiance and sorrow as she delivered her final words:
"Scarpia, face the judgment of the Sun!"
With that, Trotsca leapt from the parapet into the void, her silken dress billowing behind her like wings as the curtains fell abruptly, leaving the audience in stunned silence.
A moment passed before polite applause began to ripple through the theatre. Blueblood leaned back in his seat, while Ahrisham stared at the stage, seemingly lost in thought.
“Well.” He said, flaring his nostrils. “That was predictably bleak.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The muffled hum of the departing opera crowd drifted into the night as Prince Blueblood, Fancy Pants, Fleur, and Ahrisham stepped onto the cobblestone terrace outside the Royal Canterlot Opera House. The evening air was crisp and carried the faint scent of nearby jasmine, mingling with the lingering fragrance of Fleur’s delicate perfume and the bitter aroma of Blueblood’s long extinguished cigarette.
“Well, I must say, that ending was delightfully dramatic.” Fancy Pants commented, adjusting his monocle as he turned toward Blueblood. His tone carried the ease of a stallion who rarely found himself at a loss for words. “And yet, not half as dramatic as some of the budgetary decisions being passed down from the castle these days.”
Blueblood’s ears twitched, but his face remained a stoic mask. He arched a brow, a practiced expression of mild amusement that betrayed nothing. “Fancy, I should’ve known you’d take any opportunity to turn an evening of culture into a conversation about politics.”
“Can you blame me?” Fancy quipped, his grin disarming but deliberate. “After all, the opera itself was a tale of intrigue and compromise - a mare caught between love and duty. Why, it practically mirrors the plight of our textile traders, caught between profitability and these... new tariffs.”
Fleur chuckled softly, slipping a hoof under Fancy’s foreleg. “Oh, darling, you do have a gift for weaving metaphors where they don’t belong.”
“Not entirely misplaced.” Blueblood said with a dry smirk. “Though if the traders are as melodramatic as Trotsca, perhaps they should consider a career change.”
Fancy laughed politely but didn’t miss a beat. “Still, one wonders if there’s room for adjustment - just a nudge to help ease the burden on our local industries?”
Blueblood let the silence stretch for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the flickering streetlamps. When he finally spoke, his tone was measured, almost indifferent. “I’ll consider it. But don’t mistake that for a promise.”
“That’s all I ask.” Fancy dipped his head, satisfied with the vague concession.
Fleur leaned closer to Fancy, her melodic voice breaking the tension. “And on that note, I believe it’s time we took our leave. It wouldn’t do to keep the host of tomorrow’s luncheon waiting, would it, dear?”
“Quite right.” Fancy turned to Blueblood, offering a hoofshake that was as much a gesture of respect as it was camaraderie. “A pleasure, as always, Your Highness.”
“The pleasure’s mine.” Blueblood replied, shaking Fancy’s hoof briefly before stepping back.
Fleur offered a graceful nod to Ahrisham, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “It was a delight meeting you, Miss Ahrisham. Do take care of our dear Prince, won’t you?”
Ahrisham’s lips curved into a polite smile, though her gaze flickered with mischief. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of letting him out of my sight.”
Blueblood groaned quietly but refrained from commenting as Fancy and Fleur departed, their laughter fading into the distance.
The terrace grew quieter, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Blueblood turned to Ahrisham, who was gazing thoughtfully at the lights of Canterlot twinkling below.
“You seemed to enjoy yourself tonight.” He said, his tone neutral.
“I learned a great deal.” Ahrisham replied, her voice soft but firm. She turned to face him, her dark sapphire eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something he couldn’t quite place. “About Equestrian culture... and about you.”
Blueblood scoffed lightly, though his ears flicked back, betraying a flicker of unease. “And what, pray tell, have you learned about me?”
“That you are a stallion of contradictions.” Ahrisham said simply. “You carry yourself with all the arrogance of a noble, yet you pay attention to the smallest details - like the bouquet of flowers you so adamantly demanded this evening. You disdain commoners, yet you know where to find the best sandwiches in the lower city. And for all your airs, you seem... lonely.”
Blueblood stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Lonely?” He echoed, his voice gaining an agitated tone. “You presume too much.”
“Perhaps.” Ahrisham admitted, unperturbed by his reaction. “But I’ve learned that presumption often reveals truths others wish to hide.”
He opened his mouth to retort but found himself at a loss for words. Instead, he turned away, his gaze fixed on the dark silhouette of the castle in the distance.
“You’re a strange stallion, Prince Blueblood,” Ahrisham said after a moment, her tone carrying a note of genuine curiosity. “I think I’ll enjoy learning more about you.”
She turned and began to walk off, her golden mane catching the light of the streetlamps as it swayed with each step. Blueblood watched her go, his expression unreadable.
“Strange, indeed.” He muttered under his breath, before following her into the night.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                Intermission: Feather Fever                
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Intermission: Feather Fever
by Drakkanien  
edited by a friend
Lieutenant Gale was having a very bad day.
Not that it was uncommon - bad days came with the job when you were an officer in the Royal Guard. Long hours, fried nerves, and endless responsibility were the norm. She was on duty twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, with barely enough time to catch her breath, let alone properly rest. Overseeing her troops, managing the labyrinthine bureaucracy of Canterlot Castle, and fulfilling even the strangest orders of her superiors meant there was always a new fire to put out. No pony had ever promised it would be easy, but Gale sometimes wondered if the benefits, the prestige, and the polished armor were worth the toll it took on her body and mind.
Today, however, was shaping up to be a particularly dreadful one.
Her morning had started long before Celestia’s sun rose above the horizon. The faint blush of dawn had barely touched the sky when Gale was already at her desk, quill in hoof, slogging through paperwork that had multiplied overnight like parasprites in an unguarded pantry. Reports, rosters, incident logs - her desk groaned under the weight of it all. Just as she finished organizing one stack of documents, a courier barged in, dropping what felt like half the castle's archives onto her already cluttered desk.
“Here are your reports, ma’am.” The courier’s tone was polite, but the apologetic flick of his ears betrayed the fact that he knew what he was about to unleash.
Gale stared at the new mountain of paperwork, her left eye twitching involuntarily. The courier, a wiry stallion wearing the Royal Courier insignia, was now rifling through his clipboard, double-checking his list of deliveries.
“Ugh…” Gale groaned, pressing a hoof to her forehead as a lone slip of paper detached itself from the pile and floated lazily to the floor. “At ease. Please tell me this isn’t about…”
“It is.” The courier winced, offering her a sympathetic look. His eyes darted between his clipboard and the frazzled lieutenant. “That storm anomaly over the Diplomatic Wing caused quite the ruckus. Nopony seems to know how or why it happened, so now every department and their granddam want an explanation.”
“Of course they do.” Gale muttered darkly, slumping back in her chair. Her gaze shifted from the paperwork to her much-abused coffee mug, which sat buried somewhere beneath the pile. The mug was stained to the point where it could probably qualify as a hazardous artifact, but cleaning it would mean setting aside precious time she didn’t have. She blinked blearily at it, then at the courier.
“I’ll need more coffee.” She mumbled, more to herself than to him.
“Already got you covered, ma’am!” The courier chirped, producing a thermos with a triumphant grin. He poured her a steaming cup of mocha, the rich aroma cutting through her mental fog.
“It’s not black.” Gale said, taking the cup anyway. “But it’ll do.”
“You’re welcome.” The courier grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Anything else you need, ma’am?”
“Short of a time-spell and a clone of myself? No.” Gale gave him a faint smile, the kind that only came from pure exhaustion.
As the courier left her to her mountain of duties, Gale stared at the mess on her desk, sighed heavily, and took a long, fortifying sip of her coffee. It was going to be a very, very long day.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Celestia’s sun was nearing its zenith by the time Gale finally managed to emerge from her cramped office. The bulk of her paperwork had been resolved - or at least kicked far enough down the road that she could afford to leave it for another day. It was a small triumph, but one she savored. Stretching her stiff legs and wings, she jumped at the chance to escape the endless tedium of forms, checklists, and incident reports.
The guardhouse was oddly quiet at this hour, as it often was when the patrols were out. Most of the guards under her command were scattered across the castle grounds, walking their routes or stationed at key checkpoints, leaving only a handful of ponies behind to keep things running smoothly. The rare sound of a hoofstep echoed faintly from the corridor behind her as a messenger trotted by, but otherwise, the place felt eerily still.
Once outside, Gale paused to let the warm rays of the midday sun soak into her grey coat and feathers. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, releasing a long, strained sigh. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. The open air called to her like an old friend, tempting her to take flight and leave the castle behind, if only for a little while.
Perhaps a quick inspection of the outer checkpoints was in order? It would give her an excuse to stretch her wings, and she could still claim she was being productive.
Before she could decide, something unusual caught her eye - a glint of green reflecting brightly against the polished cobblestones. Gale frowned. It wasn’t the familiar hue of grass or the shimmer of tree leaves. This was sharper, more striking, like the light dancing on the surface of a gemstone.
Her curiosity piqued, Gale turned toward the source of the reflection.
Lying sprawled on a patch of sunlit grass, her crystalline form gleaming brilliantly in the midday light, was the culprit: Malachite. Or “Molly,” as she’d insisted everypony call her. The Crystal Pony was one of their newest recruits, one that came with a letter of commendation, though Gale privately wondered how much the mare understood about the intricacies of guard duty in Equestria.
Molly had been assigned to shadow the Saddle Arabian envoy - a task of great importance, given the political delicacy of their guest. And yet here she was, lounging in the sun like a cat without a care in the world.
Gale’s temples throbbed as she processed the scene. Of all the days to slack off…
With purposeful, heavy hoofsteps, Gale approached the Crystal Pony, her iron-shod hooves thudding against the cobblestones with just enough force to make her irritation known. She stopped a few paces away, her shadow falling over the shimmering green pony.
“Molly.” Gale’s voice was cool, but the underlying hint of command was impossible to miss.
The Crystal Pony blinked lazily, tilting her head to look up at the lieutenant. “Oh, Lieutenant Gale! Fancy seeing you here.” Molly’s voice was light and cheerful, a stark contrast to Gale’s steely demeanor.
Gale’s eye twitched. This was going to be a conversation.
“I distinctly recall giving you a very important assignment.” Gale began, her voice carrying the tone of an officer who was rapidly losing patience. Her hoof rapped against the cobblestone pavement, her glare fixed on the Crystal Pony lounging in the sunlight. “You were to keep that Saddle Arabian envoy under constant watch. Not let her out of your sight for even a moment.”
“Her name is Ahrisham.” Molly corrected cheerfully as she rolled onto her stocky legs, standing with a faint groan. The sunlight caught her crystalline body, sending a brief cascade of shimmering green light across the ground.
“You were to not let Ahrisham out of your sight.” Gale repeated, her wingtip pressing against her temple as though massaging away an incoming headache.
“And I didn’t!” Molly chirped, standing tall with a smile that bordered on smug. Even as she stood at attention, her sheer size made Gale painfully aware of how much taller and bulkier the Crystal Pony was compared to the average Equestrian. “I swear on the Crystal Heart, I’ve been her shadow. Literally! To Ahrisham’s great amusement.” She giggled, then raised a foreleg to reveal a colorful bracelet dangling from her hoof. “See? We even made these friendship bracelets!”
The bracelet was an eclectic mix of strings and polished crystal shards, including a prominent piece of malachite that matched Molly’s body so perfectly it almost seemed like it had been chipped off her.
“If you’re such good friends…” Gale swatted Molly’s hoof aside with her wing. “... then what in Tartarus are you doing here? You’re clearly not being a ‘shadow’ for this Ahrisham now.”
“I was getting to that.” Molly moaned, her tone suggesting she thought Gale was overreacting. She puffed out her chest, which only served to draw attention to the ornate gilded armor strapped to her barrel. “It’s just that recently, Ahrisham’s been spending a lot of time with that fancy colt. You know, the one with the mane that’s always too perfect? Whenever he’s around, he tells me off.”
The lack of a grin on Molly’s face told Gale this wasn’t some trivial excuse.
“What do you mean, ‘tells you off’?” Gale’s eyes narrowed. “No ordinary pony would dare give such an order to a guard on duty.”
“Well…” Molly hesitated, her ears flattening slightly as she pawed at the ground. “Do you remember that whole ‘An Imperial FU’ thing? When that important-looking Unicorn stallion moved me around like a piece of furniture, ducking behind me whenever the lightning struck nearby?”
“You mean Prince Blueblood?” Gale’s mouth twitched as she tried to suppress a grin as the vivid memory flooded her mind.
“Yeah, that one.” Molly’s crystalline cheeks flushed faintly, though her posture remained steady. “Turns out he’s been seeing Lady Ahrisham regularly now. And whenever he’s around, he makes a point of telling me to stay out of the way.”
At that, Gale let out the first genuine laugh she’d had all day. “How could I forget? The entire unit was making jokes about it for an entire week - right up until you tossed one of them out a window!”
“I don’t regret earning that detention.” Molly grumbled, though the corner of her mouth twitched upward in a sheepish grin.
Gale’s chuckle lingered as she straightened her posture, her keen eyes studying the Crystal Pony. “But hold on a moment… are you saying Prince Blueblood has been spending time with the Saddle Arabian envoy?” Her tone betrayed her smile, and her wings gave a slight flutter of interest. “Now that’s some juicy gossip.”
“Mhm!” Molly nodded rapidly, her crystalline mane shimmering faintly in the sunlight. “I don’t want to imply anything, but…”
Before the two mares could spice up the story with their own dramatic and completely unnecessary - details, a series of sharp, if distant, gasps followed by an unfamiliar warbling language stole their attention. The sound was accompanied by the rhythmic clatter of armored hooves against cobblestone and the distinct chime of metal brushing against metal. Gale’s ears perked up, her gaze sweeping the street.
The cadence of the approaching steps was unfamiliar. Gale had memorized the gait of nearly everypony in her unit; whoever was approaching was not one of her soldiers.
What appeared around the bend, however, was far from what Gale expected. Two imposing figures trotted through the street toward them, their polished, scale-like armor gleaming under Celestia’s sun. Each of their steps was heavy and deliberate, yet almost unnervingly graceful. Gale’s held in her breath. These weren’t just any Saddle Arabians, these were Immortals - their lady’s personal guard.
Molly was an imposing figure herself, with her large frame and crystalline physique. But standing beside these towering, masked warriors clad in ornate yet battle-worn armor, even she appeared diminutive.
Gale instinctively shrank back, her wings twitching nervously at her sides. For a brief moment, she considered stepping behind Molly, but her pride refused to let her retreat so easily. She squared her shoulders instead, silently hoping her armor’s shine didn’t betray the growing unease crawling under her fur.
The Immortals’ presence was intimidating. Their armor bore marks of battle - scratches, dents, and faded smears of what could only be dried blood. Each scarred scale was like a grim badge, a testament to blows endured that would have been fatal to an unarmored pony. These weren’t ceremonial guards; these were warriors who had seen - and survived - combat.
Gale’s thoughts spiraled briefly, her imagination conjuring unsettling images of the kind of battles these soldiers might have faced. But before she could dwell on it further, one of the Immortals stepped forward, drawing her full attention.
This stallion’s helmet was adorned with a striking plume of peacock feathers that swayed elegantly with his movements. He reached up and lifted the metal mask shielding his face, revealing a roguishly handsome visage. His grin was wide, almost boyish, but there was something undeniably sly behind his green eyes.
His gaze flicked between Molly and Gale, lingering longer on Gale. She felt her feathers ruffle involuntarily under his scrutiny, her hooves itching to take a step back. But she held her ground, sucking in a steadying breath.
The Peacock-Helm Stallion spoke in his flowery, lyrical tongue, his words rolling off his tongue in a cadence that sounded almost musical. His eyes roamed over Gale’s face, her wings, then back to her eyes, his curiosity practically tangible.
Whatever he said caused his companion, still masked, to let out a long, muffled groan. Without hesitation, the second Immortal raised a hoof and smacked Peacock-Helm firmly on the shoulder. The roguish stallion stumbled slightly but erupted into boisterous laughter, clearly unfazed by his companion’s disapproval.
“Uhm, what…?” Gale stammered, utterly lost. She blinked at the Saddle Arabians, unable to understand even a single syllable.
“I’m not sure…” Molly chimed in, her muzzle scrunched up in concentration. “But I think I caught a word for ‘feather’ in there…?” Her tone wavered, betraying her uncertainty.
“Feather?” Gale’s voice rose slightly as she unconsciously spread her wings ever so slightly, her feathers catching the sunlight. She regretted the motion instantly, as Peacock-Helm’s eyes lit up like a colt on Hearth’s Warming morning.
Peacock-Helm repeated the phrase again, his green eyes locked on Gale’s trembling wings with uncanny intensity. His gestures became even more animated, his hooves moving through the air in energetic arcs as he closed the gap between himself and the two mares. Personal space, it seemed, was a completely alien concept to him.
“There it is again - feather!” Molly exclaimed triumphantly, her crystalline ears perking up as she caught the familiar word in the Immortal’s speech. “I think he wants something to do with your wings…?”
Gale’s feathers bristled as she tucked her wings tightly against her sides, her discomfort plain as day. “Since when can you understand what they’re saying?” She grumbled, her tone irritated.
“I don’t.” Molly admitted with a casual shrug, her crystalline body shimmering slightly as she moved. “I just know a few basic words that Ahrisham taught me.”
“Very helpful.” Gale muttered through clenched teeth, casting a sharp glare at Peacock-Helm, who was now performing what could only be described as a melodramatic wail of disappointment.
Undeterred by Gale’s reaction, the Saddle Arabian soldier switched tactics. He began to speak more slowly, emphasizing each word as though sheer repetition might bridge the language barrier. At the same time, his hooves mimicked a plucking motion, followed by a gesture toward the plume of peacock feathers atop his helmet. He repeated the sequence several times, his movements becoming increasingly exaggerated as if the meaning would somehow become clearer through sheer force of enthusiasm.
Molly squinted at him, her crystalline features contorting with concentration as she tried to piece together his meaning. “I think he wants…?”
“Yes… but why…?” Gale interrupted, her voice tinged with exasperation.
“I don’t know. Can’t you just give him one?”
“No!” Gale snapped, perhaps a bit louder than she intended. Her outburst startled both Molly and the Saddle Arabians, the latter exchanging curious glances before Peacock-Helm broke into a wide grin.
“Uhm, why not?” Molly asked, her crystalline ears tilting slightly as she regarded Gale with genuine confusion.
Gale’s face flushed as she glanced between Molly and the eagerly gesturing Immortal. She suddenly realized the cultural gap between her and the others was wider than she’d anticipated. Neither Molly, a Crystal Pony from the far north, nor the Saddle Arabians would have any understanding of the subtle customs and cues that defined Pegasi culture.
Letting out a defeated sigh, Gale decided to explain. Her voice dropped, and she shifted uncomfortably on her hooves. “Uhm… tell him that gifting somepony one of your feathers can be… well, it’s considered a very intimate gesture among Pegasi.”
Molly’s crystalline ears flicked as she processed Gale’s words. “Intimate how?”
“Like…” Gale hesitated, searching for the least awkward way to phrase it. “Like a… a form of courtship.” She muttered, her usual confident tone completely absent. Right now, she wasn’t Lieutenant Gale, the composed and commanding officer of the Royal Guard. She was just Gale - flustered, cornered, and mortified by the absurdity of the situation.
Peacock-Helm, oblivious to the tension his request had caused, tilted his head curiously as he waited for some sort of response. His grin grew wider, clearly taking Gale’s hesitation as a sign of encouragement.
Hearing Gale’s words, Molly just stared at her Lieutenant, the corners of her mouth twitching as she valiantly fought to suppress a laugh. After a moment of intense struggle, she let out a long exhale, managing to force her features into something resembling seriousness. “Fine…” She finally said, her voice tinted with barely contained mirth.
Turning toward Peacock-Helm, Molly attempted to use the meager hoofful of Saddle Arabian words she had picked up from Ahrisham to relay the message. What followed could only be described as a chaotic garble of exaggerated gestures, fragmented phrases, and expressions, as Molly struggled to string together anything resembling a coherent sentence.
The Immortal’s reaction was one of confusion and concentration, his eyes narrowing as he tried to guess the meaning from her disjointed attempts. At one point, Molly resorted to flapping her forelegs in a crude imitation of wings, causing the Peacock-Helm to tilt his head like a curious bird.
The exchange dragged on much longer than it should have, with both participants clearly enjoying the bizarre challenge. Their shared enthusiasm seemed to transcend the language barrier, and Gale found herself marveling at their persistence.
Each time it seemed like progress was being made, however, the two would veer off into a completely unrelated tangent, picking up new words and teaching each other gestures that seemed entirely unrelated to the topic at hoof.
Gale did her best to maintain her composure, but it was clear that her earlier outburst had left cracks in her usually composed demeanor. Her wings remained tucked tightly against her sides, though every so often, a feather would twitch involuntarily, betraying her mounting frustration.
Her gaze shifted to the other Saddle Arabian, who had remained notably silent throughout the ordeal. The second Immortal stood a few paces away, observing the scene with an air of detached amusement. His mask obscured most of his features, but his posture - relaxed, yet attentive - spoke volumes.
Sensing Gale’s eyes on him, the other Immortal turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the language barrier forming an invisible wall between them. Then, with a subtle motion, he jerked his chin toward Peacock-Helm, who was still deeply engrossed in his lively ‘conversation’ with Molly.
Gale arched an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line as she let out a long, tired exhale. “Your friend is very… particular.” She said, her tone neutral. Her eyes flicked back to Peacock-Helm, who was now miming the act of plucking a feather from an imaginary wing, much to Molly’s apparent delight.
The other Immortal responded with a single dip of his head, his voice carrying the faintest hint of resignation as he spoke in his native tongue. Whatever he said was delivered with the calm indifference of someone used to apologizing for the antics of a friend.
Of course, Gale understood none of it. “Yeah, me too.” She muttered under her breath, her tone half sympathetic and half exasperated.
The other Immortal’s head tilted slightly, as though considering her words. For a brief, fleeting moment, Gale wondered if he might have understood her after all. But then he gave a small shrug, his body language an inscrutable mix of agreement and dismissal.
Gale sighed, dragging a hoof down her face. “I swear, this day can’t get any stranger.” She muttered, though she knew better than to tempt fate.
After Molly and Peacock-Helm exchange a few more exaggerated gestures and words, Molly finally claps her hooves together, exclaiming, “Oh, I get it now!” She turns to Gale with a grin far too wide for comfort. “He says he really wants one of your feathers.”
Gale, who had just begun to relax her tense wings, stiffens all over again. “He what?”
Before Gale can properly react, Peacock-Helm takes a bold step forward, puffing out his chest and dipping his head ever so slightly in a gesture that might have been an attempt at a bow. The roguish grin plastered across his face leaves no doubt that he understands exactly what his request implies.
The other Immortal groans audibly, muttering something in their shared language before giving Peacock-Helm another solid whack on the back of the head. The offending stallion winces but doesn’t lose his grin. Instead, he sidesteps just out of swatting range, avoiding any subsequent strikes coming his way. He was still looking at Gale with an expectant expression.
“I can’t believe this…” Gale mumbles, dragging a hoof down her face. “He’s not serious, is he?”
“He’s absolutely serious,” Molly chimes in, barely stifling a giggle. “And I think he knows what it means now, too.”
“I’ll bet he does…” Gale mutters darkly, her feathers fluffing involuntarily. “What in Equestria makes him think I’d even consider—”
Peacock-Helm, sensing her hesitation, takes a daring gamble. He places a hoof over his heart and says something in a tone so melodramatic that it would tug on heartstrings of the dead. Then, as if to make his point, he mimics plucking a feather from an imaginary wing and holds it up as though it were a priceless treasure.
Molly, who has been watching the whole exchange with barely contained glee, finally chips in. “Lieutenant, you’ve got to admit, this is kind of adorable.”
“Adorable?” Gale snaps, though the blush creeping into her cheeks betrays her embarrassment. “This is insane!”
The other Immortal, clearly fed up with his companion’s antics, mutters something sharp and pulls Peacock-Helm back by the scruff of his armor. With a final, apologetic glance toward Gale, he drags his friend away, the latter still grinning, knee-deep in his theatrics as though he hadn’t just caused an incident.
Gale watches them go, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “I don’t even… What just happened?”
Molly shrugs, her crystalline coat glinting in the sunlight. “I think you’ve got an admirer, Lieutenant.”
“Oh, don’t even start.” Gale groans, her wings ruffling as she turns away.
But as the two mares start walking back toward the guardhouse, Molly leans in with a conspiratorial grin. “You know, Lieutenant, if you ever did decide to give him a feather, imagine the look on his face. Or the look on his friend’s face!” She bursts into laughter at the thought.
Gale rolls her eyes but can’t suppress the tiniest of smirks. “Molly, I swear, you’re impossible.”
Author's Note
My first attempt at intermission!
I have few more ideas for them, including those between already established chapters following misadventures of other side and background characters to breathe-in some life into them.

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                  VII. The Price of Pride                  
//-------------------------------------------------------//
VII. The Price of Pride
by Drakkanien  
edited by a friend
Any self-respecting Equestrian noblepony would scoff at the idea of performing manual labor. To them, such tasks were beneath their station, meant only for those less fortunate who weren’t born into the right family at the right time. They would never entertain the thought that this might be unfair or entirely against the egalitarian ideals that Equestria, under Princess Celestia’s gentle guidance, had promoted for centuries.
Which is why most of them, if they had any idea, would look with barely disguised disgust at a certain Saddle Arabian mare trotting cheerfully alongside Prince Blueblood, completely unbothered by the satchel slung across her side or her servile obedience to his every beck and call. To some, it seemed an overtly sycophantic attempt to curry royal favor, a behavior the Canterlot elite practiced in secret but condemned openly. Others whispered nastier rumors, hinting at an illicit dalliance between the two. Ahrisham’s abrupt disappearance from public view nearly two weeks ago only fueled such gossip.
Both Blueblood and Ahrisham were aware of the attention they received, but neither cared to explain the true reason behind their arrangement. The mystery only added to the speculation.
To Blueblood’s mild surprise, Ahrisham had adjusted quickly to her new duties, despite her initial indignation. She proved dutiful, quick on her hooves, and adept at anticipating his needs, almost as if she could read his mind. What surprised him even more was how easily she had bonded with Lavender over the last few days, his ever-efficient maid. The two mares, despite their starkly different upbringings, had found a common tongue and seemed to enjoy each other’s company.
It made Blueblood reconsider her earlier claim of having been a slave in the past. As uncomfortable as the thought was, there was a certain truth to her effortless servitude that lent credibility to her words. For a fleeting moment, he tried to imagine what it might feel like to live as a slave - bound entirely to another’s will, with no hope of escape. But the thought was too alien, too disconcerting to hold onto for long, and he quickly pushed it aside.
“Next on the agenda…” Ahrisham’s melodic voice interrupted his musings. She held a lengthy scroll aloft in the cool, blue flames of her magic, a sight that had initially made him panic, fearing the parchment would catch fire. Instead, he now knew that her magical aura was gentle and cool to the touch. “...tea with Auntie?”
Blueblood’s ears flattened, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The word on the list was certainly there, of course, he was the one who composed it after all. In any other scenario he would be proud of his heritage, however around Ahrisham…
“Who is this aunt?” Ahrisham asked, tilting her head curiously as if a new angle would reveal a name not written on the scroll.
With a small, flustered cough, Blueblood replied: “Princess Celestia…”
He intended to say more, but he was promptly interrupted by an overly dramatic gasp from Ahrisham as realization dawned on her.
“Oooh! So you really are directly related to the Princesses?” She exclaimed, bouncing slightly on the tips of her hooves. Despite her size and long legs her movements were surprisingly light and graceful.
“I am.” Blueblood replied, biting back a growl that threatened to escape his throat. “And I have already told you to address me properly - ‘Your Highness,’ ‘My Lord Prince,’ or just ‘Prince.’ ” His tone was exasperated; this was a conversation they’d had far too many times already.
Ahrisham continued her playful prancing, rolling up the scroll and slipping it back into Blueblood’s satchel with practiced ease. “Of course.” She said smugly, clearly relishing his irritation. “But we are in a fairly… casual setting right now.” She glanced around conspiratorially, as if to ensure no one was around. “There’s no need for such formalities.”
Blueblood sputtered, nearly tripping over his own hooves. It took him a moment to regain his composure.
“But I do insist!” He snapped, stomping his hooves more forcefully as he marched ahead. “Truly, Saddle Arabians have no refinement!”
The light clatter of hooves followed him, a stark reminder that there was no escaping his tormentor. Ahrisham was not only faster than him but also bound by her duty - one he had imposed upon her. He was beginning to realize, with increasing dismay, that she had decided to make her servitude as irritating as possible while staying just within the bounds of propriety. Truly, she was a devious adversary.
Resigned, Blueblood let out a sigh. “At the very least, try to address me as ‘Sir’ in informal settings. Is that really so much to ask?”
Ahrisham responded with a playful hum, catching up to him effortlessly. She appeared to ponder his request mockingly before speaking in her native tongue. “Thātiy pariyarta.” She said, her tone teasing.
Blueblood had no idea what she meant, but the mischievous glint in her eye told him it was nothing good.
He really needed to learn the tongue of desert ponies.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Afternoon teas with Princess Celestia were anything but routine. Ostensibly reserved for the most esteemed dignitaries, they often became quiet interludes in her day - her guests, wary of the intimidating presence of the Sun Princess, frequently found reasons to bow out. Their absence, whether from awe or trepidation, gifted Celestia something rarer than gold in the life of a ruler: a moment of solitude.
Prince Blueblood, however, was impervious to such unspoken barriers. Few creatures in existence - aside from Luna herself - held the privilege of crossing Celestia’s threshold unannounced, or disrupting her duties without consequence. It was a rare allowance, one he exercised sparingly… unlike a certain other unicorn whose name was most certainly not Blueblood.
Today’s tea was held in an unusual spot - near the aviary in the Royal Gardens.
This particular aviary, located below Celestia’s private balcony, was unique among the castle’s collection. While other aviaries housed messenger pigeons, birds of prey, or songbirds, this one catered exclusively to the most magnificent of birds: Philomena, Celestia’s fiery pet phoenix. The structure, built of brass and enchanted glass, had been magically reinforced to withstand the bird’s temper. Yet, no pony had witnessed the stress test of these spells firsthand, for Philomena, though capricious, had been content thus far.
The phoenix in question currently perched on Celestia’s outstretched wing, nuzzling her cheek with its curved beak as the Princess murmured something inaudible.
Blueblood often wondered if Philomena knew more state and Celestia’s personal secrets than any other creature alive.
“Is that… a Sēnmurw?” Ahrisham’s voice was barely above a whisper, reverent as she leaned in, her breath warm against Blueblood’s shoulder. Her sapphire eyes, wide with wonder, reflected the golden glow of Philomena’s plumage, as if she beheld not a mere bird, but something divine.
The pair had managed to ‘sneak’ into the gardens unnoticed, their stealth owing more to the guards’ unwillingness to question their Prince’s odd behavior than any skill on Blueblood’s part.
“I have no idea what a ‘Sen-mufw’ is…” Blueblood replied in a conspiratorial tone, butchering the word. “That’s my aunt’s pet phoenix.”
“How did she manage to tame one?” Ahrisham asked, though it was clear she expected no answer.
Blueblood merely shrugged. “Princess of the Sun. Phoenix. Fire, renewal… It’s obvious they’re drawn to one another.” He said dismissively, reciting platitudes with little thought. Yet, to his surprise, Ahrisham nodded solemnly, clearly mystified by yet another facet of Celestia’s godlike aura.
For the first time, it struck Blueblood just how mythical his aunts must seem to outsiders. To Equestrians, they were rulers, ancient and however revered, but to foreigners, they must seem like beings out of legend.
The thought made him uncomfortable, prompting him to shake it off. History, after all, rarely immortalized Princes who toiled in the realm of politics, no matter their talent.
“I thought I heard your voice, nephew.” Celestia’s warm tone broke through his musings.
Before he could protest, Celestia’s wings unfurled silently, sweeping him into an embrace both smothering and inescapable. Her forelegs tightened around him, while the familiar faint scent of vanilla filled his nostrils. For all his flailing, he might as well have been a colt again, caught in the unwavering affection of his aunt.
“Auntie, no!” Blueblood yelped, his hooves arcing through the air as he was smothered in feathers.
From behind him, he heard Ahrisham’s barely suppressed snicker, making his ears burn with embarrassment.
After what felt like an eternity, Celestia finally released him. Blueblood staggered back, his mane disheveled, his collar askew, and his bowtie crooked. His ears were hot with indignation, but one look at Celestia’s radiant smile melted away his scowl.
“That was entirely unnecessary, Auntie.” He huffed, adjusting his bowtie with a poke of his magic.
“Perhaps.” Celestia replied with a playful chirp, using her primaries to fuss over his mane. “But I couldn’t help myself. I haven’t seen you in over a week - I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”
Blueblood hesitated, suddenly aware of how much time he’d spent preoccupied with his own duties and Ahrisham’s servitude. Was he avoiding his aunt? He dismissed the thought quickly, scoffing theatrically.
“Certainly not! I’ve simply been occupied at the most inconvenient times.” He declared, his words sounding less convincing than he intended.
Celestia’s knowing smile did nothing to alleviate his discomfort. “Of course.” She replied gently, her tone making it clear she didn’t believe him but wasn’t about to press the issue.
Their moment was interrupted by a shadow overhead. Philomena swooped low, startling Ahrisham into taking a step backward, before landing with a disgruntled caw on a nearby branch. The phoenix immediately began tearing into an acacia seed pod with little regard for the sharp thorns surrounding it.
Celestia’s eyes flicked toward Ahrisham. “I didn’t expect you to bring company, nephew.”
Ahrisham, who had been pretending to admire the flora, turned sharply and bowed low, her barrel almost brushing the ground. “Your Majesty.”
For a moment, Blueblood could swear, there was a flicker of something cunning in her expression, something she deftly hid behind the mask of a meek servant.
“Please, rise.” Celestia said kindly, though Blueblood noted the faint weariness in her eyes. Protocol and formality, however necessary, had always been a burden to her, especially in such a familiar setting.
Ahrisham straightened gracefully, standing almost at eye level with Celestia herself. The flicker he spotted a moment earlier was still present in her eye.
Exhaling through his nose, Blueblood dismissed the thought, now speaking to his dear Aunt.
“Don’t mind her.” Blueblood insisted, stepping forward and nudging Celestia with his shoulder. “Let’s walk.”
Celestia allowed herself to be guided, falling into step beside him. Her gait was slow, matching his uneven pace as he limped slightly.
“What happened to your leg?” She asked, her gaze lingering on his bandaged hoof.
“It’s nothing,” Blueblood grumbled. “Stepped on some glass.”
Celestia nodded but said nothing more.
With a polite cough, Blueblood continued: “I took a look at what the Saddle Arabian delegation required of us to help with their… predicament.”
His words were enough to spur Ahrisham, who perked up slightly, her ears swiveling forward.
“Oh?” Celestia hummed, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Is that why you’ve been spending so much time around our guests of late?”
“Yes, exactly.” Blueblood jumped at the opportunity to reaffirm his stance, though his voice carried a slight defensive edge.
“And here this old mare thought you’d finally found somepony to melt your ice-cold heart~ If the rumors are anything to go by.” Celestia teased, fluttering her mighty wings as she quickened her pace, as if to escape Blueblood’s glare.
Blueblood merely snorted at her words. He’d be lying if he hadn’t expected such a jab. His rejection of any and all suitors - regardless of their titles, wealth, or influence - was practically a legend by now and the subject of endless gossip within Canterlot’s upper circles.
“Never in a million years.” He replied dryly, finding her comment more amusing than irritating
They continued their walk through the palace grounds in silence for several moments, the kind of comfortable, contemplative silence that only family could share. The stillness was broken only by the crunch of gravel underhoof and the light flutter of wings overhead.
It wasn’t the shadow of an overzealous Pegasus guard; instead, it was Philomena. The phoenix had decided not to let Celestia wander out of her sight and now glided lazily above them.
Finally breaking the stillness, Celestia spoke, her voice low and gentle, yet perfectly audible in the calm of the garden.
“Your appearance at the Golden Grace Gathering caused quite a stir.” She evened out her pace, allowing both the Prince and his ‘attendant’ to catch up. “Nothing out of turn, of course, but when even the maids are gossiping, I knew something extraordinary must have happened.”
The corners of Blueblood’s lips twitched in a faint smile - indeed, wherever Equestria’s Prince went, his presence attracted all manner of attention, further fueling his vanity. Just as he opened his mouth to reply, however, he was swiftly cut off.
“Your ability to perceive things for what they are is truly remarkable, Your Majesty.” Ahrisham interjected, her tone oozing with teasing amusement.
Blueblood clamped his mouth shut, biting back a sharp retort. He noted with growing irritation how brazenly she inserted herself into the conversation, acting as though she belonged.
“Oh, please~” Celestia’s mirthful laughter rang through the garden. “That kind of flattery grows stale quickly, and there’s no need to address me so reverently.”
“I couldn’t help myself, Princess.” Ahrisham smirked, stifling the remnants of a chuckle.
To Blueblood’s astonishment, their conversation shifted effortlessly into a casual, almost playful exchange. The formal masks reserved for rulers and emissaries fell away the moment they tested the waters, and what shocked him most was how easily Ahrisham adapted. Just a moment before she had spoken of Celestia with the reverence of a devout believer, yet here she was, chatting with her like an equal.
“It was quite the event as well.” Blueblood interjected, seizing the opportunity to steer the discussion back under his control. He cast Ahrisham a sharp glare - subtle enough that Celestia wouldn’t notice, yet pointed enough to convey his displeasure. Naturally, Ahrisham met his gaze without the slightest hint of intimidation. She was not an Equestrian noble, meek and deferential; she was something else entirely - something far more infuriatingly spirited.
“Ah, yes, you did make quite an impression.” Celestia mused with a knowing smile, as if oblivious to the game the two were playing. “I heard quite a few ponies remark on how striking you looked that evening, dear nephew.”
Blueblood’s chest puffed slightly. “I dare say I carried myself with all the dignity expected of a Prince.” He said with practiced ease, carefully omitting the part where his patience had been tested throughout the evening by his always-present crowd of sycophants and Ahrisham’s antics.
“Oh, I have no doubt.” Celestia replied with a twinkle in her eye. “And it seems your presence alone was enough to draw in the generosity of Equestria’s elite. It’s only been a day, and the charity has already surpassed its goal.”
Prince dipped his head in a tiny nod, his mind already wandering elsewhere.
As the trio approached a small reflecting pond, its surface calm and mirror-like, Blueblood stepped to the edge. His hooves clopped lightly against the smooth stones bordering the water. He stared down at his reflection: arctic-blue eyes framed by a mane that, while once impeccable, now had several strands sticking out at odd angles. The aftermath of Celestia’s earlier embrace, no doubt.
Exhaling softly, he used his magic to pull a comb from the inner pocket of his suit. With meticulous care, he straightened the unruly strands, forcing them back into place. His reflection, now restored, gazed back at him impassively.
“Ahrisham.” Celestia began, her pronunciation of the name uncannily precise, as if she had not only studied the Saddle Arabian tongue but mastered it.
The mare in question stiffened, as if struck by an electric jolt. Her posture straightened instantly, and her sapphire eyes darted toward the Princess.
“I am aware of, and have my suspicions about, the nature of your ‘agreement’ with my nephew.” Celestia continued calmly, stopping a few paces away from Blueblood. “But I’d rather hear the details from you than rely on court gossip.”
Always elegant, always poised, yet ever-watchful. Prince Blueblood admired his aunt, but there was something deeply unsettling about how effortlessly she seemed to everything that happened in her court. She influenced others without moving a single feather.
He gulped involuntarily, feeling there was more to this seemingly innocent question that it initially appeared, pretending to adjust his groomed mane. One ear, however, remained turned toward the conversation, unable to help but listen.
“Your perception, once more, astonishes me, Your Majesty.” Ahrisham said carefully, her gaze flicking toward Blueblood as though gauging his reaction.
What surprised him wasn’t her words, but her expression. There was no trace of nervousness or unease. Instead, her lips curled in a gentle smile, her sapphire eyes shimmering with amusement, as though she were privy to some inside joke at his expense.
It only further served to deepen the pit in his stomach. Somehow he just knew things would get more… difficult from this point onwards.
“I had hoped to play this game a bit longer.” She mused, twirling a hoof in the air in a gesture of mock innocence. “But alas - it seems I’ve been caught.”
Celestia’s hum was light, but her keen eyes betrayed a deeper curiosity. “The Saddle Arabians I’ve known would never tolerate such treatment as you’ve endured here. Their pride would not allow it.”
Blueblood’s ears twitched at the revelation. In his mind, Saddle Arabians were little more than barbarians - self-important and vengeful. That he failed to recognize the irony in his own arrogance went entirely unnoticed.
Ahrisham responded with a soft chuckle, lowering her gaze as if in quiet amusement. “That is true, Princess. While we are not known for short tempers, we do have an overabundance of pride.”
“Oh, I know.” Celestia chuckled, fanning herself lightly with a wing. “I remember the feuding clans and their endless battles for honor. Some things never change.”
“Indeed, they do not.” Ahrisham agreed, her tone still light, but her smile had shifted - less playful now, more thoughtful. “If anything, those rivalries have only grown more… complex since the war of unification.”
Blueblood frowned slightly. There was something about the way she said it - something careful, as though weighing her words.
“And yet, here you are, accepting such treatment with remarkable patience.” Celestia noted, her voice as gentle as ever, yet unmistakably pointed.
Ahrisham let the silence stretch for a moment before responding, tilting her head in feigned thoughtfulness. “Perhaps I have my reasons, Your Majesty.” She glanced at Blueblood, her expression unreadable. “Perhaps some things are best endured… until the proper moment presents itself.”
Blueblood stiffened at that, but before he could form a retort, Celestia’s voice interrupted - softer this time, almost musing.
“Would you say what’s happened to you here in Equestria could spark such a feud?”
Ahrisham’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Under different circumstances? Perhaps.”
Blueblood almost spat - ‘different circumstances?’ What could she mean by it? What was her end goal that made her act so meekly and docile till now? He recalled every demeaning moment he imposed upon Ahrisham, recalling she always acted with little to no hesitation, always moaning and questioning his decisions, but never directly disobeying him. Could it be all a ploy on her part?
Ahrisham turned her gaze fully onto Blueblood, her usual teasing now completely gone, replaced by something more dangerous. “After all, the capture of a noble… the forced servitude of a member of a ruling house…” She exhaled, almost wistfully. “Such things have been the cause of wars before.”
As she listed the transgressions, Blueblood felt his throat tighten, the sweat on his neck growing cold. Her words struck him like a blow, and the implications of his petty revenge surged through his mind with uncomfortable clarity.
“I do not know what you are implying.” Blueblood began, his voice low and strained, despite his best efforts to appear composed. “And I do not appreciate the tone with which you address Equestria’s royalty.”
Ahrisham’s smile never wavered. “All I’m saying, Your Grace, is that if I wished, I could pull strings as well as you - or perhaps better - to achieve my ends.” Her words were sweet, but carried an unmistakable sharpless, enough to cut.
Blueblood’s narrowed gaze remained fixed on her, scrutinizing every shift in her expression. Until now, he had dismissed her as a starstruck foreigner - easy to intimidate, easy to manipulate. But now he realized he might have misjudged her entirely.
“I’ve noticed Equestrians have a habit of underestimating ponies of the desert.” Ahrisham continued, her tone conversational as she turned back to Celestia. “The few books I’ve read about Saddle Arabia merely skim the surface of our culture. It’s no wonder there’s such ignorance about our customs.”
Blueblood exhaled sharply through his nose, a flicker of irritation flashing in his pale blue eyes. His hoof came down with a clipped, deliberate stomp, the sound cutting through the garden’s tranquil hush. Every instinct urged him to turn, to distance himself from this unsettling conversation - but a single glance at Celestia held him in place, her quiet scrutiny weighing heavier than any spoken reprimand.
Though her expression remained calm, the faint line of her lips and the slight furrow of her brow spoke volumes. It wasn’t anger, exactly, but something far more potent - disappointment. And Blueblood had no desire to find out what lay beyond it.
“I already told you, Prince.” Ahrisham continued, her voice cutting through the tension like a desert wind. “Equestria’s politics may favor a soft touch, but Saddle Arabians are not afraid to get their hooves dirty.”
Prince Blueblood let out yet another agitated huff through his nostrils, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface becoming palpable. He hadn’t anticipated being so effortlessly cornered - especially not in front of Aunt Celestia, of all ponies. The realization stung worse than Ahrisham’s thinly veiled threats.
“Are you quite finished?” He snapped, his voice strained with forced indifference. His pale blue eyes locked onto Ahrisham, who now wore a smug, almost predatory grin. It was infuriatingly difficult to maintain his usual air of disdain when faced with such unshaken confidence. He had never seen her so bold before, and it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
“You’ve proven yourself to be a far greater headache than I ever anticipated when I - graciously - granted you the honor of being my attendant.” He straightened his posture, puffing out his chest in what he hoped was a display of authority. “I hereby relieve you of that honor. You are dismissed.”
He stomped his hoof for emphasis, as if to declare the matter settled. But even as he spoke, he could hear the slight tremor in his own voice, betraying his unease.
Ahrisham’s response was not what he expected.
She let out an exaggerated sigh of relief, rolling her shoulders as if she had just shrugged off a heavy burden. “Oh, thank the Sun, Moon, and Stars above!” She declared, her voice thick with mock gratitude.
Blueblood’s jaw tightened. “I would assume you’d take this opportunity to learn some proper manners.” He attempted to channel Celestia’s signature tone of benevolent disappointment. He failed spectacularly - his voice came out more petulant than princely. “Clearly, my efforts to instill some refinement in you were wasted.”
“The lesson was not mine to learn.” Ahrisham tutted, her magic twirling a single lock of her golden mane as her piercing sapphire eyes remained locked onto his. “I find it amusing that even now, you fail to grasp the situation at hoof.”
Her words were deceptively light, but the sting in them was unmistakable. Blueblood’s eyes narrowed as the meaning sank in.
“You’re doing this on purpose.” His voice dropped to a low, frustrated growl.
“Obviously.” Ahrisham replied smoothly, her grin widening ever so slightly.
“I remind you - you are testing the patience of Equestrian royalty.” Blueblood’s growl deepened, his voice trembling with indignation. “And I will not stand for it!”
Ahrisham tilted her head slightly, utterly unfazed. “You will have to, Your Grace - for there is no other option.”
Something in her tone made him freeze.
The teasing lilt was gone, replaced by something sharp, unyielding - dangerous.
He didn’t know what exactly it was, but the unfamiliar weight of it pressed against his chest, setting his instincts on high alert. He felt the overwhelming urge to extract himself from the conversation, to leave, to remove himself from whatever this was before it could spiral further out of his control.
Even if it meant damaging his reputation.
Even if it meant running for the proverbial hills.
But just as he lifted a hoof to take a step back, Ahrisham’s voice cut through his hesitation, rooting him in place.
“It dawns on me that you don’t fully understand the role I play here.” Ahrisham began to pace, her gait measured and steady, just as they had been when she first entered the throne room upon arriving in Canterlot. Once again, she assumed that very same enigmatic air of an exotic mare who effortlessly commanded the attention of everypony around her.
Regaining some of his composure, Blueblood shook his head, yet his voice was more unsteady than he would have liked. “I don’t, nor do I care, but…” He let out an exaggerated sigh, hanging his head as if she were forcing some great burden upon him. With a flick of his hoof, he gestured for her to continue. “...I suppose I have no choice but to listen to your prattling.”
“You’d be correct on that.” Ahrisham’s grin widened, her satisfaction all too apparent. She was enjoying this far too much.
“With your aunt’s approval, Saddle Arabia will receive the support we so desperately need.” She paused then, halting directly in front of him, demanding his full attention. It was an imposition he could not easily ignore. Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze, meeting her sharp, knowing eyes.
“You chose to avoid me for the entirety of my stay, to the great disappointment of many.” Her words were measured, deliberate. “Including your aunt, whose grace I cannot overstate.”
Blueblood hesitated. His ears flicked back in irritation, but her words nagged at him. He cast another glance toward Celestia, searching for some sign of disapproval or intervention. Instead, she remained utterly serene, offering him no reprieve. For a fleeting moment, he entertained the absurd idea that this had all been orchestrated by his aunt - some elaborate test or punishment. But the thought was so ludicrous that he dismissed it outright.
“What is your point?” His voice was clipped, barely concealing his growing aggravation.
Ahrisham studied him carefully, her expression softening just enough to make him wary. “At first, I didn’t understand why you were so hostile towards me and my mission, Prince.” Her tone had lost its earlier sharpness, the shift subtle yet calculated. “But after learning more about you, I believe I’ve uncovered the reason.”
Blueblood’s brow arched. His expression remained sour, but there was a flicker of curiosity beneath his irritation. “Oh?” He drawled, feigning disinterest.
“After spending time with you, I realized something.” Ahrisham’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “You respect only one thing - power.”
A derisive snort escaped him. “Is that all?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You act as if you’ve made some grand discovery. Stating the obvious won’t earn you any points.”
Unfazed, Ahrisham pressed on. “Given your position, it’s understandable. It also explains why my attempts at playing your game - at mimicry of Equestria’s soft approach - failed.” She tilted her head, observing him like a predator sizing up prey. “But now I see it clearly, Prince. You would feel right at home in Saddle Arabia.”
His ears twitched at that.
“You and I are not so different in the end.” Her eyes were boring into his with uncanny intensity.
Blueblood studied her, torn between insult and disbelief. He had never thought much of Saddle Arabian ponies, nor of their nobility, viewing them as little more than barbaric desert lords, ruling over a backward and uncivilized land. Yet… now she dared to compare him to them, as if such an absurd notion could even be entertained.
Ahrisham didn’t waver. If anything, the infuriatingly triumphant smirk stretching across her face only deepened, as though she relished his outrage.
“Don’t you dare compare yourself to me,” Blueblood scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “We are nothing alike - just as a swan cannot be likened to a filthy pigeon.”
His words were unkind, undiplomatic, and unbecoming of a Prince who had spent years refining his poise and restraint. And yet, this mare, this insufferable Saddle Arabian, had managed to unravel it all within moments. She was a plague upon his patience, a test of his composure, and worst of all - she knew it.
Before he could strike again with another cutting remark, a voice, soft yet razor-sharp, sliced through the air.
“Nephew.”
Celestia’s tone was calm, kind even, but it carried the weight of command. It was not a raised voice that silenced a room, nor a reprimand filled with fury - it was something far worse.
It was disappointment.
The moment the word left her lips, both Blueblood and Ahrisham fell silent, their gazes snapping toward her. The Sun Princess did not so much as blink beneath their attention, radiating the quiet, effortless authority that had kept Equestria in balance for centuries.
The weight of his words settled upon him all at once, a heavy chain of shame wrapping around his chest. Blueblood clenched his jaw, his ears flicking back, but not out of guilt - no, his anger remained, but it was never directed at himself. Instead, it burned hotter for the primitive desert mare who had so skillfully pushed him to this edge.
Celestia exhaled softly, her eyes searching his face.
“I understand your frustrations…” She said, her voice as gentle as ever. “This is, after all, a delicate matter - one that stirs emotions even in the most even-tempered of ponies.”
Ahrisham made an odd sound, something between a scoff and a suppressed chuckle. She quickly hid it behind a polite dip of her head, but the damage was done. Blueblood’s lips curled in a silent snarl, his ire reigniting at the sheer audacity of her amusement.
Celestia paid it no mind. Instead, her voice took on a new edge - cold, measured, and utterly foreign to Blueblood’s ears.
“But I will not allow you to demean a foreign envoy with such crude words.” She paused, letting her words settle like a judge delivering a verdict. “I thought better of you, and you let me down.”
The finality in her tone struck like a blow.
Blueblood stiffened. Celestia had never spoken to him like this before. In all his years at court, no matter how great his blunders, she had always guided him with patience, with gentle correction.
But today… today was different.
This day was full of surprises, and none of them were the pleasant kind.
“If I may, Your Majesty…” Ahrisham interjected, her voice smooth and measured, yet utterly unafraid to insert itself into the conversation between Princess Celestia and her nephew. Her boldness truly knew no bounds! “...I swear not to act upon the insult directed at me - a member of the Hormazd dynasty and a representative of my liege. But I do have one condition.”
Celestia’s ears flicked slightly, and though her expression remained serene, there was a glimmer of intrigue in her gaze. “I am listening.”
Both she and Blueblood were aware that Saddle Arabians - Ahrisham in particular - had leverage over them now. The weight of her position, coupled with Blueblood’s treatment of her, had created an unfavourable balance.
“While I am grateful for the aid you have already offered, I find that I require further assistance - someone well-versed in the finer points of Equestrian bureaucracy.” Ahrisham’s sapphire eyes flicked toward Blueblood, her intent clear.
Blueblood met her gaze with a sharp glare, his expression darkening, though he said nothing.
For a brief moment, Celestia merely observed Ahrisham, as though attempting to decipher her true intentions. Then, comprehension dawned in her eyes, and the corners of her lips curled into a sly, knowing smirk - one that made Blueblood’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
“Devious…” She murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Yet it was just loud enough for both of them to hear.
Ahrisham’s grin widened ever so slightly, and she responded with nothing more than a silent, elegant nod.
Then, with all the regal grace of a sovereign delivering an edict, Celestia turned fully to Blueblood, coughed lightly into her hoof, and declared in an overjoyed tone:
“Lady Ahrisham is well within her rights to request a personal liaison - somepony to assist her with matters pertaining to Equestria’s role in this arrangement. I can think of only one pony suitable for such a prestigious and highly sensitive post. It is with great pleasure that I appoint you, my dear nephew, as the Field Attaché and Advisor Plenipotentiary Without Portfolio. Congratulations.”
Blueblood’s carefully composed mask wavered, if only for a fraction of a second. He was fully aware of what was happening - either that, or he was exerting every ounce of restraint to keep himself from reacting outright.
“It is… a great honor, I suppose…” He managed at last, his voice carefully neutral.
“What a generous gesture, Your Majesty!” Ahrisham trilled, clapping her hooves lightly in a show of exaggerated delight. “Why, I imagine the Prince would have been inconsolable had you not bestowed upon him this glorious opportunity to serve our cause!”
Celestia bestowed a radiant smile upon Ahrisham, then turned her gaze back to Blueblood, whose expression had settled into something unreadable.
“I had my doubts as to whether you were ready for such responsibility, dear nephew.” She mused, her tone almost thoughtful. “But your conduct at the latest charity has put my mind at ease. And so, you shall travel to D’ahran with Lady Ahrisham.”
Something in Blueblood’s stance stiffened - subtle, but there. His body remained still, but his eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of panic.
Celestia pressed on, her voice carrying the unmistakable weight of finality. “I trust you will fulfill your duties diligently, provide Lady Ahrisham with whatever assistance she requires, and, of course, make a good showing of yourself.” Her expression remained formal, but the telltale glint of mischief danced behind her eyes. “After all, word of your appointment is already spreading. The nobility of Canterlot will be watching your every move with great interest - eager to follow your adventures in service to both Equestria and Saddle Arabia.”
She paused, letting the implication sink in before delivering the final blow.
“In fact, I am quite certain that a certain bard, with whom you are particularly… friendly, will soon begin composing a ballad to immortalize your participation in the expedition.”
Blueblood’s ears twitched, and in a single swift motion, he lowered himself into a bow. Whether it was meant as a sign of respect or simply to hide his now-burning face was unclear. When he finally spoke, his voice was as smooth as ever, save for the faintest quaver beneath the surface.
“Your generosity, dear Aunt, truly knows no bounds. I am most… most gratified by the honor you have bestowed upon me.” Prince’s muzzle acted by itself, speaking practiced polite phrases, while his own thoughts raced in panic.
“With the matter settled, I believe we should all be on our way.” Celestia announced, her voice light and unbothered, as if she had not just sentenced her own nephew to an exile of sorts in a distant, barbaric land. She lifted her teacup delicately, which she conjured just now, taking a sip before adding. “I still have tea to finish, and Philomena will soon demand her share of salted crackers~”
Her words, paired with her serene tone, left no room for protest. The decision was final. And so, with nothing more to be said, Ahrisham and Prince Blueblood departed in opposite directions, neither willing to meet the other’s gaze. Though their paths would soon be bound together, for now, the tension between them stretched as wide as the desert that awaited.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Prince Blueblood was not in the best of moods.
He had remained locked within the confines of his chambers ever since returning from his afternoon tea with Princess Celestia, his only interactions consisting of the occasional muffled outburst - diversified, at times, by the dramatic flinging of a pillow across the room. He refused to leave, refused to acknowledge anyone at his door, save for one pony: his personal maid, Lavender.
Lavender, patient as always, ensured he had everything he needed to sustain his self-imposed isolation. In this case, an entire bucket of shaved ice drenched in thick, sweet strawberry syrup - the way he liked it.
It was neither the first nor the last time Prince Blueblood acted in such a foalish manner.
"Don’t eat it all at once, Your Grace. You know well enough it’s not good for your stomach." Lavender chided, her voice carrying the same soothing, motherly tone she often used when talking to her own foals, or to calm Equestria’s Prince from his dramatics.
“Mhm…” Blueblood grumbled, shoveling another spoonful of the frozen treat into his mouth, heedless of the way it numbed his tongue. Only his head poked out from beneath the covers, his mane a disheveled mess, his expression one of abject misery.
Lavender did not ask questions she had no business asking. It was not her place to pry - not that it stopped her from making the occasional careful remark.
"I assume things didn’t go well today?" She asked, standing a respectful distance away, her years of experience cautioning her against sudden movements. She had learned, through trial and error, that dodging airborne objects was an invaluable skill when dealing with the Prince in one of his moods.
Blueblood shot her a glare. Not just any glare - the kind that sent lesser castle staff into a panic, making them wonder if their continued employment (or existence) was in jeopardy. Alas, this had little to no effect on Lavender, who had long since built an immunity to his antics.
Sighing dramatically, Blueblood set his spoon down and, instead of eating properly, thrust his entire muzzle into the bucket of shaved ice, pressing his face against the freezing syrup.
"Mhm…" He muttered, curls of his mane flopping pathetically over his eyes.
"There, there…" Lavender intoned, her voice the picture of amused patience.
For a few long moments, neither spoke. Blueblood remained buried in his syrup-laden misery, while Lavender continued her silent vigil, waiting for the inevitable.
Sure enough, he was the first to break.
"Auntie is sending me away!" He wailed, his voice muffled by the bucket.
Lavender blinked, entirely unbothered. "Prince, please - do not be so dramatic."
Blueblood lifted his head, strands of his mane now sticky with syrup, not to mention his muzzle - his lips, cheeks and chin dripping with red. "Dramatic?! You do not understand the gravity of my situation! I am being exiled!"
Lavender arched a brow. "Exiled." She repeated flatly.
"Yes!" Blueblood threw his hooves up, gesturing wildly. "Banished! Sent away to some Celestia-forsaken desert! I might as well start composing my will!"
"You are being sent on a diplomatic assignment." Lavender corrected, unimpressed.
Blueblood huffed. "That is a very polite way of saying exile."
Lavender exhaled through her nose, pinching the bridge of her muzzle in practiced exasperation. "And how long will this dreadful ‘exile’ last?"
Blueblood hesitated, then muttered something incomprehensible.
Lavender leaned in slightly. "Pardon?"
"... A few months, perhaps." He admitted begrudgingly.
Lavender’s lips twitched. "Ah, yes. A fate worse than death."
Blueblood scowled, but before he could muster another dramatic outburst, Lavender clapped her hooves together, her expression shifting into something far too cheerful for his liking.
"Well! This is excellent news!" She declared brightly.
He squinted at her. "What?"
"This means I can finally take my long-overdue days off!" She beamed, positively glowing with excitement.
Blueblood gaped, utterly betrayed. "Lavender!"
"I adore my work, of course." She continued, entirely ignoring his aghast expression. "But I rarely have time for my family. This arrangement works out quite well for me."
Blueblood groaned, shoving his face back into the bucket. "Unbelievable. Abandoned by my own maid."
"Prince, you were planning on leaving me behind anyway." Lavender pointed out.
He flicked his syrup-coated mane at her. "I still might bring you along."
Lavender’s ears perked in alarm. "Oh, no, we had a deal! No traveling with me."
Blueblood grumbled incoherently, but said no more on the subject. She got him here - he would be the last pony to walk back on a given word.
Silence stretched between them once more, but this time, it was heavier. Less indulgent.
For all his dramatics, for all his grand declarations, the reality of his situation was beginning to settle in.
He was going to Saddle Arabia.
Alone.