The Heart of the Forest

Much to his surprise and delight, Blueblood found that conversation with Zecora during the journey was sparse and judicious. A lot of zebras he'd encountered had been rather verbose (though, in fairness, given that they were all diplomats from a species whose every utterance had a minimum syllable count, that was sort of unavoidable), but apart from a moment when he'd had to explain his vibrating bracelet and some (though not enough to compromise the security) of the procedure it entailed, any exchanged speech was purely to help direct him through the forest. And due to her obvious experience finding paths in the area, there wasn't even much of that.

Not that Blueblood had an issue with conversation in theory, even if his current mood made the prospect less appealing than normal. However, the less conversation there was, the less chance for her to address the obvious question of what he was doing here, today of all days.

But the moment he'd been dreading never came and, after a few looks back at his guide's placid, smiling face, he found, to his surprise, that he was dreading the possibility less with every passing second rather than more. And before too long, he was amazed to find them emerging from a clearing right in front of the ruined Castle of the Two Sisters.

As the two made their way inside, Blueblood felt it necessary to speak up. “Now, our information says that the wards around this place are still powerful enough, after all these centuries, to repel the creatures of the forest, meaning we are free to make what noise and use what magic we wish while inside. In your experience, does this seem accurate?”

Zecora nodded. “Indeed – the beasts that roam this earth
all give this place the widest berth.”

“Excellent. Now,” As he spoke, Blueblood strode into the centre of what was once presumably the foyer and reached into his saddlebags with his magic, “If I were you, Miss Zecora, I'd stand in that corner and try to move as little as possible until I'm finished setting this up.”

From behind him, he heard a displeased hum. His eyes flicked briefly back from the apparatus he was assembling, to see that Zecora wasn't moving and, though her eyes hadn't quite lost their pleasant sparkle, she didn't appreciate the command. “I'm not refusing to comply,
but do you mind me asking why?”

Blueblood sighed – it was sorely tempting to simply give her a royal command, but something told him that was neither warranted nor likely to be effective. “Because we're in a location where, as far as we are aware, quite literally anything could be a threat. So, it's best if you made absolutely clear you are not.”

There was a tense moment of silence before he heard her hooves gradually move to the indicated corner, though he could tell by the rhythm that she was backing up rather than turning away from him – a sensible precaution, given how she was unfamiliar with him and wouldn't know that no dangerous creature could emulate a true Prince's majesty.

After she stopped, she spoke again. “Since you know I'm not worth such fuss,
will there be others joining us?”

“There will indeed.” With only a slightly showy flick of a hoof, Blueblood clipped the last component in the four-foot-high magical apparatus, causing a long antenna to extend upwards. After one more glance back to make sure Zecora was in the dictated position, he pressed the large button on the device, causing the antenna to send a magical wave out with a distinctive ping!

There was a pause of about three seconds, much to Blueblood's consternation – yes, it made sense that the guards weren't prepared to hear this signal given that he himself would have thought that he could never reach his destination so quickly before now, but he still felt they really should have been quicker to fulfil their duty.

Nevertheless, there was then a flash of light as three guards appeared and, before Blueblood could even begin to clear the spots from his vision, he could feel them surrounding him and slashing their spears through the air, making sure there was nothing, visible or invisible that was threatening him. As the world began to clear up his eyes, he heard them freeze and felt through the air currents that they'd all pointed their weapons towards Zecora.

“Don't move! Friend or Foe?” one of them asked.

Before Zecora could speak, Blueblood held up a hoof towards her – she may or may not have been able to see it, but it felt like the right thing to do. “At ease. This is Miss Zecora, she is, as far as I can tell, a resident of the area and she is most definitely no foe.” There was, admittedly, serious doubt in his mind whether she could be called a friend, but that didn't seem worth mentioning.

There was a moment's pause before, as he finally blinked away the last traces of the flash, he saw the unicorn among them give him a worried look. “Enchantment check, sir?” she asked.

Blueblood rolled his eyes – it should have been obvious his mind was his own, given he was able to assemble the teleportation beacon without issue, but it was probably quicker to simply accede.

So he nodded, prompting the unicorn to light her horn and send a probing wave of magic over and into his head. After a moment, the testing spell faded and she nodded, though her face made clear she still wasn't entirely happy. “He's clean,” she told the others before looking over at Zecora. “We should also check her, sir.”

Blueblood's mouth pulled to the side as he considered this. He looked over at Zecora, who gave the unhappy shrug of one who saw no way out of an inconvenience – an expression he was intimately familiar with, both having himself and seeing on others. Upon seeing this, he nodded. “That would be best.”

The unicorn saluted before lighting her horn once again, encasing Zecora in a faint glow. This time, however, the glow wasn't up a full second before the guard's eyes widened and she raised her spear with a jolt, prompting the others to do the same. “Heavy traces of transmutation magic, Your Majesty!”

Blueblood just about managed to stifle his gasp – while that had been shocking to him, there was no need to let a potential infiltrator know exactly how shocked he was. “Changeling, do you think?”

“I... I don't think so, Your Majesty,” the guard replied, her expression shifting to one of slight confusion. “The magic's a lot more focused – since a changeling has to alter their entire body, the magic generally suffuses them completely... though also attempts to conceal itself, which this doesn't. No, this magic is... well, it's definitely present in most places, but it's focused around the hindquarters and... the face? No, no, just the mu-”

“If I may be so very bold,” Zecora interrupted, a polite but unyielding tone in her voice,
“my species may be simply told
to show I am, in fact, a mare,
if you will scan and feel my hair.” She lowered her forehead, presenting the tall mohawk she sported to the assembled group.

The unicorn guard looked at Blueblood, clearly asking less-than-optimistically whether he knew what she was talking about. He didn't, of course, but there was no cause to let the staff know that. So, after a moment's thought, he decided that Zecora had earned enough trust to allow him to nod.

The guard cast once more, the glow of her magic flowing over Zecora's hair and sending a very pleasing wave through it – clearly, this mare (if that's what she was) didn't let her uncivilized surroundings stop her from taking care of herself.

The magic lingered for a moment before the guard spoke again. “Okay, I see. Well, she's definitely not a changeling and... yes, yes, she's equine, no question.”

“How can you tell?” one of the others, a pegasus, asked, not lowering her spear.

“There's no magic in her mane,” the unicorn explained. “No transmutation, conjuration, illusion, nothing. That mane is completely normal, definitely that of an equine and I could feel it's not a wig. So, the only conclusion I can see is that she is what she seems. And if you're vouching for her, Your Majesty?” She looked at Blueblood one final time before receiving a nod in reply. “Then I think we can conclude she's no threat,” she finished as she finally lowered her spear in time with her fellows. “I do apologize, Miss.”

Zecora shrugged, her face retaining a look of discomfort, but none of the tension that had previously dominated it. “It's quite alright, I can allow
your justified suspicions. Now,
excuse me, if you'd be so kind –
I have a special herb to find.” And, with that, she turned and started walking towards the entrance.

“We'd best get moving, too,” the sergeant among the guard said, the earth pony stamping his hoof to draw the others' attention. “We don't know for sure that our objective is where its owner thought it was, might need to search for it. Would you excuse us, Your Majesty?”

Blueblood nodded once more before, as the three turned and went deeper into the castle, he found himself suddenly completely alone. And while normally, being on your own in the Everfree was cause for no small amount of panic, the quiet around him and the knowledge of who was in the area did a remarkable job keeping him calm. However, despite having come out here specifically to get away from others, there was something uneasy about suddenly being without any company that he couldn't quite put his hoof on.

Still, he couldn't help but chuckle as he looked after the departing guards, thinking about why they were here and what they were searching for. It turned out that when his Auntie Celestia was a young filly, as strange a concept as that felt, she had a favourite blanket that she had kept as she grew, until leaving it when forced to abandon the castle.

Of course, Blueblood had initially been skeptical that it could have survived the intervening centuries, but it turned out that when making a blanket for a young sun Princess who was prone to 'solar flare-ups' – he had no idea what that meant and wasn't in a hurry to find out – one had to make it extremely durable.

In any case, Princess... that is, Auntie Luna (he still wasn't sure he'd ever get used to that) wanted to retrieve the blanket and give it to her sister for Hearth's Warming. However, the only way to arrange that without risking her sister knowing was to assign the retrieval on Hearth's Warming itself, when both sisters would be too busy with various functions to get involved. The soldiers were all ones who had volunteered to work today anyway and were all getting substantial bonuses besides, and he...

Well, he had specifically chosen to go on the assignment. And he got away from Canterlot and all his noble associates for the day. That was reward enough, even if it involved surroundings so...

Blueblood paused, a slight frown bending but not creasing his brow, and for a moment, he actually considered his feelings – something he normally avoided at all costs, but this seemed important.

While he had been trekking through the foul, filthy forest, his attitude towards his environment was nothing but negative, even with his pleasantly taciturn company, but here? Standing here, in this ruined castle, it felt different. Not that it was in any way in line with his aesthetic sensibilities – far too little gold or jewels – but it felt... potent. Weighty. Momentous. It felt like what it was – a monument to an ancient time and a reign and battle that defined history that, though abandoned and weathered, still did and would stand strong against the passage of time and the fading of memory.

It spoke of the past, memorialized the past, but didn't try to reclaim or recreate the past. And that was something that resonated with him, even if he wasn't sure why.

He was saved from having to think about that when he heard hoofsteps behind him and turned to see Zecora strolling back into the ruined foyer. He smiled as he watched her, happy to have something to focus on other than his own thoughts.

She walked towards the western side, where the wall would block most of the wind, and sat down, shrugging off her saddlebags. Once she'd made herself as comfortable as she could on the bare stone floor, she started nosing around in her bags before pulling out what appeared to be a very small cauldron, raised on four thin metal legs, and placed it in front of her. That done, she began pulling out wood and stones and building a fire pit.

Blueblood raised an eyebrow. “You're brewing a potion here?” he asked – he was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but it was hard to see a way that wasn't disrespectful.

To her credit, Zecora looked a little abashed as she shrugged. “It can't be helped, I'm much afraid,
the central herb with which it's made,
when harvested from roots alive,
decays in minutes, gone in five.
To know it will not decompose,
I must brew close to where it grows.”

Blueblood thought for a moment before nodding. “I see. That... makes sense, I suppose. Well, then, while I somehow doubt it will make much of a difference to you, as a representative of the Equestrian government, I grant you permission to brew on the premises.”

Zecora smiled. “It's true – I don't have much investure,
but still, I thank you for the gesture.”

He watched as poured water from a canteen into the cauldron, sprinkled a few herbs he had no hopes or interest in identifying in and lit the fire. Once done, she shuffled away a little and turned to the side. To his surprise, she then took more kindling and stones from her bag and began setting up another fire a short distance from the first one.

“You're making two potions?” he asked, curious rather than offended – if the ingredient she was here for was indeed so short-lived, it made sense to make the most of it.

However, she shook her head. “Oh no, I've just the one to do,
but that will take some hours to brew.
So, while I wait, it seems to me,
I may as well enjoy some tea.
And though you're not obliged to sup,
you still are welcome to a cup.” She got out some old, dented tin cups and raised one to emphasize the offer.

Now, most who knew Blueblood would assume he'd rather die than accept a cup of tea brewed in the middle of the forest and served in such a cheap vessel. And, indeed, he certainly wouldn't choose to do it of his own accord. However, that fact was that he was a diplomat and was used to engaging in whatever consumptions, practices and rituals a host might offer him. As such, he had drunk far worse from far worse.

Still, this time, it was very much his choice, so it would most likely be in his interest to refuse. However, as soon as this fact occurred to him, he noticed he had already walked up and was sitting down with a hum of thanks. And, well, after that, it would be the height of boorishness to change his mind.

And yet, despite that, he still didn't feel the desire to do so.

They sat in companionable silence as she placed a weathered kettle onto the second fire, letting it heat up gradually as she placed some tea and herbs into another pot. Once the water was hot, she poured it into the other pot and over the tea before letting it steep for a few minutes. Finally, she poured some into a cup and offered it to the Prince.

The pegasus took it and immediately took a careful sip, swishing it around her mouth for a few seconds before swallowing and nodding. “It's safe, Your Majesty,” she said as she gave the cup to Blueblood, who received it with a nod of acknowledgement and took a sip himself.

The taste... well, it wasn't bad and he could tell absolutely for sure it was very well made – for someone with a taste for this kind of herbal tea, it would unquestionably be delectable. However, it wasn't his preferred flavour, if he was honest. Still, it was certainly pleasant enough for him to continue...

Wait...

He looked to the side again, barely managing to keep his tea from spilling as he started at the sudden appearance of the pegasus guard. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the other two step out from behind some ruined bits of walls.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” the Sergeant said, his face professionally neutral. “We found our objective a few minutes ago, but we didn't want to interrupt you.”

Blueblood cleared his throat and straightened himself up, certain that doing so would regain him whatever minuscule scraps of his dignity he'd lost. “Ah, yes, quite right.”

Zecora shrugged. “Well, knowing that you'd soon be done,
I made enough for everyone.” She got out three more cups and looked at the guards, silently asking if they'd like some.

However, the sergeant shook his head. “That's very kind, Ma'am, but I'm afraid we should be going as soon as possible. We need to get back to Canterlot so, as soon as His Highness has finished, we'll leave, if that's alright.”

“Of course, it just felt right to ask,” Zecora replied with a casual shrug,
“I shall not keep you from your task.”

However, Blueblood only half-registered what she was saying, as his imminent return had settled over his mind like a blanket of needles. While he was thankful to Zecora for finding such a quick and clean route through the forest, it had massively shortened the time it had taken to get here, and it seemed the guards had found their quarry in very short order too. As such, he'd be back in Canterlot before the day was even halfway done, and the excuse he'd been planning on relying on – being tired from the journey – would no doubt seem ridiculous. Still, he did have a package to deliver...

Or rather, they did – he supposed the guards could bring it back to the palace without him if he really wanted. But the only alternative for him was to spend the day in a dreadfully rural town at the forest's edge or...

He blinked as a smile came onto his face, shocked and elated with just a hint of mania – he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he knew it was what he wanted to. “Actually, I... I think I'll stay here for the time being. You all return to Canterlot and complete your mission, but leave the teleportation beacon up and I'll return when I'm done.” He nodded to himself, happy that one didn't have to be able to teleport under their own power to use such a beacon.

The guards paused before looking at each other in the hopes one of the others understood what they'd just heard. “Are... are you sure, Your Majesty?” the sergeant stammered.

“Oh, absolutely! In fact,” Blueblood got a paper and quill out of his bag and began writing something, “once your objective is delivered, why don't you all take the rest of the day off? Paid, of course – you've more than earned it and you deserve to spend Hearth's Warming as you wish.” He signed the paper with a flourish, making his granting of paid leave official before rolling it up and floating it over to them.

There was a long, awkward pause before the pegasus took it. As soon as she did, the unicorn's horn lit up and Blueblood felt another scan for enchantments wash over his mind. Rude, he thought, to do so without asking for permission, but he supposed that the guards knew their business. Regardless, the unicorn shook her head, indicating she'd found nothing.

“Right...” the sergeant said, his confusion not abating even slightly. “Okay then, we'll... we'll head back and get this to its destination and... we'll show this to the Captain and ask him wh- er, tell him what happened and what you... told us to do.”

“Very good,” Blueblood said with a satisfied nod. “Then I will simply say goodbye and thank you.”

That last bit got all three to fully flinch in surprise for some reason, before they exchanged one last, unsure look between them and the unicorn lit her horn, teleporting away.

Blueblood raised an eyebrow, unsure what they had to be confused about, but wasn't able to think about it for more than a second or two before an uncomfortable clearing of the throat behind him drew his attention.

“I'd... not intended you to stay
beyond a cup of tea's... delay.” Even if the expression he saw when he turned around hadn't communicated Zecora's surprise and consternation, the pause in her speech and the weak rhyme she'd ended up saying certainly would have.

Blueblood felt his cheeks heat up, his mouth opening before he could realize what he was going to say. “Oh! I do apologize, I thought...” He frowned a little in thought as what he'd said registered with him. He'd given a fair few apologies over his life, but he couldn't, off the top of his head, remember one given freely of his own choice, much less sincerely. And while his conscious mind (that is, the part he allowed himself to recognise) insisted that, as a Prince, he had nothing to apologize for, least of all staying in a part of his own country, it nevertheless just felt like the right thing to do. “I mistook your invitation for being... comfortable with my presence.”

Zecora swallowed, her reddening cheeks adding an odd bit of colour to her coat. “That's no mistake, I was and am,
but soon, I'm brewing up a dram
for which, though I won't beg you flee,
I would prefer some privacy.”

Blueblood tilted his head slightly. “Well, if it's some sort of trade secret you're concerned with protecting, I shouldn't worry – with my level of alchemical knowledge, you'd be more in danger of a squirrel stealing the recipe.” Even as he said it, though, he had a suspicion there was more to her reaction than that.

Indeed, she shook her head. “It's not a secret – far too dull –
instead, it's merely... personal.”

Blueblood nodded, his eyes widening for a moment before settling down, that last word ringing through him with a strange, bittersweet resonance. “I see.” He let out a short, barking, bitter laugh. “What irony! I spend so long looking for a reason to get away from others for personal reasons but, when I finally find one, the one other I want to be around needs me gone for their own personal reasons.”

He shook his head at the situation before his head froze mid-shake, what he'd just said finally registered to him. His face felt like its pristine white colour somehow became even paler – he's just given away that he not only felt like staying, but he actually, deeply wanted to. Had he been at court or with one of his peers, he would, he hoped, have the wherewithal to suppress his whimper, but this situation was both comfortable and surprising that he just about let it slip out. What further questions were coming, what else might he give away, what weaknesses would he let...

“Yes, as you say, I rather see
the artful, painful irony.”

Zecora let out a sigh, looking down and away, clearly having nothing more to say.

Blueblood blinked, tilting his head sharply and asking before he could stop himself. “You're not going to ask me about what I... what my reasons are?”

Zecora shrugged. “If priv'cy's why I close my doors,
I should show some respect to yours.”

There was a long pause that Blueblood knew only felt awkward to him. However, eventually, he let out a slow, smiling breath. It made complete sense that someone like this would lack either the hawkishness or the interest to interrogate and exploit his potential vulnerabilities. And while it would no doubt have been better not to let anything about his secret slip at all, if it had to for the first time in his life, he was glad it was in front of her.

However, to his surprise, she wasn't done. “I'll not pry into your condition,
but... if you want to say, I'll listen.”

A momentary, sharp shudder went through Blueblood before vanishing just as fast as it came, his fear of her pushing the issue quickly being smothered when he realized what exactly she'd said... or rather, how she'd said it. He'd talked to many zebras in the course of his duties and he knew they would almost always avoid slant-rhymes unless off-balance a little. That, combined with her looking away slightly, told him that rather than being wrong about her, he'd been half-right – she wasn't interested in analyzing his secrets, but she was interested in learning them. Not for any practical purpose, just because she was curious... about him.

She was interested in him, he realized with a small start. Not in his position, not in how they could use or maneuver him, but in what he had going on; why he wanted what he wanted; who he was. It was a very new experience to get that from somepony who, for the most part, was a stranger and Blueblood had absolutely no idea how to feel about it.

However, despite this, he knew what a part of him felt about it and what that part wanted him to do.

It was stupid – he knew this, he understood this and he vehemently, viciously told himself this. When he finally finds the one pony with no chance of disseminating or exploiting his secrets, he suddenly feels like telling her everything? It was ridiculous. Heck, if this had happened while he was holding court among his noble associates, it would be the most obvious reverse psychology in the world.

And yet, he wasn't with them, was he?

Perhaps that was why he felt the answers scratching at the top of his throat, eager to be let out. Perhaps it was the general comfort of the situation – he hadn't let his posture or demeanour slip, remaining as princely as ever, but he couldn't deny that it felt more relaxed than normal, now that he knew he wouldn't be judged if he slipped. Perhaps it was the innocent curiosity of the query – while it wasn't technically impossible that Zecora was simply that good at hiding her intentions, he just honestly couldn't make himself believe for even a second that she could have that kind of ulterior motive. Maybe it was just her herself, and the fact that he could tell from her demeanour, her situation and her own evident secrets that there was no chance at all that she would ever tell anyone what she heard from him.

Or maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with the fact that he'd been keeping this secret for as long as he could remember, and had simply gotten used to the feeling of being eaten alive from the inside.

Whatever the case, he slumped down in front of the small fire, letting his posture drop for the first time he could recall but unable to care. He knew absolutely and was resigned to the fact there was no way he wasn't telling everything. “Tell me, Miss Zecora, how much do you know about... the Chorintide Coup.”

Zecora thought for a moment. “I've heard the name, but nothing more,
not even that first word before.”

Blueblood nodded. “That's quite understandable – it's a very old and out-of-favour word. In fact, were it not for the events of that day, it may not be remembered at all. If only.” He sighed before catching a glimpse of Zecora's uncomprehending expression. “It's from the days before Equestria was founded and the tribes unified – a winter festival the unicorns held close to this time of year. Of course, some say Hearth's Warming stole all Chorintide's ideas, some say it was more a merging or, what was the word? Syncretism? And some say neither celebration has much in common with modern Hearth's Warming.” He shrugged, honestly finding the whole subject uninteresting. “Whatever the case, Chorintide is a celebration that I cannot see anything but benefit from losing.

“You see, while all records and writings we have from that period claim it was simply a celebration of life and resilience in the face of winter... those records also make perfectly clear it was about the unicorns revelling in their status and luxury while the pegasi looked down in contempt and the earth ponies looked up in deprived, furious envy. It wasn't about survival, it was about superiority.”

He shook his head. He was long used to the conflict between his upbringing, which had burned into his brain how superior he was to all other ponies and how a large portion of that extended to his whole tribe, and his personal experiences, which made the idea seem utterly sickening. Still, saying that still brought a slight, acidic bite of bile to his throat.

“As such, for thousands of years, no one celebrated Chorintide. No one, that is, except my family.”

Blueblood let out a contemptuous growl. “You see, my father, Prince Osmium, as he was known at the time, had a rather different take on those ancient writings. He thought that the unicorns celebrating such a thing was only right and proper and that not only was it terrible that the other tribes had 'co-opted' ‘their’ celebration, but that it and the country were controlled by a mare who was supposedly only a third unicorn.

“Complete rubbish, of course,” Blueblood snorted. “Auntie is entirely unicorn, as well as entirely pegasus and entirely earth pony – alicornity is a strange condition, without question, but to suggest she is simply some, to use his delightful terminology, 'third-breed' is utterly imbecilic. But to say that to unicorn supremacist would be an exercise in futility and, depending on their power or fanaticism, possibly an exercise in fatality as well.

As such, he intended not only to overthrow Auntie Celestia, but to do so on Hearth's Warming, so as to declare the day Chorintide from then on. And, well, as puerile and despicable as this desire was, he had considerable resources and was eventually able to get his grasping horn on an artefact which may have been able to disable and bind Auntie in a potentially deadly magic, effectively enslaving to his will both her and anyone against whom he could use her as a hostage. Once done, he intended to crown himself, his wife and me as the new royal family with crowns he'd commissioned out of the finest platinum – despite the fact that there's no record of Princess Platinum's crown being so made outside of pageants, but regardless. It was not a terrible plan. It might have even succeeded, were it not for someone close betraying him.”

He looked up to see Zecora looking at him with relaxed but slightly narrowed eyes, clearly interested and thoughtful about what she was hearing and curious to know more.

He gave a slightly thin smile. “I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn't know the story, but it was in all the papers. How the Prince's own son, even at the age of eight, knew that what they were doing was wrong, saw his father for the monster he was and had a loyalty to his Aunt and ruler that eclipsed that of most grown-ups; how he went in secret to Celestia and told her everything; that it was because of me and me alone that, after he pulled out the 'aritfact' and monologued about his intentions to the court, a casual magical blast from a guard was able to shatter the 'diamond' at its centre and reveal his 'bluff'. Of course, they didn't report, or know for that matter, that the real artefact had been switched out for a fake and buried in the castle vaults.

“But, in any case, the Prince was not only thwarted, but humiliated, both by his apparent gullibility in trusting the artefact and by being told who was responsible for his downfall. It was, in a sense, a kindness that he was subsequently exiled away from all those who had witnessed his display... and from the son he would forever after despise.”

Before any major discomfort could fall over the pair, Blueblood shot Zecora a smirk. “Oh, that's not the source of my... avoidance, I assure you. In fact, I try my best not to forget it by sending him a very expensive Hearth's Warming gift every year – a crown made of the cheapest, nastiest aluminium foil my commissionee can find.” At Zecora's confused hum, he explained. “Oh, the expensive part isn't the crown, it's the scrying spell I put on it so that I can see his face when he finds it.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Amazingly, I usually manage to arrange a way to get it to him without his knowledge, though this year he was sadly able to avoid it. Still, it evidently kept him nice and paranoid, and that's good enough for me. Not, I freely admit, the healthiest way of dealing with my grievances, but immensely satisfying.”

To his relief (and confusion about why he felt so relieved), Zecora laughed with him, putting a hoof to her mouth in a surprisingly but delightfully dainty way. “I well imagine it would be,
but then, why would you... oh, I see,” she looked at him, her eyes wide and her mouth dropping as she seemed to realize something. “I think I know what lies ahead.
You told me what the papers said.”

Blueblood sighed, his good mood draining out with the air. “Got it in one! That was what they reported, because it was what Auntie Celestia revealed before the crowd at the Hearth's Warming Ball, and she had no reason to lie, as far as I can see. And, well, in a sense, she didn't... she told what she thought was the truth, at least as far as she could prove. Because she didn't originate the lie... nor the information about my father's plot.”

“No, that was our butler.”

Blueblood closed his eyes and lowered his head. “He was the one who gave her the note about what Father was doing. He was the one with the resolve and strength to expose this corruption. He was the hero. And I... I...”

He squeezed his eyes closed tighter and twisted his head to the side as if anticipating and flinching at a hit only he could see or feel. “I was a child! I'd spent my whole, short life having my head filled with this putrid, pernicious, intoxicating rot and I... I believed it.” He couldn't stop himself letting out a short, choking whimper. “I believed my father when he told me how we deserved to rule; deserved to be seen as the superior race we were; deserved that crown.

“It was only when he was shown to be a fool – as far I could tell at the time, correctly – and Auntie Celestia subsequently hailed me as a hero for letting her know about this plot that I even thought that it might not have been right... and only when I saw Penny's Worth winking at me from the crowd that I realized the gift he had given – not only saving me from sharing my father's and stepmother's fates, but being hailed as a hero.

“Of course, such enforced beliefs are not easily shed, but over the subsequent years, being raised by nannies and tutors, I was able to see the folly of Father's worldview. I have my suspicions Auntie always had an inkling I wasn't responsible for what happened and took care that I should recover from this... for lack of a better word, indoctrination. Still, I've never been able to work up the courage to ask her. And I doubt it would help – much as I love and respect my Auntie, she can be maddeningly inscrutable at times.

“However, one thing that has always eluded me is... why? Why did Worth do that for me? It wasn't as if I treated him well – I was as beastly to him as the rest of my family, as I recall. The one time I was able to talk to him in private after he left my family's service, he said it was simply because he didn't want it known that he couldn't keep an employer's secrets. And though I didn't have time to further interrogate him... I've always suspected there was more. If I had to guess, I'd say he couldn't bear to see any child, even one such as I was, condemned by their family's actions.”

“Or maybe,” Zecora interrupted, a contemplative expression on her face, “he just saw in you,
potential even you don't do.”

Blueblood raised an eyebrow. “Not... impossible, I suppose.” He shook his head, forcefully avoiding thinking about whether or not Worth would like the end result of that potential. “However, as much as I appreciate what he did for me and know it's far better than the alternative... he nevertheless gave me a mask that I must always keep up.

“Oh, I normally can, of course. Whenever it comes up in conversation, it's usually foal's play to suppress the retching disgust at the praise inevitably given me. But at this time of year, the time when the coup took place... well, ponies just can't stop reminding me of it. They bring it up out of the blue and reminisce with such fondness about it. They make jokes about how much better I am than my father. They buy and commission elaborate gifts of platinum and they... they tell me that I, on that day, proved that I truly am worthy of such a crown.”

He let himself droop completely to the ground, his barrel and chin lying along the floor of the castle, having barely noticed himself lowering as he told his story. “They think they're doing me a favour. They think they're being kind and... in a sense, they are – even the most hawkish of my contemporaries have an appreciation for my supposed loyalty to the crown and efforts to keep Auntie Celestia in power, and I have no doubt they mean the praise and gifts with utter sincerity. They think they're reminding me of my greatest triumph... and not the moment that proved my utter weakness.”

Though he didn't look up, he could practically feel Zecora's skeptical gaze. “You said yourself you were but eight –
a child, and not some reprobate!”

“I still failed. And anyway, I'm a prince!” Blueblood noticed but couldn't bring himself to care how whiny that last sentence sounded. “I'm supposed to be better than that!”

He finally looked up, only to see both what he was expecting and what he absolutely wasn't. She was indeed looking at him incredulously, not agreeing with his self-reproach, but there was also a thoughtful element to her expression and, in her eyes, a potent look of sympathy.

And, though he wasn't sure how or where the borders were, he could tell that that was exactly what it was – not pity, not merely understanding, but sympathy.

After a few moments, she spoke.

“You are a prince... but so was he,
with all the sway of royalty,
who many others doubtless praised...
and also by whom you were raised.
To many foals, a parent's word
may seem like all that needs be heard.
My mother was no noble dame,
I trusted in her all the same.
When she'd tell me who she was seeing,
I'd hate myself for not agreein-”

She stopped suddenly, her lips slamming shut and her face freezing in a mortified expression.

Blueblood raised his head slightly, though stopped himself from rising further too quickly, lest he startle the mare before him. Swallowing hard, he held up a hoof. “It's alright, I promise you – after how you respected my privacy and listened to me complain about my petty problems so patiently, the least I can do is not pry in return. I promise I will completely forget what you just told m-”

He was interrupted by her holding a hoof, her face seemingly at war with itself for a few seconds before she pressed a quivering hoof against the ground, her nervousness bleeding out of that even as she firmed her expression. “No, Prince, it's only right and fair,
that I return your trust and care.”

Blueblood shook his head. “Fair, perhaps if you feel it so, but I don't know about right and it's certainly not necessary! You have absolutely no obligation to me and I will not countenance you feeling otherwise.”

Zecora hummed before shaking her head. “Perhaps, or not, but either way,
I wish you'd hear what I would say.
My duty's clear, to one I've shriven:” she pointed a hoof at him before tracing a path back to her.
“A secret took,” her hoof moved back towards him, “a secret given.”

There was a tense moment as the two's gazes locked. After a second, though, Blueblood looked away and nodded, not wishing to disrespect her determination by either further objecting or saying anything that might pre-empt or talk over her.

Zecora closed her eyes and breathed in for a few seconds, a tense, uncomfortable look rising through her face that looked positively unnatural on her. Blueblood sat quietly, a little surprised at lacking a feeling of impatience, until eventually, Zecora spoke.

“My mother was not near as bad
as what... parents you say you had.
Throughout my foalhood, she was fair -
providing, guiding, giving care.
But when I was a half-through teen,
that's when the venom first was seen.
I had a minor revelation
that drew her ire... perhaps damnation.
The words she used to shout me down
were flood enough to make thoughts drown.
But still, I took in words so cruel
and told myself I was the fool.
I put those feelings on the shelf -
ignored how much I loathed myself:
the body I had had so long...
the mind that told me it was wrong.”

Blueblood's brow creased in a way he seldom allowed it to, disturbed at hearing such things from the mare in front of him, not to mention how hard that feeling of self-hatred tried to resonate within him and how difficult it was to stop it. Still, he didn't say anything, simply continuing to listen.

“I would, at last, though, catch a break,
allowing new ideas to take:
For to the heart of my small nation,
I went to master my vocation.
And there I heard some new ideas,
that helped me past my imposed fears.
It wasn't quick, it wasn't easy -
some words I said now make me queasy.
But slowly, I saw through my sham
to who I really, truly am.
I would, at last, accept the notion...
and that was when I found this potion.” She indicated the small cauldron still simmering as a calm smile finally made its way onto her face.

Blueblood found himself returning the smile, having an inkling about what she was talking about, but not wanting to interrupt or assume.

However, Zecora's face soon fell. “When I returned, my dam was shamed
and furiously, loudly claimed
That my 'delusions',” she practically spat the word, “didn't warrant
transformation so abhorrent.
And things got heated, loud and wild,
before she said she had no child.”

The emphasis on that word more or less confirmed Blueblood's suspicion, but he still wasn't about to interrupt. Still, he found his eyes roaming over his body, appreciating the effect of the potion she was brewing and curious exactly how far the transformation went. Not that it made much of a difference to him, but he still wondered.

After a few moments, Zecora continued, though she was clearly coming to an end. “Well, after such familial strife,
I had to cut her from my life.” She shrugged and her mouth came to rest – apparently, that was all she felt there was to say on the matter.

Blueblood, however, did feel moved to comment. “Well, if it helps, as painful as that no doubt was, it was likely far more healthy than my dealings with my father.”

Zecora's head tilted from side to side in consideration. “Perhaps, when all is said and done.
But, still, I'd say,” she smirked, “it's far less fun.”

Blueblood chuckled. “Well, maybe. Still, though, I can imagine it was quite a shock to her, seeing such a complete transformation.”

Zecora raised an eyebrow, “Some most unsubtle flattery,
to compliment my alchemy –
that you, you charming young rapscallion...
you see a mare, and not... a stall-”

“No!”

Zecora flinched back, shocked at Blueblood – understandable, as interrupting a zebra mid-rhyme was extremely rude. However, in this case, Blueblood knew that letting her finish would be even more insulting.

As such, he shook his head. “No, either way, I'd be seeing a mare, even if I didn't realize it.”

Zecora cleared her throat, a faint reddish tint visible in her cheeks – the curse of a monochromatic coat, Blueblood supposed. “Of course, I meant not to imply
things otherwise, for you or I.
But still, it's nice to hear it said,
as well as taken just as read.
And all that conflict's in the past,
for these days, I can say at last,
whatever company I'm in,
I'm comfortable in my own skin.”

Blueblood blinked hard for a few seconds, barely hearing those last four words, both because the one before them hit him so much harder and because it obviously applied to more than just those four. It hit him exactly why he felt as he did around her, why he'd been moved to share with and listen to her, why she was so curious and fascinating to him.

This was a mare who was really, truly comfortable with who she was.

There was no delusion, no denial within her – she knew, with absolute certainty and accuracy who she was... and she was quite satisfied with what she saw. She didn't run from herself, deny herself, try to distract herself from herself, bury herself under an ocean of affirmation, tell herself it didn't matter... she didn't...

The thought came before he could stop it, and stayed because he couldn't remove it:

She didn't do all the things Blueblood had been doing for most of his life.

That... that really was the crux of it, wasn't it? But though Blueblood had, in his darkest, most suppressed thoughts, imagined someone like that and the maddening feelings that might come from meeting them... now that he was here, he found he didn't feel like that at all.

Oh, there was a definite, powerful envy within him, that much was true. But it wasn't like any kind of envy he'd felt before. There was no resentment there, no idea that he should have this kind of peace instead of her, no desire to take it from her. No, instead, there was simply a desire to learn from her, to join her in that place of security and delight, a desire...

A desire to be with her.

Before he even realized his mouth was moving, Blueblood found himself speaking. “Miss, um... Miss Zecora, I... I realize this must seem dreadfully abrupt... you... you must think me barbarically brash, but I... I wonder if...”

Even as he found himself unable to stem the torrent of words pouring from him, Blueblood berated himself in his head. Why in the name of the Sun am I stammering like some callow adolescent? This shouldn't be hard, I've done it many times before to many mares, let alone one I actually find... oh, wait, that is why I'm stammering, isn't it?

Regardless, he continued, “You see, the New Year's ball is coming up and I wonder if... Well, I'd quite understand if you wished to avoid such an event, but would... would you by any chance like to... accompany me to it? And perhaps to dinner beforehand?”

Zecora was silent for a few seconds, staring at him in utter shock and confusion. “Did I hear that all right and straight?
You're asking me out on... a date?”

Blueblood let out a few, choking grunts before just settling on saying, “Yes, I... I suppose I am.” He swallowed hard, a delirious smile wobbling onto his face. He felt like a pegasus whose wings had dropped off in the middle of the sky – just waiting for the ground to reach them with absolute certainty.

Zecora frowned for a moment, tapping her chin in contemplation, before she finally spoke.