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                           Duty                            
                        -by ARBPW-                         
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                           Duty                            
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Duty
The Tuesday evening of the second week of December is following the same routine for Sable Sword. For a stallion of young age but robust, rugged body, he has, in his own opinion, settled into the pattern of protocol quite well. Every morning, he awakens sharply to the captain’s hoarse but harsh call. He eats his fill of breakfast from the Canterlot castle kitchens. He joins a second unicorn on static guard duty, exchanging few words. He eats his fill of late lunch. Resumes duty. Fill of dinner. Late patrol, lights out, repeat until retired.
He is a unicorn of average size and grey coat, like many of the guards of his variety of pony here. Strange, he thinks, that this is in fact custom, due to the shades of coat that the first castle guards all shared when the ponies first settled here. He sometimes thinks over this on the on the five hour shifts outside the castle library, not making his thoughts known to the second guardspony who stands on the opposite side of the doors to him. Tuesday of this week is not a time for such thoughts.
He stands rigid outside the library doors, staring straight ahead. His face looks calm. His hooves are planted to the floor. Steady heartbeat. Remember to blink. Don’t scratch that itch down there. Just another hour. He glances out of the window as he often does when bored or nervous, the dim orange sunset glistening against the pane. His gaze returns to the empty corridor in front of him.
His hooves itch. His mouth waters.
        “So Sable,” the other guard casually says, “are you up to much tonight?”
        He swallows, the guard waiting patiently for his reply. His hooves twitch, and his mouth is still wet but drying. He takes control of it, clearing his throat.
        “Not really, no,” he replies quickly. He keeps his guardspony stance. Quickly as it appears, the itch subsides.
        “Really?” the other guard says, sounding somewhat surprised, yet also not. “This is the third time this month that you’ve been told to report to the princess.”
        He remembers the moment. He is sitting alone, eating his oatmeal that is drenched in honey and sugar. He does not take his eyes off the food, despite the rowdiness of his fellow privates as they shout and joke at each other. Discipline in the dining room, he thinks, is a foreign concept here.  As he finishes, a lieutenant of the guard approaches him and hands him a note, folded in half.
Come tonight. I require service.
“So?” he says back to the guardspony. He masks the defensiveness in his voice well, he thinks to himself.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange?” the guardspony asks. “For what reason does she have to summon you, and so frequently as well?” He chuckles loudly. Sable raises his brow at him.
“What?” he demands. He knows what is coming. The obvious question.
“Are you and the princess seeing each other for… well… something a little more personal than guard duties, if you know what I mean?”
He says nothing, the itch returning. What business was it of a unicorn, whom he did not know the name of and would probably never meet again, to question his duty? Nevertheless, he feels obliged to answer impatiently and seriously.
“Whatever our majesty requests of us,” he says, “is to be obeyed without question or delay.”
The guardspony to his left rolls his eyes and returns to his expected position. Nothing more is said and no more looks are exchanged. Sable’s hooves feel normal once more as the conversation fades out.
An hour passes, two replacement guards coming to relieve him and his ‘partner’. As he leaves his post, he look from the window that he tries so hard not to glance from. Night has fallen. He feels a slight trembling in his chest and he swallows as he takes a deep breath. He thinks about nothing, his mind drawing blanks. Blank canvas. Drawing. Images of her majesty begin to appear. Their first encounter. He thinks of that strange and curious night as he slowly but unfalteringly makes his way to the princess’ chamber.
His first night on guard duty, and the castle is a maze of hallways and deserted dead ends to him. He is wandering and embarrassed, desperate to find the post that has been appointed to him. How could he forget such a simple instruction? He races through the marble hallways, his hooves clattering against the stone cold floors and his heart pounding. Not a stallion or mare to be found at this late hour, which sets him on edge. What if he is ambushed? Maybe by the captain of the guard, or an armed intruder? Then he has surely failed in his duty if it the latter. His pace quickens.
        Suddenly, he dashes past a set of white,wooden doors to his right, opposite to towering windows that open a view to the sprawling royal gardens. A possible answer to his problem? The doorframe is gilded and ornately carved, the handles shining so clearly that he can see his reflection in them, even in the dim moonlight. His crystal blue eyes are slowly filling with tears, his mane wild like a shrub. The consequences can’t be that terrifying, he tells himself. Calm down. Compose yourself. We all make mistakes the first time. He gazes up towards the ceiling, the mighty, white doors dwarfing him. He swallows. He takes his chance with whatever lies behind them.
        A slow, bellowing creak announces his intrusion, his head poking through the gap his pokes open. His eyes shoot open. A vanity table is the first thing he sees, the opulent mirror surrounded by bottles and brushes of many dazzling colours and designs. The walls are a gentle but deep blue and is dotted with glistening white specks, like the night sky, and the orange light above him glows quietly like a dying sun. There is a round bed in the middle of the room that is grand enough for a queen, which is surrounded by a white veil. It is empty, and he sighs with relief. Leading from the door is a red carpet that leads around the bed and to the back of the room, where a majestic, mahogany throne stands against the wall. He creeps into the room, gently closing the door behind him.
        He draws closer to the vanity, checking the mirror. He still looks ragged and desperate, the perfect reflection making him look even worse. A delicate, golden comb lies on the tabletop. Now is not the time for grooming. His attention turns to the vials and bottles that are neatly scattered before him, a tiny glass full of rosy, pink liquid swirling slowly inside. He sees the glitter inside as he squints, the pieces moving like a galaxy in space. He removes the stopper and inhales deeply. Nothing.
        He takes care in replacing it in the exact spot where he found it, walking away from the table. But something stops him. Something soft, stroking against his hoof. He double takes as he spots the mysterious object: a cream-coloured shoe of some kind, shaped like a cylinder and decorated with pale blue gems and lace around the top. It is made of a satin-like fabric, the sides of it shimmering in the dim light. There are three more shoes like this beneath the stool for the vanity. He smiles as he knows what they are. Hoofcups. They are made to be part of a costume for special occasions, and they, made of obvious by their name, cover the hooves.
        He falters for a second, staring at the curious things. They are not common amongst ponies due to them never being needed for anything other than fashion. But he feels a familiar watering in his mouth, and an itching on the bottom of his hooves. They look like they have been worn recently. Maybe for a while. Maybe for hours. For days.
        He carefully levitates one of the hoofcups towards him, peering inside. They are deep, almost like stockings, and also wide. They were certainly made to cushion the hooves of a pony with great status. His licks his lips as his breathing comes to a stop, quivering for a second as he buries his snout into the hole. The faint, sweet smell of sweat emanates from the sole, making him groan in delight as the shoe falls from his face, and he scrambles back as a guilty grin spreads across his face and his cheeks flush a bright red.
        “And what do you think you are doing in here?”
        The voice sends a strike of panic straight into his heart, an icy chill rocketing down his spine that freezes him solid. The question was booming. Ominous. Female.
        “Y-Y-Your majesty!” he quickly stammers, standing rigidly to attention. He dares not to turn and face who has caught him, his muscles instead hardening like rocks, as if he has been transfixed by the stare of a Medusa. He can only stammer an apology as he holds his breath.
        He feels a presence unlike any other he has ever felt before, heavy and intense like crushing gravity, bringing him to his knees with a squeal. He clenches his eyes shut and grits his teeth as the weight of the world flattens him onto his stomach, and when the suffocating pressure reaches its peak he feels the warm, moist breath of something... or somepony. It makes his ear tingle and his heart race.
        “You know it is rude to enter one’s bedroom when they have not invited you?” she says. “Or have you never heard of curiosity killing the cat?”
        He cries out as he is turned onto his back in a swift motion, his eyes screwed shut and his heart now pounding. He feels her breath on his cheek, the furious bellowing rushing into his ear tempestuously.
        “Open your eyes,” she commands. He does not comply at first, but the return of the crushing and horrendous fear inside him prevails. Slits form blurry outlines. Outlines sharpen to a teary form of a navy blue pony. Her eyes are a similar shade, not a cold or sad blue, and her mane sparkles like a night sky. She is an alicorn, her wings folded against her body and her horn glowing with a pale blue light. His eyes widen as he recognises her face.
        “P-Princess Luna!” he blurts out. She presses her hoof against his chest, hard but not painful.
        “And what happened to ‘Your majesty’?” she says with a fierce and playful grin. He gulps, unable to read her under the pressure. Is she angry? Amused? Both? He can only nod feebly as she digs her hoof onto his breast, the two of them staring eye to eye; she gazes at him with a piercing glare, and he looks back as he holds his tears. Finally, she speaks.
        “I will ask why you are searching my private possessions,” she says in a low growl, all while smiling, “but only if you promise to tell me the whole and absolute truth. But be warned. There is no lying to me, lest you wish to suffer dire consequences.”
        He cannot blink. He cannot speak. His lips tremble as he tries to form words, but what does he say? Does he stay silent, hoping she will forgive him? Or will that only bring about her ire? Perhaps honesty is the best policy. Pure, disgusting honesty.
        “Well?” she asks, more pressure from her hoof.
        “I-I-I was on my way to guard duty!” he wheezes in a burst. “I was looking for my post and got lost when I came in here by accident, and...”
        She raises her brow at him. “And?”
        “...and I was just curious.”
        “Curious!” She laughs. “This is a mere bedroom! What delightful wonders would await in such a place as this?”
        He pauses, his eyes darting about the room. He stutters, feeling a blush coming on when he remembers the hoofcups. Those strange shoes... are hers? He begins to sweat. “I-I saw your hoofcups, and... I think they’re pretty.”
        She shakes her head, a sly smile forming. “Oh, but that’s not the only thing you enjoy about them, am I correct?”
        He cannot admit it to himself, and he refuses to admit it to her. He gives a stare of disbelief as he tenses, her hoof still digging into him. He knows she has already seen him sniffing about her business... literally. She is just taunting him. Humiliating him. Using him as a punchline for a twisted joke.
        “N-No, it isn’t,” he replies quietly. She gives him the look that prompts him to explain and, with a heavy sigh, he utters why. “The smell. I... I like the smell of them too.”
        She chuckles triumphantly. “So, you enjoy the way they smell after I wear them day after day, week after week, standing for hours in them as I so love to do?”
        He nods meekly.
        “Are you thinking about me with those shoes adorning my hooves?” she says. “Would you like it if I was to slip them on right now? At this very moment?”
        He nods again.
        “And do you think of these majestic hooves as I rest one against your chest? These ones that give you your perverted delight? Do you lust for them? Would you worship them like goddesses?”
        His eyes widen as the words echo in his mind. She is looking at him, unblinking, with a thin smile spread across her lips. It is not a mocking grin, like those she has given before, but it almost seems sincere. Is she serious? She cannot be. Nopony would go this far, save for either a joke or as an act of bizarre desire. But a princess? It is too good to be true.
        Honesty prevails once more. “Y-Yes,” he says weakly, looking away from her. “I want to.”
        That is where is he is going on the Tuesday night of the second week of December., as has been arranged. He does not question why her majesty wishes to sate his perverted whims with such eagerness lately, nor does he think of the consequences of being caught by the only pony deemed more powerful than her- Celestia herself- and how he could be punished. In fact, are Luna’s summons some kind of unusual punishment for his trespassing? Maybe he is being watched by the entire guard, and they’re laughing behind his back. That’d be right. But he doesn’t care. He can only dream of what she has planned for him this evening, his hooves trembling but he has a slight grin on his face.
        He arrives at those ominous bedroom doors five minutes late. Part of him convinced him to do this intentionally, but he has also been nervous. A quick check of his reflection in the window opposite to the doors, the shining moonlight providing all the light for the perfect picture of himself. A sweep of his mane to one side. A deep breath. Three gentle knocks on the door.
        “Enter,” a voice commands from the other side. He braces himself as the doors creak open, a slit of pink light widening before him. He creeps inside, the rosy glow of the light above him casting his pale shadow across the room. Step by trembling step, he makes his way towards the back of the room. Everything looks the same except for the bed being missing; the doors behind him shut with a thundering slam, making him jump forwards with a wince. He blinks and rubs his eyes.
        She is at the far side of the room, sitting upon her mahogany throne and beckoning him to stand before her. He is rooted to the spot, her sultry smile uneasing him.
        “You are late,” she says, looking thoroughly unamused. “For what reason?”
        He begins the perilous trek across the room to where she sits. “I’ve... been on duty,” he says quietly, bowing his head. He says nothing else as he approaches, staring at her awesome presence. She lounges upon her seat, her hind hooves dangling over one of the wooden arms as she levitates chocolates from a gold-ribboned box into her mouth. She chews as delicately as her appearance suggests, her coat and mane as perfect as it always seems to be. He sees she is wearing the hoofcups on her hind legs.
        “Your duty is to me,” she says sternly after finishing one of the candies. “That is unless you have been having doubts over your loyalty?”
        “No, your majesty,” he replies calmly. He is beginning to learn. “You are whom I pledge my allegiance to.”
        She looks down her nose at him as he kneels before her, making him bow his head. He is humbled, but he cannot resist to glance up at the real prize on offer. They are dangling just before him, mere feet away from him, and he is ready to serve.
        “Is that so?” she says, a snort of contempt from her. “I am not convinced. Remove my shoes, if you please.”
        He does not hesitate to obey, using his own hooves to remove her hoofcups. He is met with little resistance from the first satin shoe, the silky fabric gliding through the air as he guides it from her left leg. He brings his snout closer to her foot, a silent breath escaping through his nostrils as her delicious odour passes by him. She has been wearing them all day, he thinks with the slightest of smiles, the aroma of sweat making his nostrils tingle. He must resist the urge to take a deeper sniff. The right hoofcup must be seen to.
        “I must tell you now,” she says as he continues with his task, “that you are not the only one to receive my attention in such... unorthodox ways.”
        “I understand,” he says. He does not care.
        “Granted, your lust is strange, but I am a pony that is keen to experiment. You yourself must have this desire too, otherwise you would have declined my request.”
        “That is true,” he says, the second hoofcup now removed. He does not hold back from a deeper smell this time, her perfume now permeating the air around them. He cannot hide his arousal for long, a slight blush appearing as she smiles with approval. He lays the second shoe on the floor, languishing in the scent as it emanates from within like incense drifting from a burner. She clears her throat, catching his attention.
        “They feel tight,” she says, glancing towards her hind hooves. “Would you...”
        He nods, a wide grin spread across his face as he takes up a comfortable perch upon the steps to the throne. He begins where he started, taking her left hoof in his own and feeling it gently, the soft, elegant foot being handled with great care and confidence. With the smoothest of touches, he runs his own hoof over the bottom of hers while holding it steady in his other, giving a firm but fair massage as she sighs blissfully. Slowly at first, he strokes the pampered hoof that only a princess could have against his own unworthy feet, melting away the tenseness she feels. He moves on to her right hoof, this time becoming more vigorous as he relishes in the stink that she has been saving. Saving for him. For him alone? It doesn’t matter. He counts himself lucky to get this close to her one-on-one, let alone being able to massage her hooves privately.
        “N-N-Not that way anymore,” she suddenly says. He glances up at her, halting immediately. She has that mischievous look on her face again. “These hooves... they must be washed, for they are...”
        “Please, allow me your highness!” he says eagerly, taking her hoof again swiftly. He stares at her perfect feet once more, feeling a quivering within him as he lowers his face towards it; the sweet smell makes his mouth water, his tongue slowly reaching out towards the base of her hoof. He can almost taste it before--
        “Just a moment.”
        --she springs up in her seat, pulling the delicious delight away from him. He is left rigid as his tongue still protrudes between his lips and he cannot help but laugh with embarrassment as she giggles, her horn glowing brightly. A tiny shadow flying overhead catches his gaze; she levitates a small glass vial from her vanity in front of him. He recognises it, for it is the one he inspected the first time her came in. It is still full of the glittery pink serum.
“Do you know what this is?” she asks him. He shakes his head slowly, but he asks out of politeness. He is also curious to solve this mystery. “This is a special liquid that... well... maybe you’d like to discover for yourself?”
He cautiously stands, his brow raised at this mysterious potion as she swishes the liquid inside in rhythmic circles. “I’m... I’m not sure if I want to involve anything like that.”
“Oh?” she says, resting her head in her hoof and giving him the most sly yet tempting smile ever made by a pony. “Don’t you trust me?”
He shakes his head. “No. I mean yes! I mean... Well...”
“Do you question your duty to me?”
“N-Not at all! But I--” He flusters for a second, her giggles making him shrink away from her. He swallows, nodding at her. “Alright then, your highness. I will try, if it is my duty.”
She leans forward, magically undoing the stopper of the vial and levitating the potion towards him. “That’s better,” she says. “Now, open your mouth.”
He complies, allowing the rim of the cold glass bottle to touch his lips. The bottom slowly tips upwards, the glittery pink serum slipping onto his tongue drip by drip. He barely notices it, the rosy water being as delicate as she, yet it lacks the flavour and body that she has. It tastes like nothing, as if he has swallowed just the empty air. The vial is pulled away when he has drunk half of it, the princess commanding him to take control of the bottle with his own magic as she extends her hind hooves towards him.
“Now then,” she says, “you must pour the remainder on both of my hooves. Quickly now.”
With a gentle motion, he spreads the liquid across the soles of her feet evenly, making sure that not a drop of the potion spills onto the floor at all. The pinkish tint does not dye her deep blue coat in the slightest, nor does it appear that it has gotten wet at all. It is as he left it; perfect and unblemished. He drops the bottle on the floor with a whispery tinkling, and the two ponies stare at each other. He feels nervous but ready, she is looking with anticipation at him.
Then he feels a crackle in his mouth, a tiny yelp escaping him as a tingle unlike any other he has felt before coats his tongue. It is warm and pleasant like melted butter, mixed with popping candy without its sweetness, and the snapping sensation makes him lick his gums and cheeks. All he can do all the while is stare at those beautiful hooves that he is unworthy to pass near the same ground they have touched, the unfathomably attractive feet plead for him to clean them. But she is stopping him. She is teasing him deliberately, the glances she is giving him betraying her intentions. His heart skips a beat as the crackling fizzles away instantly.
And that is it. Nothing more. He blinks at her, unable to understand what the whole point of that small ceremony was. She does not look as concerned as him, that familiar and perverse smile spreading across her face once more. But nothing has changed at all save for her smile. He still feels the same. Her hooves still look the same. They still smell...
He sniffs the air. They do indeed still smell, but the odour reaches his nostrils from where he stands. Now he is a few feet away, not in licking distance of the hooves. The scent also seems refreshed and powerful, as if she had removed her hoofcups mere seconds ago, and his mouth salivates as a wave of the pleasing, pungent aroma washes over him and into his snout. He gives those hooves another look... and he cannot resist a grin. There is something about them, for now they are more majestic and magnificent than ever before! They are like sparkling gems adorning a tiara, the fine perfume of sweaty, dirty hooves choking the air about the two ponies. He does not know why they are growing more and more desirable to him as he stares- he knows they look the same as before- but he cannot resist their charm, creeping forward step by step.
“Now...” the princess says. A short laugh as she shuffles towards him. She is offering him her hooves freely, letting them hang over the edge of the chair. “...where were we?”
That is his cue. He dashes forwards with his tongue at length, drool dripping from it in beads and long threads, and he gasps when he makes contact with the sole of her feet, a long, slow slurp along the soft and supple surfaces. He savours the salty sweetness that she has saved for him, and a burst of laughter escapes her as she blushes and twitches her hooves. He is not distracted by this; the moment he has waited so long for has arrived and he is going to enjoy every second of it. He takes another drawn out lick, her taste melting on his tongue like hot butter. She giggles again, this time kicking her hoof into the air.
“T-That tickles!” she squeals, biting her lip as she squirms on her throne. “Gently, please!”
He cannot help himself. He knows he must use a delicate touch, but there is something so mystifying and alluring about those hooves. He inhales more of her heavenly musk with deep sniffs, rubbing his snout against her foot like a cat showing love to its owner and licking at it more and more like one would lap at a bowl of milk. The euphoria builds within him, slowly grabbing and tearing away the last part of his self control, commanding him to indulge upon her divine feet without hesitation. To show his undying love for them. To worship them like goddesses. They cannot stay still for him, his head bobbing as he tries to keep up with the princess’s twitching and squirming.
She herself is chewing on her front hoof, tears running down her cheeks as a sharp, burning tickling envelopes the bottom of her hooves. She is overcome by his tongue bath, the swift strokes and slurping sounds making her giggle uncontrollably as she fights the urge to kick and writhe in her throne, but she cannot resist his smooth motions for long. Soon she is slipping from the velvet cushion she sits upon, almost lying on her back with her hind hooves in the air as he grips one of them in his own; she allows him to hold hers steady, bursts of laughter echoing around the bedroom as he performs his act.
He feels light headed from her stink, but he cannot stop himself from wanting more. She is ravishing beyond compare, her feet too gorgeous and luscious for any mortal pony to taste and to resist afterwards. He has lost it completely, thinking nothing of the squeals of delight that she gives or the jolts that course through her legs that hinder his urge to serve; he can only keep on licking where he can, catching the salty taste one stroke at a time. Her perfume drives him and spurs him on, being his fuel. It is strong. Very strong...
He stops, one last, slow brush against the bottom of her hoof. A throbbing feeling in his brain. It is not painful, but enough to make him grunt. It is nothing, he thinks. The hooves must be seen to. Cannot disappoint her majesty.
“You... Are you alright?” she asks with a grin, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She sits up as he staggers backwards. The grogginess is not going away, making him sway from side to side like a drunkard. Drunk on her potent scent and irresistible taste. He lurches forwards, his tongue out as he tries to reach those feet.
“Mu... Majesty...” he groans. “I... What is happen..”
A last gasp escapes him as he falls forwards, the last sight being her wondrous hooves as he hits the floor with a deafening thud.
The Wednesday morning of the second week of December is not following the same routine as usual for Sable Sword. He is awakened at first light by the soothing whisper of a familiar female voice, though he is not fully aware of who she is at first, and, after questioning who has spoken to him, is sent back to his dormitory to prepare himself for the day. He dresses himself in his guard attire, makes his way to the mess hall and sits alone with his breakfast: oatmeal with extra honey and sugar.
        He stares into the glistening golden drizzle that floats on the top, a short sigh uttered as he swirls the gloopy mix before him with his spoon. He does not remember clearly what happened the night before, aside from what he actually went to do, but her taste still lingers in his mouth and her smell in his nostrils. The tiniest of smiles is present on his face as the first thing he saw after falling asleep the night before flashes in his mind.
She was smiling at him. Not mockingly like when they first met in person or mischievously when he was worshipping those hooves of hers. It was like one that a mother would give to her only son; gentle, but filled from corner to corner with love.
        “Sable Sword?”
        He shakes his head and glances to his side, giving his full attention to the lieutenant that is looking down at him with impatience. “Y-Yes?” Sable replies.
        “A note here.” The lieutenant hands him a slip of plain, pink paper, flicking it on to the table and continuing about his business. Sable gives it a fleeting glimpse at first, levitating it in front of his face and unfolding it after taking one spoonful of breakfast.
My apologies for the side effects of the potion. My hooves are longing for another good bathing. May I borrow your aid in a few days? Perhaps as a Hearth’s Warming favour?
        The magic holding the note in the air fades as his eyes widen, the paper landing in his oatmeal. She requests more attention so soon? Even after one mouthful of porridge, he still feels her taste upon his tongue, making him reluctant to enjoy more of his breakfast. Perhaps she has more of that pink potion, which gave him that uncontrollable urge to serve her. He felt relieved when she had explained the effects when he had awakened this morning, for that was the first thing he had questioned her on when he had remembered it; a weakened version of Heart’s Desire, given to him for wanting unrelenting service to her hooves, and given to her for what she was after the most all that night. He laughed at the thought of it, but she mentioned her want to be tickled on the hooves. That was something he was more than willing to fulfill.
His turn is over now. He has been given his chance to indulge in his fantasy, and now the torch must be passed on to another guard. He knows of the rumours about the princess’s being playful and devious with the guards being true, for Luna herself confirmed this last night. He stands slightly, stretching his neck to have a long search about the vast mess hall; with so many other stallions, it is hard to notice anything worthwhile or significant, let alone suspicious. At the east end, he catches another guard across to the wall with a slip of paper in his hooves, but not pink like his. He has a golden one. He is drawn to him, slowly rising from his seat.
        “Excuse me,” he says when he arrives at the table. The stallion is sitting alone, his short, ragged white mane and ruffled brown coat suggesting he was late to breakfast. Sable is replied to with a curious look.
        “You had a note too?” the stallion says. “I saw you from over here.”
        Sable blinks. “Yeah... from the princess?”
        “Yeah. She wants to meet me.” He gives a weak laugh, but still one of disbelief and excitement. “Imagine... me! She wants to see me!”
        Sable smiles. “Well, you should count yourself lucky like me! Not every guardspony gets the honour of meeting the princess in person. I remember the first time I met Luna...”
        “Princess Luna?” The other stallion shakes his head. “No, I’m supposed to be meeting Princess Celestia tonight.”
        His eyes shoot open. “...Celestia?”
        “Yeah.” The stallion laughs again. “I don’t know why she’d want to see me. I mean, well... umm...”
        Sable raises his brow at him. “Is something the matter?”
        The stallion looks to his sides, leaning closer to him. “Well, I don’t know if she knows and she’s just summoned me to punish me,” he says, looking a little concerned, “but I went for a wander some time ago around the castle. After a little exploring, I found a strange room. I think it was a kids nursery of some kind. Only... only everything seemed bigger, like it was for an adult. Do you think she wants to ask me about that? The place looked kind of private, and none of the officers seemed to know about this. It’s kind of... suspicious.”
        A strange thought passed through Sable’s mind. It was just a wild assumption that he cast doubt over, but one that he could not help but entertain all the same, making him chuckle and place a hoof on his fellow guardspony’s shoulder. “Well, I don’t know why she’d ask for your attention,” he says, “but I’m sure whatever she has planned for you will be quite enjoyable! Just remember though...”
        The stallion gives him a ‘huh’.
        “...whatever she asks of you, it’s your duty to do it no matter what.”