Her Highness finishes her royal duties around quarter past one. She was retained at a royal banquet with seventeen of the finest Canterlot nobility, seated at a table large enough for seventy guests, in the royal banquet hall—different from the royal formal dining room, which is different from the royal informal dining room, which is different from the royal informal eating area.
The banquet was followed by making arrangements for the upcoming Festival of the Two Sisters ball, which mainly involved Her Highness pacing around the royal castle ballroom and commenting on what decorations would be suitable, and her every suggestion followed with “certainly, Your Highness.” Normally her advisor would be there to help her, but they got into an argument following a meeting with a consortium of dragons in the reception hall that afternoon, and the Royal Advisor had retired early to his room. He’s fast asleep by now.
Even after a dinner of elegantly plated purslane and radish salad and avocado torchon with carrot reduction, the Princess is still hungry at a quarter past one. After taking a bath she calls in the night guard, who seems eager to have something to do during the long night.
Even though Her Highness’s imperial regalia are taken off and put away, the night guard still lowers his head to the ground.
“Your Highness.”
The unicorn night guard furiously takes down her order on royal scroll paper, as if he’s drafting a royal decree. “A number 4 combo meal with medium hay fries and a medium cherry cola, and a number 7 combo meal with large fries and a large root beer.” Root beer is the Royal Advisor’s favorite. “And ask for extra ketchup packets.”
The “royal decree” is three lines of text. “Right away, Your Highness.”
There is a hayburger shop a block away from Restaurant Row that is well renowned for the quality of their gourmet organic hayburgers. Nonetheless, the Princess insists that her hayburgers come from the dinky, metal-clad, neon-lighted 24-hour shop in the bad part of Canterlot, because the dinky shop is the only place that serves the “real stuff,” according to her Highness.
The unicorn night guard passes the slip of paper with the Princess’s order to the hall guard.
Meanwhile, the Princess walks down the hallway to check on her advisor.
The hall guard seems in a hurry to make sure the Princess’s order goes perfectly smoothly without a single hitch. The hall guard is carrying the slip of paper with the Princess’s order, and she notices Her Highness walking down the hall. She hastily bows before her.
The guard trembles. “I-i-is something the matter, your Highness?”
The Princess decides to humor the guard and gives her a very imposing look. “Not at all,” she says. “Return to your duties.”
“O-o-of course your Highness! Thank you, your Highness!” And the scared-out-of-her-mind guard scurries off down the stairs. The Princess hoped to get a laugh out of that…
…but she can barely manage a silent giggle.
The Princess heaves a sigh. She opens a crack in the bedroom door to take a peek inside. The Royal Advisor is still fast asleep in his bed.
The hall guard passes the hayburger order to the door guard. The door guard leaves his post, and an alternate guard is woken to take over his position. The door guard gallops to the gate house, about 500 yards away, and passes the order to the gate guard, who is half asleep at his post. The door guard, who is the superior to the gate guard, yells at the gate guard for his idleness. A long argument ensues.
The ink on the note is smudged after being passed between so many ponies. The door guard, who is already angry at the gate guard for falling asleep, blames the gate guard for the smudged note.
Her Highness is back in her bedroom, sitting rather casually on the bed, halfway through a novel that she is working on. She is at a particularly steamy chapter when there is a sudden knock on the door.
“Beg pardon, your Highness.”
The Princess quickly sits up properly on her bed, as if snapping to attention. “Yes?”
“What beverages did your Highness require?”
“A…medium cherry cola and a large root beer. That’s what I said before, didn’t I?”
The night guard gets a little scared. “Y-y-yes of course Your Highness.”
Since the Royal Advisor is asleep and unable to use his dragon flames to deliver the paper, the order must be sent by pegasus messenger. The pegasus royal messenger picks up the order slip from the gate guard and departs. She arrives at the hayburger joint by half past one.
The 24-hour hayburger joint is packed at 1:30, mainly filled with intoxicated, vomiting ponies looking for a little food to cure their hangovers. The cook notices the order written on the royal letterhead, however, and drops everything to prepare the Princess's order. The royal guard watches the cook like a hawk. It is standard procedure, to make sure that the Princess’s food is not poisoned. The cook trembles nervously as he cooks.
At a quarter to two, the order is finished, and packed for delivery. The pegasus messenger and the guard return to the castle. Just before two, the order enters the gatehouse, and then through the service entrance, where the hall guard picks it up. The hall guard delivers the food to the night guard.
The night guard prepares the food to be delivered to the Princess. Her Highness prefers the hayburgers delivered in the original plastic bag that has “THANK YOU” printed on it five times. So the hayburgers are delivered with the plastic bag on a silver serving tray.
“Your Highness,” the night guard enters after knocking. He places the silver platter on the table.
“Thank you. You may leave.”
The night guard scurries off. Meanwhile, the gate guard prepares to draft his resignation. The hall guard paces around her staff quarters with fear of getting fired by Her Highness. The door guard’s anger is still cooling off.
The Princess's bedroom is silent. Her Highness disposes of all her imperial regalia in her carefully guarded bedroom. She lifts the plastic bag with her magic, leaving the 1000-year old antique silver platter behind. She goes down to the castle library. She doesn’t turn on the light. She sits by the window where there is some moonlight. There is a little table there, with just enough space for two chairs. On the table is a framed photograph of her old friends: Rarity, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and Pinkie Pie.
She glances at it briefly.
The Princess sets the number 4 combo meal at her chair, with little regard for standard royal place setting. She sets the number 7 combo meal with the root beer on the other empty chair. She sits in silence for a while, staring at the empty chair and the steam coming out of the still warm hayburgers.
Finally, there’s a knock on the library door.
“Hey Twilight," the Royal Advisor says.
“Hey Spike. What’re you doing up at two in the morning?” she asked.
“I smelled hayburgers.”
Her Highness opens the door a little, and the now-teenaged dragon steps inside. “You know you didn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night just to eat hayburgers,” the Princess says.
“I know.”
The Princess doesn’t question her advisor. She watches as the dragon takes his seat at the table.
“How was the banquet?” the Royal Advisor asks.
“Boring. I’m sure you had more fun sleeping through it.”
The Royal Advisor laughs. “I’m sure I did…I dreamt of Sweet Apple Acres. Applejack and I had to haul a giant apple the size of a pony from the orchard back into the barn.”
Her Highness laughs as well. “Oh, how is AJ?”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t had the time to send a letter to her in a while.”
“Neither have I,” the Princess says.
“I know that.”
There is a long silence.
“How’s yours?” the Princess finally says.
“Mmm-mmm. Delicious. Root beer’s great.”
“Of course it is. It’s your favorite.”
“How about yours, Twilight?”
Her Highness answers her advisor’s question with her smiling full mouth and her ketchup coated cheeks. She wipes it off with the rest of her bun.
"Spike?"
"Yes, Twilight?"
“This is my favorite part of being Ruler of Equestria.”
“This is my favorite part of being Royal Advisor,” he says, in between sips of root beer.
They laugh for a moment.
The Royal Advisor is quiet. “So…I guess you’re not mad at me anymore?”
“Can I stay mad at you?”
“I guess not.”
The rest of the meal is spent in silence, with just the noise of chewing and the crickets chirping in the night. The framed photograph of their old friends stares at the two of them. In silence.
And Twilight and Spike dream of home.