“You, sir, are the most uncharming prince I have ever met!” Blueblood feigned fear as the raging cake covered white unicorn marched up on him. “In fact, the only thing royal about you is that you are a royal pain,” Rarity yelled.
“Ew! S-stay away from me.” Blueblood continued his charade, pressing himself against the doors, actually ready to bolt if the mare became unruly beyond what he intended. Struggling to find an excuse to get her even angrier and himself a worse reputation, he yelped out, “I just had myself groomed!”
That certainly did the trick. The fire in her eyes flashed even hotter, and she gritted her teeth in a sour smile. “What’s the matter,” she asked viciously, venom tipping every syllable out of her mouth. “Afraid to get dirty?”
With the last bitter word, she began violently shaking herself, bits of cake flying every which way. Several of the larger chunks plopped onto his immaculate tuxedo, multicolor frosting splattering him like paint. He let out a scream of horror, standing up on his hind legs and stumbling backwards. Though he could stay steady on them if he wished, he felt that falling backwards in a dramatic fashion would suffice for a representation of the Prince’s weak selfishness. Landing on not his rump, but back, he began to realize where exactly he was. Double doors, with a statue of an alicorn immediately to the left of them, where he’d just happened to stumble.
The metal began to groan as it slowly tipped over towards a group of ponies. Blueblood went from Prince to hero in less than an eyeblink, preparing to rush over to protect them, when a sudden cyan blur ran under it. The mare caught it with her strong back, making a noise of triumph. Triumph turned to uncertainty though as the mare began realizing that the wood statue had a pure bronze coating. She began to stumble under its weight, a slight groan of strain escaping as she tumbled into a nearby artificial column. The column toppled into the one beside it, creating a domino effect as one fell onto another, which in turn tipped onto another.
Using the chaos to escape, he silently slipped through the double doors, the shrieking and shouting of civilized ponies covering the noise. Rarity was too preoccupied with the scene before her to notice, and he knew that, even if she had seen him leave, she would have made no vocal fuss. If anything, she would have growled and rolled her eyes. Oh yes, he had seen very well how she felt with each of his rather disgusting actions, but, with all things, it had to happen.
As he ran out of the doors and around the hall corner, he came across two very tired looking mares. Celestia stood a good head over his, Twilight a head under. He was about to tell his princess and mother-figure what was transpiring, letting his mask fall for the briefest second, but remembered who her companion was. Instead, conjuring as much distress and voice crack as possible he cried, “Things are crazy in there!”
He saw Celestia open her mouth to ask what exactly, but he continued on with his wild run, refusing to break character in front of an Element. He raced around the corner and past a few confused guests who had decided to leave only moments ago. He didn’t stop galloping until he reached the outer courtyards, slowing into a contrite trot as he began walking through an almost secretive part of the palace. His thoughts consumed him, guilt for the terrible night he’d caused Rarity to have.
Originally, he had planned to show up, make a few nobles unhappy, and slip away to enjoy the night on his own. Of course, all that insinuated was several hours regretting all that he had to do and all he’d done, along with a light dabbling in questioning why he was born the way he was. It wasn’t hard to know who exactly he was, in fact, that was the main reason he feared letting somepony other than Celestia or Luna know who exactly he was. After all, if it was common knowledge that he had violent urges, who would bear to be with him?
Celestia had, of course, explained what he was. He was one of only two she knew to have been born without her mental block on violence within the fifteen hundred years of its existence. Something to do with rare genetics, like how a pegasus can be born to two Earth ponies without any pegasi blood. Apparently, he was one of the lucky ones. Celestia had taken him in after his parents had died in the Canterlot Falls Fire. He’d been told both of them had been valiant, kind hearted nobles who had never so much as looked at another’s money. Undeserving of the son they got, he thought harshly.
His face fell to the floor as he trotted along empty, unlit halls. He stripped off the tuxedo without care, wiping his face clean of all cake and frosting. He had the time to dry clean it later.
He sighed. Tonight could’ve been the night, he thought somberly. If he’d been any other stallion, he would have happily pursued a romantic relationship with the young fashionista. Indeed, he would have unintentionally if the need for his identity, both as the Hero of Canterlot and as a violent bound stallion, needed to be kept in the dark. She was a pretty thing, barely into her twenties, so imaginative and full of life. He truly felt bad for her, and himself, but for the better of them both, he had to.
Raising his head slightly at the thought that kept him running through all of his mistakes and all of his choices, he turned the corner. Here the halls opened up to the outdoors, small, thin quartz columns dividing the hall from the inner garden. There were plenty of gardens in the castle, more than there were in any other place he’d been, but this one was special to him.
The gardens themselves had only a single tree, aqua blue in the moonlight, centered in the mausoleum. All around, bordered by marble walls, flower plants and bushes, untrimmed and free to grow within their given space, flowed with passion. Blooming night flowers, names forgotten to Blueblood, slowly opened themselves to absorb the soft moonlight. A kindly little bush, his favorite of the garden, ran around it like a river around a mountain. He liked to imagine that the plant was the flower’s older sibling, much larger and grander, brightly highlighted in the sun, but allowing it’s younger, smaller sibling thrive in the moon.
A sound, one of emotional distress, was heard suddenly in the moonlit dark, one that Blueblood had heard so frequently in the past month. His brows, raised slightly, dropped in sadness, knowing exactly who had been making that sound.
“Luna,” he called out, slowly stepping into the garden. The sound of crying stopped abruptly, and he bit down on his lip. Maybe this was a time that she didn’t want the help. A second voice suddenly shouted in his head, But maybe this is one of the times she needs it! He nodded to himself, but stopped, feeling foolish for it. Not that anypony would see, but still, conduct was conduct.
Dropping his tuxedo, he slowly stepped down the immaculate white stairs into the garden. Quietly, like a snake threading its way through the grass, he crept around the tree. A beautiful midnight blue mare sat on the ground among the roots of the tree, sniffling, pressing herself against the trunk as if to hide herself. She looked up shyly at Blueblood, who gave her a smile. She, in return, gave him a sad, angry stare to try to scare him away.
“Aunty, is it the Gala,” he asked gently, reaching a hoof down to her. After a moment, a look of resignation overtook her face and she pulled him into a hug, much like a mother would. Though he was smaller, it was only by a hair’s breadth. “What happened,” he asked as she tucked her hooves over him, like she was comforting him and not the other way around.
“Oh, it really shouldn’t be so upsetting,” she muttered timidly. “They didn’t say anything, it was just, they didn’t say.”
“Aunty,” he said testily as he pulled away from her grip, giving her a stern look in the eye.
She sighed once again, before muttering, “It wasn’t anything big, just, well… Whenever I got too close, as in, ten spans away, they would just… walk away. I kept getting dirty looks, and even thought I heard one of them call me a- a danger…”
Blueblood snorted. “Much of a danger you are, huh? Snuggling me like a teddy bear.”
“I snuggled a teddy bear before I was Nightmare Moon,” she said blandly.
“Look, Luna,” Blueblood spoke, losing the jest. “You’re changed now. You’ve tasted what that nightmare thing gave you, and you don’t like it. You know you won’t go back to it unless somepony forces you. The prospect of you, though, the raiser of the moon and keeper of night, being forced into something like that is preposterous! You’re stronger than you think, Aunty.” He leaned back onto her and whispered softly, “and loved more than you know.”
“Thank you, Blueblood,” she returned, nuzzling him softly. “You and Celestia have been too kind these past weeks. But, admittedly, it’s exactly what I need.”
“Of course,” he affirmed. He closed his eyes as they stayed that way for several minutes. The stress of keeping his secrets and his personalities in check slid off of his shoulders as he relaxed against his closest friend and aunt. They had found comfort in their similarities, the monsters they hid within themselves, the secrets they kept from Equestria.
He was the first pony outside of the Elements and Celestia to welcome his aunty. Celestia had always spoken hopefully of the prophecies of old, the ones made by Luna’s closest friend in life, Midnight Skywriter, and perfected by her daughter, Aurora. When the signs were coming, she rushed to Ponyville, giving him instructions on how to keep the common populace calm, should things go wrong. Which, inevitably, they did. Thankfully, thanks to his advice, she’d sent the becoming Twilight Sparkle to Ponyville. While Celestia might have thought of it herself, he had been the one to encourage it.
After a few more minutes of silence, Luna yawned. Blueblood smiled, his eyes still closed as he asked, “Tired, Aunty? It can’t be ten in the night yet!”
He could feel his aunt’s smile as she pulled away. He sat upright and opened her eyes to meet her teasing gaze. “Come now, nephew, that isn’t very fair. You’re still tired in the morning after you wake up, are you not?”
Blueblood gave a pointed nod of the head. “I suppose you have me there, Luna,” he admitted, leaning back and looking up at the sky from out of the tree’s canopy. The night was bright, even for a full moon, with stars sprinkled about like dew in a field. Well now I should run for poet laureate, Blueblood silently mused to himself, a small smile alighting his face. He found it strange, but welcome, that he only smiled in earnest when he was with either his aunt, Celestia, or when he was finished kicking thieves’ flanks.
“How do you like it,” Luna asked, almost timidly. “The night. I mean.”
“Oh, it’s lovely,” Blueblood answered, eyes still searching the sky. He looked back down towards Luna, smiling wryly. “No offense to Celestia, but she isn’t very much of a night pony.”
“No, my sister always did glow better in sunlight than starlight,” Luna said, and undertone of longing betraying the offhoofed tone in her voice. Her smile fell to the ground, her gaze following. A small sigh escaped her, and Blueblood tried to remain positive. Luna seemed to shake her head for a moment, before speaking up. “You seem to have some cake on you? Do tell why.”
Blueblood looked himself over before noticing a smeared bit on his foreleg, the incriminating piece of evidence. Grimacing at the almost forgotten deeds, he began his explanation. Luna seemed unable to decide whether to laugh at him or give him a loving pat on the head, trying to conceal a smile at some points while wearing sad eyes at others. She, of course, knew he never would have conducted the night in such a manner, but she still wore a look of discuss at some of the deeds he described.
She hadn’t had time to adjust to the modern era, not yet really, as they had only just gotten her to speak regularly in the castle, and her obvious contempt at the lack of chivalry in modern society was prominent. It played across her face as often as her hidden smiles as his tale of the night, and though he tried not to see, or even feel offended by, it, self-doubt crept sleekly into him. He found himself on the verge of going into a tangent of self disgust and shame, but caught himself. Things such as that were for his ears only, and Luna would chastise him for such thinking anyway. Better to let himself think on that privately, as always.
As he finished his story, he found it was his aunt who pulled him into an embrace. Unsurprising, considering the nature of his story had been directed towards himself, but still, it was a rare peasantry. He accepted it, nuzzling his cheek on her’s before pulling back.
“As you pointed out, Aunty, I’m a tad messy, and my tuxedo needs a decent amount of attention, not to mention that I would like to go back out into the city tonight, so I think I’ll be off,” he said. Her eyes were understanding, her head nodding.
“In that case, good night, dear nephew,” she responded.
Looking up one last time at the starry sky, he answered, “Yes, good night indeed, Luna.”
The Princess of the Night smiled as he trotted off into the castle, his own smile sticking as he reentered the castle, picking up the discarded tuxedo as he went.
He walked down the silent corridors thoughtlessly, only intent on arriving at his own quarters. Nopony, not even Celestia and Luna, but him had been in his quarters. There was a small, looming guest chamber for which staff, visitors, and family alike stayed while waiting for his to answer. He himself had designed it so that they would be seated on a bench where they wouldn’t be able to view into his room via an open door. It was intricately designed, somewhat to give the guests something to view while they waited, somewhat to give a glimpse of the supposed decadence of Prince Blueblood. If his guest room was so intricately and exquisitely designed and decorated, how much more so his own chambers?
It was all a farce, a false face to elude guests of suspecting the truth. As he entered into it, all to be seen were three pictures. One of him and Celestia, one of his parents, and most recently, one of Luna, all in simple frames on a singular pine desk that stored his parchment and quills. He was considering adding one of the Elements to his small collection, but given his outward relationship with them, he figured it inappropriate. Despite them being among his priorities now, he had very little experience with them, except for the unfortunate occasion tonight. And given the way that friends spoke among themselves, he doubted he’d have a favorable face in their eyes.
With a sigh, he walked over to the only other material object in the room, his circular bed. It was technically large enough for two ponies, or so the label had claimed, but with the circular way it was shaped, he was barely able to lay straight out on it. He plopped down on it, sighing as he laid out. He stared out of the large double window that led to a balcony, the moon shining brightly in a starry sky. After a moment, he stood back up and walked to his closet. It was well stocked with multiple suits, tuxedos, and “casual” clothes, all of the latest fashion, of course.
He tossed the tuxedo, still clutched in one hoof, in an empty wash bin, pulling out an ironing table that was embedded in the wall. He mechanically filled the wash bin with water from the adjoining bathroom, adding soap from a container under the sink. He washed the clothing carefully while the iron heated up, before rinsing it out and beginning to iron it. As steam rose from the clothes while he ran the iron over it, he thought over his plans for the night.
Go out among the citizens of the city as the benevolent, heroic figure they'd christened as the Blue Knight. Ensure that nopony in his city was hurt or endangered under his watch, and overall, wait and think on his life. Blueblood sighed, wondering what would come if ponies knew the true nature of their beloved hero. Prince Blueblood was a known and hated name among the general populace and nobility alike as a rude, pompous noble that exemplified decadence and greed. A face ponies could point to for abuse of power in the ranks of the nobility, a face ponies could blame for the corruption of nobility, proof that even Celestia can’t convert ponies to being better selves. Of course, the massive amounts of money missing magically appeared in the form of hundreds of small donations to struggling ponies by an anonymous source.
As much as Celestia was merely a face for which ponies could blame for recessions, famines, and conflict so that the local leaders wouldn’t be, he was the face on which ponies spat so the other nobles wouldn’t. For the most part, the strategy worked. Ponies and the local leaders built strong relationships with each other, and when the leader inevitably made a mistake, Celestia or himself would take the majority of the blame, giving the governor, mayor, or legislate another chance to do the right. It was why Equestria was so productive, so peaceful, and so successful. That, and the mental block, of course.
Blueblood yelped in pain as the iron slid too close to his hoof, the immediate steam searing his hoof slightly. He shook it while grimacing, staring down at the tux. It looked good as new, if not still slightly damp in a few areas. A few more presses of the iron and it was done, folded, and tucked into the only drawer of the dozens in the closet he used. Well, one of two, technically.
Enacting the second part of his plan for the later hours of the night, he opened the lowest drawer, pulling it out all of the way. Doing so revealed a pair of folded clothes on the clean, dustless carpeting beneath the drawer. He pulled it out, unfolding it as he held it up. A hat fell out, floating to the floor. He pulled himself into the suit, skillfully avoiding getting his horn or appendages caught in the folds of the cloak. His horn slid through the little hole in the headpiece, lighting up momentarily to cast an eyesight enhancement spell that allowed him to see clearly through the thin cloth eye coverings. He picked the fedora up from off the ground, popping the top up and settling it on his head, hiding his horn.
He looked into the full body mirror that overtook a portion of the wall, admiring his gard. His emblem, and addition to his costume that had been added after he had received his street name, shone proudly in the light of his closet. He smiled, noticeable from his outward appearance by stretch in the fabric. He would like to fix that sometime, but tonight was not the night. Swiftly, he turned away, cloak fluttering by the abrupt movement.
He walked briskly across his room to the double windows. Pushing it open, he exited, closing them softly behind him. Taking a deep breath, he leapt over the side of the balcony.