“What are you checking for?” Zamira steps between ‘Blueblood’ and the Royal Guard aiming his horn at the fake prince.
“We’re under orders to use a changeling detection spell on each guest, miss.”
“A lot of good that one did to you last week, didn’t it?” Zamira jabs the guard in the chest.
“It’s an experimental spell developed after the-”
“You’re kidding, right?” Zamira scowls.
“Your Highness, could you…?” the guard looks over the smaller zebra and gives 1313 a pleading look.
“I trust my security staff completely,” 1313 shows no compassion, “What’s the problem, Zamira?”
“Toy soldier over here wants to use an untested, potentially harmful piece of magic on you, Your Highness.”
“I can assure you it’s safe-”
“Safe? Safe?!” Zamira shields 1313 with her body, “What mass, long-term study did the unicorn who devised it perform during the week since the invasion? What if it causes cancer? What if it makes stallions infertile? This is princess Celestia’s nephew! Do you want to be the Royal Guard- I mean ex-Royal Guard- no, Tartarus inmate responsible for denying the princess grandnephews, DO YOU?!” she shakes her head with vigor, “You’re scanning me. If you have a problem with it, go call secretary Raven. She knows I’ve been His Highness' escort on multiple castle events.”
The guards exchange exhausted looks and the senior one takes a glance at the growing queue of guests and sighs.
“Scan her.”
A quick buzz of magic later as the unicorn walks around Zamira with his horn almost brushing her coat, he nods towards his superior.
“Heh, you don’t need to spend so much time on my plot. It’s not as if I’m smuggling a changeling there.”
“She checks out,” says the scanning guard.
“Good,” the leading guard bows again, “Have a pleasant evening, Your Highness.”
1313 silently nods and walks through the castle’s main gate, smirking to himself again as he hears a muttered ‘Canterlot snobs’ come from the Manehattan guard.
Without access to the hive mind, 1313 has no clue what the interior map of the castle looks like, his only guide being Zamira’s briefing back in the mansion. Thankfully, she seems to know the place well and with her ‘protectively’ walking a step in front of 1313 they successfully make their way into a-
“A staff bathroom?” asks 1313.
“We’re early. Do you want to go to the ballroom and have an in-pony chat with the princess?” Zamira hisses at him, pointing at a locked stall. Unceremoniously, she pulls him into a corner one and locks it behind herself. It’s a hefty squeeze for the two of them but eventually they find a position with 1313 sitting on the closed toilet with Zamira in his lap, “Congratulations,” she whispers, “Blueblood would kill to be in your position right now, minus this being the commoner bathroom.”
“I wish I was able to shapeshift certain parts off right now,” comments 1313.
“Oh, really?” Zamira shifts in his lap.
“Look, if you really want to have a taste of the prince without the prince, I’ll oblige you back in the mansion but could you pleeease not make this worse?”
“What, is your self-control failing?” she wiggles again, “Huh, it is.”
“It’s unconscious! My entire conscious part is too busy contemplating that blowing up might be the merciful way after all.”
“Speaking of blowing-”
“...shutup!” hisses 1313, “...someone is coming.”
“Huh?” Zamira pauses just as the outside door handle creaks, “...holy! Good ears...” she whispers.
They wait until whatever staff member leaves again, even Zamira doesn’t tease 1313 further.
“So, how and when do we leave?” asks 1313 when the coast is clear, “As far as I read, this is a stallions’ bathroom for staff only. Neither of us is staff and one is wearing something that announces the wearer is not a stallion and never can be considered such unless you have two glass eyes.”
“You worry about the silliest things, really. You are a prince. Staff bathroom or not, you can go pretty much wherever you want, so you’re just going to leave first. If there’s nopony looking, I’ll follow you out straight up, if there’s not, I’ll wait a bit before leaving. That way we avoid Blueblood eventually discovering somepony spreading rumors about him banging his guard in the staff bathroom and I can just say that I couldn’t hold it and had to go. No biggie.”
1313 takes a deep breath.
“I trust you.”
“Perfect. Now, you wanna have some fun with these thighs the next time somepony comes in? If we both moan just right, they might think this place is haunted.”
***
Two hours later, 1313 is forced to admit that being universally disliked does have its advantages.
The ball is in full swing. The podium on one end of the rectangular ballroom hosts a small orchestra conducted by a grey earth pony mare wearing a pink bow tie providing unobtrusive background music. Guests are mingling, bite-sized food is being carried around by the occasional servant, and everyone seems to be having a good time. 1313 himself has been spending as much time as possible without being suspicious at the refreshment tables lining the walls, separated from the central section of the room by pillars splitting the ballroom into the section for the guests and the servants.
Despite Zamira not being allowed to stay by his side all the time -the protocol had staff move through the outside section not to disturb the proceedings in the center- he hasn’t been bothered by anyone aside from some vague greetings said his way and him asking about how things were in such-and-such part of Equestria said noble was from.
So far so good.
Right now, 1313 is sitting in a chair by the podium and enjoying the music. It’s a bit slow and one of the fiddles is consistently unable to stick to the rhythm, throwing 1313’s internal timer off, but the conducting mare is shooting the musician dirty glances which only serves to amuse the changeling. Just as the piece being played ends, she strides towards the offender with a scowl.
1313 knows he’ll be more than able to overhear the hushed chewing out even over the general chatter of the room, but before the conductor can get going, the changeling’s vision gets obscured by a pristine white unicorn mare with sapphire blue eyes and an immaculate purple mane styled into curls.
“Can I help you?” asks 1313 and stands up automatically.
The blue eyes narrow.
Uh oh.
“Don’t you ‘can I help you’ me! I want an apology for how you acted during the last Grand Galloping Gala,” she huffs.
Huh, so Zamira wasn’t kidding.
“I apologize completely, milady,” says 1313, driven by the desire to end the encounter as quickly as possible.
That seems to throw the quite likely righteously furious mare off, if only for a few moments.
“Milady who?” she continues, her lips forming a single, narrow line.
“Uhhh...” is all 1313 can say.
“Hah! I knew it!” she jabs him in the chest, her hoof sinking in with a quiet crunch which makes her withdraw it immediately. Thankfully, the red and blue uniform 1313 is wearing covers the fact that she just jammed half of her hoof through his ribcage, ”You don’t even remember my name,” she wails out loud.
Doucheblood, save me now!
“It must have slipped my mind. I’ve been attending way too many events recently,” says 1313.
“I was your date, you ignorant oaf!” the unicorn’s voice rises an octave, “You ruined my designer clothes! You made me long for Tartarus the whole evening-”
“And yet you stayed the whole evening,” 1313 catches the hook she inadvertently threw at him. Coupled with his recent experience with Zamira’s long-term goals, he opts for a Doucheblood answer if there ever was one, “Was it just to gain the benefit of my status and influence then?”
“Nopony calls me a gold-digger!” she screeches, and slaps-
No, not slaps. Not like a lady.
She punches him with a right hook that would make an Appleloosan earth pony farmer proud.
*Crack!*
Her jaw drops. Thankfully, his doesn’t, although it remains twisted at roughly a ninety-degree angle.
“Uh- I- I didn’t- whuh-?” she starts stammering.
The ballroom has gone quiet after her affected screech, and in the ensuing silence, 1313 can hear snickering and the occasional whispered ‘nice’ from the guests. Before Zamira striding his way joins in and makes the whole mess even worse by getting into a catfight with the surprisingly strong unicorn, he decides on the course of action.
Oookay, too much attention, but being sent to a hospital would be worse.
With a wince, he grabs his twisted muzzle and with a sickening series of crunches returns it into a position consistent with pony skeletal structure, not making any other noise of his own.
The mare’s eyes bulge as her face turns green. Shoving one hoof into her mouth, she manages to get towards the nearest punch bowl before-
“Hurk!”
-loudly throwing up, obscured from view by a pillar.
What a perfect opportunity to leave, actually.
The guests have trouble deciding whether to throw looks of utter disgust towards the unicorn mare or Blueblood heavily bleeding from both nostrils, at least until Zamira arrives and begins cleaning 1313’s muzzle with a napkin.
“What are you doing?!” she whispers.
“Not my fault, that mare attacked me,” he replies in a haughty voice loud enough for the nearest guests to hear, “I think we should take our leave now.”
Zamira grits her teeth, hissing-
“Give me five minutes! I’ve got lord Goldhorn’s son wrapped around my hoof, I just need to clinch it.”
-before striding off again.
1313 sits down again with a sigh, waving towards the orchestra to get going again.
“Music, if you will,” he adds in a tone muffled by the napkin he’s still holding over his muzzle.
The ‘festivities’ resume. 1313 can hear the clicking of cameras as the several newsponies hanging around keep taking photos of him as well as the offending mare and chatting about a scoop of the week. Hopefully, he can relax until Zamira returns.
Of course, it doesn’t happen because, as his fragility taught him over his short life, the universe hates him.
This time, the hatred takes form of a deep voice with such authority in it that it makes 1313 stand up even when it calmly says behind him:
“Attention, Blueblood.”
He turns around and internally thanks all holes that he can restart his heart after stopping with practiced ease while still keeping his expression at least marginally still.
How did a unicorn in plate armor and an ALICORN sneak up on me?!
He knows princess Celestia, her image did circulate through the hive mind during the invasion more than enough. The aging, grey, armored unicorn, though, was the one to speak. He knows Blueblood and doesn’t need to address him in a formal manner. Why?
Damn it, Zamira! The ONE time I need you, you’re off presenting your plot to some useless dignitary.
Okay, so… Blueblood likes Celestia, she likes him, and he calls her auntie even in a formal setting.
1313 gives them both a quick, courteous bow.
“Pleasure to finally see you, auntie.”
Maybe ignoring the other guy until he drops a hint about our relationship will be common for Doucheblood.
“You too as well, nephew,” Celestia pulls 1313 into a warm hug which lasts until the unicorn clears his throat, “Ah yes. Before we slip into a less formal conversation, Grandmaster Beacon wants a word with you.”
NONE OF THAT SOUND LIKE A GOOD THING!
“You missed last weekend’s exercises, ‘paladin’ in reserve Blueblood,” he says the title with barely contained disgust, “In light of recent events, I would assume you’d want to at least pretend to be useful.”
“How dare you-” 1313 tries to go for his best Doucheblood impression again.
“Don’t try that on me, colt,” Beacon shoots his attempt down instantly, “You never fail to reassure me that you are a waste of my time, and yet my princess still believes that it’s possible to forge you into somepony- something useful. Even my patience is limited.”
“Beacon, I believe that with the attack on his estate, my nephew had his hooves full with-”
Whether intentionally or not, Zamira finds exactly the wrong time to take her place by 1313’s side. Beacon looks her up and down, lingering on her backside heavily emphasized and lifted by the tight thong with a snort of contempt.
“I’m certain I know what he had his hooves full of,” he says.
“My apologies,” Zamira speaks up, “The staff estate in general was freaking out so we opted to have His Highness be seen helping clean up some of the mess the changelings made inside, completely forgetting about His Highness’ paladin reserve business. I take full responsibility and will accept any punishment His Highness opts for.”
“Really? You were helping?” asks Celestia with a mix of amazement and genuine happiness, “With your hooves?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. It wasn’t just a staged showing off. I mean, it was staged but His Highness’s presence during the cleanup really did help matters,” says Zamira.
“Grandmaster Beacon,” 1313 speaks up with a quick glance at Celestia, “To prove I mean it, I will attend one standard paladin training session-”
He winces as Zamira kicks his hind leg with her-
*Crack*
-breaking his fetlock, of course.
Thankfully, Beacon just rolls his eyes and says:
“If I wanted you dead, colt, I would do it quickly and without having to watch you make an ass of yourself. Just be on time next weekend,” he turns around, bows to Celestia, and says, “I’ll take my leave, Your Majesty. With your sister’s continued absence, I need to be out in the city again. As for the other matter...” he trails off.
“Ah, good of you to remind me,” she nods before facing 1313 again, “I apologize, Blueblood. As much as I wanted to have a chat, it completely slipped my mind that I still have matters to attend to even tonight, and I still have to greet other guests. I’ll leave you in the hooves of your capable, albeit a little unconventional, bodyguard.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Zamira bows and says with surprising honesty in her voice, “Sorry for the outfit. It was the only thing I could get on such short notice.”
Celestia’s genuinely amused laughter makes her look up.
“I don’t believe that for a second, miss Zamira, but don’t worry,“ Celestia leans closer, adding in a conspiratorial tone, ”I enjoy all of them attempting to steal a look your way in front of their dates and wives. It does wonders to make the event a bit livelier, especially when they get caught. Have a nice evening, both of you.”
With a final smile, Celestia walks off to join another group.
“She knows me...” whispers Zamira in amazement, “I mean, we saw each other before but I thought I was just a face in the crowd... and she’s okay with me being here like this… and-”
“And she smells like a changeling,” adds 1313 in a dark, low tone.
Zamira’s head snaps towards him.
“Come,” she says and leads him limping into a corner where she asks, “What do you mean? That wasn’t the princess?”
“Please, fix my fetlock first,” he clears the edge of a table and sits down on it, extending the hind leg Zamira kicked with way too much strength before. When she cracks it back into place and fastens it with a hoofkerchief pulled out of better-not-speculate where, 1313 adds, “No, she’s not been replaced, or it’s highly unlikely at least. It would take a crazy good infiltrator to: one - take real Celestia out, and two - survive in such a position without getting revealed. Any infiltrator of that skill level wouldn’t get sniffed out by me. I think she touched a changeling right before coming here, likely for an extended period of time.”