//------------------------------// // 14 — Way Before Dawn Part III (Nothing Suspicious) // Story: Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince // by scifipony //------------------------------// We'd both fallen asleep in our exhaustion. The bed was moist, and somewhat cold, but neither of us cared. The sheets smelled of pony sweat. Mine, and his. Honey wafted in from the humidity of the adjacent bath. Cinnamon lingered. Barely perceptibly. I'd woken, having slept minutes or maybe an hour, I didn't know. We lay head to tail, and he felt warm as I shimmied carefully closer, not wanting to disturb the gentle hiss of his somnolent breathing. Tonight put all my previous experiences with stallions in a different perspective. I had to process that. Later. Riding was a part of everypony's life. I needed that perspective. Moonlight streamed through a far window. Candles flickering from the bathroom added light, illuminating his compass cutie mark. I'd had mine for two whole days now! He may have had his longer than I'd been alive. Deep inside, I loathed them. They warped pony minds, locked them into unchanging behaviors, and made ponies unequal. Cutie Marks were a scourge for all ponykind. I now knew that they could be cursed, removed, and switched between ponies if you understood how. Yet, looking at his very handsome flank, with the compass design on his haunch, I could not help but wonder: How did it make him feel? Had its inception changed him? Why did marks look so unlike any other animal coloration? Shouldn't they be spots, or stripes, or gradients? Impulsively, I reached over and lightly kissed the mark, feeling his fur tickle my lips. It felt like most every other part of him. Well not his hooves, lips, or—I coughed. I kissed a few more places, the top and the center and beside it, until the skin around it twitched and his breathing changed. I stopped and smirked. What did it mean to him? I'd gotten my cutie mark when I'd realized I could look into and manipulate the magical organ. For me, and for me alone, cutie marks spoke their secrets. Why not? I thought. I reached in with my magic and asked— Nothing! Nothing there! I stifled my gasp, a hoof over my mouth. I carefully sat up, not jostling the bed. I pushed my magic in, slowly, ensuring everything was correctly calculated and efficiently cast. No cutie mark. He was a blank flank!? No way! I thrust my magic into my own haunch to compare. I sensed my mark's ticking determination to drive me to transform what it considered abominations, as clear as the pale blue light outside the window came from the moon. Prince Blueblood had no cutie mark. Was this the secret the duchess suggested I discover? I cast a third level Illuminate spell as a 45° daylight-colored spotlight sprite to closely examine the mark; the magical organ looked real; I extinguished it. I waved my horn back and forth. I sensed lingering magic, but the maths felt intrinsic. Pegasi cast Aerial Buoyancy intrinsically with their wings to fly. I had seen the numbers, but I had needed to use a version of Flowing Water's medical spell to see deeply enough into Streak's spine and flight muscles to discover that fact. What did I sense here? An illusion? Could it be a tattoo? Not that: It colored his fur and fur grew out. I took a moment to sniff him. He did smell a little different than earlier this evening. I was glad he didn't wake. I wanted to memorize his scent. I wanted to identify it on myself. I grinned when I found it on my haunch, before climbing out of bed. In the study, I picked up my aperitif from the conversation table. The apricot tasted top-notch and warmed my throat. I lit my horn wanly, not wanting to ruin the pleasant gothic darkness of the house. I saw the stairs and remembered the pink pony prancing down them. An icebox in an attic? I went up, thoughts of Firefall returning. One stair creaked. I halted, heart racing. His bodyguards had finally seemed menacing. Which, of course, they should—when appropriate. Silly filly! I chided myself. Leave, already! I had school tomorrow. I had that 7 AM appointment at his suite. Probably not a good idea to bring up the riding part if he doesn't, I thought. Nope. After school? Maybe? I grinned. Go home. Get some rest. I continued up. Simple white paint finished the plain wood door. A utility area for servants. I pushed the lever. It didn't move. Locked. That wasn't suspicious, right? It wasn't suspicious that I reached into my messenger bag and found a hair pin. I could move the tumblers in the lock with my magic, but the straight metal helped me sense through my teeth what moved so I could turn the cylinder. I'd been in the mob. Run it at one point. When a burglar on staff offered to teach, I'd taken her up on it. I wasn't doing something suspicious when the lock clicked faintly, right? I opened the door to the warm, dark, low-ceilinged space. No windows. My horn threw more shadows than light because the space was filled with boxes and crates. Dusty cloths covered sofas. Lawn chairs stood stacked to the right. That looked like boxed paintings. Cobwebs laced a few rafters and made my hide tick. Pony hooves had left trails in the dust in a couple directions. The air smelled musty, and of something else... I widened my nostrils and inhaled. What? Honey? I sniffed more, then heard a thump behind me. I spun around, away from the landing. I looked down. I saw spatters, in one case having made a crater in the dust. Having read a few mystery stories, my mind saw red. My eyes had not. I blinked and realized I saw oily drops... that smelled like honey. Honey-scented oil? I snorted. How patently royal! Honey-scented candles? Honey-scented machine oil? Made sense, I suppose. I looked up. No machinery hung suspended above me. Empty rafters. Where was the icebox they'd slammed around? My ears swiveled. Had I imagined the sound? Maybe. A little puddle of green glistened further up, where somepony had slid amidst chaotic loops of hoof prints. A saw a wing mark. Odd. More furniture; no icebox. I stepped further. My ears swiveled. My heart beat faster. I was spooking myself. Which wasn't how I wanted to end a uniquely special night! I turned my head, skewing my light about. Shadows pivoted around a pull down ladder to the terrace. It was down. I climbed carefully to the hatch not wanting to slip and bark my chin, wake the prince, then have a lot of explaining to do. I rotated the latch and popped my head into the cool night air. The moon lit the flat tar and gravel terrace brightly. A breeze played with dewy leaves strewn around the clearly unused pegasus access way. I glanced at the orb that dominated the sky, squinting and letting the mare on its surface become the Mare in the Moon. I was one of the few ponies alive that knew that specific lunar feature was the essence of Celestia's adopted sister Luna imprisoned to serve a thousand-year sentence. In 601 days, she'd roar back, intent on destroying the world. Firefall had undoubtedly launched herself from here without disturbing the leaf litter. A nearby oak rustled. I looked, my senses heightened. The breeze. Naught to see. I shivered. I stood in a moat of darkness, my hindquarters exposed to the unseen below. I dogged the hatch. Submerged again in the creepy attic darkness, I waited for my eyes to adjust. From my higher perch, I looked around. Some rounded, suspended shapes caught my eye. When I looked, they resembled pony-sized bags of beans, but weren't muslin. My magic light glinted off them, demonstrating they were darkly colored. I almost cast a sprite that way but stopped myself. What was with me tonight? Snooping? If I were to have a chance at a relationship... Did I really think the word relationship!? I retreated down the ladder. I stepped into a cold puddle of the honey oil, reflexively flicking it off. I felt justified wiping my hoof on a furniture cover. I swiftly exited the attic. I used the pin to re-lock the door—since it had a key-lock on both sides, avoided the creaky stair—then left the house as swiftly and silently as I could. The prince was a big colt. He wasn't going into an emotional tailspin because I left without saying goodbye or leaving a note. I had kissed him. His flank. His blank flank. I giggled, pleased in oh so many ways. Firefall didn't greet me when I shut the front door after myself. The lock snicked closed. I saw trees, shadowed buildings, gas streetlights flickering, and no pony on the street. The Prince's bodyguards weren't here? After the stink they'd made? Firefall's absence worried me more. Had she gone off duty, I'd have expected a replacement. I would bring that up tomorrow. I headed toward the castle. A half a block later, Firefall landed. She asked, "Shouldn't you stay the night with the prince?" I asked archly, "Were you looking in the window?" "I— " She flared her auburn wings, face darkening. "Um— Of course not!" I looked at her and she wasn't her usual crisp self. I smelled an indefinite sweet scent about her, then realized she'd gotten spiced vegetable bread in her armor. I asked, "Any suspicious ponies around? Other than me?" "Uh, no." "Go back to the castle. I was the predator on these streets two days ago. I can take care of myself." "The prince?" "Is sleeping. That's an order. Go!" She fluttered off. Had I trained her, she would have refused that order. I trotted, shaking my head, now really alone—except for hoof traffic I encountered on Castle Way Blvd. It might not even be midnight, yet. For a moment, I thought about Teleport, but sleepiness and the numbers not balancing in my head convinced me it was a waste to try. Illuminate was about my speed right now. Besides which, I'd miss a serene night. I thought about the prince sleeping on the bed, instead. I smiled. I thought of our dinner, the otter dance, the dessert, and the extraordinary events in the townhouse. I briefly regretted snooping... but I'd gotten away with it. What I wasn't sure about was the revolution in my thought processes. I couldn't feel a connection to Blueblood? Could I? It made no sense. Considering how strongly I felt about Citron... this was rapidly becoming confusing, and I felt my thoughts tangling up as my face heated. Yesterday at the coronation, I'd seen Sprinter, an EBI stallion with whom I'd shared a hotel bed for a couple of days, with all the benefits. I'd seen Sunburst, also, for the first time in a decade. Unlike Sprinter, I'd never ridden my foal-hood "friend," but had certainly wanted to marry him. A decade ago. I should have ignored the duchess' request! The guards at the gate let me through the portcullis with a simple, "Good evening, Ms. Glimmer." If they smelled the prince on me, as unlikely as that might be, at least they had the decency not to mention it.