I stared at a table laden with appetizers while I considered what I was about to do: push past a trio of mares to get to the hors d’oeuvres behind them. My conscience begged me to walk around to the other side of the table, or excuse myself so they would step aside, or just use magic to reach the tiny foods.
I sighed and without further thought strode forward, bumping up against one of the ponies.
“Good sir, watch where you are going,” the mare said before she noticed who I was. “Oh, Prince Blueblood, dreadfully sorry.”
“My apolo - Oh,” I caught myself. No apologies. “Of course. I cannot blame you if you were too absorbed to notice me.” Your fault, not mine. “Really though,” I added with a smug, half-lidded expression, “How anyone could fail to see me coming is a mystery.”
A pink tinge crept over the mare’s cheeks.
I turned to the hors d'oeuvres. On the inside I was chuckling. How strange it was to be so brash. It was thrilling.
One of the mare’s friends noticed I was alone and said, “Perhaps you would care to join our conversation, dear Prince? We were just discussing which of these fine desserts would be suitable for a birthday celebration.”
“Mmm. No. I should think not.” Without waiting for their reaction I rudely turned and left.
Celestia’s stars this was weird.
I slipped out of the reception for the potential students and made my way to the tower where the exams were always held.
The organizer saw me approach. “Ah, Prince Blueblood. You are a bit early.”
That is fine, I don’t mind. Actually, in that case I think I shall go back downstairs and mingle a bit. Those were the words I wanted. My mouth said, “Yes, well, I would like to get this over with quickly.” I acted bored.
The pony looked confused, as if she’d been expecting better character from the Prince. “In that case, here is your clipboard. You may wait in the exam room if you wish.”
I swept the board and pencil up with my magic and looked at the evaluation forms clipped to it. There must be some mistake. I flipped through the pages. “What is this?”
Every sheet was blank.
“The exam is designed to measure magical ability. The best way to do so is to put students under pressure. These sheets are merely a prop. Of course, you may use them to take notes, but I think you will find it easy to gauge ability and potential with the impossible test we give each year’s entrants.”
I thought back to the dragon egg and the examiners scribbling on their papers and the terrible need to do something, anything.
The examiner added, “Nearly impossible test, anyway. Very few have actually succeeded at the task.”
Twilight Sparkle.
“This year it will be bringing a stone pony to life. Celestia save us if anypony succeeds.” She sighed. “Gaining a cutie mark during the exam means an automatic entry, but other than that please do your best to evaluate this year’s fillies and colts.”
I entered the room alone. No wonder Magick had set me up to this. Pretend to be a bored, angry, calculating pony: it was perfect practice.
I tapped the pencil to the board, thinking. Cold and calculating did not feel right. If I became known for that, Equestria would stay away from me out of fear. It would be harder to talk that way, harder to gain information.
I’d spent enough time around the world’s frippery to know there were many ways to be a snob. My instinct at the hor d'oeuvres table was to be overconfident and smug. There was potential there for my fake life to at least be entertaining. Very well, I would try the self-love stereotype.
For a year I developed that persona. In conversation I would turn the topic back to me or my interests. I became picky about my good looks, especially my light colored mane and coat. I played the market and invested my wealth, bringing in profits that I squandered on lavish outfits and social events and a private box at Wonderbolt derbies. My voice developed a suave, arrogant lilt. I made a fuss whenever I lost a game or did not get my way. I grew distant and uninterested in my friends’ lives. One by one, I watched the shade of doubt cloud the eyes of the ponies who used to enjoy my company. Yet no matter my attitude, I still had wealth and status and power. I was still the Prince. So they never left, not completely.
Only in heart.
I looked at the exquisite mural covering the grand entry of my estate. Celestia's sun radiated from a ceiling painted with her most clear blue sky. Swirling beams of light shimmered around pillars and the second floor balcony, trickling down the doorways lining the huge room.
"Get rid of it."
"But my lord," Cumber protested, "The Princess’ mural has been here for–"
"And what has the Princess ever done for me? She's never visited this manor. Get rid of it, Cumber. Paint white over it until you can find an artist skilled enough to envision a new one to my taste."
Cumber had the look of a rebellious bronco in his eyes.
"That's an order.” I'd argued long enough with him about the painting.
The black and white stallion went rigid but never lost the air of professionalism. "As you wish, your majesty."
I went to my study and began to review the stack of invitations I had sorted out of the regular mail. In ink penmanship I responded to several of the outstanding letters. I prepared to set them in the outbox for my staff to handle, but thought better of it. The pony express was such a common way to send mail. With a spark I summoned the sending dragon. Each letter disappeared in blue flame. Hopefully it was materializing in a shimmering blast in front of each recipient at this very moment. If not, well, I would find out at the door.
So Celestia wanted a monster. Oh, she would get one. She’d get the most magnificent, irritating bastard to ever set foot in Canterlot. And I would see an end to this nonsense.
When I woke that night it was from the pages of a book about griffin politics. They were quite unlike Equestria’s royal political setup, but I’d run out of leads on what to do to remove the need for a false prince. I lifted my head from the volume and my eyes stretched to the clock. Nine. I had fallen asleep after midnight, I was sure.
Baffled, I considered the possibility I had slept for sixteen hours straight. A spell of some sort? A drug?
Realization struck and I froze perfectly still, poised above the book. Confused footfalls sounded in the corridor, murmurs and worries whispered between servants. It was not nine at night. It was nine in the morning. Where was the sun?
Why hadn’t the sun risen?