//------------------------------//
// The Prince 
// Story: Magic Kindergarten 
// by Ponysopher 
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	Prince Blueblood was pacing. He moved back and forth across his large bedroom inside the fourth floor of his father’s mansion in Canterlot. He had had a good deal of room between its walls: about fifty feet, so his direction changed only every minute or so. An outsider would have spent a lot of time simply staring at the tiles on the ground. In them was interwoven an elaborate design that the most skilled artisans in Canterlot had made.

Every now and then he would glance up at the ceiling for a moment to stretch his neck which was cramping because he was looking down all the while. Any normal pony would have then been imprisoned by the splendor of his ceiling which boasted a wondrous painting. The picture was a recreation of a work by one of the most famous painters of all time. The vividness of the scene made one feel like if he could reach up high enough, he could assimilate into it. The use of color was so real and so detailed that no mere artist could have made it. It had cost a great deal for Blueblood’s father to find one skilled enough to recreate the masterpiece. But for the rich, neither time nor money is an object.

Yet Prince Blueblood took no interest in these wonders. He spent nearly every day in this room. Nor did he even have a particular care for art. The marvelousness of his room had long since died to him among other wonders. When he felt like exerting the effort, he would still whine for more fancy furnishings to put inside his room. “One can never have too many nice things,” was his motto.

Though there was another subject on his mind. He was not thinking about what other ways that he could improve his room. That could wait for later. Now there was a much more pressing issue at hand. It had robbed him of his joy before, and now once more it was nipping at his psyche. That issue was his classmate, Twilight Sparkle.

Even removed from the situation at hand, he did not like her. She boasted no noble relations that he could name. By Canterlot’s standards, her family was common. She did not dress well in fine clothes as he did. But most of all, she was just too energetic; always trying to compel him to talk more about his aunt whom he rarely saw. This he did not fully understand. Celestia was the princess of Equestria, and was naturally a topic of conversation and speculation, but this filly made her seem far too interesting than she was likely to be. Twilight was far too common for his liking.

Yet these traits alone did not cause Blueblood to hold anything against her. After all, many were commoners. Being commoner was not a reason to be hated, but there was something else that he did not like about her: She worked too hard. She took school too seriously. She was always the one in his class just about to jump out of her seat when Miss Selene asked a question, which she would always have the answer to. And worst of all, she would always make perfect marks on tests on which he had difficulty scoring eighty percent.

For this reason, he now despised her. She was fast becoming his enemy. He hated people like that. And there were two very good reasons for this: First, there was the obvious reason. He did not mind the sole fact that she was receiving good grades, but the fact that she was receiving grades that were supremely higher than his made his blood boil. This could not be accepted for two sub-reasons. First, he always wanted to be the best at everything. And second, he was expected to be the best at everything. Twilight, in scoring better grades than him, was thwarting his social and personal goals.

Yet there was a much deeper reason than this. She was a thorn in her side for this reason. Yet if this was the sole reason, he may have treated her as a threat to keep his eye on. But for the second reason, she was now his mortal adversary who he had to deal with before she killed him. This reason was that she was challenging the natural order of things.

For Blueblood, Fate was the master of all things. Fate is determination. Determination is destiny. Ponies were chosen by Fate and born into their fate that they may grow up to achieve a predetermined and unchangeable destiny. To put things more explicitly, Fate chose some to be born into rich and successful families related to the royal line of Princess Celestia. And Fate chose others to be born outside of the royal house to serve their noble masters. The house of Twilight Sparkle would always serve the house of Blueblood. No amount of hard work could ever change this fact. Twilight was not simply trying to take out good marks, she was trying to become successful though she had not been chosen to be. She was trying to undo the very system of classes which Fate had set up. She was effectively rebelling against the crown, transgressing upon him and his entire family, and questioning the order of the mightiest of deities. As a prince of Canterlot, Blueblood was not going to stand for such insurrection. Rebels are traitors, and traitors are to be dealt with in the severest manner possible.

As he paced back and forth, this train of thoughts developing in his mind, his distaste for her grew into hate. And that hate soon grew into rage. Before he knew it, his pace had quickened until he was just short of cantering across his room before turning to the opposite way. He had to do something about this, yet he could not come up with a plan to do away with her. He could not risk physical methods. That was not the noble way. Nor could he simply point out to her that she should stop. She was too audaciously adamant. After a long time, he found he was at a loss.

Though Blueblood did not despair. Princes are not meant to make decisions alone. They seek council. And Blueblood was by all means a prince. So he went to his father whom he found in the study on the second floor of the east wing. If it had been a weekday, Blueblood may not have been so fortunate, but on Saturdays he could always be seen in the study around noon. 

The stallion, Prince Lucian Ulrich Machiavelli, the head of the Machiavelli clan as well as being the head of the Ulrich family, was sitting like a noblepony upon an ornamented chair and reading a thick book. With his long blond mane and artic blue eyes, his son resembled him; though Prince Lucian’s features were much more developed than his son’s. He was an aging pony; one of fifty years who had seen much in his time. Having the rank that he did required a great deal of attention and the stress had made him age prematurely. His face was accumulating wrinkles and his expression was beginning to wear. He had passed his prime physically, but mentally, he was a force to be reckoned with.

Blueblood approached him and asked, “Father, do you have a moment?”

The aging stallion looked up from his book, closed it with magic and set it down on a table next to him. He gazed at the colt for a moment with the pleasure that a father has when he sees his son and answered, “For you my son, I have all the time in the world.”

“Can I talk with you about your job?”

Lucian chuckled. “Does my son wish to grow up and be a prince so early? It’s not all fun and games, you know.”

“I have a problem that I think you could help me with.”

“And what might that be?”

Blueblood had thought about being specific, but he dared not speak of his underperformance against a commoner to his father, the leader of the clan bearing the noblest blood in the entire kingdom. So he chose another route. “How do you deal with rebellion?” The question was worded personally.

The elder prince raised an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

Unfortunately, Blueblood was not yet trained in rhetoric enough to dodge the question, so he had to lie. “I’m just curious.”

His previous statement about having a problem clearly contradicted this answer, but Lucian did not see it yet fit to accuse his son of dishonesty. He chose a more subtle route. “Do you feel it necessary to deal with rebels now? Canterlot is experiencing the happiest of times, and the cities are equally content.” This was a weak truth.

Blueblood now knew he was treading on thin ice. He did not want to delve into specifics. “I just think that some commoners I know aren’t respecting the order of class.”

“Ah, so now we are getting to the heart of the matter. Has some unruly ruffian offended you?”

Blueblood shifted. “Yes, she does all the time.”

The father disregarded the universal affirmative. “So do you feel it necessary to deal with her as a prince would his subjects?”

The colt responded, “Yes.” 

Now Equestria had not seen war since ancient times, but every now and then throughout history, certain rebellions would pop up around the world. There was never any physical violence, but there were always threats and harsh words. In recent years, these rebellions had become far more frequent. It used to be that the lower classes kept their mouths shut and did their work like good little ponies. Yet recently, some trouble makers had come onto the scene and forced the nobles and even the crown to relinquish some of their power. 

Prince Lucian unfortunately had to deal with quite a few such rebels in his time. Because of his strict manner of dealing which such ponies, he had earned the title of “The Repressor” among some of the more liberal provinces. Fortunately, he was able to minimize the damage by playing the game of the merchant: giving the peasants much less than he would be willing to give and acting like he was pushing his limits for them. It was fair to say that the throne of Princess Celestia itself had been saved more than a few times by his shrewdness.

Nonetheless, his title was appropriate for him. He controlled his territory with an iron scepter and dealt the highest possible punishments that the crown would allow. He also made it his endeavor to influence his fellow nobles to do the same so that he would not have to give an answer for varying degrees of license throughout the country. This meddling into others affairs, or rather being the power behind the other lords’ thrones, was a stressful business and had caused his health to deteriorate, but he viewed himself as a martyr for a good cause. He would not tolerate any of the lower classes stepping out of line, and his attitude towards the commoners influenced his son.

So he answered the inquiring colt, “Well my son, if you are looking for advice on that subject, you have come to the right place.” And he proceeded to lecture his son on the role of the prince. His words were chosen carefully so that Blueblood would understand, but Lucian did his best not to lessen their meaning. After a lengthy discussion on the qualities of a prince, most of those narrowing down to being strong willed, he said, “Now you must realize that the prince is a general ruler. He cannot constrict himself to a particular area of his rule. Should he commit this error, he neglects the other areas, and his rule falls apart at the weakest point. But how then can he hope to pay equal attention to each area?

“How do you suppose Princess Celestia rules all of Equestria during the day; attending to all of its issues and areas? The answer is that she delegates. She does not rule a kingdom, but she directs the princes of the ten provinces of the kingdom. She gives them a general mission -that is to keep the peace and attend to the basic needs of the ponies- and leaves it to them to decide the specific course of action needed to accomplish that mission. The same applies to the prince. The prince rules his province, but he does so through the delegation of tasks. He ultimately makes the decisions, but he has many under him to whom he assigns general tasks, and they complete those tasks in a specific way based on their discernment. He also asks for advisors to help him make those decisions and lighten his burden: For the groaning farmer, he hires economists and for the unruly rebel, he hires captains of the guard.

“This is how the prince operates during peace, and the same should apply when he deals with unrest. When one of the peasants presents themselves as a threat to the prince, the ruler must deal with them swiftly and resolutely; lest the threat spread across his dominion. Nor must he deal with the problem singlehandedly. He must go to those who can deal with the problem as it stands. He appoints ponies to censor the rebel’s words. He picks out spies among the ponies to spread his propaganda. And if necessary, he hires assassins to deal with the threat accordingly. Do you understand what I am telling you my son?”

Blueblood took a moment to ponder what he was being told. It was quite a lot to take in for such a young colt. When he thought he understood the basic idea, he said, “Yes, Father.”

The prince saw that he did not totally comprehend the situation, he summed up. “In conclusion, it is too much for one pony to try to attend to all the issues of a province on his own. The good prince does not act. He decides what action must be taken and appoints his subjects to take that action.”

This much, Blueblood was able to understand, and very soon, the gears of his mind began to turn. They were spelling out a plan. With this, he thanked his father and walked out of the study. As he walked slowly down the hallways, his plan became a plot. It at first started with the main goal: Eliminate the threat. But then the steps towards that goal became evident. Nor would he have to do much work. All he would have to do would be to speak.

Prince Blueblood suddenly found himself at the house of one of his classmates named Dissonance. The filly’s kind mother welcomed him inside, and showed him to her. The colt greeted his classmate as amiably as possible, and the filly returned with some awkwardness. They had not spoken much before, yet Blueblood put their lack of acquaintance with each other aside and said, “Dissonance, I have a deal to propose.”

She answered, “What did you have in mind?”

“Do you agree with me when I say that Twilight Sparkle is making us look bad?”

The grey filly recoiled a bit at the name. “Yes, I hate her for that.”

“Then I suggest we team up and take her down together.”

This excited the filly. “How’re we gonna do that?”

The prince smiled maliciously. “Well, first, you’re going to destroy he reputation with the class. If they all hate her as much as we do, it’ll be so much easier for us.” And he went on to describe the part of his plan regarding her. When she heard it, she giggled and agreed to follow his course of action. The two pressed hooves and he departed.

As he approached the house of the next pony on his list of delegates, he couldn’t help but smile because things were going so well already. And he came to the house of a colt named Tricky Framer, who welcomed him at first with skepticism. Yet when he heard Blueblood’s plan, he gladly consented to ally with him. So the young prince acquired his services as well, and there were three who had sworn to deal with Twilight Sparkle. Dissonance would kill her esteem, and Tricky would obliterate her good standing as a student. But he did not stop there. He after that, he went to the houses of several other of his classmates. Everywhere he went, he had the same results. By the end of the day, he had half of the class ready to strike the arch-fiend down. Lastly, he sent a letter to Twilight asking for her to meet him at his mansion. Twilight wrote back saying that she could meet him late on Sunday evening.

So on that Sunday evening, Twilight stepped over the threshold of the Ulrich family mansion and was guided through its great halls to the dining hall where her opponent was waiting. As she passed by, she could not help but gape at the passing art and architecture which beautifully adorned the inside. When she arrived, the two sat across from each other; a large table separating them. A bountiful feast of a dinner was set out for them and Blueblood invited her to dig in. And for a moment, the two ate in silence.

After he was sure Twilight had partaken of a little of every delight within her reach (they being midway through the second course), he began. “So Twilight, it has come to my attention that you are doing quite well in Magic Kindergarten.”

Twilight looked up from her plate. “Oh,” she said. “Thank you. Yes, I try my best.”

Moving right along, he continued. “In fact I believe that your graded performance outranks the entire class by a considerable margin.”

Not realizing where this was going, she responded, “Oh yeah, I’ve got a perfect score in the class so far.”

“Yes, well do you not think that might hurt the feelings of your fellow classmates?”

Twilight paused for only a moment and said happily, “Well, I suppose it might make them a bit jealous. But that’s okay. It’ll make them work harder.”

Blueblood had to stop himself from facehoofing. He did not expect this to go as he would have liked, but he certainly did not expect it to be this difficult. He sighed. “Well dear Twilight, let me put it this way: Do you think that hard work can overcome the natural order?”

“I think that hard work can do anything. You should try it too.”

Blueblood was starting to lose his patience. The density and insolence of this filly were fast becoming intolerable. He had a right to do better than her and he should not have to work for it. “Alright, how about this: Do you think that the nobles should get better grades than those with less noble blood?”

“I don’t think social class has anything to do with learning class.”

She was now poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. Blueblood was now about to lose his temper. It was time to stop beating around the bush. His voice now had that dangerous growl to it that appeared when someone was just short of shouting. “Alright Sparkle, I’m just going to get to the point then since this looks like it’s going nowhere. I called you here to offer some advice.”

“And what might that be?” She asked; not seeing his building anger.

“Stop upstaging me in class and get normal grades like everybody else or something bad might happen.”

Blueblood’s purpose for his conversation up until now and his intent finally clicked for Twilight and she knew what was going on. She spoke calmly, but firmly now. “I’m sorry Blueblood. I know I’m making you look bad, but I have to get a perfect score in this class if I’m going to become a mage.”

Blueblood’s eyes shot open. This was sacrilege. “You!” He roared. “A mage? You have so little noble blood in you that you could never become a mage.”

Twilight ignored him. “And after I do that, I’m going to serve in Celestia’s court as an advisor.”

That was the final straw: a peasant like this working alongside the princess of the sun? This was pure blasphemy. He spoke in a deadly tone. “Very well, Sparkle. I tried to deal with you nicely. But you would not accept kind terms. If you will not bow to your prince now, speaking this … this folly [not the word he would have liked to use], I will be forced to do my duty as a prince and make you kneel. We are now enemies, you and I. You are the fugitive rebel and I am the prince who has no choice but to deal with you accordingly. I had planned to ask you to drop your grades just below mine, but now I will make sure you are annihilated and forgotten. The next time we meet, you will be on your way to absolute failure.” So saying this, he stormed out of the dining room.

The declaration of war was made formally. Now anything was game.