> Ms. Glimmer and the Do-Nothing Prince
>  by scifipony
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 00 — Chapter Blurbs (Start with Chapter 01)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

This document is the chapter blurbs used to introduce each chapter, so please press the Next Chapter button to start the novel.

These are the short description that appeared on the FimFiction front page when the chapter was originally published. You can used it to review what happened in the story if you've been away from it for a while. I've included what I had (starting with 17)  and am expanding them  (starting from 1) when I have more.

Starlight is asked to teach Blueblood a lesson. The choices her heart makes will save or doom Canterlot... 




Ch01: Starlight meets Moon Dancer who delivers her great aunt's warning about problems in the palace, other than the cutie mark and curse thing.

Ch02: Starlight investigates the prince and learns he is a do nothing with a haughty attitude. She thinks he is hiding something important. 

Ch03: Starlight realizes her relationships are a mess, starting with being under Celestia's thumb, but also with Sunset Shimmer and others.

Ch04: Prince Blueblood outwits Starlight when she tries to waylay him to find out more about him. She vows never to make the same mistake again.

Ch 05: Starlight tries a meet cute ambush on the prince when he shows up again. His attitude is, well, different... and not charming.

...

Ch17: The prince tests how well Ms. Glimmer fights with her life at stake. She gains insight into why he's such a jerk around mares

Ch18: Starlight's classmates notice her new cutie mark and know about the useless crown. Sunset whisks her off to the Little Fillies to save her.

Ch19: While the weight of Starlight's new responsibility makes her cry, what has happened to Firefall is shocking. An annoyed Twilight shows up.

Ch20: Starlight thinks she has it all under control, Twilight and Sunset misbehaving, Moon Dancer being mousy, Streak. Then, Sunburst shows up...

Ch21: Newly cemented relationships between Sunset, Twilight, Moon Dancer, and Streak become awkward after Blueblood publicly kisses Starlight

Ch22: Over a deli lunch, Moondancer relates what happened to her mother: a Windigo storm Starlight remembers clearly since Celestia was there..

Ch23: Celestia shows up ready for war, telling Starlight that she's been a bad pony and is shirking her responsibilities. This annoys Starlight.

Ch24: Celestia forgot to close Day Court. Now it's Starlight's job, in full regalia. It doesn't end well for Princess Cadance or Starlight. 

Ch25: Blueblood and Starlight are seen in public with hooves all over each other. 

Ch26: Blueblood opens up about his past tragedies and loss. His behavior starts making sense and Starlight realizes how much they are alike.

Ch27 starts with Starlight thinking: "You would have nightmares, too, if you knew the countdown to the end of the world."

Ch28: Starlight sees something and hears the word, "Obliterated." It reminds her of all the bad things that happed to her and she has a meltdown. 

Ch29: Memories are powerful. Starlight leaves love may be more so.

Ch30: In Celestia's absence, Ms Starlight is told she is "The Spare." She is not amused.

Ch31: Ensign Fizzlepop Berrytwist is posted to a command in Canterlot, though expecting discharge, where she learns there's a new crown princess.

Ch32: Starlight is nearly swept off Canterlot mountain on her way to the airship docks.

Ch33: Starlight discusses what it means to be handicapped with a mare who's destined to destroy her life because she thinks herself handicapped.

Ch34: Starlight realizes ponies are long and frigate corridors are tall, but not wide. Trying to face an assailant proves a comedy of errors.

Ch35: Starlight volunteers to help the Ensign by straightening out her XO, who's in the brig. He's not a pony. She decides to prove a point.

Ch36: Some ponies won't take a hint and fly right. Starlight feels like a one-trick pony when fighting one species. Today, maybe that changes?

Ch37: An oblivious Starlight, searching alone for the loo at Pâtisserie la Reine, meets one of the Prince's bodyguards acting suspicious.

Ch38: Titled: "Greedy Little Filly," because, well...

Ch39: Spike makes it clear why he is so important to Twilight—and that Starlight is annoying.

Ch40: Moon Dancer has disturbing news, but her past is more so. How she reacts at the prince's townhouse creates more questions than it answers.

Ch41: Starlight meets a puppy, then meets a scoundrel who could pretend to be a pirate. It's not what you think.

Ch42: Starlight flexes her royal power after Spike receives a scroll from Celestia. How ponies react to a punch in the nose proves interesting.

Ch43: Sunburst has dinner with Starlight Glimmer, during which they receive a communiqué from The Stoop. Starlight invites herself to his room.

Ch44: First chapter of the End is Neigh arc. Starlight tries out her new princess powers. Doesn't mean she makes the right decisions, though.

Ch45: All of Starlight's mistakes pile up and become deadly. She isn't a doctor. She doesn't understand the menace. She's also *very* alone.

Ch46: Starlight learns there's yet another pony kind she didn't know about—and they don't like her. Prince Blueblood gives her a promotion.

Ch47:Starlight is facing a foe in such bad shape, she can barely fight. With Blueblood injured, she must fight for both their lives.

Ch48:With everypony's life at stake, Starlight learns a special somepony thinks her more precious than life itself.

Ch49: When you're certain you've died, and evidence supports the supposition, things get weird. Somepony's casting the daily spell. Starlight?


> 01 — Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



Prologue





Day 602



I walked into the castle sculpture garden, yawning. The sun had risen at the proper time and nopony found it remarkable—other than the moon zoomed across the sky and got lost in the sun's glare. To compensate for the sun never rising yesterday, the early morning was outrageously hot, especially for autumn. My stomach growled at the sight of pastries and bowls of oat porridge spread casually across a red-checkered picnic cloth, laid out on the lawn in front of an odd white marble sculpture. 

The hideous marble thing had mismatched horns on a pony head, with a far-eastern wyrm-type dragon body. Surprisingly, the crazy sculptor had carved mismatched limbs and wings, too. The surrealist-creation's toothy wide-open smile showed non-pony dentition—and was inartistically snaggletoothed.

The duchess had picked a remarkable place for breakfast. Why it was somepony other than the duchess waiting for me was another matter. Maybe that had to do with my performance yesterday...

Yesterday had not been my best day. I might never live it down, toppling over in a faint the way I had. By the time the peerage had gotten the brouhaha all sorted out, nowhere to their satisfaction, I'd had little time to deal with personal matters. That's when I discovered that I, Starlight Glimmer, had friends.

I'm not sure when I started thinking that, but I had. Been thinking. Friends. Cutie mark-poisoning, doubtless. And it was a royal pain. Literally. I mistrusted the situation, and they'd likely all leave me in the end, but for now: Friends. 

I had not wanted to sleep in the castle with Celestia living under the same roof, and had declined picking a suite. My intuition refused to trust her. Like me trusting having friends. 

That left me where I'd lived the last few months: Sunset Shimmer's ivory tower.

That meant I'd brought my former butler, Proper Step, and my friends, Citron and Streak. I could not decline the royal guards; I understood the necessity for bodyguards, having been one myself. At least they'd posted themselves outside.

Sunset, gone cold turkey from her addiction to nettle ewe—even with medicine prescribed by her father to dull the physical symptoms—could not have been more down. I'd been awful to her. I'd involved her in a sting operation to arrest a crime boss, offering her hope of scoring more of the intelligence-enhancing herb. She had learned how pathetic she was. Despite the news I generated—which swamped the news of her arrest—ponies knew. And Sunset knew they knew.

And I realized I liked her. That I valued her as a friend. Liked having her around.

Sunset couldn't even get herself a colt-friend thanks to her being Celestia's protégé—and her well-known irascibility. It dissuaded prospects, even class climbers. It proved I really liked her if I put up with those horse apples. As for getting her a colt-friend, I'd helped with that...

I huffed, shocked out of my woolgathering, unwilling in the moment to face how I'd helped. 

A grey black-maned pony with a schnauzer dog-face trotted slightly ahead of me, watching me with expectant caramel eyes. My former butler, now my... what exactly? Proper Step nodded and introduced me to my appointment. I did not miss the royal guard pegasus that banked away overhead.

The filly waiting, stood. Black-framed glasses magnified deep purple eyes as she frowned, having trouble making eye contact. The red-maned pale yellow yearling curtseyed. Except for big bushy red eyebrows, she physically resembled Twilight Sparkle, even to the stripe pattern in her mane. Okay, except size. Twilight was definitely a runt; likely grew up with her nose in a book instead of a bowl of hay!

I noted the sailboat and horseshoe crest on her turtleneck sweater. I asked, "Lady Horseshoe Bay?" Proper address was Lady plus domain. I spoke first, because protocol dictated I had to speak first or there would be no conversation.

The kid gulped. Kid? Who was I kidding? She was my age or older, but I'd compressed a decade of living into four years, all of them working at the best of my ability to be an adult. Meeting ponies my age made me feel old. I cleared my throat.

"M-M-Ms. Glimmer, I'm Moon Dancer. Duchess Calm Seas is my great-aunt*."

"Charmed. Sit, sit. I'm the opposite of formality. I don't bite," unless my teeth were all I had to fight with, anyway. 

She kicked aside a big book, then jumped and caught the fluttering pages in her pink magic before they could crease. She blinked at me, pushing it under the tablecloth.

"You needn't hide it. I ran away from home to learn magic. My Marlin's Tertiary Primer was my best friend and I've slept with it like a doll."

She smiled wanly. "Books are my best friends, too." She pulled it out. The tome read, So You Want to Make an Amulet? A senior-year embedded spells text.

"Celestia's School?"

"Yes."

"Technically, I'm still enrolled—"

"Really?"

"I never noticed you, but then I noticed Twilight Sparkle only because Sunset Shimmer pointed her out."

"I stay away from her. She's uber scary. Shimmer, not Twilight. We're friends, when she remembers other ponies exist. Twilight, not Shimmer." 

Twilight: The pony Celestia was creating friendship magic for, who had no interest in friendship? Check. "Sounds like her. Your aunt?"

"Great-aunt," she corrected me. Her eyes widened. "Sorry! I didn't mean to correct you, um, Your Hi—"

I cut her off before she could put her hoof in her mouth. "I'm no pony special, despite what's happened. I've been homeless more times than I can count, and up until two months ago, I lived in a one-room apartment with a haystack for a bed. I believe no pony is 'better' than any other." 

I lay down and looked at the plates of oat porridge and hay pastries that smelled of butter and wonderfully fragrant cinnamon. I served her and myself equal portions as Proper Step placed rose-motif teacups, pouring us Earl Greymare tea. Since Moon Dancer didn't offer an answer, we ate. I got her to open her book, and she opened up. Spell embedding was new to me, and we nerded-out for a while as we chomped. I'd thought adverbial interlocks modified codicils, but they actually provided a range-of-function applied to a spell allowing the amulet to act in the original caster's intent. I took out my notebook to write this down, which pleased her if I read her smile correctly. I even got her home room teacher's name so we could meet up.

Looking up from the page I filled, I asked, "So, why'd your aunt pick here, not a castle dining room?"

Moon Dancer pointed at the unusual statue we sat beneath. Then I realized she meant the empty pedestal beside it. "You've heard of Prince Blueblood?"

"The Do-nothing Prince? Celestia wants me to be his teacher, to see if I could 'make something of him.'"

"Aunt Seas told me to tell you..." She pulled out a lined yellow pad from her saddlebags to read, "'Celestia's nephew can be surprising and it would behoof you learn why.'"

Yeah, it definitively had to have surprised him that he was no longer in the direct royal succession. 

"Anything else?"

"Nothing she said. However," she lowered her voice and talked under a hoof, "My great-aunt doesn't really like him very much."

Thus my dance with the peerage began.

____

*Duchess Calm Seas is Moon Dancer's grandmother's sister.
> 02 — Investigating the Prince
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As we walked toward the castle entrance, Proper Step answered my question. "My father—" Celestia's Majordomo Kibitz "—says the princess spoiled His Royal Highness growing up. She felt sorry for him. Except for a rare diplomatic mission, he volunteers for no royal duties. His attitude that Equestria owes him a living grates on the princess, as does his inviting buddies to play Heart and Horseshoe cards late into the night, making a ruckus as they drink the finest apple apéritifs from her reserves."

"I could see that." I chuckled.

The guards stationed at the garden door clanked to attention. Armor rattled. Spears baring the way rose. They opened the door. 

Yesterday, in open court, I'd been openly seditious, explaining to everypony, "Celestia will continue to make the laws unless you take action to stop her." Today guards mutely welcomed in a criminal, though admittedly I'd been prompted by the outraged uproar of the audience after Celestia had announced she would pardon me of all my crimes.

So, I'd committed what most anypony would consider the worst of all, doing so while I could, getting in one last crime before the bell rang. 

My statement was true, in any case, not that anypony understood it was in their best interests to heed my advice.

Inside, the air felt refreshingly cool. Proper Step continued, "His Royal Highness' propensity to sleep in everyday irritates Her Royal Highness no end."

"Of course it does. She's up with the sun."

When I'd been a foal, Proper Step ensured I'd been awake before dawn to study or exercise, whether I liked it or not—and I had not. He wisely remained mute, despite his having watched me earlier, trotting around Sunset's gym track, levitating a textbook.

As our hooves resounded through the palace halls, I asked, "Are there scandals associated with Blueblood?"

He gave me a look, then nodded. I wasn't the innocent filly he'd helped raise under Celestia's grueling requirements. He understood I'd ridden my share of stallions. He replied, "When he came of age, the princess sent the errant prince to Horseshoe Bay to live under the tutelage of then Duke Frigate Vigilant. He returned months later, rejected in the strongest terms. Rumors were he'd broken something or somepony valuable, but the crown paid well to squelch such rumors."

"The do-nothing prince..." How did they put it in the novel I'd read about the lord living in the gothic manor? "Does he dally with the fillies?"

"I asked Father. Very rarely. Very selectively. Never for long, and with nary a rumor nor a write-up in The Inquisition."

Proper Step had set all the early editions beside the couch, their newsprint fragrant, everything from The Manehatten Times to the rumor rags. I wasn't ready to read what I had wrought and had shelved them. "The Inquisition," was an intentional clod-hoofed hint about which newspaper to read first, considering my new profession.

We approached the door to Prince Blueblood's suite. Tall, white, carved with swirls, and gilded. 

I waylaid a pink unicorn in a black and white maid's outfit dashing out of his quarters. Orange juice glasses rattled as she pushed her tray. She bowed deeply as I asked, "Can you answer a few questions about the prince?"

"Ms. Glimmer," she answered uncomfortably in a Trottingham accent. "Sorry, Mum. T'was reassigned the prince this very morn."

I blinked, surprised, as she scooted away. I respected servants enough not to scold recalcitrance. I knew the pressure they worked under, having in retrospect oppressed many as a foal, threatening their livelihood by asking for what they couldn't do.

Others also answered disturbingly. The red hoof-stallion with unlaundered white shirts balanced on his back, said, "Constant Hoof got his vacation granted last night." 

A blue pegasus guard answered, "Night Eye got reassigned to the Cloudsdale Residence and flew off last night with her husband and foals."

Nopony could answer my questions. A guard added helpfully, "He left for breakfast 15 minutes ago, with Princess Celestia."

"Not happily?" I asked. 

He coughed into a hoof. 

I didn't like that I might have to ask Celestia for answers, or confront His Royal Highness without first-hoof information about his habits or temperament. Proper Step had learned volumes about his naïve charge, me, from my hoof-maid and attendants back at Sire's Hollow. I wasn't going to be so lucky.

The double doors to the main dining hall stood thrown open, with a couple of wincing guards. Celestia, in high dudgeon, complained about the lack of cooperation by certain parties and whether those certain parties ought be sent to Saddle Arabia or, better, Yakyakistan!

I knew of the latter nation because of a buttered-tea café my fight coach treated me to in Baltimare. The tapestries on the walls had displayed crude images of true horses and hairy cattle with axe-cut wood buildings. Fantastical, but apparently real, and likely not luxurious enough for the prince. 

Shining Armor shouted back, Princess Cadance calming him.

I did not want to meet the possessive pink pony princess today. She'd eyed me yesterday with an intent to kill. She had not been amused that I'd broken his scapula, thrown a soup tureen at him that cracked his canon bone, and swept him from his hooves giving him a concussion. Twilight was responsible for his broken nose, but I'm sure she blamed me for that, too.

I approached the earth pony guard, who briefly bowed. I whispered, "Prince Blueblood's not in there, is he?"

His disdainful frown spoke volumes. He shook his head, but looked pale. A good trick for a cream-colored stallion.

"Do you know anything about him?"

"I really shouldn't say, Ms. Glimmer." He had to guard the miscreant.

"Understood. Which way did he go?"

He lifted a black hoof. "He yelled he had business and stomped off toward the Castle Way Boulevard exit."

By myself, I wouldn't find the fellow, but I had an idea. 

Back at the ivory tower, Streak, a blue pegasus with a streaked axe-crested indigo mane, flew loops around the tower in tandem with an auburn mare in brass royal guard armor. It flashed in the sun and especially coordinated nicely with her coat and dark reddish-brown mane. The circling pair reminded me of vultures. Streak waved and shot down to land with a bang on the terracotta pavers, melting agilely into a curtsy. Beyond her usual jangling gold loop earrings and facial studs, she wore the special bling she'd been dressed in yesterday.

"Your Highness—" 

I growled and jumped at her.

She fluttered out of reach, laughing and chortling until she fell over. Like Sunset, she'd become my other Canterlot friend through her displays of integrity, beyond our professional connections.

Her antics made me snort and giggle. "Yeah, funny. Don't push it."

"Yeah, Grimoire. I wouldn't want to get kicked by ya. That's how you K.O.'d Punch Drunk, a?"

I nodded. Grimoire. One of my many names, which strung together formed a sentence longer than any Equish teacher would let you get away with. Celestia had strung them together for everypony to hear. I had no business being inside the castle grounds, except in a dungeon. 

Sitting, smirking, she said, "I had to get oot of there. Spiral stairs to all the floors means nary a door; Sunset and Citron forgot that." Her face sobered, maybe remembering the kiss Citron and I shared the previous day that had made me tingle from my lips to my hindquarters. 

I'd become Sunset's good friend—I'd said that, right? And friends shared, right? 

That Sunset and Citron, the only stallion who'd ever had a crush on me, ended up spending the night together had my mind rearing. It had definitely lifted her spirits. 

I'd spent the night on a couch on the second level, with Streak faintly snoring on a cloud above me. Proper Step found himself a hidden servant's quarters in the basement near the laboratory. The ivory tower, with interior and exterior spiral staircases, was intended to house one person: Sunset. It had no doors, no privacy, and had suddenly housed a certain pair who seemed oblivious to the fact.

I wasn't. 

Oblivious, that is. 

Any time that night.

I was... Wow, really!?

The next morning, I couldn't believe I'd pushed them together after that extraordinary kiss Citron given me, prior to the pummeling I'd subsequently endured against the accursed alicorn. The thought of an awkward breakfast with Sunset and Citron— I shuddered. There was no wonder that I'd taken the first opportunity to bail!

Streak continued, "Good part, I suppose, is if they keep at it any longer, they'll be crippled for a month! They'll be easy to chase down and clobber."

Sharing. Too much sharing. I'd pushed them together, and wasn't sure of my feelings.

Streak interjected, "I talked with Firefall." She waved at the pegasus who settled at the door. "She told me that being in the guard isn't all about standing and occasionally protecting the princess. They need pegasi to haul chariots, palanquins, air-vans, and supply barges—really heavy loads," she finished excitedly. Her cutie mark was a huge wooden plow-harness with brass tack finials. It stood out perfectly colored and perfectly readable on her burnt and peeling blackened rump. The insidious mark locked her into a need to haul heavy and to haul hard—a Clydesdale earth pony born in a pegasus body. "I could join up and not have to fight the guilds back home to start a business. I'm liking what I hear."

"Well, that's good, considering—"

She waved a hoof and displayed a stern expression. "Don't worry. I've learned from you to check everything out." 

I smiled. "You do know what you are wearing is not simply loaned to you, right?"

She glanced back at the antiqued silver "rope" forged to look like dragon scales. It traced her spine and ran down her tail. It ran to the tip where it formed a spiked knob half the size of a hoof. The artifact split at her wings, forming rounded plates that hovered—actually hovered—over her shoulder bones, and spread out to her wing joints, hiding them in a cup that did not constrict movement. It continued up her neck to either side of her crested mane, widening to protect her skull, before looping around her ears, forming a fan on her forehead. "It's magic. Snaps right on and off, curling itself up like a snake. Not that dumb."

"Celestia wants you to enlist, not necessarily in the royal guard."

Streak smirked again. "Of course she does! Of all the fighting we did yesterday, I was the only one who nearly killed her. Had the border stone fallen a hoof length to the right, I'd have smashed her head or broke her neck. Not sure why that doesn't gross me out, but then she tried to blast you to cinders." She shrugged. "Must've ticked me off."

Streak had struck me out of the path of Celestia's flaming solar magic, which is why she had no hair and plenty of healing burns to the rear of her ribcage. Ticked off seemed a bit of an understatement. She was either very brave or very loyal. Her accuracy and timing proved she was in no way stupid. Well, other than that part about having worked for a crime boss and needing a pardon. I'd worked for two crime bosses now, so I wasn't casting aspersions!

"I'm awesome brave," she said, grinning ear to ear. Had I said the "brave" part out loud?

"You're wearing a national treasure, Streak."

"Ooooo," she said musically. She danced in a circle, admiring herself.

"Do you know who Hurricane Stormchaser is?"

"The most awesome pegasus ever?" She shook her head, indigo eyes locked on me. "Never heard of da grunt."

"You're wearing Commander Hurricane's armor."

"No. Flapping. Way!" She shot into the air, swooping and performing barrel rolls, the wind whistling through her feathers. Her laughing resounded across the ground, the armor extending along the leading edge of her wings, never hindering her flight. "Wow! I mean, wow! Princess! Yay! No wonder I feel lighter and so agile. And strong!" She landed again with a ground-rattling thump. "Do I get to keep it?"

"Depends on what you arrange with Celestia."

She looked down. "I suppose, a?"

"Would you like to help track somepony down for me?"

She chuckled, pointing two blue primary feathers at her indigo eyes. "Nearsighted. Doesn't wear glasses. 'Unique and special,' you called me."

"Yeah, but this pony stands out in a crowd, and you'll see bodyguards shadowing him. Remember Prince Blueblood from yesterday?"

She grinned. "Mr. Arrogant? Ya betcha."
> 03 — Tools
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I reached the top of the stairs that circled the ivory tower and stared at the blue door, not opening it. Inside, Sunset and Citron were...

I coughed into a hoof. 

Riding or being ridden was the colloquial term, a euphemism if there ever was one, and not at all what that baby dragon was doing last night on Twilight Sparkle's back. Might be in a sweaty exhausted sleep, for all I knew, but I wasn't feeling like finding out. 

What I felt...

The night Sunset Shimmer had brought me home, I'd woken in her bed, the sheets suspiciously damp, and I knew what after smelled like. She'd never said I'd ridden her, but I had little doubt in my mind either. I'd been mind controlled by that crime boss I'd mentioned earlier, so it didn't count. Not really—and I can make that assertion because I need emancipation papers to be legally adult and am still of an age where I can still (just barely) get away with saying, "not really."

I'd lived with Sunset for two months. Despite the tower's spacious interior, she'd only offered her bed. Since I'd been down to my last bit, I figured I could pay that rent. The tower boasted sofas, as well as granite floors—neither that I'd insisted upon using. I'd blown by the ick card ages ago; any situation could let me learn something about myself. 

Like sisters, I justified it; we were like sisters. I found that she only slept well if I held her. I'd gotten used to the closeness. Likely, she had, too.

Ok, confession time: I liked it. 

I'd even massaged her with my cutie mark magic. It calmed her as her inability to score nettle ewe increased and her incompatibility with her mentor, Princess Celestia, had become unbearable. I knew that the addiction had won when she'd neither let me massage her or spoon with her in bed.

No riding. It didn't make a difference to how I felt.

Citron...? Him? My heart sped just remembering... 

The yellow-colored yearling with a mane and tail that looked like somepony had swirled a lemon meringue pie with a spoon— wouldn't be my first. However, I'd figured out he had a crush on me the day I rescued Broomhill Dare from deep depression back in Prancetown. He'd never confessed while we worked for Doña Carne Asada. Practically had that day, but the situation made him step back. 

Yesterday, he'd made his feelings known. 

Unmistakably.

Physically? Gangly. Nerdy mane cut, often talking about comic books. Packaged in his new uniform... well, well, well! 

What cinched it, though, was he had gotten to know how I thought and always worked or fought in concert with me. He supported me absolutely. He instantly protected me when necessary without asking. Loyal, but not a sycophant. Take notice if you have a special somepony you want to like you back. Unconditional support and well-advised loyalty is sexy.

It didn't hurt that he kissed well, mind you.

I rarely felt my age. Today? Now...? Yeah.

Confused.

Color me confused.

Proper Step huffed up the landing beside me. Despite being impeccably dressed, sweat spared nopony. I pointed. "You might want to work on your fitness."

"As you wish, Ms. Glimmer."

My. Breath. Caught. Like that, command accepted, no matter how arduous. No argument. Reasonable, considering who he now worked for, even if he was 40. The stallion had been my guardian. Raising me, he had made my life like living in Tartarus... at Princess Celestia's command, mind you—a mitigating factor, though I hadn't seen it as such until last night. 

I felt confused.

"Proper Step. Please fetch my yellow dress, hat, and messenger bag." He'd gathered the pieces of my dress, at Celestia's request, where I'd discarded them in the Star Swirl the Bearded wing of the library and somewhere on Alicorn Way as I tried to escape Canterlot.

I'd tailored it to look fashionably aristocratic, and to fight in. It had fooled the nobles in my senior history class, and had fooled Detective Fellows. I'd needed to hide my identity from the Interpone agent so I could make a deal with the horse's flank.

"Yes, Ms. Glimmer."

He swiftly closed the door before rude noises could escape. As the son of Princess Celestia's majordomo, he knew his stuff.

I would meet a pony other than the Prince Blueblood I wanted to interview without a disguise.

I dressed at the base of the stairs, ignoring the ponies in the castle gardens that gawked at me for ignoring the convention about dressing in public. 

I had a deal with Celestia to become her student, like Sunset and Twilight, with additional obligations. Yesterday, the princess had mused about Prince Blueblood, "I'd love to make you his teacher, to see what you could make of the do-nothing." That evening, I'd witnessed him strut arrogantly into the throne room—he hadn't even looked at me! Under the circumstances, I'd been the main event, though I had not yet understood the clues at the time.

I was again somepony's tool. Perhaps Lady Horseshoe Bay's tool as much as Celestia's in this. Moon Dancer made me trust her where Celestia had not. 

Me?

A tool.

Sharp edged.

Prince Blueblood intrigued me. I acted on my own accord. With nopony to ride, I spoiled for a good fight. Could I be my own sharp tool?
> 04 —  Fleeting Encounter
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The princess had scheduled an impromptu Sunday morning lesson and I wanted to disabuse her of the habit. After sneaking from the palace, I sat on a wood bench in Blueblood Park, thinking, who gets a lousy little city park named after them? Birds twittered as I relaxed in the shade of rustling autumn leaves. Foals squealed, chasing a ball. I faced the ugly whitewashed warehouses across General Firefly Parkway, sipping heavily honeyed Earl Greymare tea from an insulated metal bottle. Streak had spotted the prince entering a pink granite-faced office building before flying to fetch me. 

I took out my Marlin's Tertiary Primer and compared sections with my 400-years more modern Senior Advanced Casting Techniques from Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. I trusted my Marlin's more, not because I often slept with it like a plush bear, but because I'd annotated it with corrections a twentieth as often.

Mid-afternoon, I yawned. Had he snuck out when I'd gone to the loo? Should I venture inside; ask directions? Streak nestled on the pediment of the Widget Building. She waved, looking confident despite her poor eyesight—what—?

I stood as Prince Blueblood turned onto General Firefly Parkway. 

He wore a powder blue lightweight jacket and an indigo fedora, resplendent with a raven feather in the silver band. His golden blond mane and distinctive white fur caught my eye. A unicorn and two earth ponies scanned the hoof traffic, turning their heads excessively, even checking the load of a taxi and stake bed. The bodyguards wore light green sunglasses.

One ought to have been in reach of the body they protected. 

A demerit. 

Definitely. 

I capped my bottle, lifting the flap of my messenger bag. The wide brim sunhat of my aristo giddy-up covered my face. The understated culottes and bright yellow butterfly-shoulder blouse covered the rest of me. Hard to miss. Strategic. Nopony would recognize me.

I strolled to the sidewalk, curving toward the prince. The traffic cleared and I jaywalked to come up along side him. I queued Push, Shove, and Pull, all transforms of Levitate, letting Push light up my horn. I'd use it to tap his shoulder, in the unlikely event his bodyguards allowed me. I expected any moment to be stumbling and waving, complaining I couldn't get to him, manufacturing my meet-cute when he came to see what happened to the pretty filly. My specially designed sunhat rested on my horn; it didn't prevent casting.

The lead pink unicorn mare didn't notice me, nor the trailing brown stallion. The flanking tan stallion with the white mane turned his head, looking curious.

He didn't call attention to me! 

Another demerit! Did the Prince have other bodyguards? 

No. 

Did I look non-threatening?

Really?

A pony length from the sidewalk, three from swatting the Prince's hunky flank and compass cutie mark with a hoof, Brown jerked and gasped, stopping.

I sprinted. They would rue the day when Celestia gave me Blueblood's team to train!

Tan cried out as I clattered aside my target. Blueblood gasped and sidled toward the storefront and sped up. Pink whirled around, maneuvering between us. 

I magically tugged her periwinkle blue mane toward the street. 

She yelled, "Yow!" 

I wanted her to collide with me, to get my meet-cute at her expense. Instead, she scrambled left and tripped. As she tumbled into the street with a thump and a growl, her flailing snagged my droopy sunhat, the straw thing bounding off my rump. I heard Tan jump aside to avoid it. I heard an oof, then clattering horseshoes as the remaining pony caught him.

I so looked forward to training them!

The prince's narrowed pale blue eyes regarded me as I cried, "Your Royal Highness—" 

I'd tucked my florescent green stripes under the black scarf I'd also worn. Dr. Flowing Water had healed my facial injuries and I'd deigned to use a bit of powder on my nose to blend the bruises into my fur color.

Already frowning, he shook his head, "No." I heard disdain, not recognition.

He walked past the door to the Widget Building, rather than escaping inside, locking it as I would have. 

That surprised me!

"'No?' What? Your Royal Highness, we share common interests. Canterlot, Celestia. Let's share high tea at The Trottingham Hill—"

"'No,'" he clarified, "as in, No, not interested." 

His guard rushed up. 

He sped up. Not breathing hard, either. With a curled lip, he added, "Miss Husband Shopper."

"Oh! Your Royal Highness!" I complained, hoof to heart, despite it being dangerous to walk three-legged at that speed.

The dastard changed to a trot and huffed, "I say!"

"Please don't misconstrue my forwardness, Your Royal Highness."

"I have not, Miss." 

He leapt (gracefully) across me, crossing the street toward the park. His cologne hit me. The breeze flowed from the park and I got a snoot full. 

I stopped. Cinnamon and mace? Bakery scents? 

Unique. And special. 

It surfaced warm feelings. Of home. A home I thought of as not being warm... but this feeling surfacing...

A taxi driver shouted, "Lollygagger! Move it!"

I reflexively cringed as Pink, Brown, and Tan dashed around me, none throwing me to the cobblestones. 

I would have! Then again, I'd been a mobster's bodyguard.

As I leapt out of the way of the black-checked yellow carriage, the entourage fast trotted east on the park side, then turned the corner to keep the park to their left. Because of the great number of trees, I couldn't cut the corner, but I heard hooves... Dut d-d dut, dut d-d dut... They cantered now!

A whiff of yeast and anise followed in the bodyguard's wake. Was that marjoram and bitter orange...? 

I belatedly galloped, ruining the façade I might be a harmless Lady in the peerage trying to treat Equestria's single prince to tea.

They went faster.

Surprising! The prince was physically fit? He was well-built—muscular shoulders, haunches, back, and legs. Hefty stallion parts, too. Ponies ought wear clothes if they didn't want such things noted!

From glimpses through shadowy trees, they turned left again. Rushing northwest across the park, I passed the pond, the swings, the benches, crossing a tasty fescue lawn I'd grazed upon when I'd been homeless, headed for that east-west sidewalk. 

I arrived first, ready to "innocently" barrel into ponies. That'd make a funny conversation starter, right? Looking right... 

Nopony.

No pedestrians!

Nopony crossing the intersection beyond!?

Shocked, I skidded down on my rump. How fast were they—?

Unicorns... Illusions!

"Duh!"

I had the nifty spell Don't Look Don't See Don't Hear that made me and those I touched invisible. Devilishly hard, I could make it work only when I badly needed it. 

Could I use my horn to read the numbers in an illusion spell being cast? I had only succeeded at a distance reading a spell with Celestia. Celestia had used the technique while flying to detect my position while I cast my nifty spell, which proved that detecting somepony was possible, but she had a longer horn for detection. The cursed alicorn had stalked me! She'd wanted a new personal student. It precipitated our first hoof-to-hoof fight, where I demonstratively reminded her, "No means no!" 

Could I detect Blueblood?

I waved my stubby horn as if trying to fling it off my head. I stood. I turned... Wait, behind me!

An orange stallion in a blue business suit levitated a tri-folded newspaper and a cup of tea. Phooey. I turned to the trees as an undercover royal guard intercepted the business pony, escorting him back. I walked toward the corner, flicking my ears and waving my horn. Neither earth- nor unicorn-ponies flew, and the latter did not self-levitate without substantial medicinal enhancement that made them noticeably unresponsive. I'd been given nettle ewe tea by a zebra shaman when I'd cast Aerial Buoyancy, but that's another story and a once-in-a-lifetime exception. I studied the trees, but Blueblood wasn't a monkey, even pejoratively. I heard a cicada whir, but detected no magic.

My nose pulsed. Cinnamon scent... but from where?

The guard asked, "Are you okay, Prin—"

I reflexively kicked. 

He hopped around, holding a foreleg to his chest. "Ms. Glimmer?" he corrected himself.

I rounded on him when Streak landed with a loud bang. "Was watching just you, sorry."

I had warned everypony that I could handle the situation I fomented, telling them not to intervene. I was stupid. Next time, I'd have everypony track my target.

"Streak, recon these streets." I pointed as she was already in the air. 

"Steady Pace, you and the others check the park. They have to be—" I caught myself, the three-legged stallion's amber eyes on me. He wore a blue shirt with a protective vest and a black bowler often worn in town—I had demanded discreet. If Blueblood knew who I was he would not act normally. Best that he think a persistent mare stalked him, rather than me. "Check. Be discreet."

"Yes, Ms. Glimmer." He limped off. 

I studied the trees and the deep shadows they cast. Sturdy pines, dark brown bark and full green needles, with silver-bark aspen nearer to the pond. The former were difficult to climb, the latter offered no cover, and both at ground level didn't leave much to hide in as I reached the corner. 

"They're not as inept as I thought," I told myself.

North, I could see for blocks, into the foothills leading to the mountain top. Plenty of pedestrians now. The vehicular traffic had rolled on. I turned south, peering into the trees to my right, listening to the occasional insect buzz. The pleasant terpene odor of the trees overpowered any residual cologne scent from the entourage. The warehouse doors on the east side of the parkway presented locked crash gates and barred roll-downs.

"Did I miscalculate?" Looking west into Blueblood Park, I sighted across lawns and along lines of trees north and south. Foals played ball. Ducks fluttered down onto the pond, quacking. 

I stomped a hoof. "Those were mighty biased assumptions you made there, Starlight Glimmer," I scolded myself out loud. "Wasn't expecting to learn something about yourself, but there you are!" A green mare with a pink underbelly walked up with my sunhat.

"Made a foal of myself, Pistachio, didn't I?" I asked as I magicked it on.

The guard blinked—not that I expected her to answer, Yes, Ms. Glimmer, you did.

I settled my rump on my park bench just as Streak thumped down. 

My stomach gurgled loudly.

"They got away," she said.

I huffed and nodded. "Entirely my fault. Thought too highly of myself. Was this close to him. I could have teleported him by touching him, like I did you, Carne Asada—" I shuddered "—and the griffon."

Streak cringed. She knew the griffon story. "Blueblood would have figured it out it was you."

I nodded. Only four ponies could teleport. Celestia. Me. Sunset. Twilight had succeeded, apparently only once. "If he ticks me off next time, I might anyway."

"Ha, ha. Give him the Grimoire the Enforcer treatment. He'll answer anything."

"And be my enemy for life." My stomach gurgled again. I sighed."We missed lunch. Any good fish&fry nearby?"

"On it!" I heard from the sky as she streaked away.

I'd had better in Baltimare. Canterlot wasn't a seacoast town, but Flying Catch boasted exceptional tartar sauce with crunchy sweet pickles, so I ignored the excessive breading. An hour later, we shot the breeze in the deep shade of the afternoon. Streak considered visiting air lorry companies to get the prices of moving equipment to better estimate what a moving business would cost, weighing that against the enlisted life of being ordered to haul things, but with food, lodging, and reasonable pay that had no need to be spent on anything essential. Not on employees, advertising, or insurance.

A familiar pink mare nosed open the Widget Building door. Five minutes ago, two business stallions had left, and, by his pricey suit and top hat, so had a member of the peerage. 

My breath caught. The bodyguard looked both ways.

Streak jerked, nearly flaring her wings. I shot out a foreleg saying, "Interesting."

Streak hissed. "Can't believe I missed a back door!"

"Or a window," I said.

Afternoon sun in her eyes, Pink didn't notice me.
> 05 — Second Encounter
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I caught Streak in my magic as she leapt for the sky. 

The feedback impulse through the Pull transform of Levitate manifested as a drag on my forelegs, because that's how I constructed the codicils that controlled gravitational force vectoring and anchoring. In Celestia's school, I learned most ponies instead designated their jaws. Made sense. Foals also went biting things to drag them, rather than using the frogs of their hooves. Defining one configurable codicil and predicate chain was simpler than two. 

Juvenile. 

Proper Step had molded a cultured adult from the moment he gained control of my life at five years of age. He had no tolerance for nonsense behavior.

The impulse dragged my forelegs above my head and dragged me a half pony length across the bench before I flooded my horn with enough splendors to suspend her, her wings buzzing like a hummingbird's.

Streak wore the armor every waking minute because of the speed and power it provided. Addictive. She also loved her bling. Cold and calculating Celestia wanted Streak on my team. Thus the lent armor. I hoped it wasn't because she judged that Streak was willing to sacrifice herself—or to kill—to protect me, as Streak had so thoughtlessly demonstrated. Parents, don't let your foals join gangs!

Streak understood immediately and plunked down, rattling the bench. She needed to learn control.

Pink failed to notice us, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Streak looked at me, eyebrows arched and the tip of her tongue sticking out the side. 

I said, "We don't lose him this time. Tell the others. Discreet. If I initiate a fight, tell them to inform his guards who I am and order them to stand off, and not to tell the prince."

"Follow discreetly. If you start a fight, advise his guard. Orders."

She made like her name before I finished a nod. I flung a hoof to my hat as the brim blew in the backwash. Now I understood why Boss Running Mead had employed her. Fast on the uptake. 

No way would she surrender that armor. Not ever. Evil princess!

I firmed out the wrinkles in my clothes, setting everything perfectly in place. I walked to the sidewalk and sauntered eastward on Firefly to the corner, then crossed. Pink's eyes raked me even as another bodyguard exited. Tan. Not sure he recognized me, or even cared since I was leaving the vicinity. I spun up teleport, having earlier taken a good look at the opposite corner to ensure I could target it. I expected Pink to be smart enough to take her charge the opposite direction I went. I'd appear pony lengths down the street to muffle the sound of the out-teleport. 

Horseshoes clattered as the door shut. I might have a chance of tracking by sound alone.

Streak settled deep into the branches of a pine tree, looking pointedly at them and back to me. She winked. I nodded as I walked out of sight around the corner.

I heard, "...went exceptionally well. Let's tell Ink Blotter that More Well didn't scream at me. Won't start a breakaway party, you think?"

"That's beyond my pay grade," said a mare, horseshoe clatter and her voice growing louder. Pink... in the lead?

They were coming my way! Did Pink not recognize me, or not care? Blind? Then again, I didn't think pegasi could be nearsighted until I'd met Streak. 

Streak held her wings apart, slowly bringing her pinions together. I backpedaled pony lengths. With no ponies close behind me, I backed far enough to return to the corner at the barest of demure trots.

Traffic was with me. Streets empty of vehicles. Pink walked predictably to the intersection... and crossed the corner, before she caught me in her peripheral vision. Her head swiveled as she drew to a halt, hoof across the curb.

Streak's wings touched as I strode past the building's corner at an incautious pace. No intelligent, or at least no innocent, pony would do that. Timing was everything. I made ready to roll toward the street, to minimize the injury as I would have in the fight arena.

Pink spun and yelled. 

The prince broadsided me, his chin grazing my neck above the withers with bruising force; his body shoved into my left shoulder and barrel. He weighed a lot, and the shove had surprising muscle in it. My lungs emptied in a cough. While I maximized my resistance so I was more of a brick wall than a revolving door, including a bit of Shove to upset his gait (by reflex), I spun clockwise, corkscrewing from my hooves to legs-out on my belly, stopping short of my hooves sticking over the curb. A seam ripped, due to intentional tailoring that allowed me to fight. No way he missed the sound, though.

A unicorn, being less strong and less resistant than an earth pony, ought to have been reflected off the impact at a normal, dissipating momentum. He did not stumble toward the curb to his left or fall over. He absorbed the impact, reared to his right, and jumped back a couple of times on two legs. He shuffled his hooves, glaring as I looked slowly from under my sun hat, acting equal parts sheepish and stunned. I did take in a glance at what he put on display before I lifted my gaze to his blue eyes. 

They were... 

I smiled. 

Along the way to his eyes, I did not miss he pedaled chromed steel-shod horseshoes. 

They gleamed menacingly. As a prizefighter, in the arena, I'd have popped out Shield or used Shove, both of which a seasoned fighter could counter. Better yet, I'd have sprung out of hoof-reach, rather than risk being struck upside the head with either hoof, or otherwise trampled.

I wasn't in the arena, however. My heart raced nonetheless, and I tensed reflexively to fling myself aside, a movement I hoped my clothing hid.

I blinked, leaving myself at his mercy from his point of view.

"Clumsy much?" he asked as he settled to all fours with a metallic click-clack. I did not miss that lowering barely taxed his back and haunches, demonstrating his strength. Muscles moved visibly and flexed his white coat, which gleamed with a presentiment of perspiration. 

The mare in me noticed.

Much about the prince looked superficially nice. 

Okay, attractive. 

If you thought of him solely as a stallion and not about his station or attitude. I understood why he had mares after his tail, coveting his genes. It was as if Celestia's nephew had inherited an elegant set from his aunt. With the same slightly pinkish white coat of the alicorn that ruled Equestria, there was even a resemblance. Celestia did not have a brother and I would not meet her sister for 601 days; he had to be an earlier elevation like Princess Mi Amore. For a stallion in his thirties, I rated him five stars. Heck, better than most in their twenties.

I said contritely, "I'm so sorry!" I offered a hoof, adding, "I left my  bag  in  the park—"

He lifted his chin. "You are sorry." He sniffed and walked around me, ignoring my hoof. Pink gave me a single evaluating glance, as if I had failed a basic competency test, and followed her charge. My mouth dropped open.

I murmured, "Arrogant much?" Discounting that he might suspect I'd tried to knock him over, his ungentlecoltish snub made my blood boil and my ears burn. I mean, really? I scooted back to sit, watching him cross the intersection. A real prince, that one.

"Miss," said Tan, reaching a hoof down. I hid my eyes under the brim of my hat, lest the royal guard assigned bodyguard duty recognized me.

Brown added, "He's like that. Too many things on his mind."

"I am sorry," I said, slightly whining like I'd taken a reprimand from the prince, but I meant it as an apology to them for what came next.
> 06 — A Dance of Tongues
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hooked Tan's foreleg with my right and "clumsily" fell forward. He tried to avoid my nose hitting his, but I thrust myself up ungracefully as if compensating, hitting his neck and shoulder, striking him with my barrel. This shoved him into Brown. His stomach. He coughed. 

I scrambled purposefully, getting my hooves under me, while uttering, "Oh my!" rearranging their collision with a shoulder and a flank butt. I knocked them over. Brown yelped as a stone foundation flew toward his face. He shoved with a foreleg, but slammed his head into a green metal newspaper rack. 

It rattled loudly.

"Sorry! Sorry!" I cried, landing legs out, but bouncing up. 

The prince had trotted across the intersection. I dashed after. Incidentally, I back-hoofed Brown in the nose. Hard not to break anything, but a properly paranoid bodyguard ought have recognized an ambush. 

"Sorry!" I said over my shoulder.

An on-rushing taxi drover blared his horn, carriage brakes screeching. I leapt aside, but shoved the earth pony and his hitch magically, reflexively. 

"You flapping have a death wish?" he shouted, waving a hoof as the mare in a red business suit he carried bounced on her seat, her emeraline glare piercing.

"Maybe," I replied, then louder, so the prince might hear. "A bit clumsy. Sorry!"

"Idiot aristos!"

I made a show of "stumbling" as I crossed the curb, then trotted faster. "Nice blond tail!" 

Blueblood swished his tail in irritation. Nice flank on that stallion, too, I decided as I caught up with Pink. She ensured she ambled between us.

I sniffed. I pouted because I didn't smell his bakery inspired cologne!

His blue eyes alighted on mine, and the hat which I'd kept atop my head. I looked down, "Um."

He huffed.

"I am a bit clumsy," I offered with a self-deprecating tone. 

We passed a recessed entrance to an office. Bronze Shield, an earth pony guard with coloration to match, nodded, then stepped out. A glance rearward confirmed the clatter behind was Brown and Tan catching up. The three would have a surprising chat.

"And persistent," the prince added.

"And sorry. I found my messenger bag when I fell. I was wearing it!"

"Finding you wore your purse is, I suppose, good, but it proves you are a sorry mare." 

Sorry as in type, not as in contrition. 

Pink lifted an eyebrow, acknowledging her client's uncomfortable remark, or guessing the stallion's next remark.

I beat him to the punch. "I am not looking for a husband, so you need not worry your handsome big head about that!"

He sniffed. Snooty, but amused, too? "I am not shopping for any female companionship; you need not apply."

"You think our meeting was accidental?" This was attempt number two.

"I don't believe in fate. Nothing more supernatural than my aunt living a thousand years." He glanced pointedly at his cutie mark. "Destiny is a lie."

I looked up from the fascinating compass flexing and relaxing on his flank and smiled happily, meeting his eyes. "I also think that the idea that a cutie mark defines your destiny is ridiculous. It serves only to control the masses. Do we have something in common?"

"I doubt it."

"Which leaves?"

"Leaves what?"

"Our meeting? Accidental?"

He trotted faster, but not like when he'd escaped toward the park earlier. "Ha. Obviously not. Ha!"

"Correct. I have business with you."

He blew air though his lips, ending with a throaty, snooty, "Ha!"

"Pink here knows I ambushed you—" 

Pink moved closer to me and tried to slow. We connected our well-muscled furry shoulders. She failed to divert or block me, her gait stumbling. I wasn't in fighting trim, but nearly there. "What's your name?"

"Singe," she replied reflexively.

"Singe, I know Mirror Shield." Not well enough to stake my life casting it; the spell countered Force—should she think to try it as her name implied she might.

Brown, Tan, and Bronze Shield walked together. Singe noticed. A perplexed expression passed across her face.

The prince glanced behind. His eyes narrowed. Maybe he reevaluated "business" and "ambush?"

I tried a list. "Breakaway party...?

"Peerage...?

"Lady Horseshoe Bay...?

"Her grandniece, Moon Dancer—?"

"Stop!" he said, and he did, physically.

I trotted a pony length ahead— 

Splash. 

Squelch.

I jerked my hoof back, having stepped over the curb. Cold water dripped. I flicked away mud, but some stuck to my frog. "Ew. Yuck."

Both Blueblood and Singe had stopped. Credit them better situational awareness. A water main had broken uphill, sounding like a waterfall. It fountained, excavating soil, sidewalk, and cobbles. Wagons double-splashed through water that spread toward the drain on Firefly Parkway. Heavy mud had deposited out in an alluvial fan crossing Cedar.

"—says the little filly." 

I'd used vocabulary too close to my age. 

He wrinkled his nose. He looked at my hat, then the mud.

I blinked at him.

He pointedly looked at my hat, then pointedly at the mud. He added, "One would expect..."

When I blinked again, he pointed a hoof. "Sufficiently broad."

"You want me to—? Put... You want to step on my hat? To avoid the mud?"

He nodded.

"Seriously?" My anger rose to a warm simmer as I bristled down my spine.

He nodded. "I am a prince."

Under my breath, I muttered, "Not in the best sense of the word," but I mustn't lose my audience. I grinned, transformed the Shove I had reserved for Singe into Levitate. I smoothly glided him above the mess, strategically placing him on the dry cobbles after a bus rolled by, its wake mussing his stringy limp mane.

He didn't flinch. 

Neither did the pink unicorn, but while his eyes widened, hers narrowed.

Singe's green magic scooted me across brusquely, forcing me to make sure I came down trotting on the uneven cobbles. Tit for tat, I had to dash across to avoid a green Clydesdale draymare pulling a barrel tanker. That left Singe on the other side of the double long, giving me plenty of time to catch the Prince without interference. Had she hoped I'd trip?

He trotted, nose in the air, not deigning to notice.

I said, "I'm interested in your business. I might be able to help you, were I to fully understand what you might find useful."

"You don't live in Canterlot."

"My accent is a clue." I'd let out my patrician accent, from Sire's Hallow, though that had been chopped at by living in Baltimare, dealing with unsavory ponies whose patois didn't sound like Equish. 

Singe clattered up, but I snugged in close requiring her to nose between us to separate us, and I mean using her nose. I spun up Shove again, to sweep her if her magic touched me. I'd be forced to squirm out of her magic, something as a prizefighter I'd trained to do, but I might bump the Prince... 

Not a bad result, actually—

He said, "Eastern. How's that useful to my interests at court?"

"I ran a business—" for a couple of weeks "—that spanned all the cities on the eastern seaboard." Arguably half a year, as I managed all the primary underlings under the boss.

His mouth narrowed and he blinked a few times. "Credentials."

"Bona fides?"

"As in I need some."

I turned it back on him, asking, "I know you are Celestia's nephew, but beyond that?" I could be cagey, too. "Give me a taste of what you might share."

"Are you a seller or a buyer?"

I smiled. "Remains to be seen."

"No," he said, stopping before a restaurant, a simple open window on the street. A powder blue, yellow-maned pegasus in an apron and paper hat tended the steam tables. I smelled before I saw them, grilled zucchini, peppers, and purple aubergine beside a pyramid of wooden skewers. A pile of onions and tomatoes sat beside a fryer. This explained Feather Pierced's feather-as-a-shish-kabob logo. I flit around the prince, which allowed me to block Blueblood from continuing down Firefly. 

Broiled shrimp. 

Many pegasi were pescatarian because the rigors of flight on their muscles required more protein than a pony hay-heavy diet provided. I inhaled the garlic butter they'd been browned in. I smelled the shrimp. My mouth watered.

I caught the Prince's blue eyes. "Usually the higher ranked individual pays, or the stallion."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

I sighed. "Whatever His Royal Highness wants," I gestured flamboyantly as I dropped a gold bit. It wobbled loudly until I hoofed it flat. A week's rent in all but the best Canterlot neighborhoods. The proprietor and the prince noticed. I ordered the shrimp, rice-breaded, and flash fried to a crinkly confetti coating. Blueblood chose zucchini, but asked for "seeded tomatoes so they won't drip, lightly dipped in peanut sauce. Not messy." He knew his street food.

I held my shrimp as the prince stepped away into the shade of a tree. Didn't seem a pony to insist on only fine foods. Surprising. 

As Singe managed to hover between him and I, to my left, I added, "Shrimp for the pink lady. Singe? Breaded?"

She nodded. Ah, she understood, as I had come to as an athlete, that a bit of protein helped maintain muscle—and tasted good. As Brown, Tan, and Bronze Shield came up on my right, I ordered, "Combos for the team; shrimp for the pegasus." I pointed at Streak who waved at the surprised proprietor from the roof.

In a low whisper, Singe stated, "You're Ms. Glimmer, aren't you?"

I whispered back, "Heard the name Princess Grim?"

The mare blinked, then her eyes narrowed "Uh..."

"The prizefighter," I filled in for her. If she recognized the name, she'd at least know I'd won a championship, thought not the theoretically-cheating part. 

She nodded. "Uh, huh."

"Don't call me Princess. I promise not to kill him, but if you think I might, feel free to intervene."

I spirited a piping hot skewer over to her. She looked confused, but huffed on it to cool it as the "team" took my place while I walked to the prince. When Bronze Shield lowered his sunglasses under his bowler, she recognized him. He explained in low tones. 

The prince finished nibbling his skewer, then dabbed his lips with a napkin. He had extras, and I none, but he threw them and his skewer into a rubbish bin. I had no doubt that had been calculated to piss me off. 

He said, "Singe seems to trust you."

"I bribed her."

He snorted, somehow making that sound dignified. As he walked, the pink unicorn scooted ahead of us, eating and checking out the next intersection. Buildings were much less fancy here, or well-kept. Peeling paint. Fewer gilt hearts and dancing mares. The Lower, as in Lower Canterlot, was where ponies who labored for a living lived or worked in shops that didn't cater to aristo tastes.

He said, "I have a business meeting. If you want to give me a reason to be interested in you, now's the time."

I pulled off the last shrimp with my teeth, smacked my lips, and discarded the stick. I decided on another list. 

"Pharmaceuticals." I pulled out a yellow root from my messenger bag. I chewed it when I needed calm. I could buy it despite my age because I had emancipation papers. I tilted my head. Considering my new job, I suspected little restricted me now. 

"Valerian root," he identified. "Disgusting to kiss a mare who chews that."

"Tastes like dirt." I bit off a piece and chewed. 

Citron hadn't minded I chewed valerian, and he'd kissed me the second time, too. Then ridden Sunset. The calm couldn't descend quickly enough. 

"Insurance," I added. The Syndicate had many protection rackets going, a few functioned as legit security depending on the neighborhood. 

He nodded.

"Neighborhood banking." High interest loans. I'd heard ponies call it loan sharing, and—not wanting to know incriminating details—I'd never asked why. I'd been blackmailed in Canterlot to be an enforcer to see such loans repaid. 

He nodded.

"Hotel investment." That had to do with laundering bits. Somehow. I didn't want to make a foal of myself by asking why anypony would wash bits. Wanting to be a bodyguard, but being tasked to do pony resource management because I had the knack, I avoided knowing the details of the criminal side of the business. I had been explained the term plausible deniability by the best in the business.

That's a story in itself.

"Sports promotion." Running sports books, which financed the renting of venues and more betting. As a prizefighter, I'd been paid from the proceeds. A big clue? Celestia had announced I was Princess Grim at my debut, but he hadn't been listening.

He said, "Nothing political?"

"Interaction with the constabulary." Bribery. Tipping them about rival activity; one of my bright ideas. "Influence with judges and city councils." Targeted donations for difficult elections. 

"Not the peerage?"

Technically. Well, Yes. Intimately. My participation thanks to Celestia's insistence, by coercion as far as I was concerned. "I have—" I coughed "—acquaintances."

"You met Lady Horseshoe Bay? Not Calm Seas, but... Moon Dancer?"

"Yes. This morning, as a matter of fact."

"How... is she?"

"Happy. Healthy appetite. As in love with magic as I am and very smart. Arguably pretty if she made the effort. With purple eyes and a yellow coat, if she didn't tie her red mane in a colt bun but styled it, she'd have colt friends. I like her. I'm going to meet her at school—"

I caught myself too late. He nodded his head as my face heated up.

I asked, "Gave you a freebie, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"Did I pass the test?"

"You obviously attend Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns. A filly claiming your achievements is likely lying, at best exaggerating, and, if not, claiming credit due others. Newbie."

Newbie? There's age and there's what you do in your few years. If he only knew—! Instead of huffing—acting like a filly—I said, demurely, "I shared. How about you?"

"I didn't say I was obligated." 

"You—what? I bought—"

"—me a snack." He gave me an arguably gouache horse grin. "Thank you. Obligation fulfilled."

"You—"

"If I see you around town, I might ask about Moon Dancer. We can negotiate then, newbie."

"Underestimate me at your peril."

"You do the same." He shrugged. "For now, you are nothing to me. At least graduate before you try again. You may leave." 

He waved a hoof at Singe, gesturing for her to dismiss me. He glanced back at Brown and Tan, pointing with his nose at me. He didn't register the hesitancy in his own ponies. If he noticed Bronze Shield, he didn't react.

Talk about underestimation!

What if I gently laid him out on the sidewalk and pinned him? Followed by an accidental tickling? He might feel obligated to answer a few questions. Could I make that look accidental? Yeah, if he continued to be unobservant...

I fashioned my mouth into a faux gape, taking the time to prep a Pull I aimed at his flank, queuing a general Levitate in case I got the opportunity to do more. 

I gauged his gait, adjusted mine to have my left hoof in the air at the right moment. I pretended to stumble on a sidewalk crack, falling left. I swept back at his two front legs, pulling his hindquarters behind mine. 

When I would make contact, I expected to lean into him and roll him over and spin him 90º so I could sit on him as he slid to a stop behind me, hopefully getting a hoof on his stallion parts. I juggled a Levitate because I was a nice mare: I'd cushion his fall and his head to prevent a concussion or contusions, and to minimize sidewalk burn rubbing off any of his precious faintly pink pearly fur. 

What actually happened came as a total surprise...
> 07 — Outmatched Outmaneuvered Outclassed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I slid across the sidewalk into a café, across polished terracotta tiles. On my right side. My hat spun off into the air and I heard it plink off a window. My hip struck a wicker chair, toppling it over on me. That redirected my path enough that I avoided a table leg with my horn, but (ouch!) not with my muzzle. I heard the breakaway seams in my dress rip as I slammed to a halt against a whitewashed stone wall with an indelicate thump across my back and neck. 

Despite being spun, I quickly caught sight of the prince. He had reared; blue magic that matched his eyes scintillated around his horn. The apparition between us resembled a net with hoof-sized bulb-like nodes. Bits to biscotti, that was a third or four level Shield spell. I was too far away to tell—or stunned. Our eyes met. His lips lifted into a half-smile. Not a deprecating smile. Amusement? He let the spell fade. 

I wasn't a threat?

I was stunned, not in a physical sense. I'd visualized success and had merited defeat. I'd been outmaneuvered!

A twinge of fear spiked my heart, despite the valerian. Fear. It made my limbs tense to run, or reflexively mindlessly batter an enemy. Nothing as intense as when I'd been dived-bombed by a griffin, whose glove of knives had cut into my haunch even as I teleported her from Carne Asada. Unexpected prowess, definitely. 

My hooves jerked and my hide ticked. Adrenaline. My mind cleared. I spat out the chaw and it clunked wetly against a table leg. 

Had I been outclassed, too?

Was I going to learn something about myself!?

Excited, smiling, then starting to grin, I reached to my stinging nose; my hoof came back sticky red. A crinkle confirmed the table leg had broken my septum. No wonder it ached. 

I replayed it in my head. I'd made skin contact. His flank muscles had unaccountably braced before I triggered my spell. As I shifted my vectors to compensate, he braced differently. I was in motion, but I'd ceded initiative. Hooves I'd planned to sweep lifted from the strike zone. His body already added chaotic motion to mine. My horn seized up as I lost track of my own vectors through space. Maybe his hip struck mine. He'd maneuvered himself like a wedge, lifting and rolling me over his back as he reared. Magic enveloped me like a bunch of carrots in a bag. The sense of acceleration up, over, and beyond was as if I'd been heaved by a greased wrestler. I hadn't realized I was flying through the air...

Had he overreacted? No. No way. I knew a show of overwhelming power when I saw one. 

He'd put the annoying little filly in her place. 

Stupid little filly. You underestimated him! Twice today! The gentlecolt even warned you. 

My grin widened, certainly becoming feral. I suddenly felt happy happy. He might be better than me! 

Working theory: He was better than his bodyguards. It explained why Singe, Brown, and Tan acted like extra eyes and backup—like Bronze Shield, Pistachio, and Steady Pace were to me—rather than shields. 

Speaking of backup... As the rotund chef of the cafe bistro came screaming out of the restaurant, Streak thundered out of the sky. The earth trembled when her horseshoes hit. Unlucky brick or tile got crushed. Keeping my order in mind, she landed behind a row of shrubbery out the prince's sight when he glancedthat way.

Her angry eyes could have set foliage on fire. She seethed and hyperventilated. She'd been the only one to use lethal force against the cursed alicorn. I raised a warding hoof, shaking my head once. Wearing that armor, I suspected somepony would get hurt badly—and it wouldn't be Streak.

The prince trotted toward the ruddy-colored mare, who waved a soup ladle, her toque blanc barely staying on her blond mane. The colt had everypony fooled!

Maybe. 

Maybe not. Celestia had put me on his handsome tail; she suspected I could learn something she could not. I understood this now.

Clues snapped together. I gasped, standing in shock. He had read my magic! The targeting vectors, at least. I could do that trick, though most low-level unicorns poo-pooed it when I suggested anypony could. Celestia definitely could. Her nephew?

No flapping way he's a blood relation, Starlight!

The prince wrinkled his nose. "My friend is a bit clumsy." He motioned to Singe, who trotted up, throwing me a worried look. Bits changed hooves, and the chef did a double-take, recognizing the prince. She bowed, leg bent. He nodded.

"Clumsy?" I roared, swiping the wetness from my nose, thrashing my tail, lowering my ears forward. I hoofed at the breakaway under-seam on the blouse, freeing my lateral movement, smearing it red. The rip in the poofy lace shoulders was real. As he blinked at me, I magicked my hat on and levitated five wicker chairs. I threw them from all sides. Being light, they'd cause little damage, so my magic didn't interfere with my aim—only their momentum.

Singe by reflex, not a disregard of my orders I'm sure, shoved the prince aside and down. The closest chair skimmed the flat of her hindquarters at the dock. The next bounced off her withers, staggering her. I repurposed the expended Levitate, redirecting the furthest chair. 

The prince, sliding on his side, scrambled and lowered his head to avoid the fourth furthest chair he was in the path of. The third chair hit a table, exploding a porcelain vase of daisies, shooting water toward the street and flipping the table.

The fifth chair, however...

Exploded into flinders of wicker, which pelted the prince. He shielded his eyes with a foreleg. The debris-fall sounded like a blip of hail from a thunderstorm. Blueblood had hit it with something akin to Force, but with neither heat nor static electricity. The pop sounded like an in-teleport, which made me think of vacuum and implosion. Too far away, alas, to read the numbers of a non-alicorn with fidelity.

Greed rose in me, like thirst in a desert. I coveted that spell. 

He stood, horn glowing blue, slipping as wicker rolled under his shoes. The chef dodged into the restaurant, slamming the glass doors with a bang and a rattle, as Singe levered herself up. On the street, my guard and his arrayed themselves so they could act on command, but kept their distance. Tan and Pistachio, eyes on us, trotted opposite directions into the street and stopped traffic. Beyond, pedestrians fled, spooked by the commotion, though a few watched intently. Four moved closer, to witness the spectacle. Evidently, evenstaid Canterlot had fight fans.

I approached the prince, preparing a short range Teleport, adjusting the vectors. Even inaccurate numbers would get me behind him so I could buck him down. I queued Levitate as a deception. A soft blue-green nebula glowed above my brow. 

He would detect Levitate, if he could read numbers. A feint or my intent? He'd have to decide. 

Streak's horseshoes clattered. The prince's baby-blues flicked to my shadow. Had he recognized her? Or Hurricane's armor?

He asked, "You have wealthy parents, don't you?"

Nope. Didn't recognize me, or her. 

"My parents are dead." 

Well, maybe not dead, according to Celestia—who I didn't entirely trust since she'd gotten them into the position where for the last decade of my life, I'd lived with the memory of their funeral, one that lacked bodies to bury.

He coughed, looking pained.

I continued. "I want to conduct 'business' with you. Why are you so obstinate?"

He touched his face. Wicker had scratched him. A drop of blood welled up.

"Your methods—" He glanced at his guards, who stood off. Arguably, they could claim they countered my guards. "I would rather choose my own clients."

I stopped a half pony length from him, well within punching distance. With his longer legs, he had an advantage when fighting like an earth pony. An aura roiled around his horn, as did my magic around mine. I admired his physique as his muscles moved under his coat. Was he trained? Beautifully so!

I changed the vectors in my Levitate to favor his right side. He compensated.

My eyebrow arched, despite my trying to stay cool.

He prepped something resembling Shield in his horn; what he used before. I could taste his numbers, though not his equations. They had none of the searing blue alicorn simplification I applied to my spells.

"For example," I said, "I would love to learn that Shield Net variant. That Implode transform of Force would make my magic more reliable protecting ponies—not worrying about setting bystanders or surroundings accidentally on fire. Let's trade!"

He blinked at me. "What would you trade?"

"I could share who interested me in you."

"Who?"

"You want me to give you another freebie?" I leaned forward, sniffing. The breeze was from my flank. No bakery smell. Phooey. I reached into my messenger bag and he stiffened, his aura intensifying. Yes, I did have a hooves-length bone jackknife in there, a souvenir from my previous gangster life. I brought out a pink and silver tin of Spicy Jam's Gingermint. As I opened it, I waved a hoof. "What? I chew valerian root."

I popped a tablet in my mouth, and as I crunched the spicy hot confection, I zipped another between his parted lips.

He whinnied in surprise.

"Garlic." I said. "On the skewers."

As he blinked, I swooped forward with an attack he wouldn't expect, one that I'd used the previous summer with great effect in Northeastern Equestria. I tilted my head, thrust out my neck, and kissed him.

A dangerous gambit! I didn't wish to lose my tongue. Naturally. Yet, it proved instinctual for ponies not to bite. I'd kissed dozens and dozens of stallions and mares to assert my authority, and by extension, Carne Asada's. Eventually, ponies expected the tactic. A majority became tactically respectful. So disappointing! I'd learned so much!

His hooves went click-clack, click-click-clop, as he backed into a table. I pressed forward. Garlic, ginger, and pony is a fascinating taste! He didn't bite, so I gently cast Push on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. 

His Celestia-length horn pushed up my hat.

"Oh!" I said as he got with the program. "Oooh!"

Eventually, I stepped back, having to catch my breath, and snatching back my hat. Breathing hard, I grinned at him with a partially dissolved white tablet clamped in my front teeth. I'd tongued it out from where he'd parked it between his teeth and cheek. 

When his eyes crossed in recognition, I crunched it. "Want another?" I asked.

"Uh, um... Sweet Celestia, no."

"I'll give that an 80%. I've had better."

He touched a hoof to his lips. "Grading me? Not yet a mare after all?"

I huffed. "Universities grade students, you know."

"I know you attend Celestia's, little filly. Don't prevaricate."

"Miss Verdigris and I are best buds." She was the tremendously helpful Canterlot University librarian. 

"Her," muttered Blueblood, having dealt with the very talented mare, but obviously gotten on her bad side. Well, well! Another data point. 

"For your information, that kiss was not the Kiss of Death."

"Who are you? A mobster? Shaded under that hat, I can't see your eyes or face."

I smiled at his dismay. "Intentional." I always had to be looking around without being seen as looking around.

"You've covered your cutie mark."

"He wants to know my name. That's progress. Until yesterday, I didn't know you existed. Oh, don't look crestfallen. We haven't been formally introduced," I said demurely. 

He huffed, looked away, then speared me with a glare. "I'll spare you the titles, stylings, domain, and given names. I am Prince Blueblood. Who may you be?"

I took off my hat and unwrapped my black scarf-wrapped mane, then sketched a curtsy, though Proper Step would admonish me that neither were necessary nor protocol, and ought not be done. However, Carne Asada had schooled me that in war, maximum disruption and confusion worked to your advantage. I wanted to confuse him. His eyes went from my muzzle (dripping blood, having smeared his muzzle), to my eyes, ears, lingering on the green stripes in my mane gathered into a colt bun, and finally to my horn roiling with my aura. I kept a spell in my horn for obvious reasons, as did he.

I huffed. Still didn't recognize me? Was he willfully ignorant of current events, living in a bubble, or plain arrogant? Another data point. I shifted my eyes right, tilting my head until I came up with another clue for him with a gasp. "I'm the Runaway Bodyguard. Celestia—" I pointedly, rudely, did not say Princess Celestia "—made a point of that, when she first mentioned you."

"'Runaway?'"

"I've run away from a lot of things in my life. A tragic motif. Which brought me to Canterlot, from which I think I'll be unable to run." I shrugged.

"Bodyguard?"

"It's fun work. Don't knock it. The side jobs I did to protect my employer until she became too stupid to live, in retrospect, were very instructive."

"So, not good as a bodyguard?"

"I work as a team." I glanced back at Streak, who stood ten pony lengths behind me, wings slightly lifted, her body at an angle to us. Hurricane's armor was as obvious as her expression of distrust. Her readiness to make like a locomotive, after she'd clearly heard him declare he was the Prince of Equestria, made me like her even more. 

His eyes had narrowed. Did he finally recognize the armor?

"Your employer died?"

"Rather spectacularly. I had to choose between saving her, from her stupidity, or 271 ponies I didn't know. Seems I have this bias against stupidity. Or for saving ponies."

"Runaway's a name? Do I call you that?"

"Remember, I have a bias against stupidity."

"You want to do business with me?"

"Yeah. Those spells. Want to know who made me interested in you?"

"Sure."

"No freebies."

He shook his head and growled, looking toward the street where we had an audience of onlookers, four more intent than others standing next to my guard, who stood next to his. Why they stood off would confuse Blueblood for only seconds more, unless he was a total idiot.

I said, "Moon Dancer told me you would be surprising and it would behoof me to know why. Now you get to pay."

"As if." 

I had told him no freebies. 

The prince had let his attention wander. I had not. 

I swapped Levitate for Teleport, and triggered it unnoticed. As time slowed and the darkness of in-between grew around me, I saw recognition bloom in his eyes as his head swung around to see me teleport away. If he knew the spell, or knew of the spell his Aunt used, he had to know I could have used it to kidnap him by touching him.

I did not touch him. 

In the time of in-between—holding my breath against the dark frigid weightless vacuum of what had felt like the oblivion of death the first time I'd cast—I did prepare for the next step, shifting my weight into my forequarters, lifting up my rear.

I reappeared half a pony length off his right flank, backed as he was against a café table. Magic had its limits for harming others. Fighting like an earth pony did not, though I did pull the punch. I bucked, causing ribbons of frost steam to rip around me.

He dodged.

He shoved a chair away; that would bruise. My horseshoes connected with the table, flipping it, the centerpiece and silverware flying toward the street. Things clattered and crashed.

Out came Shield Net, but he'd used that tactic on me once before. I dropped and rolled. I hit the lower margin of the shield with a hoof as I rolled under it, which wrenched my ankle slightly and spun me. I caught a table, and swung myself head-on under his hooves, risking he might trample me— but I got under him and sprang upward.

He dodged!

I said, huffing and puffing, "You are a trained fighter." I chuckled, then shouted, "So am I!"

He shoved tables at me, to distract me while he aimed a hoof at my face.

I triggered Force with a Barthemule transform. It triggered before I thought about triggering it because it had a time codicil and was based on magic that by working pretty much verified communication into the past was possible, even if time travel seemed totally improbable. It completely caught him off guard. The tables he threw at me were wood; he threw one at a time. His lift weight limit? Another data point. Table after table hit the force bubble ballooning around me, tumbling off. Slaps against my barrel and shoulder hit me in the magic feedback as the spell lifted me in his direction. He punched, then bucked, but his momentum caused him to collide with the bubble, and it pushed him upward.

I queued Push and let the bubble disintegrate.

Gravity caught him. Seeing him disoriented, I triggered Push to push him onto his back. 

I added, "I earned the name Princess Grim. I only plan to pin you and ask a few questions. How about cooperating?"

My magic caught his descent. He didn't succeed in dodging this time, but moved like a fighter, shimmying away from the strong parts of the apparitional surface. I couldn't keep him suspended, and it wasn't because a fall from that minuscule height might hurt him.

His magic mirrored mine, I realized. I am not saying that he cast the same spell. No. He had cast the mirror opposite. His spell nullified my vectors.

I stopped my spell. He fell. 

He turned it into a roll, completely dissipating any momentum that might injure, then cast Illuminate directly at my eyes.

I sensed the spell and turned my face—such spells would have blinded us both. I leapt into his blindness, right shoulder forward.

He rolled away at the last instant.

I'd fought a prizefighter who specialized in taking the movements of his opponents, absorbing them, and turning them to his advantage. They called him Punch Drunk, because his movements looked drunken. This wasn't that, but of a similar caliber. He avoided being hit, which in the arena helped you win.

I asked, "Are you trying to cancel my spells?"

"Very astute," he said, leaping at me without hesitation, a smile on his lips.

His smile mirrored mine. I was having fun, and learning something, too. I liked it. 

Eventually, I repaid him with a bloody nose. I collected bruises on my chest, legs, and flank. His extra reach and mass with our unicorn magic being somewhat equal, gave him that advantage. One rib ached. One ear felt ripped and I compressed the bleeding ends with my magic. Had we had more stamina, or were he vicious enough to use lethal moves, he would have gotten me. We sat by unvoiced mutual consent, two pony lengths apart.

I liked fighting him because he was better than me. Competing against someone better is a gift. It's how you learn.

I sensed I'd passed a test. I had learned something about myself, too. Fear came and went, but channeled it provided focus. I liked that. 

The tables were pushed aside. Singe had moved the place settings, daisy-filled vases, and chairs out of the way. Our audience had grown beyond the original four curious ponies and guards, and the mortified restaurant owner. I spotted a pony with a camera; a reporter. My hat had gotten trampled. I'd torn off the dress when he'd attempted to tangle it around my legs. My messenger bag had taken a hoof thrust. I took out my notebook, letting him see the small Marlin's tome and the metal thermal bottle he'd dented and hurt his hoof on.

I licked the end of my quill, and jotted notes about how I thought I could use counter-spells.

He pressed a cloth napkin against his nose. "You're Ms. Glimmer, aren't you?"

"Very astute," I mimicked him, not looking up as I swiped to the reverse page. "Had you not ignored me yesterday during my 'debut,' you might have figured that out sooner."

"You are the 'Unnamed Filly, The Hero of Hooflyn?'"

I sighed. "Carne Asada's life or theirs. I chose to save the 271 ponies, and I knew one of the EBI agents. Green and Green had treated me nicely once, when in retrospect I doubt she thought I was the middle schooler I was dressed as and likely knew I was C.A.'s infamous bodyguard. You knew about the hero bit?"

"I was in Manehatten when the gang war and riots broke out. I read that edition of The Manehatten Times and saw your gory picture. So you ran the Carne Asada Syndicate for a while?"

"Smart colt. 'Ran' is a nuanced word, and Celestia and I disagree on that point." I finished a couple of notes in short-hoof, including one reciprocity equation and shut the notebook loudly. I waggled a hoof at him. "You're not off the hook. Celestia thinks you are a 'do-nothing' prince—another freebie—but I think she's wrong. I'll find out, and I want you to teach me how you fight. I gave you information—"

"What Moon Dancer said? I'm skeptical."

"It came from Lady Horseshoe Bay. I gather she isn't well, nor does she trust you."

He tilted his head. "Interesting." 

"Not a freebie, Your Royal Highness."

He smiled at me. My using titles for him was completely unnecessary. The expression reached his eyes. "Be at my suite in the castle residence at 7 AM. We can finish by the time you need to trot off to Celestia's for your homeroom." He got up and I stood, too. He added, "Don't follow me. I have business to conduct, and won't take kindly to you interfering. You won't learn anything."

"Maybe," I said.

He looked at the bloody napkin he held to his nose, then tossed it. "Fillies should be seen and not heard."

I pouted theatrically. 

As he trotted away, a worried Singe hoofed over further gold bits to the restaurateur and rushed off.

What could he teach me at his suite at 7 AM tomorrow? In 45 minutes. My mind filled with possibilities. I hoped for something deliciously inappropriate. 

I sat splayed out on the terracotta and jotted more notes about a sinusoidal wave function I suspected he'd woven into his Shield transform to manifest the knots in the apparitional surface. The restaurant got rebuilt around me.

Nopony had the courage to ask me to leave.
> 08 — Doctoring
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The old tan pony gave me the evil eye through his bottle-bottom glasses. "Magic accelerates the healing, but it's your body doing the healing! There's limits. That's why you cracked the same rib I fixed yesterday."

Dr. Flowing Water: Celestia's royal physician, now mine. Sunset's adopted father, which made me think of what mischief she noisily perpetrated back in her ivory tower with Citron, making me nervous I might blurt something.

"I— Um. I was doing the Princess' bidding?"

Magnified green eyes blinked. "I've raised Sunset Shimmer from a feral foal. You're a piker in comparison."

"Sorry, sir."

"The princess installed you, what, 24 hours ago? I am beginning to think you like fighting."

"I— Well— Yes? Expect him to visit later today. The Prince."

"Why?"

"I... broke his nose?"

He sat back on his stool, his magic fizzling out. I lay on the examination table, a slow-to-warm metal one. He pushed up his head mirror so he could put two eyes on me. "That's all?"

"Yeah?" I looked away. 

"You'd better work on defense. Were you my daughter, I'd ground you and send you to your room."

"She's there now." Sunset. Not alone.

"Consider it a request, Starlight. Is she doing well? I haven't seen her today."

My face heated up. "Arguably, pretty well? I'm guessing? From experience...?" I coughed into my fetlock.

He looked confused. "How much pain are you in?"

"Medium?"

"That doesn't excuse you from concentrating on my spell. Princess Celestia said to train your talent for this into a skill. Next semester, assigning a medical magic class and anatomy for surgeons."

"With everything else I'm taking?"

"Sunset says you'd read while you sleep if you could find the spell. You don't faint at the sight of blood, either." He glanced at the wet rag on the table, smelling of alcohol and herbs. "Do you really keep a book floating before your nose when you use her gym...? Of course you do. You out-magicked the Princess!"

"Maybe?"

"Give this old stallion a break."

"Celestia nearly killed me?"

His eyes moved right then left as he thought about it, before he nodded. "True. Now concentrate. You, my little fight pony, need to learn this more than anypony. It might save your life, and until you can heal the princess, I can't retire."

I sat up, hooves clanging against the table. I felt an unexpected burning in my eyes. Becoming a doctor, and only a doctor, was my only hope of becoming a normal pony. "She said the R-word?" Retirement.

"She did."

This stallion had offered me a dream months ago, one that the dreadful choices in my past had convinced me I'd never be able to make my own. 

Healer. 

Doctor. 

Physician. 

Cutie mark magic gifted me with a talent similar to Dr. Flowing Water's cutie mark talent. I could tell a body how to heal itself—how to heal itself extraordinarily fast. My own included. If I survived the cataclysm that loomed 602 days from now, I could disappear and make a life anywhere in the world, where nopony knew me. Far away from anypony who might threaten to make me their tool. "That's great news!"

I wasn't going to say that I would run away from any commitment to be Celestia physician after he retired. Then again, I was evil and often stated as much. Everypony who knew that fact ignored it at their own peril.

He stood and rotated the mirror down, reflecting the westering sun from the window. "Concentrate!"
> 09 —  It Happened on a Warm Autumn Night Part I
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I escaped into Canterlot, ponies making way as I galloped around a corner and onto the Strand. Only Firefall shadowed me, but she was cool. Streak and her had bonded, with Streak proudly sharing everything she knew about the Ms. Grimoire she'd worked with, including my criminal and patrician past. I was okay with that. To protect me, my guard needed to understand me. 

The auburn red pegasus helped me through the portcullis in a borrowed cloak, after saying, "Capable, not stupid... Right? Still following you. Discreetly."

Best I could ask.

Saved me from a command dinner with Celestia—after I'd cast my "daily spell" on the alicorn, because the pretty pink possessive princess wasn't ready yet to let me cast on her colt friend instead. Streak ran flack, allowing me to sneak out the servants' entrance, and would suffer an incredibly delicious meal for her effort. 

Still wore the armor. Celestia would give her the hard sell to join my personal guard. 

I slowed to a trot. Celestia's brand new sun team had lowered the sun and raised the moon without the prior hitch. The best restaurants, cafés, and bakeries stood lit up for primetime dining. Ropes hanging magic pebble lanterns—blue, yellow, lots of them green—brightened the trees in Palisades Park to my right. Lamplighters ran up the street, lighting flickering gas lamps that made the ruddy green river-stone cobbles glow invitingly. A thrumming melody from a night club pointed out a bouncer that eyed me with great intuition that I spelled trouble. A ballad singer sang in the park, surrounded by poorer folk who picnicked and enjoyed what had become a balmy and, for me with a somewhat muddled brain, sensuous night.

The red-lined black silk cloak felt suspiciously comfortable. I stopped outside a Salernitano restaurant from which garlic and oregano scents drifted. The thing draped my hindquarters, low enough to cover all but the bottom points of my doubled star and auroras cutie mark. Not exactly the perfectly concealing style I preferred; worse, it had no hoodie. I wore a black scarf instead. I kicked at the hems and realized it didn't constrict me. 

I sighed. 

Somepony had replicated my tailored fight clothing and manufactured for me to "borrow" it. I might never have privacy again, not that I had had any until I ran away from home four years ago. I understood that once Carne Asada had taken interest in me, she'd had me followed. She'd known what I'd lost the night of the lightning storm, shown she knew the treasures in my saddlebags by returning pilfered items, and had likely interviewed every pony I'd ridden—recording details of my preferences, if she hadn't set up the itinerary to teach me new tricks!

Was Celestia that different from the blackmailing crime boss? At least the alicorn had the best interests of Equestria in mind. I trusted that much. 

My interests? I blew air through my lips. I still needed to learn who I really was. To become myself, or at least to enjoy my life. 

I pulled the knot in the gauzy scarf, spiriting it into my messenger bag under the cloak. I fluffed the locks of my mane, revealing the florescent green stripes, then tied it into pigtails. I dug out hair ties. 

Ponies might recognize the Hero of Hooflyn. I had to learn to live with that. Accept the good; accept the bad I had wrought. If I could suffer having friends, I could suffer the unpleasantness yesterday saddled me with.

Nopony noticed. That caused me to laugh, to pick up my pace. It's not all about you, Starlight Glimmer!

I remembered One Fell Swoop, which had good tea and Prance dishes like quiche, pasta, ratatouille, and a pegasus delight, bouillabaisse, at the end of the Strand. Maybe I'd treat Firefall and learn how her flaming waterfall cutie mark had changed her.

I heard a fleeting cicada buzz. Green light flickered in the corner of my eye. 

He strode out of a woodsy part of Palisades Park—near where Streak had parked her aerial wagon that night we had secretly gone to the Everfree, to trade with Zecora Zeb for restricted herbs like nettle ewe. I'd gotten the zebra pardoned for being a grower. I wondered if the recluse would ever know.

His bodyguards, Singe, Tan, and Brown dropped from the shadows nearby, like apples on a moonless night. Shady characters, literally. Blueblood dealt with the peerage and politicians, best I'd figured, which were shady characters, figuratively.

The prince pointed his nose down the street. I noticed anypony I'd fought. No way he didn't notice me!

Anger didn't surface, perhaps because the last day had left me rethinking my life. That I'd found myself accepting friendship spoke volumes. Instead, being ignored spurred me. I bolted after him.

Tan then Singe noticed me, then tapped their master's flank. Brown took up point, commendably. The prince looked at me. His right nostril was black and blue. A slim bandage covered the wicker cut.

"About our 7 AM appointment, Your Royal Highness?" Still a dig, considering he knew the difference in our stations. 

He motioned with his head to join him. 

My heart fluttered. After our sparring match—after the invitation—I had a higher opinion of the arrogant flank. He was especially easy on the eyes. I smiled, thinking inappropriate things about tomorrow.

I failed to suppress a giggle and, embarrassed, quickly added, "The little filly in me—"

The scent of cinnamon and mace struck me. Butter pumpkin bread?

I huffed, then inhaled deeply. One of the few good memories Sire's Hollow offered, surfaced. The staff baker could bake any cake or fancy tart. The little Earl of Grin Having hosted parties, and her table needed to be exquisite. What Sugar Plum really excelled at were breads—pan and flatbreads, sourdough and Prance-style, rounds or baguettes—but better yet vegetable butter loaves: peasant dessert, neither noisome sweet nor plain. Pumpkin, carrot, zucchini. Sugar with butter turned this foal into a beggar. Proper Step never let me eat my fill—had to maintain my figure—but ensured I got my reward for good behavior. 

I blinked away stupid tears. I sorely needed good feelings after the disappointments of the last weeks. 

I expected the arrogant do-nothing prince to say something perverse to ruin the moment, but astonishment spread across his handsome features. Without his hauteur, he looked so friendly that my traitorous heart expanded in my chest with every beat.

What was I feeling? Toward him?

He staggered seeing my face, his expression turning to shock as if something he read there resonated. His bodyguard looked affected also; they stood frozen, staring, surprised as we clattered past them, before he too halted.

I said,"You made me remember something precious. Thank you."

He seemed stunned, not hearing me, so I added, "The little filly in me likes surprises. Still... any clue what you've planning tomorrow morning?" I smirked, then shivered with anticipation as his cologne scent strengthened. My fur practically crackled as if electricity filled the air. 

My awareness expanded. I heard ponies walking across the street. I heard strands of music from behind. Ponies talked in a café, and cups clinked. I felt connected to the world, then reached a hoof toward the realization, as if it existed like a thing—

The prince froze as if I'd touched him. 

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching again randomly for what I sensed or intuited. 

He blinked, dazed. Innocent? Oddly, maybe so. It was as if he'd dropped his façade, only to remember his whole persona had been an act. It left him... 

He looked lost. 

It triggered a need to do something I'd done only a few times... 

Because I needed it, too. I understood with all the change in my life, I was lost, also. I'd learn something about myself if I could do it, so maybe it was a selfish impulse. 

I stepped closer.

He didn't flinch.

Closer. 

He didn't flinch.

Did he suck on cinnamon mints? Breath redolent with aromatics cooled my nose. His nostrils flared. Did he remember my gingermints before I'd kissed him?

I stepped closer—muzzle to muzzle. 

Everything I'd learned about him made me think he'd be appalled or shrink back. I invaded his personal space. His eyes watched me, his blues like sky-color gems flicking side to side. Certainly my stooping to using a kiss as a dominance maneuver ought have made him wary. 

I swallowed hard, feeling that maybe he felt hurt or, or... or something. 

Had I found some pony I liked?

Liked!?

I hugged him. Grabbed him against my chest impulsively, laying my neck alongside his. Because... I thought I now understood that—that's what ponies did when another felt bad, so I did that. 

I. 

Did. 

That. 

He was a stout stallion. Substantial. My forelegs barely reached. Muscular. Warm. Soft hair tickled my neck. He was sturdy. He felt muscular, not soft. 

Masculine. 

Our embrace felt so good, I hugged tighter, letting my being flow into his. The flow felt— insubstantial, but still a brook of burbling irreality; real, like splendors filling up my horn, powering a wish, transforming pure desire into reality. My desire. The mechanism in the soul of a unicorn, spinning, finding sparks in the in the deepest darkness, turning chaos into order, revealing light. 

Not anything I'd felt riding a pony! Tangential to how I'd held Sunset, a friend, knowing that I pressed away her loneliness from a life of abandonment. 

It was... 

More. 

Much more. 

Was transubstantial a word?

Oh, Sweet Celestia. 

Am I breaking? 

No. 

The opposite. 

Un-breaking. 

Hormonal.

The word hormonal barged into my consciousness, breaking the windows and smashing the china. 

I blinked, then raged at the unfairness. To Tartarus with reasonableness! This, I wanted to go on and on! 

Yet...

What I wanted and what could be were two different things. Life had taught me that lesson. 

I stepped back, gulping for air, swallowing disappointment.

"Bad day?" I asked in a whisper. 

"Was," he replied breathily, unvoiced. He lifted a hoof, tentatively. 

He asked permission! 

I nodded and he hugged me. 

His hug mirrored mine, as if he'd copied me exactly. The glorious glow, the mysterious flow—I let it return, but this time I imagined it flooding into me, through me, then out from me doubling in quantity from deep within my heart. I felt his welcome compression of me, the blood pulsing in my skin, the crinkling cartilage of my ribs. He shuddered once before letting go. His warmth lingered. His wonderful cinnamon scent, also. On my fur. 

I'd been capital-H Hugged. 

It felt like the contentment of a full belly after a warm meal on a winter day, but with a hard to define meaning: the word glow felt like this.

I took special note of how I'd released that special flow, feeling the warmth and my speeding heart return upon command, forever learning the trick. I was going to want to do that trick again and again with other ponies—

Doing so felt good. Really good.

He said, "You fill the void."

Did he read my emotions? "Bad day?" I repeated. "My fault?"

A swift single head shake. Were we staring into each other's eyes?

We both looked suddenly away, forward down the sidewalk. My startlement shut off the flow as my face warmed. I certainly did not look at him with love! The bodyguards shook off their daze and formed around us. 

Having accepted the possibility friendship existed, did I feel what normal ponies did? Had I so blinded—so numbed myself—that I missed this? Had I not understood or completely ignored ponies when they talked about what I'd experienced?

Too embarrassing. 

I changed the subject. "Come with me to One Fell Swoop. The food's great."

"Not really hungry anymore."

I blew air through my lips. "Returning from a secret business meeting in the park, before dinner time." I snorted. "Why don't I believe hunger's a real excuse? A pony who meets business ponies ought to understand the concept of a few drinks while others eat. My shiny new and as of yet unused palace stipend will pay for it."

"I don't want to be noticed."

"Me either!" I laughed, drawing the prince faster with my magic. "One Fell Swoop is as much of a shadowy dive as restaurants get on the Strand!"

North on Piñon Pine, the restaurant fronted on an alley called A-Street. The Prance-style cottage had brown wood, daubed stucco, and shutters framing windows open because a fire roared in the fireplace. Gem-crusted antique wall mirrors bounced light, augmented by table candles. Arguably romantic, the confusing shadows made it hard to recognize ponies beyond your table.

Firefall swooped down. The bronze and red mare stopped the prince's bodyguard, pointed at her magenta eyes with her primary feathers, then at their eyes, then stepped inside to arrange seating before ushering us in. The royal guard sat with her two javelins at a table where she could watch the doors and windows, and us.

Blueblood said drolly, "At least she's drawing attention to herself."

I intercepted the restaurant owner, a green mare with a silver and blonde mane in a bun. Across a basket of cut baguettes, she said, "Mademoiselle Glimmer! Haven't seen you in months." She glanced at our table. "Professors from school?"

The Prench could put sensitive things quite suavely. I nodded. She didn't comment on my undesired status change. My two silver bits clattered on her tray. "They say they're not hungry, so some light plates—"

"Field greens? Garlic spinach? Ratatouille?"

I nodded, adding, "Et vin de table, s'il vous plaît."

She changed her trajectory, floating the bread and a crock of fresh churned chive butter as my group sat. A token of appreciation did expedite service. Carne Asada had taught me that trick, and I'd gotten good at the dance last year as I met with her lieutenants across northeastern Equestria. 

"The Art of the Meal," the prince stated. The wood legs of my chair scraped the floorboards as he hoofed over a napkin. He coughed. "I've been overheard stating that."

His chivalry swept my absurd recollections of last year in Baltimare from my head. "So, you confirm your business is meeting ponies and selling information?"

"Exchanging," he corrected, scooting in my chair. "So I've heard."

I chuckled. "So... am I demonstrating I have the requisite skill set?"

"It would seem." 

He picked up the beurre verte, examining the whipped contents with a growing frown. He so much looked like he might taste the oniony smelling butter that Singe reached out worriedly. I grabbed a bread and buttered it. He crunched it without acknowledgement, but an eyebrow lifted. Had the prince not yet been sent to Prance on a diplomatic mission, or to visit the continent? I'd have gone the year I'd run away, when less than half his age and at nowhere near his station in life.

When I dug into the salad, so did he. Same with the spinach and ratatouille, and later the nicely browned, cheesy quiche. Not hungry, huh?

Wait. Might he be letting me "taste" his food for safety?

Maybe not. He poured the plain red served, sniffed it demonstratively, swirled it to see the meager legs on the glass, and tasted it—like he had studied under a strict sommelier (I had). By some miracle, he didn't turn up his nose—but then he had eaten street food... 

He held the green bottle near my glass. "May I?"

I gasped, but quickly covered with, "Technically underage, despite the emancipation papers."

"Haw, haw," he said pompously. "I grant thee leave, Ms. Glimmer, this evening."

I leaned over and whispered in his fuzzy ear, "Why, Your Royal Highness! Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"I've been seen to do that."

He poured. Thin-bodied, it felt overly chilled to my lips, which I'd learned hid defects. A faint berries and maybe mushrooms aroma. No vanilla. No Prench oak. Mostly pinot then, which accounted for the lack of tannin. Not Castle Canterlot cellar quality, but adequately Prench. I'd been taught my limit growing up because a Lady had to know—half a glass—but I wondered if he knew his when he let me pour more for him. Good for softening him up, anyway. I stifled a glower when Singe seized the bottle before I could pour him a third glass.

The cidering must have had an affect on me, for Blueblood got me talking about the months before the gang war doing "productivity facilitating." I said, "It's okay. Celestia pardoned me for everything from the moment I was born—wait, 'conception' onward—so, as long as I don't implicate anypony, I can talk." That much I was careful about. "I'll ask payment for the freebies later."

He laughed through his nose, but nodded. 

He listened attentively, never asking questions I might refuse. I liked the attentively listening part. Part of me remained cynical. I'd expected him to blather about his pompous self, he was a stallion after all, but I could be underestimating his interest in salable info. I was proud of my evil past and that I'd saved as many ponies as I could; I'd share with the Canterlotter if I heard he'd used me. 

Had I underestimated his maturity? Was he truly attentive, truly interested?

I could test him. 

As Firefall finished her bouillabaisse, wiping her mouth with a napkin in her feathers, I stood suddenly. "I treated you to dinner. Take me dancing!"
> 10 — It Happened on a Warm Autumn Night Part II
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

He led me with his magic toward the castle as I gathered my wits.

A big earth pony stallion bouncer, with the pink crew-cut mane, spotted me a block away. He wore black baggies and a sweatshirt with "Tag Yo'it" emblazoned in yellow. He managed the entrance line of twenty-something party ponies dressed in couture chiffon and lace, waiting behind a rope. We weren't dressed fashionably. In a black cloak, I looked goth, if you ignored my school-filly pigtails. 

A big "no" formed on his lips. Since being rejected could be Blueblood's plan, I shoved the prince behind me. Singe took the opportunity I presented, lowering his hat with the raven feather over his face.

"How long's the wait?" I asked. 

Deep-set amber eyes in a dark brown face met mine. He shook his head. I stuck my hoof into my messenger bag and found the coin I wanted by the ridged edge because only those bits had ridges. Pinched in my frog, I offered my hoof.

He shook his head. Any maître d' in Las Pegasus would have reached out. He said, "Too young."

I slid him in my magic as I stepped out of earshot of the waiting line, not far enough to diminish the thrum of violins and the blare of saxophones amongst the drums coming from inside. Flashing prismatic lights escaped under the curtains. I undid the pigtails. 

His eyes narrowed as my tresses tumbled down. I said, "I won't be cidering."

"Doesn't matter." He snorted air through his nostrils like a bull. 

I wrapped a foreleg around the prince's neck, knocking off his hat. 

"I say!" Limp blond hair slid across his face. 

Singe hissed. "Don't do that." 

I confided, "Let's not announce I'm Prince Blueblood's bodyguard. I won't be cidering; he will. We'll wait for a discreet corner of the room, and will blend. I tip well." I flicked my hoof up between his eyes, again flashing the shiny bit.

His eyes glanced beyond me. Not many ponies ever saw the prince. This time his hoof met mine. He bit the coin; gold would be soft.

We waited two minutes. Firefall landed and pranced in, motioning with a wing to wait. The bouncer's eyes followed her; her light armor proved my words. The line chattered as we entered. So much for discreet.

I again put a foreleg around the prince's withers. "More art of the meal? Am I passing?" I asked into his ear, over the music. 

The DJ cried, "Say hay, Canterlot!"

Discussing grades proved his point about me being a school filly; I cringed back as his muzzle reached to my ear.

He blew in it. Warm. Humid. 

I jumped back as he pranced, tail high, to a big booth toward the back, shaded from the disco ball. 

Nice view! I beamed and shivered. 

A cute colt waiter maybe a year older than me, wearing only a black satin tie against his tan fur, greeted us.

I said, "A Pink Squirrel for the blond. A Surely Contemplative for me, and... Is sparkling water fine for the rest of you?"

Singe let him finish the first drink, then glared at us both when I hoofed the second into his magic. Even so, he managed to get me to talk about myself again. This time I related adventures navigating between gang territories transporting who-knew-what across Baltimare. I included talking about Citron and my team because I'd gotten blanket royal pardons for the lot of them.

"I wanna dance," I spoke into his ear, pretending to be whiny.

He pointed at his compass, his cutie mark, and waved a hoof.

"You said you wanted to make me happy."

"Do you think it's a good idea to ensure everypony recognizes me?"

"No, of course not!" 

I strode toward the entrance, Firefall fluttering after me thanks to the high ceiling designed for the pegasi dancing in the air.

The bouncer wisely stepped aside when he saw me push the curtain aside. "How much for the baggies?" I asked.

"Not for sale."

I pointed at my flank, hidden by the cloak. "His Royal Highness wants to blend and his cutie mark is recognizable. His flank is more your size than mine."

"Show me yours," the fellow said. His eyes flicked to Firefall who stood in the doorway, a flat expression on her face. "And we'll discuss."

"Is this a show me yours and I'll show you mine?"

"You are asking for my pants."

I sighed, lifting the cloth to reveal my freshly-minted stars and auroras.

"Princess—"

I aimed a kick, but he dodged.

"—Grim. Princess Grim!"

I pulled him closer by the shirt, flattening it to read, Tag Yo'it! Approving the tag team fight logo tee-shirts and hoodies was one of the thousand things I'd done during my two weeks as the Doña. The syndicate owned the concessions as well as running the sports book. 

"They weren't kidding you're sensitive about the title!"

"You're a fights fan?"

"You are her, as if the royal guard isn't a punch to the nose. The sports page had five pages on you, Princess Grim, conquering Canterlot."

I had a silver bit in my hoof. "Lend me the pants and I'll autograph anything you want on your shirt."

"Anything?" He lifted an eyebrow.

I grinned widely. "You find me some bling, too, and I'll even autograph something rude."

"Deal!"

As he rushed inside, I caught him. "Send a few tee-shirts to the palace with your best inappropriate ask. I want to disabuse the princess that I'm a nice pony."

He laughed. He must have seen one of my fights.

His shirt opened, dressed in the baggies and monogrammed scarves with sequins from a singer named Shores, I coaxed the prince onto the dance floor. He quickly did... 

Rather well! Eyes on the other dancers, he quickly flowed and swayed like them with the music. 

Me? Not so well. 

What I saw was ponies executing random movements that lacked formality or structure, sometimes completely changing axis for no reason. Mimicking it countered my muscle memory of waltzes. Spasmodic described my dance form. Since ponies chose any twitch or jog they wanted, I overlaid the beat with minimum-movement fight exercises: katas taught me by a mob teammate named Crystal Skies, the defensive ones. You avoid being touched by your imaginary partner, though not in time to a beat. It kinda flows. I didn't stumble over myself, except once which merited me more space on the floor, but while my efforts kept me moving, I felt like a toddler imitating an adult. I struggled staying in-sync. 

Really bad idea, Starlight!

Blueblood's blue eyes followed me. I demonstrated I was a brute where he was clearly refined. I expected him to soundly put the little filly in her place. 

Instead, he moved closer, circling me, isolating one movement—a bob and sway—not challenging me. But... 

Showing me what to do!?

Alright. I'll follow you this one time. You'd better not trick me!

I bobbed and swayed, circling him. He emphasized his shoulder...

He corrected me! 

I copied him. My dance became more fluid, despite my bruises. My muscles warmed; my aches dissipated. He added a flourish with a hoof. I copied it. He moved in closer; added a dodge. From my Windblown Leaf kata! 

Be the oak leaf caught in an eddy.

I drew my nose in the opposite direction, a parry to his thrust. I weaved in more, and got caught in the rhythm of sway-and-bob, dodge-and-change. We flowed faster around the dance floor, powered by a blustery virtual wind.

It felt less like ponies dancing and more like leaves swirling in a breeze. 

Or... We had mass. We snubbed our noses at gravity and inertia. It felt good. We became interconnected...

Like...?

Like...

Exactly! Like otters playing as they swam through a stream. 

He started touching me: his barrel pushing out as we momentarily leaned into one another. Then his neck crossed mine as we met and alighted off. The music the DJ spun morphed from song to song, the beats speeding or slowing. The rhythm and lights controlled my hooves. The sense of pony against pony transformed my world into an experience more magical than I could have imagined. 

Except...

I overheated, and it wasn't my emotions. Not entirely. Maybe a little. Whilst the cape I wore was light and airy, it held in heat. I sweat—okay an understatement. It clung to my moist fur, outlining and defining every curve. Worse, it pulled. 

As we separated, I pointed my muzzle in the air. The levitated cloak spattered a pair who whinnied, stumbled, and disappeared out of the lights. Still dancing, I balled it up and threw it toward the booth. 

The cooling sensation across my back and flank felt really good.

The prince laughed. He slid across my exposed left side, came up mashing my damp chest fur down, causing me to rear and come down, my legs brushing off his flank. The click of my horseshoes matched the drumbeat as he brushed across my right as I spun to follow his tail, which, with a snap and a flourish, tickled my nose.

Cinnamon.

My perspiration glistened across fur in the flashing prismatic lights. His stuck-up act this afternoon telegraphed fastidious. He obviously had degrees of fussy, or it had been a complete act. That he didn't flinch from my sweat inordinately pleased me.

He'd combined other ponies' moves with mine and found something spectacular I could mimic. Had he learned to predict how I moved? 

Those baggies ought have made dancing difficult. He had thrown his shirt aside when I'd tossed my cloak, exposing the tuft of fur on his chest. Perfectly packaged. Despite the sequin scarves and the blue bow tie he left on. Alluring. He moved as if his coat was anything he wanted it to be. Total muscle control. What a decade more experience made! 

Admiration was very close to envy. I had much to learn. I vowed I'd learn it from him. 

All of it. 

I was having fun. I understood deeply that the prince made that happen. Grinning, I dove and wove in at him, and restarted our otters-swimming-through-air dance. We'd cleared our spot on the dance floor and the spotlights followed us around. I concentrated on him. I wanted to dance, and wanted him to rub his fur against mine as he did so. Frisson. Every follicle thrilled, crackling with static electricity as we brushed. The perfect sensation? I wanted to repeat it, over and over, and did. 

Addicting. 

I'd remember this night forever.

When he wanted, he knew how to treat a mare. He sensed my physical condition, and water bottles periodically danced around us. He sensed correctly I didn't want to stop, and made sure we never missed a beat. 

While I had to slow at times to prevent becoming lathered, it seemed like he had an internal fan. The only thing peculiar was his scent. I'd become horsey. His scent strengthened and shifted, and...

Were there variations of cinnamon, like bell tones in music and sparkles in light? Did I smell yet other substances? 

Fascinating. 

Hypnotic.

The royals had their own royal perfumer, no doubt. Blueblood was unique.

And so very special. 

Despite the dancing, the lights, the music, and the scents, I recognized my growing confusion: I saw the prince in a totally unacceptable way. He was somepony, a personage, a royal, a stallion—who suddenly understood and learned how I thought. He wanted to do so, and enjoyed it! (So obvious.) It made him happy to make me happy! 

And I was.

Happy. 

Deliriously happy. 

The root of delirious is delirium. 

That was a threat. That friendship-rearing-its-ugly-head thing. Except I wasn't simply receiving—

I'd soon be begging!

"I'm hungry," I declared and dragged us back onto the Strand. 


#


I led, carrying the confused prince beside me in a blue-green nebula. I couldn't meet his eyes. He didn't complain; nor did his bodyguards. When I set him down, I continued leading. Our fur rubbed at times. Neither of us were stable. Neither of us drew away. I didn't want to. It felt like I held him in thrall, like I'd enchanted him. Vice-versa, definitely. Without actual magic.

My emotions muddled up; it was us in front of the park all over again. My heart expanded. It felt akin to heat. 

But not heat, maybe electricity?

No... like magnets attracting one another. A palpable force...

Something flowed between us.

Was it hormonal?

No, no, no, no! 

My hide cooled and dried as we clattered awkwardly onward. I understood the colloquialism hot and bothered.

And sparks flying.

I gasped. What was flapping wrong with me!? I liked him? I looked at his face in profile, his bodiless blond mane cascading into his blue eyes. He frowned, his nostrils wide, brows going up and down. He was bewildered, also. 

His eyes flicked my way.

I jerked my gaze aside. Then looked again.

My feelings intensified each time I looked at him!

Our eyes met. We whinnied and looked away, off-kilter.

He pushed my buttons—the right-wrong or wrong-right ones. He learned what I liked. He liked to do that.

I'd never met a pony that could do that and, trust me, I'd met plenty who desperately wanted to manipulate me. 

We weren't alike. 

He hadn't been orphaned. He hadn't had to learn to fight—needing to succeed or die. He hadn't been honed into a tool with a compulsion to protect ponies. 

We weren't alike.

Had somepony thought us a match? Celestia hadn't directly pointed me at her nephew. She'd said, "I'd love to make you his teacher, to see what you could make of the do-nothing." The duchess, through her grand niece, had unmistakably pushed, but implied he was an enemy.

I shook my head and my mane slid into my face. I tied it into a bun as I caught a whiff of sugar pastries. The real deal, not his scent. I turned, reflexively magicking everypony like dolls. Firefall whooshed into Pâtisserie la Reine, reading my mind.

"Sit, sit," I told the others, "I'll find something," scanning the cases for inspiration, desperately hiding my jitters and failing utterly. 

I pressed my nose and the frogs of my hooves against the cold curved glass. 

I saw gateaux: chocolate, coconut, and cherry, the type that two bites would fill you and make you sleepy. I passed custard, tarts, and apple pies. I pointed a hoof at some stacked baguettes imagining them with warm butter, then saw vegetable loaves. I sidled over. I tapped the glass. Click click.

Firefall's magenta eyes regarded me, reflected and distorted, as I stood and the server hoofed the plate of slices into my magic. I blinked, pointing my nose at the déclassé bread, and said, "See. I'm no princess. Just a pony."

She snorted.

I inhaled. "They didn't have pumpkin. The carrot's fragrant, though." Her nose pulsed as I added, "The cinnamon and butter scent: From one to ten, how strong?"

"Mild, delicate maybe?"

"It's prominent to me."

"Maybe your nose is better trained?"

I chuckled. "Did you notice the prince smells of cinnamon?"

"Can't say I did."

"Go give him a sniff."

"Ummm..." Her face, already reddish because of her fur, reddened. 

I gave her puppy eyes. She rolled hers. Under her breath, she said, "She wants to eat something that smells like him? Is Canterlot going to survive this?"

I set the plate and crock of butter on the table; the prince pulled out a chair, at which point Firefall stuck her nose in his mane as he moved across her. Her eyes widened, but she shook her head.

"Five," I asked?

"Maybe three, licorice and..." She snagged a slice in a wing, sitting at the next table. "I like licorice."

The prince asked, "I'm not a ten?"

I rubbed my cheek against his without thinking. Thinking better of it, I grabbed a slice, smeared it with soft butter, and shoved it in his mouth.

He looked startled as I was. His scent grew evident, as did his amused smile. I smiled in return. I had a discriminating nose—

—that was making me crazy!

Looking down, I murmured, "To me you're a ten." 

Oh, horse apples. I said that. 

I swiftly added, "Is this something you do to the fillies; figure them out, then make them like you? I'm too dangerous to toy with."

He swallowed, then said nonchalantly, "The fillies and mares seen pursuing the prince want him to make them more, to fill them up. You're overflowing. And you share. That makes you amazing and makes me want to understand you better."

Stupid pony. 

He likes me.

My heart raced as I gobbled an unbuttered slice. I leaned against him, struggling not to cough with the dry contents of my mouth. I failed, sputtering crumbs as he patted my back. 

Our bodyguards watched our comedy routine. Firefall fought not to roll her eyes. The prince levitated me a glass of water.

He got me sheepishly talking about myself. Maybe he thought it calmed me. I explained I'd run away from home to learn magic, but that led to how instead I'd learned to fight, and that it had freed me. 

The temperature at the back of the restaurant plummeted. 

Firefall looked stunned, possibly because my observation of ponies was that you didn't admit such things, and if you did, not in such a blasé manner. You were supposed to cry, to shriek, to look like you might hurt yourself. The prince didn't flinch though his warm fur rested ever-steady under my cheek. I can't fathom how he managed it. I couldn't have. 

He asked, "This is why you needed your teammates Broomhill Dare and Citron to teach you to use Force? You didn't trust yourself?"

He'd listened to everything I'd said and connected the dots. He'd chosen calm and normal to keep me from exploding. Did he actually understand me? Was he like me? No, he hadn't lost his parents at a young age, run away from all he'd known, or been honed into somepony's sharp tool.

I said, "I like the feeling of being in control... too much. I'll never again be chattel. I trust myself not to become The Monster if I fight with my head to master my emotions. I want to protect ponies. And. I will."

He chuckled. "Seems like you'll fit well into the family."

I scooted away, pushing him with my hooves. "Don't compare me to Celestia!"

"It wouldn't be fair. To my aunt."

Whose family? "Wait, what!? I'm not marrying you!"

"Wouldn't think of it."

"Me either. "

"Good."

"Fine." I buttered some slices and offered him one. 

He chomped it from my magic like an earth pony, leaving me holding the remainder. Which I did. He took a second bite, then another. Chewing from behind a hoof, he added, "Besides, you're a much more direct, see-what-you-get type pony, compared to Auntie." A last bite. After swallowing, he finished, "So I've been heard to say. No comparison, really."

"Am I that 'direct?'"

He answered things I'd said and done, and a few things that he'd likely gleaned from the papers after our fight this afternoon. That led me to tell him how I worked to prevent the gang war in the northeast, and then when it was inevitable, how I'd tried to prevent as many ponies getting hurt as possible. Once crowned the new Doña, I had changed everything to emphasize commerce over violence. It was Celestia's point that I had not gone far enough reforming the syndicate; she asserted I'd lost my nerve.

She was wrong. 

I explained that Celestia didn't understand that I polarized ponies. Factions in the syndicate had formed: those who would fiercely protect me and those who preferred the former status quo, and viciously fought change. I foresaw war, and I didn't want to be responsible for further deaths. (I had a running tally in my head.) I'd runaway to learn magic and had gotten off track. 

I ghosted the organization.

Whether Blueblood made his living as an information broker gathering and disseminating information across Canterlot, or it was only his hobby, he was very good at ferreting out information if I were any measure. I'd given him a lot of freebies, but I'd unburdened myself and had reserved names and details that might incriminate others. Not stupid. 

Eventually, I'd exact payment.

I asked, "So, you don't find me—"

"Repulsive? No."

I blinked at him for a few seconds. "I was going to say 'weird.'"

He huffed. "I'm no judge. You come well recommended."

"By Celestia?" I snorted. "That's suspect in itself. I can't tell you the reason she'd recommend me—" curse-breaking "—so don't ask."

"The prince is related to her," he said in his odd way. "He reputedly trusts her with these few things." He coughed into a hoof. "I would love to take you to my place in town to show you... a few things... about me, were you interested."

Singe immediately waved a hoof no. Tan and Brown agreed, looking rather like they'd overeaten though I was pretty sure they had not eaten any of the carrot loaf. Their dour expressions confirmed they likely thought, We had a long day and now this?

I leaned forward and glared at the three. "Celestia agreed to let me to train all the bodyguards on staff. My specialty. One of the first things I'll teach you is how to tell your employer why he can't do what he wants to do, and how to drag his flank away when he's being stupid."

I pointed my hoof from Blueblood to Singe and back until they took Blueblood to the next table to talk. Firefall sat beside me.

"If you were my daughter, I would tell you it's time to pack up your toys and go home."

"How old is your daughter?"

"Seven. That's not the point. Everypony in the palace knows that stallion is trouble."

"Are you worried he might try to ride me? Be worried for him!" I chuckled, but when I looked into her magenta eyes, they speared me.

She continued, "You're getting emotionally involved."

I snorted, then giggled. The royal guardsmare shook her head in disgust. I was going to have to show her how to drag my flank away when I was being stupid—or greedy.
> 11 — It Happened on a Warm Autumn Night Part III
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turned out the prince had a small townhouse on Tribeca Parkway in downtown, and Brown rushed ahead to ensure everything was in order. Firefall quipped she'd bet it was to ensure yesterday's riding partner had left.

I said, "Yet, no scandals?"

"Are you planning on visiting The Inquisition to write a tell-all?"

"Maybe?"

She looked unconvinced. "He invited you. Being discreet doesn't mean he's not randy."

Works for me. I shrugged, grinning.

As Singe unlocked the door, I asked Blueblood coquettishly, "Are you inviting me up to see your impressionist paintings?"

He blinked, clearly confused.

I tried, "Etchings...? 

"Something exotic to attract a naïve filly into your inner sanctum?" So you can have your way with her? 

I put two hooves on his flank and pushed him toward the open door. "It worked the last time I asked a stallion. He'd actually had six different full-sized reproductions from Hay Stacks by Mérens!†" Expectedly, gratefully, distractingly, my future fight coach had turned out to be gentlecolt about other things that night...

Firefall flew past us inside with a "Wait!" dragging my mane in her wake. An infuriated Tan dashed after, yelling a word to add to my dictionary of pony invective.

He said jauntily, "Here's to hoping you'll have a good impression."

I groaned, then realized his bodyguards and mine were inside. We stood outside. Alone. 

You read that right.

Alone. 

They called the one-room wide four-story tall homes toy townhouses. Manicured hedges or skyscraper cypress separated pocket-sized yards with a lawn that couldn't feed a goat's kid. High-priced, they packed the row houses in, five blocks east of Castle Way Blvd and four blocks north of Alicorn Way. Ancient trees grew in the winding parkway. Heavy branches sported a dense canopy of rustling autumn-colored leaves, throwing flitting shadows from the street lamps they obstructed. The nice quiet secluded street provided too many places to hide in and ambush from. 

I shuddered.

Hooves pressing his buttocks, I pushed until he clopped to the stairs. He brushed my nose with his tail as he turned around.

"Shoes," he said, when I made to step past onto the stairs into the living area. He glanced at the carpeted white stairway as he stepped into fluffy white slippers.

I grumbled, dropping my brass with clanks on the black-veined white marble vestibule tile. The insert in my left rear hoof rolled out like an oblong bit. His eyes followed until it flopped over. 

"My frog goes numb. Were I to get a stone in my shoe I could bleed to death without realizing it. Only needing an orthotic is a pretty good result considering they replaced the entire postern bone."

"The whole thing?"

"After an assassination attempt I foiled. Who knew bones shatter so easily when you're thrown across a room?"

"I'd never have known."

"Had physical therapy. Months. Citron knows. Sunset, too—I'm living with her. Nopony else yet in Canterlot. Consider yourself privileged. You're learning more about me than most ponies." I followed him. 

"Interesting story?"

"You auditioning to be my biographer? Gonna write The Runaway Bodyguard?"

"Something more interesting."

"Yeah. Right." I laughed. 

This floor proved to be a business-like conference room, done in carved mahogany set off by red velvet cushions upon a white carpet. Wait— The thick threads were cut and combed upright so it looked like close-cropped albino grass. I rubbed a frog across the shag pile, one that could still feel reliably. I couldn't decide if it tickled or caressed. Nice. 

I didn't see more because a thump and a bang echoed from upstairs, followed by furniture sliding to strike a wall accompanied by a sizzle of magic. I jumped as it jangled my high-strung nerves like all the wrong keys of a piano struck simultaneously.

Blueblood jerked into motion, hitting the first steps of the next flight of stairs. "What happened?" he yelled. He turned to me, stating, "Mudflats can be graceless."

Five seconds passed, my limit and I stomped forward to throw the prince out of the way when somepony, Tan by the sound of him, called, "It's nothing—"

Singe added loudly, "It's a bug! We stomped it. We knocked over the icebox."

"Everything's inside now," Brown (Mudflats?) added helpfully. 

I... 

I didn't like that. 

The prince chuckled, sounding embarrassed. "Desert Shield has a cockroach phobia."

I blinked. Why would the prince, this arrogant stallion particularly, apologize for his servants? Or point out he had cockroaches! I got teleport spinning, though I could only guess about the layout of the next two levels, attic, and possibly the widows-walk terrace these houses had. I called, "Firefall?"

I looked right, startled when the prince touched my shoulder with his. His horn glowed. With few lights on, his magic looked faintly greenish. 

Two heartbeats. Three. I looked into Blueblood's blue eyes, shook my head, and kissed the wish predicate of Teleport with my guessed vectors. 

Sparkles whooshed from my horn like a pyrotechnic; his touch had thrown off my mass calculation. I heard, "Incompetents!" probably from an attic space. 

Yep. That could be nopony other than Firefall. 

"High-strung much?" asked the prince, sliding me in his magic out to near the center of the room. 

"Me, definitely. In the last 48 hours, I was caught in a firefight between the constabulary and a crime boss, then had to beat your aunt away when she wouldn't take no for an answer." I inhaled deeply and, suddenly wrung out, plopped into a thickly upholstered chair. "Twice!"

"Can I get you a seltzer? Something stronger?"

I stuck my tongue out slightly, working to keep a smirk off my face. Trying to get me drunk was a good sign. "A fruity aperitif?"

"I can manage that." 

He opened a cabinet with a hundred colored and oddly shaped bottles, with crystal glasses that likely matched the palace pattern. 

He said, "A demi-hoof, no more."

"Whatever makes you happy—"

I suppressed a gleeful squirm. 

"—Sour plum, bitter orange, apricot—"

"I like apricot!" It brought back a fond memory of a train ride and a more innocent time. I smiled at him, thanking him silently. He got a look not unlike that which had worried me seeing him exit the park—which led to the hug... 

I decided that was him reacting to me when I wore my emotions visible for all to see. Getting a cutie mark, acknowledging friendship existed, liking somepony— I was acting weird right now. No better way to say it. 

"Follow me," he said, trailing a cordial glass with a golden orange syrup past me in his now properly light-blue aura. "It's where I'm going to impress you."

"So you say." I swiped for the glass but he scooted it out of reach, upstairs, where I heard it clink on an unseen glass-topped table.

I found a study. He swished up magic pebble torchiere lamps, adding to a lantern that lit the stair to the attic level. I saw overstuffed sofas that would be wonderful to lay on, bookshelves lined with tomes, tables with knickknacks, and a low conversation table with pillows strewn around it. My little drink glowed amber in a spotlight. Antiqued brass tastefully accented everything with a masculine flare. 

Desert Shield and Mudflats stood in a dark alcove to a further room, startling me when they moved. Singe pranced down from the attic service level, looking pleased. She crossed the landing to continue downstairs, but stopped strategically blocking the way down. 

I noticed. 

I noticed I stood outnumbered four-to-one, so I lifted my drink in my magic to have a cognate spell spun up while Force queued itself—I instinctively went for that one because that was the one that I freed myself with when I learned how to fight. Notwithstanding, liquor splashed in your eyes reputedly stung. 

The prince told Singe, "That's enough for tonight."

The pink unicorn replied, "Your Royal Highness, we agreed—"

"No. You are mistaken." He touched a hoof to his heart. "I can take care of what's necessary." He turned to the earth ponies. "That means you, too." He glared, and pointed with his nose to the stairs.

I told his guard, "I promised Singe I wouldn't kill the fellow. Honest. He's more of a love bug than I'd thought."

Singe sighed. "I've wrapped up the other matter."

The prince said, "I'll wrap up this one."

"Do that," she said rather imperiously, waiting for the earth ponies to scoot past her before she descended.

I asked her, "Where's Firefall?"

"She left off the terrace," she said and was gone.

I whispered Firefall's last word, "Incompetents," and sipped the drink, which instantly sent amazingly complex apricot vapors up my nose. "Singe can act business-like when she wants to. I'm going to do you a favor by training them."

He laughed worriedly.

I sipped from the glass and smiled, letting good associations filter back. I noticed the photos and trotted over.

All were in plain black frames with no mat. It caught my eye that some were photographs of paintings, none of which were Celestia, but one made me think of her. The horn. Pike-like, with eight turns, set in a pink blaze. He wasn't as tall as her, judging by the alabaster desk he stood by and the crystal ball upon it, but proportionally he had the same physique as the princess, which made him look spindly despite defined musculature. His mane and tail were lime green, with streaks of blue and black. Oddly, his fur shared the same sunflower-yellow cast as Blueblood's blond mane and tail, but it was long and bristly enough that the painter had to work the strokes to keep him looking stately and not unkempt. Black wire glasses magnified brown eyes, making him look severe rather than scholarly.

I looked from the picture, to the prince who gave a wan smile from behind me, to the picture again. 

"Everypony has parents," he stated, which made me think of my father, maybe alive maybe dead, sharing the same green-streaked purple mane I had. He added, as if sensing my emotions, "Even if they're no longer around."

"Who is that?"

"The Prince of Summer, Archmage Daze." 

While it might be his father, it couldn't be Celestia's brother. Nopony other than Celestia had been cursed to live a thousand years in the expectation she'd see everything she'd worked for fail and die. She and I did share something: having lived with having lost everypony we ever knew. A gentle touch of a hoof pressed me left toward the next picture before my mind wandered down a path it would be difficult for me to climb back from.

I shook myself, then glanced at images of stallions and mares obviously in the peerage, one ribbon cutting ceremony with Blueblood genuinely smiling, and a few of him visiting vaguely familiar landmarks anypony of my supposed breeding ought recognize. I didn't. Geography, other than knowing every street in a city I had to work in, was not one of my better subjects. None of the images were captured in the northeast, in any case— 

Except one.

I paused on a young mare with a swaddled infant in a lacy pink pram. The streaky red hair of the foal caught my eye, then the darker similar mane of her otherwise palomino mother or governess. I decided mother, recognizing first the carousel in the background of what proved to be an actual photograph, then second realizing this was a scene from Horseshoe Bay near where I was brought up. 

I'd visited that carousel, which boasted chariots pulled by carved and brightly painted pegasi and griffons, with snarling dragons you could perch on, and a magically flaming phoenix who held a carriage in its claws that every foal wanted to ride. I recognized the mare's resemblance to Lady Horseshoe Bay, Widow Dowager Duchess Calm Seas. I had likely entertained her at least once at Sire's Hollow—and forgot doing so.

I remembered the Lady's warning, delivered by Moon Dancer: "Celestia's nephew can be surprising and it would behoof you to learn why." The why part was inscrutable; the surprising part seemed true enough.

I said, "I will have to visit there again." Unvoiced, I was asking, Who's that?

"All the prince's memories are precious. That's..."

Into a pause that lengthened uncomfortably, I said, "The Flying Horses Carousel. Near where I was born. I was brought up in Sire's Hollow in the piedmont that's a day's gallop from that beach. I went on an outing at the beginning of each season. I got to ride that once. I even rode the Phoenix Carriage. Though I tried for the brass ring and missed it, I remember crackle and blaze of the cold fire. It me want to learn more magic. I guess I do have a few happy memories hidden in the darkness." I tapped my head. 

"No wonder your emotions spiked, looking at that picture."

I turned to him, looking into his earnest blue eyes. On impulse, I shimmied, writhing to the left in a short approximation of our dance earlier.

He mirrored it to the right, causing me to shiver with remembered delight. I pointed out, "We seem to be particularly in-tune tonight."

"I am good at reading emotions."

"Which is what makes you good at your job? Or at bridling the fillies—"

"Ms. Starlight!" he huffed, looking hurt, slightly insulted.

"Sorry." I looked away. "I'm not the most trusting pony."

"I understand. Everything you do strikes me here." He tapped a hoof to his heart. "I want to learn everything about you, to understand enough to become you. You fascinate me."

I fascinate him? "You know how to say the right things," and how to make my heart speed in anticipation.

"I work at it."

"But you're not a good kisser—"

"80% grade isn't good?"

I blinked at him. "Uh, above average?" Did he remember my every word?

"I can do much better," he insisted. "I am very good at learning. Teach me. I'll lay a wager that I can achieve a 100% under your tutelage."

"You are a brazen arrogant son of a dragon, Your Royal Highness. What do you get should you win?"

"Anything you want."

"That's... what?" My heart skipped. "Okay, you sneaky colt. What do I get if I win?"

He surged forward, kissing me before I could react. Not that I planned on running. Quite the opposite.

Ohhh! Good student! My lips tingled, then the rest of me. Were four legs enough to keep a pony standing? Each thing I demonstrated, he mirrored, then tuned it rapidly into something that took my breath away. Conceding he'd won the wager only by my actions, I pushed him toward an overstuffed sofa, but he led me by the lips to an adjacent more practical room.

He wasn't bluffing when he said I could teach him. I learned more about myself than I'd ever thought I'd learn, because he had an uncanny ability to sense what I preferred, even when I tried something different or guessed it might be fun.

He earned that 100% grade.

As far as the wager went, we both won.




†A Mérens is a type of French horse, so Clod Mérens from Prance is a ponyfication of Claude Monet from France, who painted the famous, on topic, Hay Stacks series. From The Runaway Bodyguard, Starlight is a fan of impressionist paintings because, like her, what you see from a distance is not what you see up close.
> 12 — Way Before Dawn Part I (Nightmare)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It felt like one of those dreams where you become aware that you were dreaming and you feel like you've woken up. You get to make choices, talk, do things but realize you can't move and you have no control, and realize that you've woken up in a nightmare. You find yourself somewhere where you don't belong. And you recognize it's not where you want to be.

I remembered a stallion, but forgot his name. He played my body like a cello, when I didn't even know I had strings that could sound so melodiously. The soft bed. The primal sounds. The scent of cinnamon, split through a magical prism into a spectrum no unicorn could comprehend...

I reached with my hooves to catch what fled, but I couldn't move them. 

I couldn't move! 

As in the worst of dreams, the best of delights changed— 

Memory fragmented—the images, the what-had-been-perfect—left a sense of a wonder exchanged for a reality of things forever forgotten.

Calm snuck in like a thief in the night, to anesthetize me, even as palpable wrongness congealed. I fought. I fought being controlled. I fought being drugged because... that's what it felt like... and I always fought. 

In a snap of horrifying clarity, my world turned dim monochromatic emerald green. I blinked into the dim glow, at clear globules that lazily floated past.

Bubbles?

I became cognizant that my head pounded. My weight rested suspended on my rear legs and hips, pulling tendons and muscles. Blood rushed downward, throbbing, pulsing in my ears. My sinuses congested. Worse, something snaked up my nose. In my mouth, I noticed something equally horrible, square, corrugated, and hard. With my tongue, I rubbed and pressed furiously but it wouldn't move. My throat spasmed. Worry rushed in. Don't gag. 

Don't.

Please don't.

I was supposed to be asleep. Anesthetized, I gathered. 

I manifestly was not. 

If I lost the fight, I'd surely inhale—

Did the tube go into my lungs? Stomach? 

Both?

I could only squirm as I realized other openings had merited invasion.

I bit down. The tube crinkled like shrimp shells despite its rubberiness. I pressed down with my front teeth. My jaws ached, but I couldn't bite through.

I breathed; thick and viscous; not air!

No, not drowning. Not drowning. Not drowning... Not drowning...!

...Nightmare.

Of course it was. 

Why did my subconscious whip me like this? Did I believe that I was so undeserving that I needed to torment myself? I'd found happiness, arguably friendship—undeniable pleasure. 

I'd learned this about myself—that I could find these things.

My magic(!)—forgotten, suddenly remembered: I pressed against a tremendous mental weight—

Not realizing—

No splendors of magic!

Blue and purple phosphenes blinded me. Pain thrust blue-white jags through my eyes like hot needles, and a migraine bloomed. I'd lost my connection to the magic pulse. All my splendors, drained away.

Not. Possible.

You can break out of a nightmare, right? Right? When you realize it is one. Right? This was one. 

Right?

What else could it be?


...


I felt like I'd never be happy again.


...


"Let me go!" I screamed, a scream that sounded only in my mind. My voice did not work in the green nightmare. Vocal cords didn't work when drowned in liquid. 

The green, fragments of what I'd lost, the lack of control—it pressed in, crushing me. 

Because. 

Deep inside.

Certainty grew that...

I'd experience this horror until the moment I died.
> 13 — Way Before Dawn Part II (The Tub Incident)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I gasped awake.

I flailed my legs, splashing warm water with my rear hooves, hitting a tile wall with my right forehoof and something softer with my left.

"Oof!" a pony cried, but was fast and grabbed me before I could back-hoof him with a return sweep.

He released my leg instantly, as if he'd trespassed.

I'd woken in a humid room that smelled heavily of honey. I lay on my back floating in a porcelain slipper tub. Tan travertine tile lined the walls with wavy lines of rust color, interspersed with gold accents. Somepony had lit a dozen fat candles to illuminate the room with flickering light that cast mesmerizing shadows. Sitting beside the tub sat Blueblood, his golden hair limper than usual.

Soap foam dripped from his chin. It explained much.

Moisture glistened across the lower rim of his eyes. Unless he had experienced my dream, those could not be tears. Likely soap in his eyes. He blinked even now.

I remembered the green nightmare.

Why? The only redeeming aspect of a nightmare was that you forgot it moment you woke!

I shuddered, then hugged myself in a shiver that made it to my lips with a burr.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I studied those eyes. Multiple flames made his irises resemble smoothly ground sapphire, glinting with clear concern as they shifted, taking me in, looking for hurt. I sniffed the air. The candles were honey-scented, but something exuded cinnamon. Him. That made me remember what he'd done, all he'd learned, and what he'd taught me I could feel.

That simple four letter word, feel, did no justice to those sensations. I put my right hoof to my heart. Internal thunder grew, overwhelming my nightmare memories as my breathing grew rapid. I couldn't blush more because I lay in tub of hot sudsy water. My heart expanded to touch my ribs. It felt that way. It was as if my reactions worked overtime to counter the worry in his face; I expanded with relief and remembered joy.

I whispered (huskily, because what I felt took over my vocal cords): "Very much okay." 

I directed all the intangible and indescribable overflowing in me—at him.

He staggered, despite sitting. His hooves slipped and skittered from under him, clicking against the grout. He teetered, unbalanced, his chin descending toward the cast-iron porcelain-encased tub.

I thrust myself forward, ejecting a great wave of soapy water as I twisted to catch him in a hug. I banged my ribs. Suds flew through the air. Candles hissed out, or doused themselves splashing into the tub to float and bob. The scent of paraffin combined with the honey, cinnamon, and soap.

He weighed... quite a bit more than me, so I quickly rested him on the edge, steadying him, studying his stunned features as I blurted, "Are you insane?"

"You fill me up," he said.

That again. I didn't understand—or maybe didn't want to understand. The implication exceeded friendship. It implied love— "But, but! Are-are you ok?"

He nodded once, blinked twice, then finally hooked his front hooves over the edge of the tub. His hooves splashed in. His mane dripped. "What's Equish for beyond ok?"

I grabbed with a hoof on either side of his head and kissed him as deeply as I could, employing everything we'd learned that we liked.

He breathed heavily and moaned. While he reciprocated better than I expected, it did not revive him to the extent that he took over. Was he rattled? Had I done something wrong? Why was he worried?

In the end, my mind decided that he humored me in some way.

I asked, "Are you alright?"

"You fill me beyond full."

I grinned. He wanted another kiss! I said, "Then give me back all that I've given you, you foal!"

"Can I do that?"

"Sure you can. Share it all with me!" I ordered, tilting my head and closing my eyes in expectation he'd kiss me.

Instead, a flood of magic pressed against me. Pulsing pink and white light blinded me, even through my eyelids, rumbling through the bathroom and rattling the apothecary jars, glasses, and the flower vase on the sink. I squinted and that didn't help, reflexively hugging the stallion, splashing more water. I hit my hips to keep from toppling over, but got myself repositioned so I hugged him more firmly despite the brightness, despite the magic.

As the magic streamed through me, only then did I realize it came from him.

Whatever the magic was, it felt good. 

Really good.

Like...

For a moment...

Everything was right in the world. (As if that were possible...)

Contentment flooded my awareness, overwhelming every sense— including a burst of scent which went from cinnamon and honey to Nirvana in an instant...

I hugged harder and heard a crisp plink, like the pop of a delicate glass Hearths Warming Eve ornament made when it broke. Then... 

Silence. 


#


I shook myself awake; I'd momentarily drifted away. I held Blueblood. The darkness of the night had returned—except for the greenish negative afterimages of his pink flare, the flicker of four candles on the sink that had survived the tub tsunamis, and the drip-drip-drip of splashed bath water from a tub now scattered with red rose petals.

"I did that," he murmured.

"You did that," I said, petting the side of his neck because I wanted to assure myself he really was there, before rubbing my frog along the line of his jaw, and finally feeling his very sharp horn—mostly to check if it were hot. I grinned and smirked at the same time. "Too bad I didn't catch the numbers in that little magic storm you unleashed." I shivered, remembering, smiling. "That gift of magic you gave me, it would make even the worst day better."

"I—I did... what you asked. I had hoarded every little bit of what I got from you. I know that now. I shared, like you told me to, something I was told I could not—must never do. I gave it all away, but now..." 

His voice cracked, then caught. He blinked. As I watched a tear run down his cheek, my feelings for him doubled, then doubled again. 

"...it's coming back!"

"Of course it is, silly colt" I laughed, feeling an uncanny truth falling into place. "It's something I'm learning, too. Ponies are like this, apparently. They give and other ponies give in return."

"That's... extraordinary!"

"Here's some more—!" I splashed more water as I hugged him, kissed his cheeks, his nose, then his lips (with a nibble) once again.

When he pulled back and I relaxed into the water, a grin grew over his muzzle. He said, "I think I would like to share some more." 

Blue nebulosity pulsed around his horn and I floated into the air, dripping water and suds that splatted on the floor. He trotted us both toward the adjacent room.

"I'm wet!" I squealed and mock flailed.

"That's even better!"
> 14 — Way Before Dawn Part III (Nothing Suspicious)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.
> 15 — Way Before Dawn Part IV (Love, Sex, and Friendship)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Day 601


I nodded at the guard flying by Sunset's ivory tower. The grey night wing nodded back. I pushed open the door cautiously. 

The hinge creaked.

I cringed and pushed faster, which resolved the issue but not the echo. The half-light revealed a brass umbrella stand, a mirrored changing bench, and an ornate red fainting couch. Sunset had dragged it over a few days ago. Laying on it, she'd moaned in the throws of withdrawals, guilting, wheedling to take her to a supplier of nettle ewe she deduced I knew. Addict's logic. I'd "broken," with plenty of dragon tears, to convince her she had control. I would use her to cut down Boss Running Mead and had needed her to suspect nothing. He had threatened her. To protect her and force her to find help, I'd arranged a sting operation.

I needed to set that couch on fire and throw it out a window.

I sniffed. Cooking, not burning furniture. Midnight. A stair spiraled up toward a light. Sizzling sounds. The smell of garlic, oregano, olive oil...

Somepony was cooking... Salernitano food? Not Sunset. Her idea of dinner was reservations, and her food never smelled good.

Two sets of hooves: Walking. At least they weren't riding each other. Loudly. My skin turned hot remembering an hour ago. Wasn't sure if I'd been similarly loud.

A thump sounded behind me. 

A punked-out Streak had landed in the doorway, her ear and body rings jangling as she furled her wings. She wore her stuffed messenger bag and the silver compact camera she'd used working part time for the Canterlotter. Hurricane's armor snaked over her back. Suddenly I understood how the royal guard wore plate armor all day: Embedded magic! Duh.

Anypony who could dispel embedded magic would devastate Celestia's army. I'd have to discuss that—

Streak scuffed her hooves on the mat and trotted in. "Saw you on the way home. Looked so wrapped up in thought, decided not to disturb ya."

My face colored.

She smiled, nodding. "Went to my apartment in the News Building and developed my pictures from our battle with Princess Celestia." She sang, "Got some compromising show-and-tell!" She grinned widely. "Caught hero shots of both you and Citron, with cursed flames roaring around the princess."

Horseshoes clattered on the stairs, making my thoughts implode. I flashed on the prince and me; thinking of Sunset and Citron doing the same made my tail stiffen. I didn't, couldn't, face them. Tinkling magic enchanted the lanterns into a dusky yellow glow. My ears swiveled, following their progress.

Sunset said, "We've so much to talk about!" Her voice sounded excited. No pain of withdrawals coloring her tone. No resentment for the compromising position I'd tricked her into in the sting operation. 

Of course she had lots to talk about! 

I hadn't thought of Citron as her first stallion, but after listening to Streak's reporting, I suspected he was. Certain details (perhaps all details) were too much information. Memory of her sleeping snug to my stomach, flashed through my head. Another of Citron stepping up, putting a hoof under my chin, and kissing me deep into my soul galloped after it, causing my tail to stiffen once again. I thought how well the Prince had performed after I'd taught him what I liked. Citron had experienced many teachers. It totally left him competitive...

Sunset stopped behind me. "Starlight?"

I inhaled sharply, so emotionally discombobulated that I feared how I would react seeing her gold and red maned-self flank and flank with lemon-meringue pie-colored Citron. I was merely a filly, wasn't I? Still a teenager for a year or so.

Instinct urged me to run. I knew better.

I turned.

Yes. There they were. Next to each other. 

She had that special happy expression I'd worked so hard on the way here to wipe off my face. Her green eyes sparkled, as did his amber ones. He alone wore clothing: a tomato sauce-stained apron. His effort had been the source of the delicious smells. Still, he snugged his flank against hers. None of that "polite" distance ponies usually kept, even couples. Honest intimacy looked like this.

What had the prince and I looked like?

I hadn't been honest. With myself, least of all.

Sunset's mouth opened; her face paled. "Starlight! You're hurt."

Her horn lit with a green aura as she moved my head side to side. Her father had fixed my broken nose, again, but with the makeup washed off she saw new bruises because she paid attention to detail. She pursed her lips. I followed her gaze and touched my glued ear. Yep. No longer glued. Parts of the split had flopped opposite directions. A drop of blood smeared my frog and it stung.

The bath had unglued it. Probably. I knew nothing about medical glues. Or why I'd been in a bath, for that matter.

The prince hadn't cared how I looked, nor that I was wet as he carried me to his bed.

I'd left my cloak in the Prince's downtown apartment, which oddly left me feeling undressed. Ponies didn't normally wear clothing. We hadn't certainly, doing as we had. 

I blushed.

"Have you put antiseptic on that?" She dragged me toward the washroom. I went all deer-in-the-lantern-light as Citron shrugged and grinned—some bodyguard he was! "Seriously, Starlight, sometimes I feel like your Mom or... or something! Have you always been this violent?"

The sting operation had introduction her to my Grimoire persona and my gangland past. In Canterlot, I'd separated my classroom life from my life being blackmailed into becoming an enforcer—because I'd been far worse, enough to earn my extraordinary royal pardon. The colts and fillies at Celestia's, including the school's alpha mare Sunset Shimmer, knew me only as a talented and especially bookish filly. Being Sunset's friend provided effective camouflage, letting me dodge questions about where I lived, or how I could afford my tuition.

Had I always been this violent?

Had I always been this violent!?

"My parents are dead. Killed. Thanks to Celestia," I said.

Sunset dropped the iodine with a whinny. The purple bottle bounced on the rug. For Citron and Streak, their death was old news. 

"Until two days ago, I thought that. My mother's magical misfire and disappearance were certainly due to a head injury as Celestia's spy. My father is likely a prisoner of one of the mob families running Salerno, a hostage for the Doñas to hold against Celestia, and not dead. Hopefully. But. That's how I've lived since I was a foal—thinking my parents dead."

Sunset's eyes widened. She understood, intimately, for different reasons, because she'd been abandoned on the street before she could talk. Dr. Flowing Water was the only father she knew; Celestia had tamed her from a feral foal and was arguably the only mother she knew. Fraught described that relationship. "I'd loved my parents and then, one day, somepony told me they'd been murdered.

"I ran away when I could be mistaken as adult.

"Weeks later, on a drenching rainy day, I passed a big red earth pony on the road to Fillydelphia. The stallion struck me unconscious and stole what I freely shared an hour ago. I woke, dragged through the mud. I remember his words as he psyched himself up to murder me, that my mere act of breathing polluted the world. 

"I learned violence, first hoof. I discovered magic could save me. I fought. I fought. I learned I could fight. Violently. I learned I need never be chattel again. I set him on fire!" I bellowed.

I stood there shaking with anger, huffing, confused. My skin burned so hotly it ought have set my fur aflame. Tears streamed down my cheeks. "He was my first stallion!"

Were I them, I'd have run from the crazy pony. I jerked as the intent to gallop away whipped my muscles into motion. Fractions of a second later, I might have built up the momentum to barrel them all over and run and keep running. 

I loved to fight. I loved the violence I wrought and how I could save ponies with it. The foundation of it, of my life, was fundamentally twisted in an act of evil.

Sunset tackled me and turned it into a hug. "Starlight, oh, Starlight! I didn't know!"

Citron hugged me, too, strongly, and that felt really good; moments later Streak's wings wrapped around us all. 

They said many soothing things. I shuddered and shook and cried. I didn't deserve this love, any more than that weird heart-expanding emotion I felt being with the prince. I had no choice but to endure. Something inside insisted I soak it all in—and... relaxing slowly, I did.

The soft words from a new pony's mouth cut through everything. I heard them because, growing up, a certain stallion's voice had made my life as difficult as living in Tartarus.

Proper Step said with devastating sincerity, "It's all my fault. I am so sorry."

Everypony heard it. They let me lever myself up to face my former butler, now my chargé d'affairs. The brown and black stallion collapsed to his knees, his head bowed. "I cannot morally beg your forgiveness. I verbally tender my resignation so I may leave your sight forever."

I blinked at him. Then it clicked. "You sent the red stallion?!"

"No! Celestia, no!" He would not look at me though, only the carpeted floor. "I let you run away. The princess counseled me you'd run that year if you had the mettle to become somepony great. When you ran, I thought, no, I'd better find her. She's only a filly. Despite the princess' order, I had raised you, mind and body. I knew better. I—I nevertheless issued the order that if you were found to let you get away. Fire Feather found you in Canterlot, but pretended not to see you. I am responsible for you being savaged. I've failed my basic duty as a stallion, let alone being a halfway decent pony."

My throat constricted. I wobbled, shaking. "I hated you. I hated you!" Tears streamed, rolling from my cheeks down my neck. "But you made me all I'd become. You and the tutors taught me everything, including the determination I used to defeat the Monster. To defeat all the monsters. To defeat the evil that infected Celestia. If we now have a chance to save the world, you are responsible for making that possible."

He said, "I disagree."

I stomped a hoof. "I need you. I don't accept your resignation! Celestia wouldn't let me if I did."

He stood there, knees bent, trembling, an example of pony turned insane by a cutie mark and stallion pride. I added, "We will talk this through, but I can't right now." I trembled, sitting involuntarily. Who knew being emotional could be so tiring? "Talk to your father." Celestia's majordomo. "Tell him everything, anything. You should. If they don't understand how their tool works and its modes of failure, how can they use it properly?"

He nodded, likely perceiving it a royal order. He stood not looking at me, trotted to the door, and left.

An instant later, my friends bowled me over in another group hug. Of course they did. I had friends, though I didn't understand the concept, nor did I trust it.

Later that night, we all slept in Sunset's huge bed. We should have changed the gold satin sheets. They smelled of a day's worth of after. I hoped it hid the prince's scent on me; I wanted that solely for myself. The breezes from the opened balcony doors helped. The moon lit the castle ramparts and onion domes beyond. We slept piled together, all trying to keep me warm and feeling safe. No riding was involved.

I didn't sleep well, but I did feel safe. I began to understand what it meant to be loved.
> 16 — By Dawn's Early Light Part I (Murderous in Pink)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rather than wake everypony clopping around the trotting track on the gym level, I let myself out early. I'd fought Celestia in the Mistmane Botanical Garden in the southern quarter of the castle grounds the day she'd chosen not to raise the sun. 

My fault. 

Celestia's petulance, but I'd precipitated the episode by telling her no. Predawn had lit the garden all day. 

I trotted along now sunlit paths paved with red and purple bowtie pavers. The pavilion complex was roped off with yellow warning ribbon. Between Celestia using her sun powers to burst into flames and being forced to fry Streak and I, along with Citron's pyro-pony tendencies, the building lay in heaps of charred wood rafters, flooring, and collapsed singed green tiles. Though doused, wisps of smoke curled up. It smelled like a fireplace. Two of the twelve pavilions looked salvageable.

Beyond the ornamental shrubs, I trotted to a grapevine-covered pergola. Celestia, playing mind games, had arranged for me to meet Citron again after a year apart. He'd stepped out of the opposite end of the vine-covered structure. I wanted to see the devastation he'd wrought there. The tunnel was green despite the late season—The Running of the Leaves was soon—few of the big leaves had reddened. 

It bathed me in green light. 

Green light...? My hackles rose. 

Cold sweat condensed on my coat, despite the reassuring clatter of my hooves and the fresh breeze. The green nightmare flooded back. I trotted faster. I remembered hanging upside down in a green sack of goo, as if I'd really experienced it. Thank Celestia, the awful dream hadn't been real; such experiences left scars. The green nightmare was another reason for my young brain to throw PTSD fits—to remind me that being a bad pony had consequences that scared the horse apple out of me. I didn't run or whimper, or let the ring in my ears grow louder, or let the white glare pulsing at the edge of my sight consume me. 

Waking in a bubble bath had shoved the nightmare from my mind. I grasped desperately for memories of soapy warmth, foamy bubbles, and sensuously floating in a honey-scented tub, before seeing the prince's concerned face and smelling his cinnamon cologne.  My panic faded. I was wide awake, after all. I was in control.

Why had he put me in the bath while I slept? I didn't know. I'd have to ask the stallion. 

Garden engineers had removed the final twenty pony lengths of the path. All the ornamental grasses were pulled, the ground tilled to dark soil. I pouted. Citron had fought a delaying battle against Celestia for my benefit. He'd set the tall grass, the pergola, and the shrubs on fire. 

Only a sea pony fountain remained. Four rust-stained alabaster specimens danced on a finned tails. Wide mouths would have spit water had the fountain not been under repair. Setting things on fire was my pyro-pony's cutie mark talent. I'd wanted to judge his ability under stress, thus the pout. None of his craftwork remained, only the faint scent of fireplace and a sign: 

Neighponese Meditation Rock Garden Coming This Spring!

Gardens and parks interested me only as a place lay in the grass to read, or to graze on the lawns when lacking bits. I appreciated the acres of roses. Red and pink were obviously the princess' favorite; plenty of yellow and greenish-white blooms. I appreciated the culinary roses best, and snapped off a few acidic rose hips, carefully avoiding the thorns. Hungry now, I felt entitled to one of the spicy brown sunflower seed-heads up ahead. I'd dealt with Celestia's petulance standing amongst them the day before. 

The plant didn't want to part with it, so I used the jackknife I'd won from a combative "fire-breathing" dragonette of a gang earth pony. I'd tricked Mustang into running headfirst into a brick wall. 

The ivory weapon (made of real age-yellowed bone) snicked open when I touched the metal tab. The bread plate-sized bloom cut loose as if butter. I clicked the blade closed and threw it in my messenger bag. I walked away, chomping it in my magic. The immature seeds and petals made it a complete crunchy breakfast.

My 7 AM appointment approached as I curved out of the gardens, dropping the sunflower in a handy compost bin. Ballrooms hulked on the left and the residence, my destination, on the right. 

I walked to cool down. Didn't want to visit the prince being too sweaty—only enough to remind him of last night. I swayed a little bit, remembering the otter dance, and another dance we'd thrown ourselves into with abandon. 

Leaving the back entrance to the dining rooms, I spotted something pink. 

Not pink with a periwinkle mane. Not Singe. Not that lucky. 

No. Pink with purple-tipped wings and a horn of six turns as sharp as Celestia's. The Princess of Love—the second Equestrian alicorn—who was so insignificant that, like the prince, I'd not learned about her until the procession at my coronation. I'd been waiting Celestia's pleasure on the sidelines when she'd locked eyes with me, like she wanted to challenge me to a duel—while escorting her plus one, Shining Armor. 

Oh, colts! I'd beat up her coltfriend!

I dodged left into the cover of a row of birch trees. Meager cover. Widely spaced. Compounding it, it and I were illuminated by the sun rising over the castle ramparts.

She flew the thirty pony lengths toward me, followed by somepony in brass armor—Twilight Sparkle's brother by the blue-streaked mane poked through the helmet, and the similar tail swishing with annoyance. His tan pants hid his new oversized, involuntarily borrowed, solar cutie mark. A gold lieutenant bar glittered on his collar. 

She alighted without dipping into a curtsy, glaring at me with compressed lips—until her purple eyes met mine. One thing to have murderous thoughts about thrashing a common nopony cur at a royal court event. Another thing when you knew what she'd become.

I sighed, stepping from the shadows of the thin, black-striated white-barked trunks. My lavender coat made hiding ludicrous, anyway. I leaned against a tree, crossing my fore and rear legs while queuing Levitate, not letting it light my horn. Squinting into the sun, I met her eyes. 

The breeze tussled the blond, red, and purple hair in her mane to play around her little teacup crown. Her irises pulsed. Her breathing increased. Perspiration formed around her horn, alive with a nebula of blue-green magic shades bluer than mine.

Proper Step had briefed me that she'd been a peasant villager from northwestern Salerno on the border with Prance. She'd been elevated into the aristocracy in her middle school years.

Pressure built for her to curtsy, what I called the puppet reflex. The imagined force pressed on her withers. Peer and social pressure ran the pony under the harshest taskmaster: Her own mind. Which, unlike me, she had not learned to master and ignore: After Celestia and I had come to blows, I'd sworn I'd never bow to her again. 

Of course, I was a bad pony, certifiably criminal, and arguably evil.

It might have been amusing to simply walk away. I did have an appointment. I sighed, feeling twinges of that social pressure thing. 

I sighed and chose to say, "I credit you for keeping a spell in your horn."

She blinked. I could see her mind going alternately from the realization she had stepped a hoof into it, to picking up a branch from the gardener's pile, as her aura clearly telegraphed, and beating me bloody with it. Identified, I could easily duck it. Her numbers were not in Celestia's league, but strong and simplified in a recognizably alicorn way. 

She said, "P-Princessa Celestia eats her morning crépès i-in the dining room. Hurry and you can meet her before s-she departs." 

She'd lived in Equestria for seven years. Her stiff elocution and especially her accent, a mixture of Prench and Salernitano, still identifiably blurred her consonants and softened her vowels. Hers resembled that of the owner of One Fell Swoop who came from a region called Provence.

I huffed. "Not interested in having breakfast, Princess Mi Amoré Cadenza. Already ate."

"Mais, mais...!" The alicorn fought the same slip into her native language Carne Asada, an Equidoran, had fought when angered or pressured. "I shall not let you cast a spell on Shining Armor!"

"Right. The daily spell." Mark Swap. Celestia bore Shining's purple shield cutie mark. He bore her cursed solar one. I had to cast the spell daily on either Shining or Celestia to keep them swapped—to save Equestria from eternal night and, by extension, me from a fiery death. It didn't matter on which pony; it was contagious magic. The longest interval to keep the escapement codicil safely ticking was a little more than 22 hours, though with practice I hoped to push it to 24 hours. I'd forgotten about the spell; fat chance I'd admit that to Cadance. 

Two plus two equals: "Celestia sent your little Shiny so I could cast on him?"

She flared her wings. "No, no, no..."

"Why?" I pressed her.

"You hurt Shining Armor. I do not trust you!"

"Not trusting me demonstrates your intelligence, unlike another princess I know. However, I've an appointment in a few minutes with the prince—"

She gasped, fluttering closer. Feathers akimbo, she spoke in a strained whisper, glancing back at her approaching beau. "Stay away!"

"From—?"

"Blueblood. Et, et, Shining!"

"Is he your riding partner?" I asked sweetly, loud enough that the husky white pony's ears perked. 

She pawed the ground with a hoof as her cheeks turned cherry red. His, tellingly, did not.

Um, have I discovered something? She'd mentioned Shining. I calculated they were 20 or 21. Still dating? She'd also warned against the prince. Had she had some private "interaction" with him?

Shining Armor sighed, shaking his head.

She glanced back at her coltfriend, then all but spat at me, saying, "Good morning, Princess Starlight Glimmer." As I tensed at her using titles for me, she added, "Will you kick me now?"

She was baiting me; probably thinking if I lashed out at her, Shining Armor would avoid me.

"Please, call me Ms. Glimmer," I said calmly, then took a deep breath. "Celestia decreed I may kick any pony who addresses me with the P-word, any titles really, which you know full well—even inaccurate ones like that. While you succeeded in insulting me as I rudely insulted you and Shining Armor—and I apologize for that—expect some day, nevertheless, to be duly kicked."

"Please, please," Shining armor said, nervously chuckling. "Ms. Glimmer, Cadance."

She kept her eyes on me and made a dainty raspberry sound. She lowered her head a hoof length in a minimal bow, her eyes locked in a stare with mine. "Yes, Your Royal Highness."

I rolled my eyes. "Two, Princess Mi Amoré Cadenza, that's two kicks." 

"Please, please, Cadance." Shining armor said. "There's a reason—"

I raised a hoof, cutting him off. "Shining Armor's right. There was a reason. May I call you 'Cadance?' Please?" In selling, you always ask something easy to get the customer into the habit of saying the word...

She blinked, then nodded, saying, "Yes," possibly conditioned to be unable to refuse a royal request.

"I attacked him because lives depended on it. I know you are the Princess of Love. Cast a diagnostic spell to determine my friendly intentions." I tilted my head sideways. "Go ahead. Cast it."

Her eyes grew saucer-sized. If she thought I opened myself up to attack, that would be an interesting response. I wanted to see if her magic could hurt me.

She said, "It-it doesn't work that way."

"Can't you render me more friendly?"

"My magic requires two ponies."

I pointed a hoof from her to me.

"No, no, no."

"Well, then, I'll cast my spell on Shining Armor—"

Her aura flashed. A heart shape struck me in the chest like a dart. What numbers I glimpsed in her aura were a whole different category of maths. Some sort of intrinsic magic, like Aerial Buoyancy that pegasi cast innately when flapping their wings, or like Running Mead's foul cutie mark mind-control magic that he could piggy-back on a Levitate spell. 

She loved Shining Armor and wanted to protect him. Thinking about it, I sympathized and empathized with how Cadance felt—and my heart opened. I suspected what she felt was a lot like what I felt around Blueblood—warm, arguably fuzzy, and wanting to touch him so badly that I had to be wary lest I do something incredibly embarrassing, mushy, or undignified.

Could you like somepony and not trust them?

Cadance stepped back, blinking. As her mouth opened, her eyes widened. "I-I— This m-makes no sense."

"What?"

She tucked in her lower lip, shaking her head. She waved her horn the same way I would in order to detect the direction of magic, to home in on its source.

I said, "Not enough practice? You attended Celestia's, right?"

"For a few months, but I am not interested the magicks—"

"What? How can a unicorn—an alicorn not be interested in magic?"

"I was born a pegasus."

I sat down hard, bruising my bottom, gaping. I froze up. What did she mean? She was no pegasus... Wait... Celestia had explained something about her sister and necromancy, which, if interpreted counterintuitively, implied that Luna had been made an alicorn using dark magic, which if you thought about it explained perfectly why Luna had decided to destroy the world.

I tilted my head up. The pink alicorn stood above me, frowning and wide-eyed—with Shining Armor to her right, eyebrows up, evaluating his mare-friend's sudden friendly attitude shift. 

I asked, "You were made an alicorn?"

She nodded. "I earned my horn. Nopony is born an alicorn."

O-kay. Filing that away!

"Are you a Hero of Equestria? Like my parents were?"

"No. I was born in Salerno, where I reformed an evil sorceress who leached the love from ponies in our village, but that was years ago. About you..." She tilted her head until her lengthy horn touched my stubby one. They clinked, like two ponies toasting with crystal goblets, then sparked.

She gasped and jumped back. Her eyes became watery. She choked up. This wasn't pain. Her face shouted astonishment.

"What?" I asked.

She looked at Shining Armor, her eyes widening as if she had really seen him for the first time, and he fascinated her. Her tail swished slowly as her gaze traveled from his face to his muscular chest, along his armored back, to his covered flank and suddenly stiff tail. 

She said, "The spell did not work right." Her breath came in gusts. "Amity... passes the feeling of friendship... from me to two or more ponies, but this is not that." 

Her eyes flicked back to his face. She took a few steps, her hindquarters moving closer to him. She caught herself, visibly stifling rubbing against him. She gulped and shook herself. 

"Um," Shining said, his face reddening. His muscles twitched. He might have stepped aside, but likely feared he'd insult her. He gulped.

"It is as if I cast Amour instead. Yet... even when I look at Shining—" 

Her gaze flicked suddenly to me, spearing me with gleaming intensity. She breathed as if she'd run a race. She continued, "—I know that I do not feel what you feel for somepony."

"What? What do you mean?"

She examined my torn ear and copious bruises, shaking her head. Had she read of my fight with the prince in the newspapers? "My spell bounced off...! No. No, no. It intensified, peut-être... Did you change my spell?"

I shook my head hard.

She shook herself as if shaking off a rain shower. She raised her foreleg level with her throat, pushing her hoof repeatedly outward as if pushing out her agitation and disturbing thoughts, incrementally slowing her breathing while straining not to look at Shining Armor. Her hide ticked at his closeness. She wanted to lead him away and her body telegraphed why.

Nice trick, finding calm that way. I felt... envious. 

She continued, "It... It flowed from the more positive pole, you, to the negative pole, me—surprising, like lightning flashing from the ground to the clouds!"

"What flowed?"

"Love," she whispered. "You're overflowing with it."

I snorted, then laughed. "This is why you need to practice magic, daily. It's only a few days ago that I admitted friendship existed, and realized I had friends. And. I got my stupid cutie mark. Still—" I shook my head vigorously "—you're mistaken. I'm Starlight Glimmer! I barely do friendship."

Shining Armor interjected. "You see, Cadance? She's not a bad pony."

I scoffed. "Despite my pardons? Despite my having worked for a mobster?"

He coughed. "Ms. Glimmer had reasons to fight me. I can say this much: Princess Celestia made me Starlight Glimmer's enemy, to entrap her, to keep her from running away. That gave the princess the time she needed to convince Ms. Glimmer to help her." 

Cadance gaped.

Eventually, I had helped. It gave us, together, the opportunity save Equestria and possibly the world: 601 days from now—when her sister returned.

Celestia had used him as badly as she had me. He'd endured loyally and, by extension, helped save Equestria, too. That made him one of the good ponies. My heart still open, I reached a hoof to him with a smile. "Call me 'Starlight,' please." I let him pull me up. 

He told Cadance, "Starlight did what I would have done."

"But, she broke your bones! She scarred your hindquarters!"

I interrupted. "I protect ponies. You think I wanted any of this? Hurting Shining Armor? The Predicament? The titles? The authority? Celestia won't listen to me!" My horseshoe sparked when I struck the pavers. "Since I was 5, I've told her that! But she," I sneered, "wanted a tool; she insisted on forging one and binding me to her purpose. She has done both. I will be the best tool I can be, but not a doormat."

Cadance blinked. "What tool?"

Oh, colts. She doesn't know!

In my head, I heard her repeat scarred your hindquarters. Shining Armor wore pants. He bore Celestia's cursed mark; he had to avoid mentioning the curse or fighting its purpose, or it would trigger and possess him to prevent him from speaking of it or fighting it. They weren't riding partners, or she'd have seen Celestia's oversized solar cutie mark that was so big it wrapped around from his dock to his stallion parts. 

She did not know the 603 day secret.

"A bodyguard," I prevaricated. "She'll live longer than I do, I promise. When we've accomplished our goal, I'll abdicate."

When she heard the A-word, her jaw dropped and would have hit the ground and bounced were that possible. She'd stopped breathing. Shining Armor put a leg over her withers, pulling her close to steady her. Rather cheeky for a guard. 

"Look," I continued, "We started off on the wrong hoof. You looked like you wanted to murder me in the throne room. I understand your feelings... So, how about I teach you how to properly thrash me with that stick you were planning on picking up? The first rule of being an effective prizefighter is to learn how not to telegraph a punch. One day you'll be forced to protect somepony you love."

"I'd never do that! Hit somepony."

"Yet, I read the intent in your magic."

In a low voice, she said, "When I feel negative emotions, my special talent magnifies those, the same as it does the positive ones. Mais... but, worse, love magic does not work on one pony." She looked down, dejected.

"Your love magic clearly worked on me. Do you have problems with targeting? Did it give you erroneous feedback? Let's arrange a practice session together." I really wanted some one-on-one time with her casting so I could sense her magic equations. I wanted to how her cutie mark worked. "You and Shining Armor need remedial defense training." 

When he glared at me, I added. "Which pony got knocked over and unprofessionally hit his head? Really, I was injured at the time; I flubbed trying to hit you so that wasn't even close to my best effort. You could have rolled. You could have caught me in your magic as I stumbled into you, while you protected your head, and utilized my momentum to throw me across the room!"

Because I really wanted to see Blueblood, to find out the secret of our 7 AM meeting, and I really really didn't want to be late for that, I quickly got them to agree to a play date in the near future. With that "yes," I got Cadance to let me cast the daily spell, albeit under her glaring intense scrutiny.

I was starting to like her.
> 17 — By Dawn's Early Light Part II (The Appointment)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I trotted up to the ornate double-doors, I thought about how Cadance became flustered about Blueblood. The prince was a mercurial enigma, and despite the craziness and intimacy of last night, I had no reason to trust him. Like him? Maybe. Be intrigued as all giddy-up? Oh, colts, yes. 

I snorted, nevertheless prepping  Levitate under the threshold of lighting my horn.

I was late. No guards to announce me, I rapped with a hoof.

It audibly unlatched. The left side creaked as it opened, stopping wide enough to squeeze through. 

I blinked at the bright sunshiny room so unlike the dark interior hall. I saw a carved wood sofa, gilt and upholstered in paisley; to the right, a corner of a heavy walnut table; beyond, barrister bookcases stuffed with law books. I saw a massive carved beam in the ceiling. Like the bathroom at his toy townhouse, it had a rusty-white and tan travertine floor with walnut parquet near the edges. 

"Blueblood?" I asked. Well, more like whispered. This felt spooky. "Sorry,"I sang quietly, 'I'm late. A perky pink paranoid princess waylaid me..."

I swiveled my ears forward, straining.

Nothing. Quiet. Eerily so. 

I sighed but smiled, given an excuse to light my horn as I pushed through. Part of me wanted to throw the door open, but instead anchored the panel so it couldn't be slammed on my neck or barrel. My eyes strained to adjust to the bright light as I looked for movement. The instant my rump cleared the doorway, I snapped my tail away. 

A shadow whirled from behind the door. I jerked around— A direct view of the sun through tall windows dazzled me. My horseshoes clattered, but didn't mask the muffled thumps of an attacker's rubber-bottomed shoes.

Had the Prince been attacked? I had to save him! 

My bodyguard reactions clicked in. I retargeted the vectors of Levitate to repel the shadow as I got body slammed against the unopened right door panel. Having discussed learning to fall correctly with Shining Armor, my skull did not bounce off the heavy door. I knew when to tense my muscles.  

As I banged against the wood. Pony mass followed, striking me, emptying my lungs with a painful cough. Stallion mass; definitely more than mine; not Singe attacking me.

Pinned. 

Worse, he shoved me up and off my hooves. I heard the thud and squeak as he adjusted his position, rearing, sliding me up so I had no purchase, and no leverage. 

The door whooshed shut amidst the faint tinkle and pop of magic sparkles. Not a strength-advantaged earth pony, then. 

I tried to interpose Levitate between us.

His left foreleg flashed up and pressed across my neck— 

Adrenalized, heart thumping, I recognized the pressure and congestion of a strangling chokehold. I'd won a prize fight against an earth pony twice my mass with the name Ground Thumper using a pin and chokehold, but that had been in an arena that had rules—like don't kill your opponent!

As my head began to pound and ears buzz, unable to fill my empty lungs, instinct kicked in. I bucked though suspended, which made it harder to hold me. He pinned me with his chest, not his barrel, which protected him from my hooves. Rearing freed his forelegs to choke me. Though he wasn't an earth pony and his fur wasn't red (it was white), and it wasn't a lightning storm (and it wasn't even raining), Force replaced Levitate in my horn.

Force had been my most unreliable spell, though I'd set my first monster on fire with it. The year after, I hadn't known whether I was casting the static-discharge battle form of the spell (lightning) or the frictional tool form (plasma). I'd needed to shut my eyes and scream in rage to successfully cast, and had only succeeded when in dire need... 

Or when not targeting ponies.

With purple and blue phosphenes pulsing in my dazzled eyes, and an edge of darkness swirling like windigo clouds at the periphery of my sight, this was dire need, but failure meant death.

So, I targeted a tulip chair between the door frame and the sofa.

A blue-green flash bang caused it to burst into a pillar of flame, hoof lengths from my attacker's rump.

He flinched aside, which slid me rearward across the door. I bucked again, hit the left door frame, shoving myself forward as splinters shot across the floor. Flames roaring beside him, he shifted his hooves, letting me catch him with only one hoof down.

A second buck forced him to rotate, lose his chest pin, then lose his choke hold.

I squirmed free and fell, flexed the joints of all four legs, and sprang up.

It wasn't my best maneuver, but I was disoriented. Had I connected as I'd intended, with my skull against his jaw, I'd have knocked him unconscious—and I'd have a terrific headache. My horn could have punctured his throat; actually legal for stubby-horned unicorns in the arena because I could crack my horn, and was more likely to blind myself with blood than win that way. As it was, I connected with my shoulder.

He rotated back, forelegs flailing.

I landed on my belly, gasping for air.

I watched Prince Blueblood peddle his legs, still rearing, trying not to go over. I transformed Force to Levitate. I didn't shove him the rest of the way. I'd fought him yesterday. He could squirm out of anything, and he'd expect that attack.

I lifted him, broke his contact with the floor, and flung him head over hindquarters like a windmill vane as I thrust him upwards. He didn't squirm out but chose to cast magic.

I braced, expecting to be thrust at.

Instead, I managed to fling him all the way to the ceiling! A three-story high castle ceiling. One with ornately carved beams to look like tree branches encircled by thick vines. In the plastered interstitial ceilings, I saw frescoes of a jungle canopy with glimpses of blue sky. I saw a monkey staring down in one, and red and green gesso parrots roosting in another as the prince flailed around, realizing he'd made a mistake.

"Hey!" he yelled, "Put me down right now!"

"Or what?" I shouted up at him as the smile on my face broadened. As I stood, I felt a bruise puffing up on my right side, and a twinge of a muscle pulled in my neck when I fought to protect my skull from the door. "You gonna kiss and make up?" I puckered my lips at him. 

"I-I-I will— Hey, how did you do this?"

Good question. He was three stories up. I'd never levitated a pony higher than they could fall without badly injuring themselves. 

"Dunno. I've fought off ponies trying to murder me before. One allowed me to discover Force to fight him. Another, a griffon, I blasted with the same spell. I threw her across a conference room to crater a marble wall. I dunno. Maybe you shouldn't make me think you might kill me?"

He squirmed until he was hooves down. "I was trying to make a point."

"And learned a lesson instead?"

A blue nebula roiled around his horn, which made me think the spell he cast inadvertently complemented mine. Did he have a spell to catch himself if he fell? Did that mean I could hold him higher without my wonky magic "worrying" I might injure him?

This nevertheless meant he couldn't dare juggle spells to attack. Though, I'd be a foal to trust that. It gave me a good view of his adorable stallion parts, which last night's darkened room prevented me from seeing. His belly area made it plain that the skin under his fur was black like Citron's, though his nose and face were obviously porcelain pink-skinned.

Putting myself in his place, I'd spit at me. He might be too refined to think of that. I moved him across the ceiling as I trotted away from the rising smoke, taking no pains to prevent him from knocking into one beam or another.

"Hey!" Smoke from the smoldering chair formed a grey haze at ceiling height. He coughed.

I positioned him over wood-backed sofas and torchiere lamps that if fallen upon might result in broken, well, maybe lots of broken bones. I stepped out of range of any fluids he might aim at me. I banged him into another beam as I surveyed the palatial living room. Lots of gilt furniture and fabric, with mountainous tapestries on one wall, painted scenes of Equestria on another, and two walls of windows that looked out on the fairy-arched ramparts to the east (and the sun) and the gardens to the south, with Sunset's bronze onion-domed ivory tower looming to the southeast. I wondered if he'd watched me leaving and arriving daily. 

I looked back up at him. "For the record, I enjoyed that little test of yours. I don't want to discourage trying again, so long as you understand the pitfalls. A warning, though: Don't think to threaten any pony under my protection as a workaround. You won't end well."

"Warning taken. Let me down now!"

"Afraid of heights?"

"Ms. Glimmer!"

I trotted toward the burnt chair. "Were I up in the rafters like you, I'd at least have spat at me. Maybe even pissed—"

"Test over, test over!" He waved his hooves.

Laughing, I lowered him. Over the sofas and torchiere lamps, naturally. When he realized I wasn't joking, I got to see a nifty second or third level Shield apparition appear in the shape of a ramp. It had the springiness of a firm mattress. He bounded off, but clumped with too much momentum into a barrister case. A cracked pane of glass shattered on the floor as I pulled a table-cloth from a sideboard and smothered the flames on the chair with a loud whumf.

I kept an eye on him.

Rubbing his bruised shoulder, he said, "You remind me of my father. Same sense of humor: none. Do whatever it takes to achieve your ends. No mercy when fighting. Overpowered magically."

"That safflower stallion with a pink blaze and a crystal ball?"

He nodded.

"Um, wait, I was distracted, you know! His name...? Um. Archmage D— Um, Dazzle, Daze?"

"You've seen his portrait?"

"Duh." I straightened up even as I felt my face warm. "Wait? Overpowered? Was that a complement you gave me just now?" I especially liked being praised, particularly for something earned.

"My father was rather socially-inept."

I made a raspberry noise, but laughed. "May be true about me. Still, a complement! Thank you." I dropped the scorched formerly white tablecloth to the floor. "Not really sorry about the chair, though."

His horn glowed blue.

I morphed Levitate into Shield reflexively, but he conjured water. I jumped back from the splash and the white-grey humid smoke as he doused the last of the danger.

"Nice trick," I said.

"Can't conjure?"

"Can't teleport?"

"Point taken. Well taken, actually. That was a Resignation Interregnum, Randy Carver original end-chair you burnt up there."

I blew air through my lips. "Don't I technically own all the furniture, now? Along with you royals?"

He sighed. "Yes. And yes, you indeed passed my test."

"I passed the test?" I grinned up at him, my horn still lit.

He pointed at my horn still being lit. "Yes. You passed."

I did a little filly dance, smiling, hooves clattering.

"How old are you really?"

Flashing on last night, I said, "Does it really matter? I'm good." I winked. "In many ways—and you're still strong enough, where it matters, with coltish good looks besides, despite being ancient history."

"Hey."

"Hay is for breakfast. If you'd been listening when Celestia introduced me, you could have looked up my age from the peerage registry. Though yesterday, I kept you too busy to research. Don't I know!" I'd worn him out and left him sleeping in his bed, exhausted due to his ancient history-ness. 

I remembered my cutie mark discovery, or rather his lack thereof. I stepped over and, with conscious rudeness, lowered my head to examine the compass closely. Amazingly real. The way the hairs were colored metallic gold and steel blue. I even sniffed, but smelled oatmeal soap not cinnamon. 

"Magic?" I prompted, my nostrils still pulsing. I didn't outright want to call him a blank flank, though I'd call ponies a name in a fight if it brought me an advantage.

He rotated his rear end away from my scrutiny. I pouted.

"You are young."

I raised my chin and sniffed. "Old enough, apparently! About that third level Shield you cast. Did you learn it from Shining Armor? I've put him on notice he's teaching me about his special spell."

"I try to stay away from Celestia's tools."

I climbed onto a sofa and gave him the look, trying not to laugh. "You know, I am Celestia's tool, right?"

"Lieutenant Armor is way too loyal and straightforward. I suspect your loyalty lies elsewhere?"

I blinked at him, feigning innocence and failing. 

He went on: "That guard is perfect for Princess Mi Amoré Cadenza, and he is after her tail if she would simply glance over her dock and realize it."

"And who is this pony perfect for?" I asked, smirking. "You?"

He snorted. He walked past the sufficiently large spot on the sofa beside me and sat on a chair. 

No necking then. Disappointed, ya betcha.

I asked, "About Cadance. Were you two an item?"

He got a crooked grin. He touched a hoof to his chest. "You understand now why I test mares who take to following me around like ducklings, right? A mare like you is the exception to the rule, and when you become 'ancient history' like me, the endless parade becomes boring. I have to praise the little alicorn princess that she could be discreet, but that didn't make her less annoying. A little over a year ago, she brushed up against me as I entered my suite. When she told me clearly what she wanted, and followed me inside, I did my best to make her ready."

I shivered and nodded. He could do that expertly.

"Then I tossed her out of my suite in a lather. I slammed the door on her presumptuous pink hindquarters. She screamed her frustration for the entire castle to hear. I suspect if ever she found the necessity to ride her coltfriend, it was then." He sighed. "That stopped the duckling impression, but didn't stop her from eyeing me like a tasty cake at the Great Galloping Gala, or giving me coy looks at meals when nopony was looking. One more reason to avoid 'family' dinners with my aunt."

I nodded again.

"It's the problem with being as good-looking as I am, and still marriageable."

I snorted. "We all have issues! So... Now that I've been tested... What do I get for all the fun and bruises?" I knew what my body wanted, but he telegraphed that wasn't on his mind.

"Father was my age when he started training me."

"How old were you?"

"Five? Times were chaotic. Discord made Equestria difficult for ponies, and I was too young to understand more than simply hating that my parents ignored me because of it. I acted out, but then I guess my father and mother expected that."

"They..." I blinked. "...expected that you'd 'act out?'"

He chuckled. He levitated a crystal pitcher, poured two goblets of orange juice, and levitated them over. "Celestia named me Blueblood when she introduced me at court, like she introduced you the other day, but with far less controversy."

"You have a different name?" Did it go with the cutie mark!? Oh, wait, it was fake.

"Celestia named me after the Blueblood they named the central park after, the diplomat who made peace with the Zebra Confederation. You're seriously not good at history."

"I'm a practical pony." I lifted my chin.

"You're a foal, but you'll figure that out eventually."

He gulped his juice before clicking down the stemware on a table with a sigh. I sipped mine, glaring at his condescension. A bit too acidic for me. Both. 

He added, "Father and Mother named me Blue-eyed Brawler."

I snorted, spraying orange droplets off the top of the liquid. "Not a courtly name!" 

He grinned. "Blue-eyed, when I was good; Brawler, when I was bad. Father and Mother never told me what mischief I got into as an infant, no doubt impressive. When I bloodied the noses of three colts that bullied me on the way to school, Father told me enough was enough."

"You remember that?"

"Yes. What Father put me through to teach me discipline afterwards I'll never forget. I regret that day greatly. It ruined my life."

I put the juice aside and walked over. Standing, I looked him in the eye. "You propose to put me through that?"

He waved a hoof dismissively. "You're highly disciplined. I can teach you why you normally can't put a hoof on me, like in our fight yesterday. It's my special talent. My father wanted a warrior pony. Equestria needed one, or so Celestia agreed."

Ah, maybe we weren't so different! Celestia was his boogiemare, also.

"A warrior who gets beaten-up before he accomplishes his task is worthless. You for example."

I scoffed. "Me?"

"Do you have a high pain threshold?"

"Not really. I learned that if I don't fight despite the pain, I'll lose, probably something important enough that I'm fighting for it. There's always healing magic, which I can now cast on myself."

"You—" He blinked. "You can—?"

I smirked, using his phrase: "It's my special talent. Related to it by the mathematics, anyway. I stole it from Flowing Waters' aura."

He sniffed, then lifted a hoof. "Better not to get hit."

"Definitely. Though the direct route through an obstacle is sometimes more unexpected."

"So, why do you like fighting so much?"

"Don't forget the magic component here. Hoof in hoof, hoof to heart. Probably Celestia's doing, bless her wretched heart: it makes me able to protect ponies and I am finding I really like that." That and figuring out cutie marks so I could eliminate the scourge on ponydom. If he could operate thirty-some years without one... There were clues here!

He raised an eyebrow. "Truthfully?"

I looked at my hooves. "It's fun, okay? The learning magic, especially; practicing it; the physical training. Ensures nopony controls me. Mostly. Okay?"

He gave a sad laugh. I wondered if he thought of Celestia as I did when he parroted,"Mostly."

"You?"

"I want to teleport. Teach me."

I stepped back, my jaw dropping down. "Um. So far as I know, only Celestia, Sunset Shimmer, and Twilight Sparkle can cast that spell."

"And you, Starlight Glimmer."

I gasped. "We all have celestial names! It's coincidence, though." My mom named me a more down to earth Aurora Midnight.

"You agree to teach me the so-called impossible spell and I'll teach you Archmage Sunny Daze's techniques. I think he'd approve of you."

"Why do you want to know?"

He coughed. "I hate being followed. By ducklings, and by Celestia's eyes in the sky."

"There's that. Hard spell, though. Very unpleasant." I unstrapped my messenger bag, which being on my right—and my having been shoved on my right side against a door—accounted for the main bruise across my ribs. I floated out my notebook, which naturally opened to that page because I'd studied it so long. "This one?"

His eyes shifted back and forth, then widened.

I shut it with a loud clap and stuffed it back in my bag.

"That one."

"Teleport feels like you're dying the first few times. Still does, but I'm used to it."

"Nevertheless."

"You're going to teach me your transforms of Shield and your vacuum form of Force."

"That goes without saying."

"The last pony so stupid as to use that phrase with me ended up mortgaging his home to get me to sign a contract because he suspected I could become a championship prizefighter and really wanted to train me. He proved right. Are you as stupid?"

"I will teach you everything my father taught me, including his magic because he taught me that, too—if you teach me Teleport and anything else you know."

I rubbed my chin. "I know a few spells. Do you wish me to enumerate?"

"I trust you."

I wouldn't trust me! I wasn't sure whether I'd teach him the alicorn spell-simplification I'd learned from Celestia. I would probably wait until he stopped being a challenge, then teach him to make him harder to beat. You had to test your limits. I shrugged, then grinned, spitting into my hoof. "Deal?"

"How old are you?"

"What? I'm an athlete and a pardoned criminal! I don't do refined unless I want to, and then thanks to Celestia's Majordomo's son, who raised me, I can probably out refine you if I chose. So, deal?"

He tried to hoof bump me, but I angled my hoof, intercepted the flat of his, and mashed our frogs together, rubbing them as he jumped up and scrambled over the back of the chair. "Still a foal," he cried.

"When I want to be, and proud of it."

Scoffing, he walked three-legged until he got to a basket of kerchiefs. He wiped his hoof on a daisy-pattern one. He wore only a powder blue bowtie, now wrinkled and bearing a charcoal smudge. It matched his glittering eyes. He motioned me to follow.

My eyebrows lifted and my grin widened. He was really leading me toward his bedroom?

Down the hall, I did see the ornate gleam of a brass bedstead. However, he stopped at a credenza and a ceiling-height gilt wrought iron mirror. He said, "I'm taking a big risk. Don't make me regret today."

"I do mature mare, as well as silly filly, as you well know from yesterday." Both were an act, of course. I was a good observer. Well tutored. I'd rarely had the chance to experience either directly, although I was racking up some normal experience come to think of it.

"I suppose."

He splashed magic through the mirror. The wall behind rumbled and the whole section rolled back.

"They really built secret passages into castles? I thought somepony made that up writing gothic romances!"

"I searched until I found the plans for the castle, then chose my suite well."

Inside, lights flickered, lighting a staircase. That led down to...

It might have been a dungeon, once. I looked at a complete one-person gym, with a trotting track, punching bags, and a target range. All sorts of gleaming chromed muscle torture machines, scattered free weights, and red practice mats. Scorches of black where thrown fire had splashed and cracked cold chiseled Canterlot mountain bedrock made impressive wall art for any fight gym. 

Celestia had a right to suspect her adopted nephew kept secrets. I whistled before saying, "This is going to be fun."
> 18 — Meltdown Part I (Little Fillies)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Prince Blueblood had clocks built into the bricks, the wood furniture, even into the weight machine. Some showed the day and date. He might be obsessed. He professed to have known the second I'd been late to my appointment, and admitted to toughening my test—to his lasting chagrin. I'd gotten into a groove, rearing, punching a heavy bag he held steady, when he cried, "Enough."

I growled.

He rolled his eyes.

I knocked him back and off the mat by combining Push, a one-two punch, and a rear sweep kick against the sand-filled suspended cylinder. His left rear hoof skidded on stone.

He huffed, backing out of danger. "You're sweaty. As it is, you've barely the time to cool down and get to Celestia's without galloping."

"Yes, Coach. Sorry, Coach." I shook myself out to spatter him with said sweat, then giggled all the way to the stairs, grabbing up a towel and swishing my tail widely, in case he wanted to look.

He didn't. He started racking weights.

I pouted.

I was so lost reviewing the last day, I found myself already walking up to the purple-painted stone school building. My hackles rose; I was being watched. I reflexively tied my disheveled mane into pigtails, glancing discreetly, noticing ponies my age. My sweaty fur had dried in random cowlicks. Ponies probably thought I'd condescended to play hoof ball with the colts this morning; I smelled as horsey. Eyes followed me. I'd been recognized as special despite not being dressed, despite not wearing that jade coronet Celestia had gifted me—the one styled like my cutie mark...

My new stars and aurora cutie mark...

Every foal, filly, colt, and yearling followed my progress. No doubt, some knew more about me from the newspapers and society rags than I remembered about myself!

Why hadn't I planned for this?

Okay. A bit distracted, maybe, especially by stallions and new friends?

Friends. That word again. 

I. Had. Friends.

And guards. I heard, then saw my shadows: Green and pink Pistachio and— Not Firefall, but Steady Pace. I'd sent Firefall home late last night. She'd likely gotten her shift changed. She was a mom. She needed rest. 

I asked Pistachio. "Do you need to follow me to class?" Dozens and dozens of pairs of eyes watched.

"No. But you were oblivious leaving the castle."

I looked down guiltily, walking away from them. "Sorry."

"Doing our job, Ms. Glimmer."

Even that styling seemed a title. Likely everypony knew how I hated titles.

My horseshoes clicked as I mounted the travertine steps and looked back. Ponies watched, some whispering and gesturing happily, as if seeing a celebrity. Others frowned, looking angry as if I'd torn the social fabric from under them. In the hush, I heard the traffic on Castle Way Blvd clearly. Nopony moved to cross my path. One moved to the side of the portico, making way for my ascension (that word!).

Across the lawn, from the south, trotted a yellow mare with yellow streaks in her red mane. An eclipsing sun cutie mark graced her flank and saddlebags. She had to weave through the crowd; the other students didn't skitter out of her way the way they would have three days ago, the day I'd tricked Sunset Shimmer into coming with me after school to capture a crime boss.

"There you are, Starlight! You missed the yummy breakfast Citron cooked." She frowned at the guards, waving a hoof at them as she curved onto the entrance walkway, "Shoo! Go' way!"

I did my deer-in-the-carriage-lanterns imitation.

"Don't stand there," she said, waving me up as she approached the stairs, her magic forming on my hindquarters, shoving me forward. "We need to talk, Glimmer."

As I jumped toward the open doors, she stopped and rotated to glare at the other students. "What? She's the same filly that nearly blew up her horn in one of my classes, the same filly you ignored in the halls last week! Sheesh! It's not like the headmare isn't Princess Celestia, and her first and best protégé, moi, doesn't get to boss you around all the time. Get a life!"

She backhoofed my rump for all to see, causing me to half buck, then clatter into the entry hall. The sting brought me back to reality; I circled back to face her. Meanwhile, the students on the stairways and in the middle of the atrium, scattered down the halls. I recognized my history and home room teacher. The coward's eyes widened and she coward reversed back toward the classrooms.

When I glared and growled at Sunset, she shouted back in full bully T.A. mode even as she trotted past me, "Little fillies room, Glimmer. Now!" She snapped her tail and nailed my nose.

"Ow!" I swung around, but with enough sense not to send my friend flying as reflexive anger warmed my face and lit my horn.

She turned down the hall, glancing back. "Glimmer!"

Ponies dodged out of her path. I got with the program, rushing intentionally too fast to follow her, eyes looking down, muttering loudly, "Sorry! Sorry!"

Inside the white-tiled little fillies room, she yelled, "Everypony! Out! Now!"

Two fillies rushed from the sink, one leaving a makeup compact, the other leaving the tap open. A pink filly, no more than third year, squealed, flushed, and banged open the green stall door before galloping out, crying. She trailed tissue stuck to a rear hoof.

Sunset pulled me to the furthest sink, raising her hoof to call out. "Anypony listening in will get their ears boxed. I know who you are!"

Sunset's turquoise eyes assessed me from rump to nose, all while her ears swiveled and followed hoof falls in the hall. Her eyes didn't miss my disheveled fur, nor the bruise puffing up under my messenger bag. "You need to seriously thank me. A few of those dweebs almost bowed to you, then they all would have, though I'm sure they know all about you and your aversion to all things royal. It seems you're famous."

"No kidding!"

"I've set them straight. Everypony is talking about it now. So where's my—" she imitated my voice "—'Thank you, Sunset?'"

"Thank you, Sunset." I leaned forward and planted a peck on her velvety nose.

She jumped back, rubbing it vigorously. Funny, some months ago I'm pretty sure I'd been kissing her deeply, and had possibly rode her, though she'd never confirmed that. (I'd been mind-controlled.) "You're welcome, I guess."

I turned off the tap, then levitated the compact with a pale red rouge and blue eyeliner. I sniffed. Not cinnamon. I felt slightly disappointed, which said much about where my head was. 

She turned the tap back on, grabbing paper towels. "Who'd you fight now?"

"Prince Blueblood."

The towels fluttered to the floor. "What?"

"He tried to kill me, but I fixed his wagon."

"And they didn't arrest you? Oh, wait, they probably wouldn't—"

"He's perfectly fine."

Shaking her head, she magicked off my messenger bag to examine my purpling bruise. "You're not."

"We're friends now. Fun and games. No worries."

"Gah! Remind me not to play with you two!"

I smirked—a double-entendre lurked in those words. My face warmed. I quickly said, "I am totally going to teach you how to protect yourself better."

"Yeah, last week wasn't my best effort. I still ache like I have a flu, but that night, outside the deli, I knew my body would shatter if I didn't snatch that envelope of nettle ewe waved under my nose.  How I cast a spell at all, let alone not have my horn backfire the way yours did!? Father's medicine keeps down the craving; my ears are buzzing and I have a metallic taste in my mouth." She comically scraped her tongue with her front teeth. "Not my best effort, Starlight," she finished with a growl.

The tear that ran down her cheek belied her annoyed tone. 

I watched it drip to the floor, darkening a dropped paper towel with a spatter.

"You saved me," she whispered. "Celestia explained it to me. It hurt listening to her, but everything you kept telling me I was doing wrong, with her, with my choices, was as wrong as you said it was. You saved me. I'll always remember."

She snuffled and looked away, trying to hide it.

I looked past her, toward the open door, which was far too empty considering the busy minutes before first classes. "Don't credit me too much. Safer would have been to snitch, to your father or Celestia, then to have run away from the horse apples I'd caused, but I got greedy and decided to break that the son of a dragon who had destroyed both our lives."

She shuddered, then let out a long breath. "Which led to a day without the sun, which fomented your brawl with Celestia in front of Donut Joe's, which resulted in the reason I marched you in here." She shucked more towels from the metal box, wet and wrung them out, then proceeded to neaten my fur. "If you don't start acting weird, like anything substantially changed from last week, or act like you want attention, or like you're afraid, most everypony will let the change slide. Act like your irascible self. Ignore ponies like they don't exist as you've always done. They'll get the idea." She dried and combed my fur with crumpled towels, then threw them into the flippy-topped rubbish bin. She redid my pigtails, too, tugging, pulling, braiding, then tying them together, looping them around my head like flower garlands. When I'd been a foal, my mane had never grown out enough to do that. While it pulled at the roots, it felt cooler than down.

"Thanks," I said.

"Back at you. But really, Blueblood?" She stiffened, ears perked forward, her tail straightening. "Not you and him, last night—?"

I trotted out of the bathroom, tail held high. "We've got classes. Later!"

"Not getting away that easily!"

I did outpace her, despite the artificial pastern. Athlete. Won the Baltimare Celestial Race, unicorn class, gold-plated medal to prove it. I've mentioned that, right?
> 19 — Meltdown Part II (Homeroom)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Good sense came to Sunset, and she didn't chase me upstairs. I trotted slowly, trying to remember something, anything, about last week's classes. I failed. Too much had needed to happen as my plan to capture Running Mead came together. Again presentable, nopony noticed me in the equine river. 

I noticed Moon Dancer. Her shortish reddish mane, loosely tied up with a purple scrunchie, was a hair fountain atop her head. She levitated two big open books before her face, warning everypony to scoot out of her path. Her black-rimmed glasses magnified dark-purple eyes that rapidly darted back and forth.

During our picnic breakfast, I'd gotten she was shy. 

I said, just loud enough, "Nice tactic to keep everypony away."

Eyes glanced up. She gasped and coughed. The forest-green bronze enchantments text spun across the floor; I stopped it with a hoof. Her mouth made like a fish.

"Starlight's good enough."

"Hi," she said, barely testing the privilege I implied.

"Funny how you attend a school for half a year but don't notice somepony distinctive, until you've been introduced?"

I slipped her books into her black saddlebags, which matched her black and crimson cable-knit turtleneck, which went very well with her yellow fur. Nice ensemble, and I said so. 

Given the excuse, she said, "Thank you."

"Could we have lunch together? Talk spell-embedding. I had fun. Please?" I asked the clearly uncomfortable filly, who nodded subtly. As I walked by, I added, "Prince Blueblood proved surprising. Surprisingly fun."

Her shocked gaze followed my rump. Wonder what she knows that I don't…

My homeroom was my history class, and as I entered I remembered I had an essay due today. Though history wasn't a good subject, I hated appearing a bad student to a teacher. Teachers, after Librarians, were the best ponies. Coaches ranked third. You never knew when you might need to learn something you didn't know you needed, and I wasn't coy about bringing apples, doing favors, or taking a pony to dinner to obtain what I needed. Business ponies called it networking.

Excuses made a student unworthy of extra help. A disappointed expression on my face, head held low, I walked in. I thought, That whole coronation thing ain't a bad excuse, though. 

The pre-class chatter ceased. In a wave. A wave spreading out toward the back of the classroom. Until it splashed against the supply cabinet and bookshelves at the opposite end, and an oblivious still talking somepony cried, "Ouch!" when his friend smacked his rump. He half-bucked causing a stack of papers to slide over. Sheets floated, see-sawing to the the floor.

I sighed.

I passed behind the lectern, across the front of the class, then took the aisle against the windows to my desk. A week ago, after having been a blank flank that had worn no clothing to class, ever, I'd shown up in a couture yellow outfit I'd tailored as camouflage to meet with Detective Fellows, then used it to sneak into the Star Swirl the Bearded Time Wing, and to chase down Prince Blueblood. The aristo-fashion had cued my classmates that there might be something unconventional about the magic egghead who sat quietly in class, except when she had the right answer for the teacher.

Besides everything else, the former blank flank now had a stars-and-auroras cutie mark on her naked hindquarters. I twisted my hip so I sat on my right flank to hide the abomination, setting my notebook and quill on the desk with too loud a thump and click, not looking up.

The sharing of gossip and weekend events didn't resume. Of course not. One pony coughed.

I sighed, again.

I wasn't a force of nature like Sunset Shimmer. She'd learned to boss ponies around before she'd learned to speak. Impressive, considering she'd gone without words until seven. 

I could fight or browbeat one pony into submission. Crowds or audiences... that was different. The one exception I could remember was in Hooflyn. 

About a hundred mobsters and gang members, including borough lieutenants, had regrouped blocks from the Old Equestrian Post Office that had minutes ago exploded. Spectacularly. Sending a noxious red mushroom cloud into the sky. Bringing an end to the gang war. I'd come to tell them Doña Asada had died. I didn't tell them that I'd let her die in the explosion she'd set. Carne Asada had always introduced me as her daughter, probably to give me extra leverage running messages for her. 

They decided I was the new Doña. 

I was covered in blood—I'd saved 271 ponies after a building exploded, remember? That didn't dissuade them. Neither did my crying, "No!" 

Repeatedly.

Okay, maybe I didn't have an exception to handling a recalcitrant audience!

What could I say to my classmates that wouldn't be construed as a royal command? I hated this. 

I hated this. 

I hated Celestia and her stupid choices a thousand years ago for dealing with her sister that ended with me sitting in this class! My eyes burned. I sniffed, feeling badly used and resenting it, Celestia, and everypony to all giddy-out. I wanted to cry.

I blinked away a tear.

How many times had I insisted that the last time I had cried was the day Sunburst left me, having gotten his cutie mark? I was a liar. To myself, foremost. 

Friendship and cutie marks changed a pony. Apparently.

I laid my head on the desk, let go of my pride, and let the dam break. Tears ran down, wetting the cover of my daisy notebook. Sobs echoed in the silence, and even hearing those infantile sounds didn't stop my meltdown. Nor did the sound of me sniffing the snot back up my nose, before that completely ruined what little reputation as a tough I had left.

Horseshoes clopped slowly up the aisle to my right, then stopped. I heard the fizzle and pop of magic.

I swallowed, catching my breath. I swallowed and sniffed, and wiped my nose on my fetlock because dripping mucus was too far even for me. I looked up.

Mrs. Lookback, my history teacher, stood offering tissues from her golden magic. The amber-eyed palomino knew better than to say anything after I gave her the saddest red-rimmed look I could give her. It said, I really really REALLY want to be left alone right now!

Teacher-sense kicked in and she walked away. I wiped my nose and eyes and laid my head down, looking out the window at the waving willow trees that couldn't hide the castle bailey wall behind, blinking away the salty tears as they waned. Mrs. Lookback took roll call, skipping my name, probably because Ms. Glimmer sounded awkward.

During her lesson about the end of the Resignation Interregnum, she promised us a spell to show a cutie mark through clothing that Worry Wort, a baron in the peerage, had invented, even as ponies stopped wearing clothing again. History at Celestia's school centered around spells and magical developments because, well, magic school. 

Nopony watched me. I saw a colt exchange a note with a filly. Another pair shared a textbook and whispered. I merited a glance, nothing more than what would happen looking around, feeling bored, or stretching.

I took that as a win.

Then, a minty green middle-aged mare stuck her head into the classroom—the vice-headmare, Ms. Maple. Her blue eyes found me; she gestured me outside...

I said, "Yes?" to mitigate the awkwardness of the rule that common ponies couldn't initiate with a royal. She had a white-streaked pale green mane and tail. I had no clue why she had a maple leaf cutie mark, sported a purplish-red color that clashed with her fur. 

"Are you okay, Ms. Glimmer?" Not Starlight. Not informal.

Dried snot matted my right fetlock, making it crispy. My eyes were likely still red. "Doesn't every yearling my age have her emotions out of whack?"

"I don't know how to answer that. You fit no stereotype."

Looking down the hall behind her, I saw another student, colored like a roaring fire. The golden unicorn had a blazing red horn, mane, and tail. She had magenta eyes and was old enough to be growing into her hooves, but was clearly a foal not a filly. She spoke with a mare in an olive green uniform jacket with a white belt and matching messenger bag who wore a red beret. I didn't recognize the red-slashed black insignia or the RMC in it, or the white pips, but having been in the mob, I recognized a copper. No copper badge, though, only a name bar that read, Hue and Cry. 

Did parents really name their foals such things? Well, I knew for a fact Blueblood had been named Blue-eyed Brawler, but then again, come on! If I ever foal, I'm going to find a random name in the town directory!

I said, "Celestia dumped too much responsibility on my head, and it got to me."

She blew air through her lips. "Don't I know how that feels! She's never here— Never mind. My door's always open, you know that?"

I nodded and smiled. She had truly cared for her new student that day nopony-me had shown up in Canterlot, at school, trying to enroll. I'd shown visible bruises under a poor quality linen dress I'd worn to disguise the fact, looking as if I'd been abused. I mean, who would imagine a teenager would be working with the EBI saving Canterlot from a dragon invasion, right? She made sure I was safe, and followed up with the EBI. She'd consoled and counseled me repeatedly about my PTSD from Hooflyn and the gang war. "I do. Thank you."

Her magic reached into her purse. She held a cloth near my cheek. "May I?"

I didn't wear makeup—or mascara like Celestia did—that could have gotten messed up. That didn't hide my most recent set of bruises. Which had likely added to my weird classroom cachét. I recalled Proper Step wiping smudges of mud or fireplace ash from my face this way before I'd run away. "What?"

She dabbed, then scrubbed to below my right ear. The torn ear. It had become unglued and partly flopped back. "Did you lay down on your quill? That's ink."

"Shoot!" I'd had lain my head on it while crying. I'd taken smeared mascara to the next level. Good reasons not to cry! "Shoot." I snorted at the ludicrousness of it, then laughed. 

Ms. Maple grinned. "Your emotions are definitely out of whack. Seriously, Starlight—"

Starlight, as if I were nopony. I nearly hugged her. I took a deep breath and asked, "What's up?"

She pointed at Hue and Cry. 

"Who's the foal?"

"Firefall Blaze's daughter Cinder, a second year."

"My Firefall?" Who'd said she had a daughter? A seven-year-old. Who'd possibly married, or at least ridden, a unicorn? 

The constable switched places with the headmare, who led the foal down the hall. The mare saluted. She had piercing caramel-brown eyes.

I nodded. 

"Ms. Glimmer, I'm Sergeant Major Hue and Cry of the Royal Military Constabulary, Investigations Unit. May I ask you some questions about Corporal Firefall Blaze?"

My body went cold. "Is she missing?"

"AWOL. She's got Celestia-1 security clearance and is assigned to the palace, so this is worrisome." Meaning she knew the 603 Day secret and this flathoof probably didn't know that. "When did you last see her?"

Did the coppers suspect the pardoned mobster? "Last night, before midnight?"

"Can you be more precise?"

"Ten to? I heard the castle clock strike midnight after I entered through the portcullis."

"Close enough. Where?"

I gave an intersection."

"Anything strange?"

"Actually, yes. At first I thought she wasn't on duty, then she flew down after I'd trotted from the house. She seemed surprised I hadn't stayed over. I ordered her to go home since I can take care of myself." I wriggled my torn ear catching the copper's eye, which didn't exactly prove my point.

"She followed your order?" Her eyebrow went up.

"Yeah. Her deportment the entire evening had led me to believe she'd disobey that order."

"As she should have. May I ask which house?"

Thinking of the prince's thing for secrecy, and that he might be keeping a residence from Celestia, I answered, "No."

"You may need to answer that later, Ms. Glimmer. May I ask what you were doing directly before you last saw the corporal?"

"I was riding somepony. No, it wasn't her."

The sergeant looked from my head to my tail, noting every bruise and the torn ear. Her expression remained neutral. I wouldn't want to play Heart and Horseshoe cards with her. "You decline to say with whom?"

"Yes, until Celestia says otherwise."

"I see. You know that Cinder is very worried about her mother?"

"As I am. I'd begun to think Firefall was the most professional of the palace guards."

"How so...?"

She questioned me for minutes after that, until Ms. Maple came up the hallway behind us with Twilight Sparkle in tow. 

The runty purple unicorn looked displeased. She levitated a book, a scroll, and a quill with which she scritch-scritch-scratched loudly on the scroll while walking. She saw me, frowned at the sergeant, then, into the new quiet, said, "Um—" She clearly wanted to say Princess, but emotions of awe, fear, respect, and curiosity flickered through her face. Probably thought about dealing familiarly with a princess named Celestia, of me having beat-up her brother, recollecting Celestia nearly killed her that day, and Celestia's later declaration that I could kick anypony who didn't address me properly. Twilight got it right when she continued, "Ms. Glimmer." Her eyes sent daggers at the vice-headmare. "Hard to not fail a test that you know the Princess is going to give you, on a lecture—when they pull you from the class giving said lecture!" She sidled up to me, still glaring at Ms. Maple, clearly of the opinion that I had the power to fix things and understood her outrage.

I did. And. I did.

This was the pony Celestia was inventing friendship magic for? I nearly scoffed out loud.

The constable closed her notebook with a snap that made me look. "I should be going."

"Please find her."

"I'll do my best."

To Ms. Maple, I said, "Speaking of lectures, Mrs. Lookback was going to share a spell that I'm sure's going to be on my test, and I'm going to miss it. I like spells."

"Me, too!" said Twilight, nodding vigorously.

"You won't be disappointed with the interruption," the vice-headmare stated. She opened the door, told the mare I had been reassigned, and levitated out my messenger bag with the notebook and quill from my desk diving inside as it flew. 

Annoyed that my classmates would likely take being reassigned as some sort of royal prerogative, but not sufficiently annoyed to protest leaving history class, I grabbed the book, scroll, and quill still floating in Twilight's magic and stuffed them into her overfilled saddlebags. The little mare essentially did weight training trotting with that oversized load. When she pouted, I decided to think of her again as a filly and not a mare nearly my age.
> 20 — Meltdown Part III (Special Ed)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Starlight, Starbright, what little mare do I see tonight, with her nose oh so rosy red and her horn all aglow?
—Sunburst, the evening before he got his cutie mark and his friend didn't. 


#


Ms. Maple led us to a faculty conference room on the lowest level. Being below grade, it had basement windows at ceiling level, frosted to prevent nosy students from spying on teachers. A pink and red marble table, with a gilt bullnose, ran the center of the room, hosting rolling black gilt net chairs that contrasted against the green slate covering three of the walls—also in a gilt wood frame. Mahogany cabinets and chests of drawers bulked like an eastern city skyline against the remaining wall. They had gilt handles and locks. A magic-powered icebox glowed faintly yellow beside a sink and a sideboard lined with a double row of crystal glasses.

An executive lounge. Carne Asada had had an interest in hotels in major cities up and down the east coast, and I'd been her bodyguard or messenger in many a room that resembled this, though few had so much gold. Grape Sucker's Las Pegasus hotel had had plenty, comped to high-roller business ponies. An extra large, red-cushioned, executive chair pushed into a corner beside an L-shaped mahogany desk, carved with gilt acanthus fronds, clued me into who usually used this room, that and that the princess' runty protégé trotted to the second seat on the far side, close to said desk, which was clearly customary for her.

She immediately looked across the table, where Sunset Shimmer glowered, golden forelegs crossed across her chest and looking aggrieved. 

Sunset muttered, "Does Princess Celestia really want us in the same room after all this time?"

"Who are you?" Twilight asked, glaring. "Other than the school bully?" 

"I was her first personal student."

I coughed and cleared my throat, getting everypony to look, including Ms. Maple—and Moon Dancer, the shy aristocrat having chosen the farthest seat. 

I said, "Actually, her first student this century was my mother, Mage Midnight. Sorry, Sunset. You're number two. Twilight, you're number three, though you probably took the place of Sunburst, my friend from foalhood. He flunked out. My fight with Celestia was about her wanting me to be number four and me refusing until she made me an offer I couldn't refuse." Moon Dancer jerked to attention when I looked at her. "I am going to make a wild guess here, but you are about to be designated number five."

She looked at Twilight, who startled looking at her, then said, "I don't think so..."

Ms. Maple said, "I'm going to fetch your teacher. He's late, and a bit scatterbrained, and very nervous about his promotion. We'll talk later about your rearranged schedules." The door clicked shut behind her.

Twilight asked, "The Princess isn't teaching us?"

"Unless somepony switched her gender," Sunset pointed out, acidly. I flinched at the word switched. Her gender, I told myself, not her cutie mark. She looked down at the table, rubbing marble as if she could hide her reflection in the surface. "She never wants to teach me directly, anymore."

"Sunset. This morning. I thought you said you talked with her about your relationship—"

"I thought wrong, okay? Actions speak louder than words." Her green eyes flashed at me. "You're one to trust what she says!"

Twilight said, "The princess is kind and trustworthy..." She trailed off, eyes unfocusing. She likely remembered the battle at the pavilion, and that she learned Celestia had hidden a grim secret, one that could have left Equestria a frozen wasteland. Oh, that and a possessed Celestia had tried to incinerate her. Her mouth slowly opened.

I said, "Royal decision. Moon Dancer, do you know what happened the day the sun didn't rise?"

She shook her head, causing her scrunchie to loosen, and her short hair to slowly cascade down.

"Sunset?"

She nodded. "She explained about the Summer Sun celebration."

"See, Celestia does trust you.... Moon Dancer? Before our teacher trots in, you need to know. Twilight, her brother, my friends Citron and Streak, and I broke a curse Celestia had saddled herself with by breaking harmony. Not solid what harmony is, but I ended up switching Celestia's and Shining Armor's cutie marks to do it. Technically, Shining is cursed now because harmony actually cursed her mark, but switching de-fangs the curse completely so long as their marks stay swapped because Shining doesn't rule Equestria."

Moon Dancer whispered, "The Princess of Marks. Your magic is cutie mark magic?"

"Oddly enough, yes. Unfortunately, harmony cursed Celestia and her sister Luna at the same time, so technically there is a second power-hungry alicorn that can control the skies by herself. Since two days have passed, in 601 days from now, she will return to attack Celestia and bring eternal night to the world. I am, or I gather we are, tasked with preventing that from happening."

Sunset added, "And if you breathe a word of this, Celestia will be forced to kill you."

Moon Dancer jumped up, hooves banging on the table.

Both Twilight and I cried, "Sunset!"

Moon Dancer stood there, shaking. Tears started dripping.

The red and yellow unicorn grinned widely. "Sorry. I couldn't help myself."

Twilight shoved her chair back and rushed over to embrace the young mare. "Lunettes, Lunettes! Don't worry. Aside from the curse thing, the princess is really as good and kind as everypony says she is." From the nickname, Prench for glasses and a play on her name, I gathered she and Twilight really had been friends.

Sunset muttered, "Tell me another."

I sat down beside her and rolled my chair so I could lean into her. "Stop worrying about Celestia. I'll discuss her attitude with her. If that doesn't work, I'll wallop her upside the head."

That made her chuckle. The princess was the one chink in Sunset's armor.

"That said, I understand what she's trying to teach you."

Sunset pushed away, glaring at me with her emeraline gaze.

"Everypony else you can boss around. Her? You melt like ice in the summer sun."

"A joke!"

"Nope. That's called a metaphor. Seriously, the next time she blows you off, you need to pull a Sunset."

"A—? What?"

"Pretend she's me, then tell her off. Demand she teach you. Demand answers. Ask her why she ignores your needs. Act confidently, like the friend who saved me this morning in front of school." I pulled out a gold bit from my messenger bag and snapped it onto the table. I knew it was actually harder to do something for real than to think about doing it, so I added incentive. "I'll wager you four more of these if she doesn't open up to your best effort."

"That's more than my allowance."

"Don't worry. You're giving me the perfect excuse for a fight. If your best effort fails, mine won't."

Sunset Shimmer's smile grew until it was genuine. Pearly teeth gleamed. A knock interrupted what was going to be a sisterly bear hug.

Chairs rolled and books thunked as we arranged ourselves properly around the table like well-conditioned little high school students. It didn't occur to me to ask why the teacher would knock.

The door unlatched and a pony eye from the dark hall peered in. "Am I interrupting?"

"Streak?" I asked.

She opened the door. "I—"

"Is something wrong?"

Blue feathers fluffed as she half opened her wings. Hurricane's armor struck the door frame, denting the wood. Streak scooted in, eyeing the damage, muttering, "More like that. Bad day."

I wanted to tell her that a classroom wasn't the proper venue, but could tell she wasn't herself. I waved a hoof at the others, who swiftly found a book to read.

I asked, "Does this have to do with Firefall?"

"The constable talked to you, too?"

"Yeah, she's missing."

"The sergeant has—"

"Sergeant major—"

"Starlight, not the time! The copper has me pegged as the culprit, I just know it. And no, I didn't do it. Saw her fly away, though."

"Where to?" I asked.

She gave me a look, so I asked, "Toward the castle?"

"That much I can answer. No."

Dejectedly, I said, "I was the last to talk with Firefall."

Streak sighed. "She was going to be my instructor this morning, but it got worse. When Shining Armor started teaching me instead, I heard somepony diving at me."

I rolled my eyes. "Let me guess. Princess Mi Amoré Cadenza?" Maybe I hadn't pegged her personality as well as I thought.

"No. The Princess."

Twilight piped up, "Princess Celestia?"

"I think she hates me."

I quipped gleefully, "You're the only pony who nearly killed her."

Blue wings shoved me back, rolling my chair and me away. "Had she hit me, she'd have caved in my rib cage."

"But she didn't."

"A? A! See that? See that!?" She showed me bruises darkening on her shoulder, lines of scratches from her neck to her barrel, and a fresh bandage on her burnt flank. "You bet I shot away. She buzzed my tail, no matter which way I swooped. She's a crow worrying a hawk, just scarier. I thought I was going to die! For a big pony, she's wicked fast. Can't bank or roll as well as I can, especially with me wearing the armor, but she cheats!"

"Cheats?" Twilight echoed with me. While I grunted agreement, Twilight scoffed. I thought, You've got to learn that in the real world, your enemy kills you any way they can. 

I eyed the petite purple unicorn. "Celestia rules Equestria. She is far more than the illusions you have of her. Look up disillusionment. You're going to understand the meaning at this point." I turned back and prompted Streak, "Cheats?"

Streak furled her wings and with less fire said, "She teleports in front of you. Again and again. She forced me to kick away her kicks—to protect my head with my wings, even. Thank Celestia—GAH! Whatever, for the armor, or I'd've fallen oot of the sky. Her strikes could shatter bones. This went on ten minutes, until my heart wanted to burst and I couldn't dodge branches or pitch up from the ground!" 

It wasn't occurring to her that she was a pegasus who went ten minutes avoiding an alicorn attack."Then what?"

"She teleported me in front of Shining Armor, freezing my lungs. I skidded across the trotting track into his hooves. I lay there gasping and she told him, 'She needs more stamina. Work her. Starlight will teach her how to turn an attack to her advantage.'"

"I will. I'll make it fun, trust me."

"Fun for you."

"Admittedly."

"The princess put her muzzle in my face. Nose-to-nose. She said, 'You need to learn to cast the magic in the armor. My friend Hurricane Stormchaser did.' I nearly peed myself. That's when she sent me here." Streak looked pointedly at the four horns in the room. "I feel out of place. I'm a pegasus, for Celestia's— I'm really out of place!" she wailed.

"Um," said a new, albeit familiar, voice from the open door. He cleared his throat as he trotted in. "Miss Streak, there are two earth ponies enrolled as first year potion students, and a pegasus graduated as a master amulet craftspony last year. So, yes, you're in the right class."

Sunset and Streak blocked my view of the door. Looking around them, I saw a stallion with a goldenrod coat and red hair. He had a matching red-crested mane, goatee, and tail sticking out of his royal blue star-studded wizard's cloak.

I froze.

He cleared his throat and coughed nervously as he reached into the wagon load of books that trailed in his magic, and sent one floating onto Streak's back. The sky-blue book was a magic primer: happy foals pranced on the cover. "Basic terminology. Memorize it. I'll pull you better from the university library for tomorrow's class."

Had... Sunburst... not seen me?

Streak grabbed the book in her primary feathers. She grumbled, maybe because putting an object on a pegasus' back was rude, and sat at the back of the room. Moon Dancer scooted to Twilight's side, but Streak didn't notice.

I could see how my friend could be made to feel out of place.

I rolled in beside Sunset, shifting left as he trotted right, staying hidden, but I jumped and shrieked when he dropped his entire load of tomes, grimoires, wood tablets, texts, and scrolls on the table extension of the desk. 

He didn't look back, though my heart sped. What had Celestia told me about him? Right: "He proved a great talent in thaumaturgical semantics, but is ultimately male, narrowly focused on his special talent for elucidating and combining spells, with self-inhibited magical abilities, and, oddly, as put off by friendship as you seem to be."

I was earning high marks in the latter subject. Or flubbing it, spectacularly. I didn't know!

Sunset noticed my nerves and hissed. "You okay?"

I gulped.

She magicked over a glass—not recognizing Sunburst, though I had talked about and described him to her—and poured water from a pitcher with sliced limes bobbing in it.

That—and my shifting behind Sunset—caught Twilight's attention. She stared. I could read her mind: Shy in front of new teachers, how self-defeating. Streak leafed through her book with her long feathers, still looking rattled while Moon Dancer craned her neck to see the amusingly big pictures while glancing periodically upfront.

"So—" Sunburst started.

I fumbled the act of swallowing a sip of water, got it all the way down my windpipe, then coughed droplets all over the place.

I swiveled behind Sunset, trying to breathe as distressed tears gathered. I nevertheless kept Sunburst out of sight, and Sunset inadvertently aided, spinning about and clapping my back as I doubled-over, hacking. Glancing through yellow and red hair, I saw him finish organizing his pile of books into piles, first by size and then by repeated swapping, likely alphabetizing. 

Librarian.

"As-as I was saying. What was I saying?" He shook his head, then coughed into a hoof as I quieted. "Um, I think I am as surprised by this assignment as you are. I have no lesson plan or curriculum because this is my first official class. I've tutored foals and ponies your age. Dozens of adults! In practical casting and th-th-thaumaturgical semantics. I'm wiz at figuring out what you're sticking on in your head."

He posed sideways to flaunt his wizardly trappings—his long waggly goatee, silvery metal-rimmed glasses that magnified dark turquoise eyes, and the stars on his cloak—only lacking a pointed Star Swirl the Bearded hat with jangly sleigh bells. 

When nopony laughed, golden magic pushed up his glasses. "Equestria coronated a new Crown Princess—"

Nope. Didn't recognize me. No way. Maybe the braided garland hair? The torn ear and bruises? My mature mare curves? Or maybe his lens prescription had expired!?

"—who is reputedly also a wizard, though mage is a more gender-correct term, in conventional magic, diagnostic magic, and battle magic, much of it reputedly complex, and that doesn't include at least one spell she was observed having invented ereyesterday. Princess Celestia wants her best students up to speed, though she hasn't yet told me what that means. She sent me home to Ponyville yesterday to move to Canterlot. I am, or ra-rather was, the librarian at the Golden Oak library."

"Wow," Twilight said, "I'd love to live in a library!"

"You bet. You never want to leave home, and you can read all the books in bed—" He coughed into a hoof. "Th-the best I can do is speculate on the urgency of the matter from those who know the Princess of Marks. Her new royal highness is said to be demanding, impatient, and very competent. The latter was very true—best I can remember her from when we were foals, though I'm sure she remembers little of me. Keep that in mind when you study, and that she's probably going to be auditing your assignments and tests, and grading you as much as I will."

Surprise, a dash of amusement, then a pinch of anger finally burned away my nervousness. I lifted a hoof. 

Meanwhile, Sunset Shimmer shook and shuddered in her chair, her withers bouncing. At first, I thought she had finally figured out who he was to me and didn't like it. Then a snort escaped her muzzle and I knew it was something far simpler. The only pony in the room that didn't know the Princess of Marks listened was him. 

What had Sunset said? I couldn't help myself.

"She's going to be grading us?" I asked in a strained whisper to disguise my voice, though thinking about it, I realized I'd had a piping foal voice back then. I held Sunset's chair preventing the bulkier mare from rolling out from between us. She twisted to look at me—then got a half-smile, sensing a prank. 

"Yes. Princess Celestia says she has quantifiable scholastic requirements going forward, over a year and a half timeline."

"She told you this?"

"Oh, well." He coughed and pushed up his glasses. "She was rather busy and the new princess' chargé d'affairs filled me in on her needs and attitude."

"You said you knew her? Did she teach you anything?"

He huffed, his demeanor changing on a silver bit, souring. "Not to depend on others... but to depend on yourself. Yes. Definitely. She taught me that." Growling, he trotted over to the books, pulling out almanac-sized hoof-books with waxed brown-fiber covers, and levitated one to each of us unicorns.

Mnemonics, it read, by S. Mortarboard with S. Daze. 

"Yes. Since I specialize in semantics, it's as good a place to start as any, and it answers your classmate's question. She was a pony I called Starlight Starbright and she taught me this. No matter what the foundation—no matter what the structure and even if it towers above you—it takes only moving the balance point, the keystone, to cause the cascade. If you can readily find the keystone in a structure or a spell, striking it or setting it, you can cast that spell. I found keystones for her. She'd get stuck, even when she fathomed the vastness of the spell space and could locate the singularities. I'd find her where to push. The best spellcrafters author the mnemonic to evoke the internal sensation that lets you push a keystone point. When I realized the enormity of the technique I'd discovered, I earned my cutie mark."

He lifted his cloak to reveal what one might think was a sun rising behind a mountain or cloud, rampant with a spray of four-point stars. A decade ago, I had thought I saw books arranged edgewise in a semicircle around a sun because I had just tipped a hundred tomes over on myself. My friend had saved me from being crushed to death. 

It hadn't been books he'd focused on: Clued into his thought processes, I clearly saw the business end of an old-timey key with the books as key wards and the space between the books as key bits. His cutie mark was a magic key radiating sparkles.

Twilight raised her hoof, after glancing at me. "Teacher?"

"Yes?"

"Twilight Sparkle. Um? Teachers usually write their name on the board."

He shook his head and blinked, which I remembered was his equivalent of a face hoof (in this case) or shocked disbelief. I could almost imagine a bean rattling in a can. I remembered I found it adorable. 

Once. 

Long ago. 

He trotted to the green slate levitating yellow chalk. He tapped out:

Sunburst Mortarboard

"You can call me Mr. S. However, because of my lack of advanced degrees and being only your age, all the research and treatises I've published are co-authored with my faculty advisor, so you'll see S. Mortarboard & S. Daze. S. Daze is—"

While he talked, Sunset froze. She slowly stood and I noticed she shook, ever so slightly. With Sunburst facing the board, she approached him, stalked him really, until she stood less than a pony length away, breathing hard through her nostrils. What I could see of her face, she frowned and bared her teeth.

Streak noticed, dropping her book as she fluttered onto the table, causing Moon Dancer to squeak and scramble away.

"You're that Sunburst," Sunset accused in a low sinister voice. "You're that lousy colt that abandoned Starlight when he got his cutie mark."

He rotated his head to match his blue eyes with hers, his eyes flicking to notice that a turquoise aura roiled around her horn.

She screamed, "Aren't you!?"

I heard Streak launch into the air as I belatedly realized what could go badly wrong next. Sunset Shimmer knew my history. She knew that for all my prevarication about running away to learn magic, I'd only had to do that because Sunburst had left me. He had indeed been the one that could discover the keystones that I was too stupid to discover myself. Not only that, she understood that I had thought that I might find Sunburst—and have my life be again like he had never left me. As foalish as the thought was, my attachment had been the fatal attraction that had overcome inertia and made it possible for me to run away. Last night, she'd learned all the hurt I'd endured because of that decision. 

That I'd been savaged.

All because of one "lousy" colt.

Head down, stubby horn pointed at his chest, Sunset Shimmer charged him. In that instant, I loved Sunset.

In the next instant...

It felt like the shockwave of an explosion. Having a year ago in-teleported a fractional second after a celestial-ton fertilizer bomb had detonated, I recognized the shockwave impulse against the front surface of my body. Your body jerks back; you feel it in your guts. 

But— nothing exploded.

Yet, everything in the room jerked away from the red-haired stallion... Displaced hoof lengths into the air, rotated clockwise and shifted right as a single conjoined unit. Everything not bolted down lifted together with no regard for mass. Turned, examined like sculptures in a hoof. Ponies, books, glassware. For a second, enough to gasp for the air punched from my lungs, we hung suspended. Then dropped.

Streak, in magic-enhanced flight, found her trajectory redirected into the ceiling. She cratered the plaster. A disintegrating small crystal chandelier tumbled along her uncontrolled trajectory for the transom window above the door. All Celestia's crystal serving pieces slammed down, many shattering. The water pitcher bounced, erupting water, splashing me as I landed back in my chair and rolled back. Crystal, brass chandelier parts, shards of broken transom window, and plaster crashed down with the racket of a china bowl of dried beans and nine-penny nails. 

Nifty defensive spell Sunburst had!

Not entirely unexpected. He had caught a hundred heavy tomes to save my life, and shelved them. Alphabetically, I'd noted that the next day, having started to cry seeing the books from our disastrous game. 

Librarian. 

In training. Obviously. 

Sunset slid back on her rump, but immediately righted herself, only to be knocked over by Streak who had bounced off a wall. I levitated both aside as they rolled away in a tangle of legs, jumping the obstacle.

I cast Pull to anchor myself if he cast Impulse again. Despite my bruises and torn ear, I saw him recognize me as I stepped forward. His mouth dropped open, but his eyes narrowed warily.

With all that had happened in the last 36 hours since my coronation, the last 2 1/2 days since I'd told Celestia to pound sand, really, this confrontation felt ill-timed. I had once loved this colt. I'd ruined my life pursuing him. I'd thought the pony was my other half. My soulmate. My one and only friend. I'd denied it, but subconsciously I'd vowed to marry him. I had found him adorable. The yearling stallion he'd become only added fuel to the fire of the emotions raging inside. 

I wanted to sock him. 

I wanted to hug him and start crying. 

I wanted to run away. (I'd grown good at running away. Intuition screamed do so.)

I stopped in front of him. We blinked at each other as Streak and Sunset thumped into one another and a chair struck a wall behind me. The two sounded too agitated to get out of each other's way. 

"You—" I yelled, but my voice cracked. I croaked out, "You abandoned me." 

He shook his head in disbelief. "I—? I—?" His voice ramped up, "I— WHAT?"

He ceased to look adorable. Male, he out-massed me. His muscles visibly shown. The veins on his head and neck bulged as his eyes widened and face reddened. 

Rage.

"After what you did, you have the AUDACITY to excoriate me!?"

Fight reflex kicked in, bringing clarity. I backpedaled, saying, "You got your cutie mark then walked out of my life!"

He clopped away, muttering to himself. "I told her it wouldn't work." His magic picked up a notebook and a quill, shoving them into a briefcase. "I told the princess! I'm so stupid. Stupid! How hard can it be to say No!" He punctuated the word by clopping a horseshoe on mahogany.

He panted, working to control his breathing, facing the desk. He shoved a copy of what had to be his book into the briefcase with a thump.

I said, "No is not an answer Celestia accepts."

He zipped the brown fabric so hard, it should have thrown the briefcase over his shoulder. He rounded on me and came muzzle to muzzle, hot breath scented with oats heating my nose. 

"You! You slammed your door after I went to tell my parents who were waiting in the street. When I came back to invite you to my Cuteciñera, nopony answered. That afternoon, your butler said you were ill. My invitation got returned. When I got a scholarship offer to attend Celestia's School at dinner time, I galloped over to tell you, but your butler told me I was no longer welcome. I didn't believe him... not at first. When a pegasus caught me climbing the fence, like I always had to see why you hadn't shown up at school, he threw me in the street and told me you thought I was making a foal of you and to go away. He broke my rib. I wrote letters but, when a dozen came back, I understood: You were envious. I could learn spells easily, and my cutie mark demonstrated that. You couldn't take it. So you threw me in the trash, like a porcelain-headed pony doll with a tiny chip, no longer worthy of the Lady Countess of Sire's Hallow, the Earl of Grin Having. I was a commoner, a nopony who lost his usefulness. I vowed I'd show you. I did. I made somepony of myself. I've revolutionized the field of magic semantics!" 

He huffed and shouldered me brusquely aside. "With Princess Celestia as my co-author, supporting my findings!"

His horseshoes screeched as he halted his stomping out of the room. When I looked, I saw Proper Step blocking the door frame, wearing my dark green livery with my stars and auroras cutie mark crest. 

"You! You were her butler!" Sunburst scoffed, reared and crashed his horseshoes down. Glaring, the redhead spat on the floor, levitated him aside, then stomped down the hall. He screamed, his voice fading down the school corridor. "I quit, Princess! This will never work!"

The PTSD tinnitus returned with a fearsome squeal in my ears. My world fogged with glaring white. I shook. My mind was blank and quiet as Sunburst's words ricocheted around the inside of my skull like steel ball bearings. The meanings couldn't register because...

Because...

How could they? The pony had said the sky was made of grape jelly but it rained apple juice. His words contradicted reality. 

Proper Step looked as distressed as he'd been last night, stricken as if he'd seen somepony die. 

Thinking about it, maybe he had. 

Me. 

He knelt, prostrating himself. Voice quavering, he said, "I did that. What he said. To increase the pressure on you. Sunburst's walking out on you was the opportunity the Princess said to look for..." He pressed the upper part of his muzzle and his horn against the floor so he could not meet my eyes. 

No doubt in my mind that he wanted to die.

"It's true," I stated, admitting altered reality. 

The sledgehammer struck glass. My world shattered. Everything I'd based my life upon crashed in shards to the floor around my hooves. Like a rag doll, I followed, barking my knees, banging my shoulders, and striking my head.

Blue and purple phosphene stars whirled around amidst the pain I understood I deserved. 

I pushed Sunburst out in a moment of pique, and Proper Step took advantage and made it permanent. Which means Sunburst didn't abandon me. Everything I've based my decisions in my life, my opinions of the trustworthiness of friends, even the corrupting nature of cutie marks is...

Completely baseless.

I'm melting. I'm disappearing. I'm...

I covered my eyes with my forelegs, moaned, and started rocking. 

I heard ponies gathering. I heard hooves. I heard voices, but the words sounded inside out and backwards. Feathers rustled, but I grew warm so it wasn't only Streak who held me.

"Hey!" somepony cried. Horseshoes clattered, scrabbling away against the floor. I got tugged aside, wrenching my neck. I heard ice cubes battering glass.

A gout of ice water splashed me in the head and muzzle. Ice and lemon slices bounced off my horn and rolled off my shoulders and across my back.

"Gah!" I cried, leaping to my hooves, flinging aside Streak who'd taken some of the splash. 

Sunset Shimmer stood there, holding in her magic the two emptied pitchers she'd thrown in my face as my washed out mane dripped on the floor. Around me, I saw my classmates—and in the doorway, Ms. Maple and Mrs. Squick, the school nurse, wearing her nurse's hat with a red plus symbol.

Sunset said, "Well, that worked. Seriously, Starlight! Now you can stop being that colt's victim and live your life free of that past."

I blinked at her. 

...The fiery mare was right. I whispered,"That sounds familiar."

"Me and Celestia. What you've told me... like... a hundred times! Fair's fair."

I nodded and dripped.

The nurse put a frog to my forehead and looked into my eyes. Somepony found a towel. The adults got me trotting through the halls, where ponies saw their new princess dripping followed by an odd entourage. I kept thinking of what I'd learned and the label Sunset, who had acknowledged herself as my student, had applied. 

Victim. 

No longer a victim. 

I felt myself lifted onto a bed. In the nurse's office. I let myself be examined. 

Was I free? Was this true?

Near Mrs. Squick's desk, blocking her glass cabinet of first aid bandages and antiseptics, stood ponies worrying about me. Friendship went both ways, and somehow I'd merited their attention and concern. I didn't understand it, but now I began to think I probably could learn. I knew one thing, looking at the yellow mare with the mane that resembled fire frozen in time: Like Citron, she demonstrated she supported me, whether I liked it or not. I started blinking as my eyes misted up. Tears ran down my cheek. 

Love felt like this. 

Ms. Maple asked, "Do you want to talk about it? Streak explained it—"

I wiped the tear with a fetlock. "Oddly, I'm okay. I'm learning something important about myself."

"Talking it out definitely helps."

"I will. With my friends." I felt what I'd felt last night with the prince—not the riding part, but the expanding feeling. My heart expanded. It had expanded when we met on the Strand. It had encompassed him when I held him in the bath, causing him to release this burst of emotion magic. Looking at Sunset, I felt that expanding feeling. Like Cadance had said—as had the prince—I overflowed. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

I was a ceramic pot. I'd been badly crazed. I'd been dropped and I had shattered into a hundred pieces, one for each book Sunburst had saved me from being crushed under. So many pieces, none of them fitting together like puzzle pieces. I glued myself together—now. I would not be the same.

Through the open door, I heard a voice increasing in volume. "Ow, ow, ow! Stop that!" I heard marching hooves and somepony who sounded like he was being dragged against his will. Princess Cadance strode into the office and said, "There you are, Ms. Glimmer!"

Behind her, she dragged Sunburst. She held his right ear in her magic. His brass shod hooves slid in place, like the wheels of a locomotive when the train starts but spun because they couldn't get traction. "Ow!"

Her magic flicked out. Released, he sat on his butt. He glared up at her, then jerked his head around to face me, seeing me on the table. I had stood in his horseshoes. I understood the resentment he felt because I'd felt it, too. I'd lashed out, and he had too. He'd made something of himself: a librarian and magic scholar. I'd made myself a criminal— and a princess, which I thought of as the same thing. We'd both learned something about ourself.

His expression went flat. 

I slid out of the bed before Cadance could cast a heart-shaped spell, stepping close enough to nuzzle him. I knelt on my front knees. I'd noted what Proper Step had done, and I heard the old stallion gasp in the hall as I copied him. I curved my neck forward and laid the upper part of my muzzle, pointing toward my chest, on the floor. My horn clicked on the tile as my horn touched it, preventing me from touching my forehead to the cold hard surface as a pegasus or earth pony could.

I said, "Everything you said was true. I closed the door on you. I shut you out. I learned what it feels like to earn your cutie mark three days ago. I did a horrible thing to you. While circumstance conspired to separate us, I let my pride keep me from finding you and discovering what went wrong. I knew you. I knew you wouldn't abandon me, but let myself distrust my heart. I knew where you lived. I knew your family would throw a cuteciñera for you. The next day, I learned you would come to school here. Yet, I. Did. Nothing. I exchanged pride for my best friend and soulmate, and I apologize. I only now understand what is truly precious."

Twilight murmured, "She's truly a princess."

"Starlight—" he started.

I cut him off. "Don't forgive me reflexively. I am not doing this to obligate you. I hurt you. I am responsible." I raised my head. "We are two different ponies now. The Aurora Midnight you called Starlight Starbright and her Sunburst are long-ago memories and can never again be. I morn them."

Cadance sucked in a breath. 

I looked and saw the Princess of Love choke up, majorly, lips quivering. I humored myself by telling myself it was all my fault. Tears streamed down her cheeks; considering she wore mascara like Celestia, it wasn't pretty.

I overflowed again. 

I looked at Sunburst. His eyes glistened and he rattled the bean. His breath caught, then he smiled. "You're right. You really aren't the Starlight Starbright I once knew. But, I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Princess."

I forgave his use of the P-word.
> 21 — Lunch Part I: Awkward Before
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Awkward. My actions made returning to our classroom that way. More so, considering how Cadance galloped down the hall, overwhelmed, sobbing. No more awkward than after riding a pony on impulse. You'd done that. O-kay. Now you had to talk normally. Your states had inalterably changed, but talking about it felt... Riiiight. Awkward.

I shooed away the janitor, but kept his barrow of brooms and mops. Protégés, wizards, friends, and a princess cleaned up the fallen plaster, broken glass, spilled water, disintegrated light fixture, and a tumbled over mountain of books. Silently. But for the slop of the mop, the whisk of the brooms, and the clatter of softly placed hooves.

We ended up reading our copies of Mnemonics. Sunburst retreated to his desk, spreading out his notebooks, studiously writing. Divorced of the heavy saddlebags I'd carried, I saw a stallion my age. Attractive. He'd helped form my conception of stallion-hood as a foal, which didn't help. Avoiding where my mind went, I then avoided thought of the Prince, then Citron. That led to the grey coltish EBI agent I'd shared a hotel room with, before being accepted into Celestia's school. 

I turned to Moon Dancer. "I'm hungry. I invited you to lunch. Wanna go?"

Her purple eyes lifted behind her glasses. She nodded.

"What about us?" Sunset said, loudly. When I looked, Twilight pointed at her own chest and Sunset nodded.

I giggled. Yep, I did that. I'd fixed broken things.

Streak held her primer, wings out, blue feathers splayed on the table. A yellow pencil flicked around in her lips over a notepad. Her first fifteen minutes with the book, she'd gotten Hurricane's armor to glow dull red as if taken out of a forge, but without getting hot. That'd sold her on Celestia's plan. Total concentration, that pegasus.

"Streak. We're going to lunch. Wanna come?"

She mumbled around the waving pencil. "Lemme wri dis down." As we clattered down the front steps from school, Sunburst oblivious we'd left, she whooshed out the front door. Guards tailed us before we reached Alicorn Way; still no Firefall.

"Where to?" asked Sunset.

I said, "There's La Esquina Izquierda—"

"Equidorian?" asked Moon Dancer. "Um. You know night wings cook really spicy? Burn a hole in your stomach, spicy?"

"How about hay burgers?" chirped Twilight, bouncing her withers off Moon Dancer. They both tittered.

Doña Asada had introduced me to her native cuisine. "They'll make their melon and squash dishes mild... If you ask... Um, there's the Hay Burger!"

Twilight said, "Not at lunch. It's packed dock to muzzle."

Sunset said, "Not if you're Ms. Glimmer, I'll bet."

I pointedly turned away from the restaurant. "Pulling rank would make me really popular at school."

Sunset nodded, but had a hoof to her chin as she walked. "There's The Hooflyn Delicatessen—"

I lowered my voice, "That's a bad choice, Sunset." 

That was Boss Running Mead's favorite restaurant. Outside was where the sting operation to catch him three days ago had devolved into a firefight between the constables and his goons—and coppers he’d mind controlled. Running Mead had waved an envelope of fragrant nettle ewe under Sunset's nose, knowing she suffered withdrawals; she had later cringed under a toppled-over café table to avoid flying Force bolts. I'd earned my cutie mark by ripping out the gangster's cutie mark and corking it inside a bottle of claret.

Sunset said, "I need to face my past. Besides, Celestia sent Running Mead to Tartarus."

"Who's Running Mead?" asked Twilight.

"One of the reasons Celestia pardoned me and Streak."

Sunset said, "I heard the deli has good pickles, sauerkraut, and corned aubergine to go with crispy hay fries."

"I'm in," said Streak in concert with Twilight. Moon Dancer nodded. 

The pegasus hovered as she spoke. "Sunset's right. Going somewhere the flank adored, and will remember as lost to him, will heal the three of us."

"Long walk," I pointed out. 

"So?" Streak asked, performing a barrel roll.

I swiped a hoof at her, which she easily dodged. We took the first residential street east. Century old trees held huge rustling canopies of yellow, orange, and red that shaded sidewalks littered with leaves. They crunched under hoof. A center island sported roses. Ignoring the grandness of the ivy-covered brick or pink-grey flagstone mansions on either side, it felt like strolling through a village.

Birds twittered and I heard the bzzz-bzzz of a cicada. I caught a shadow in my peripheral vision. 

When I glanced right, the Prince leapt bushes crossing to our side of the parkway. No bodyguards.

"Ms. Glimmer! How fortunate to meet you!"

"You're Royal Highness," I said in surprise

Memory of Sunburst yelling his side of our shared tragedy—and my forehead pressed against the floor apologizing—flashed in my mind. I thought of Sunset and Citron intimately together, then us four sleeping in her bed last night. My deal with the Prince this morning surfaced, an ache reminding me where I'd been body-slammed. 

When Moon Dancer noticed the prince, she eeped and stopped, Twilight with her. I walked by them, forcing the prince to catch up.

I waved off Streak, who hovered looking skeptical. My guards closed ranks. I shook my head at them and everypony gave me a few pony lengths of space.

Cinnamon scent wafted over me, overwhelming my overly sensitive nose. He seemed winded, despite being in good shape. Was that a limp?

"You okay?" I asked. 

He smiled, his blue eyes momentarily twinkling. "I needed a recharge. I'm better for seeing you. I can't join you, but might we share dinner tonight?"

What had Ms. Maple said in the nurse's office? I needed to talk it out. I felt unstable—me seeing him now, remembering clearly what I'd experienced with him before and after the bath last night. Wasn't sure I was ready to talk.

I said, "How about tomorrow—"

He reached out a hoof. The soft frog delicately traveled up my neck, brushing aside my mane, to rest below my torn ear. He rotated my head, kissing me. I did not miss the slight skritch aside my ear—it electrified me. He had learned me well. All other thought abandoned, forgetting I had an audience, I returned the kiss deeply. My pounding heart opened up again and I reached my forelegs around his neck. 

After a few seconds, as I took a breath, the prince disengaged our lips and untangled himself from my embrace. My forelegs nearly collapsed as my shoes clopped one-two on the pavers. He gave me a horse grin no self-respecting prince would give anypony but his filly-friend. "Tonight? Dinner?"

"Yes," I breathed, in barely a whisper.

He tipped his indigo fedora with the black feather in the silver band, then dashed across the street, leaping the central growth. His hooves clattered away, then abruptly quieted in the distance.

Sunset muttered somewhere near my left ear as I stood stunned. "Lower your tail. It's embarrassing."

I blinked as Streak whooshed by, singing, "Princess Glimmer's got a colt friend!"

"Hey!" I yelled. 

She whooshed by again, singing "Starlight and Blueblood sitting in a tree / K I S S I N G !—" 

"Stop it!" I jumped at her, but she dodged. "I'm going to kick you!"

She blew a wet raspberry at me. "Gotta catch me, and I'm wearing Hurricane's armor. Just you try."

"You have to sleep, little filly!" I countered as I continued walking toward the restaurant. 

She hovered floating backward out of reach, sticking her tongue out of me. 

"Juvenile."

"Right. I'm your senior, so I can do whatever I want. I'm your friend, and you happy makes me happy." She sobered, pointing a hoof over her shoulder where the prince had disappeared. "I have your back, too, if he doesn't work out."

"Me, too." Sunset said, having kept pace. As Streak corkscrewed up through the canopy, scattering dried leaves in her wake, Sunset continued, "You had a totally secret life all those months at school?"

"As Boss Running Mead's enforcer. Yeah."

"She seems like a good friend. Am I your friend?"

"Always direct," I said, swishing my tail to get the kinks out. I couldn't believe I'd raised it simply being kissed. "That's one of the things I like about you."

"Except with Celestia."

"You will earn those five bits I wagered."

"But I'm not your friend?"

I leaned into her. "You're more: a big sis and a friend. What you did, standing up to Sunburst for me like that, made me love you." I blinked away sudden tears. There I was again, feeling my heart opening up.

She jerked back, but kept pace.

I laughed. "Yes, you are my friend. The first I'm admitting it to since I was a foal. These last few days have turned me inside-out. There are so many ponies who were my friend and I didn't understand or acknowledge it. I've a lot to think about."

She leaned into me and we walked companionably.

My tail wasn't laying flat, though. Which reminded me about the Prince and my behavior. Sunset's more pressingly, especially if Citron was her first. "Um. Do you know about Maiden's Cure?"

"The spell or the expensive herb?" she asked. 

I stepped aside as she got a crooked grin. 

She said, "You mentioned it the day you introduced me to nettle ewe—"

When I'd ridden her. "Mind-controlled—"

"I understand that, but I looked it up. Mrs. Squick will give you a better preprepared potion, good for the last day or so, if you ask. You can buy something cheap, good for a week either way, at the university store. It works on stallions, though why a mare would trust what a colt said, I don't know." She grinned. "Citron came prepared with a sealed vial with the 'smiling mare every mare trusts' on the label. He'd prepared for you."

Celestia had baited her trap with him. He hadn't known he'd meet me that morning the sun didn't rise, but he'd hoped and prepared nonetheless, then had fought at my side as we helped save Equestria from the curse of broken harmony.

I sensed a subtext to her remark, but Sunset went on, louder. "Princess Mi Amoré Cadenza is going to be jealous next time you meet. Fair warning."

I remembered the trick the prince confessed to playing.

Twilight piped up to my right, startling me. How long had she been listening? Did she think she listened to a live romance novel? She asked, "You mean Princess Cadance?"

Sunset asked over my rump. "Mi Amoré has a nickname?"

I said, "She does."

"She's only Canterlot's best foal-sitter!" Under her breath, Twilight sang, "Ladybugs..."

"You know her?"

Twilight nodded, rolling her eyes. "My family's been friends of the palace since before I was born. My father is the Chief Archivist of Canterlot, which is how I've always had all the best books despite my family not being wealthy. The princess is my mother's most royal fan and reads all her novels. Shiny and Cadance attended Canterlot Academy High School together. When the princess needed a job for her, I got her as a foal-sitter—and I helped her learn Equish!" She looked very proud, until she asked, "Why's Cadance going to be jealous?"

Sunset answered, "She's dead set on marrying Prince Blueblood. She thinks that as an elevated princess, he's the only pony she can marry."

Twilight's purple eyes flicked from mine to the central manicured planter in the direction she'd last seen the prince disappear a block or so behind, then back, trying to figure out what she'd missed. In-between the wide old elms, I realized the thorns made the red roses dangerous to jump.

I shivered. That kiss. My lips tingled anew. Had he asked me to follow him that instant—

Twilight said, "Who else would Cadance marry?"

Sunset whispered in my ear, "Twilight's a little unobservant."

Twilight growled. "I heard that! I thought you were being friendly."

"I am!" protested Sunset, strategically keeping me between the two of them. "Your foal-sitter should study the royalty and peerage of the country she became a citizen of. She could marry her best friend and be done with it, foaling a herd of little ponies if she wanted."

"Best friend?" Twilight asked.

Sunset shook her head, making a disgusted sound. "All you study is magic, Twilight. There's a wider world. Were your foal-sitter to marry your brother, he'd be elevated to Prince Consort. Not a reigning prince, though Shining Armor could be a prince-regent if he were widowed with an underage foal."

Twilight gasped. "Cadance and Shiny... married?" She stopped and we continued beyond her. "I could be an aunt?"

Sunset and I looked at one another. We covered our mouth and giggled.

Moon Dancer and Twilight started talking intensely, Pistachio behind shook her head. I caught Moon Dancer looking at me as we approached The Edge. (It was a trendy new section of Canterlot between the Upper and the Lower where a developer had been able to tear down an old warehouse some years ago.)

Why had Moon Dancer reacted when the prince showed up? Why did she give me shy looks, now? Because Blueblood had kissed me? Intuition told me it didn't add up.

Wait! The Prince had asked me to dinner—but hadn't said were or when. I huffed and rolled my eyes..
> 22 — Lunch Part II: Awkward During
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The interior of The Hooflyn Delicatessen had authentic graffitied walls... well, except that I knew all the gang signs in Hooflyn, Manehatten, and Baltimare (part of my former job) and the wavy stenciled mare with a melting three-dimensional T H D over it wasn't one of them. The frame around the smoked glass window looked like a roll-up crash gate. Lamps like you’d see in a warehouse or garment district sweat shop illuminated dented galvanized ventilation pipes in the ceiling. Black café tables resembled those outside. The waiters wore artfully-stained grey aprons, bar mop pocket towels, black ties, and red bandannas.

I sat to Moon Dancer's right. Having worked weeks in Hooflyn before and after Carne Asada had been stabbed, I knew the cuisine by heart.

I asked her, "Did Prince Blueblood do something to you?"

She tensed and shook her head, holding the menu stiffly, sliding it slightly so she put it between herself and Twilight. "No. I'm pretty sure I never met him."

"He seemed interested in you."

"You spoke to him about me?"

"It came up."

"What did he ask?"

"He seemed happy to know you were happy and interested in learning magic."

"Aunt Seas says I inherited my talent..." Her voice trailed off. She ordered corned aubergine with coleslaw on rye. I ordered zucchini pastrami with potato salad on braided egg bread, slathered with hot brown mustard.

When Moon Dancer glanced at Twilight, who was in a deep conversation with Streak examining the pegasus' armor, I said, "My parents died on a mission for Princess Celestia when I was four." Despite Celestia having given me hope they might still live, she'd offered no hard proof, especially for my mother.

Startled, Moon Dancer said, "I'm sorry."

"What happened to your parents?"

She put both steel-shod hooves flat on the table with a clink-clank. "The Windigos."

I gasped. I remembered that horrible storm, which had torn up trees and dumped seaweed high up in the piedmont where Sire's Hollow lay. I'd been dispatched to help clean up the shoreline and harbor town afterward, the little Lady directed by her guardian Proper Step to make a proper caring show. Grin Having abutted the Duchy of Horseshoe Bay.

I nodded. "I remember the storm."

She said, "Right. You're the Earl of Grin Having. You attended their funeral."

"I-I-I don't remember."

"We were little."

I nodded. "I remember my parents' funeral. Lots of adult ponies being nice and condescending at the same time, and the Princess giving an unwelcome eulogy."

"I might have been there. It certainly describes what I remember of my mother's funeral, although the Princess was very broken up. Princess Celestia was my mother's godmother and is my aunt's best friend. I remember that

What I remembered most was that Princess Celestia had visited the manor after quelling the storm, and had stayed the night without my knowledge or permission. I blamed her for my parents' death and I'd hated her intrusion, and felt violated. She'd probably not yet learned the full extent of the damage, nor that she'd lost her goddaughter.

Moon Dancer rummaged in her saddle bags. I expected a textbook that she might divert both of our attentions with. No. She brought out a pearl-faced silver locket with a broken chain. She pressed it, revealing a picture. 

I had no pictures of my parents. Embarrassing. My mother had been a famous opera singer, so I could find her on album covers. Oddly, we'd had few pictures of us as a family, and when I'd run away from home, grabbing a keepsake had been the least of my worries.

Then I focused on the picture.

The mare in the small photo looked familiar. Right! She resembled the mare in the prince's photo out front of the Flying Horses Carousel. The mare with the swaddled foal.

Had the prince known Moon Dancer's parents? Well, of course he had to have. He'd been sent to study under the Duke and the Duchess of Horseshoe Bay, Proper Step had reported, only to be rejected in the strongest fashion. I wanted to ask more, but our sandwiches arrived with dishes of sauerkraut and crispy dill pickles, speared with pimento green olives on a toothpick. I'd ordered an egg cream, which foamed up with a chocolaty scent as I stirred the syrup into the soda and oat milk.

Sunset started talking on my right and I lost the thread, though I suspected Moon Dancer probably resented my bringing up the subject in the first place.
> 23 — Lunch Part III: Awkward After
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The guard reminded us that we all had classes, so we didn't chitchat after we garbaged everything down. Armed with toothpicks in our magic (and wing), we trooped out of the restaurant district. 

A giant shadow crossed the sun. Not a cloud. It had wings.

Even I jumped. Occasionally, Rocs wandered into Equestria, hunting ponies. Survival instinct. An alicorn five times my mass slammed down on the cobbles. She wore a rusty red bodysuit that went from her neck down to her ankles, strategically hiding her cutie mark.

As the princess furled her wings, Streak leapt and slammed down between me and Her Royal Highness, making a bigger tremor thanks to her armor. A dozen pegasi in gleaming armor fluttered down and assembled beside her.

Celestia remarked, "So, here's where you wandered off to." Her purple eyes glittered.

I grumbled, "Can't we have lunch in peace?"

"Had you met with me for one meal—one little meal—or a tutoring session—"

Sunset growled. She was jealous of Twilight's access to Celestia... now me? I got that.

"—you'd have an inkling what this is about."

"What's so important?" I asked.

Galloping hooves clattered up, amidst the jangle of armor. Guards arrived, one pulling a wagon.

"BBBFF!" cried Twilight.

Shining Armor levitated a golden helmet into Celestia's magic. She fit it over her head, threading her ears and pulsating particolor mane through the holes. She said, "The Golden Stag claim the southern reaches of the Everfree Forest. They're antlered deer and the most magically dangerous of the Wild. We've had an armistice with them for three centuries."

"We're... at war?"

"The Wild claim all of Equestria, but generally accept our peace. Until somepony forgets. They've captured a small village, claiming the farmers were stealing sacred wood. Somepony undoubtedly had."

I pawed the cobbles. I flashed back to my first remembered visit to Canterlot, when I'd run away. I'd been worried of being followed. The Princess had landed outside the Hey Burger! while I'd hidden inside. She'd displayed a magic map of Mount Aris—for anypony to see—as she prepared to leave to fight the Prince of Storms.

A pegasus reporter with a camera was flapping for all he was worth from the News Building where Streak had part-timed as a stringer.

I said, "Aren't there certain things that ought be kept secret, Princess? Like military adventures?" I pushed aside Streak and met the alicorn's purple eyes.

We locked gazes. She smiled, then nodded. "Maple Leaf told me about your visit to school, trying to get her to tell you if Sunburst were enrolled. You'd excoriated me for showing my map to my lieutenants! I agree, doing it in public is somewhat gauche, but time constraints override such concerns. That you notice these things shows me you're the princess I've needed all along."

I scoffed. "I'm evil."

Celestia snorted in amusement. "Self-deprecation reveals a lot about a pony."

She belted on gold mesh over her hindquarters, adding, "This is diplomacy by display of force. A type of shield. The Golden Stag test us whenever we give them an excuse, itching to take back their domain."

As she exchanged her peytral regalia for something more complete over her chest and neck, I glanced at Streak. I was willing to bet Hurricane's armor was far more effective.

"Okay, I'll bite. How can I help?"

"Great attitude, Starlight! Had you been paying attention, or attending meetings, you'd know I was hosting the Canterlot Running of the Leaves. As my heir, my little pony, it's now your responsibility. You being a past winner of the Baltimare Celestial Race, so I've made you a lovely set of sport trunks and a cute tank top so you can represent the crown."

She latched clips, snapping protective greaves onto her legs, then stepped into spiked golden horseshoes. Nasty. Hoof length knives for boxing while rearing."Oh, yeah: Princess Mi Amoré Cadenza made great observations about you and Sunburst this morning. It made me realize she has the same problem with magic as Streak because she thinks like a pegasus. She's joining your special-ed class tomorrow."

My jaw dropped.

"Enjoy your first duty as a royal. Make me proud!" She leapt into the sky with a roar of her wings followed by her soldiers—a mere murder of crows flapping after her in comparison—as I stood sputtering.

We followed the guards toward the castle. Twilight monopolized Shining Armor, introducing her brother to Moon Dancer. Her face colored, but despite her shyness, she asked questions. I gathered Twilight's friend was rather taken by the stallion in armor. Maybe that was an innate filly behavior? I remembered what Sunset said about Cadance, the prince, and Shining Armor. 

Jealousy. Could I feel it? That led my mind to Citron.

"You and Citron," I said to Sunset, almost in a whisper.

She chuckled. "I like the colt."

I took a deep breath—but she interrupted whatever my emotions might blurt to say, "Yet, when your stallion always has some other mare on his tongue, you realize he's probably not fully into you."

She suddenly blushed deep red, realizing she'd innocently pronounced a couple double-entendres. "Oh, no. Oh, no," she cried, clattering away, her tail spinning. 

She didn't get the courage to face me before the guard corralled me in a different direction from my classmates, which ended our conversation for the time being.
> 24 — Royal Duties I: Game of Thrones
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'd grown up wearing clothes most hours of the day and night, unlike most ponies. I'd been an Earl. I hated it for all the reasons.

When I'd run away from my responsibilities at Grin Having, I'd given up wearing clothes. I'd went with only saddle bags and a tarp, which functioned as a tent or a rain slicker as I tramped around northeastern Equestria pretending to be one of the nomads ponies called hobos. When I settled in Baltimare, I found a job as a grocery clerk; I wore a kale green miniskirt and blouse with lots of midriff, which made the old codger that owned Bit O' Kale's happy and ensured he paid me well. 

I began wearing clothes I tailored for myself when I trained as a prizefighter. That meant pink sweats of technical fiber that fit snug to every curve of my body, allowing me to better manipulate the stallions who were the majority in the profession. I designed arena costumes to disguise my identity during a fight without impeding movement. As a bodyguard, I preferred engineered cloaks or dresses that would look elegant and restricting, but sported breakaway seams—so I could surprise an attacker with a hoof to the nose, or a backhoof to the stallion parts.

In Canterlot, I eschewed clothing again. I'd still been a blank flank and had decided it worked to my advantage to stop painting on my toothed-book "grimoire" cutie mark. It made me authentic and easy to underestimate. I'd worn pigtails again, enhancing my ability to hide in plain sight.

Sunset Shimmer had underestimated me—until she realized I'd injured myself to save her, during a magic practicum. No matter how tough the pony or the determination of said pony—I'm talking about me here—living through a gang war, having thought you'd killed a pony with the knife he nearly assassinated your employer with, and having survived an attack by a griffon with knife gloves on her talons and lion paws, PTSD happens. Sunset had triggered it. By shear force of will, I'd made a Force spell backfire, burning the root of my horn rather than—well, burning or killing my T.A.

Sunset rapidly figured out I was special and had cultivated... Okay, I now realized it was my friendship. That I'd offered her nettle ewe after riding her (mind controlled, remember, but neither of us had known that then) had certainly changed her mind about the blank flank she'd barely noticed before.

When the fifth hoofmaid brought another dress, I gave in. Not what Celestia had promised me a half-hour ago. Apparently, clothes made the mare despite Celestia only ever wearing her regalia.

They put my mane up, weaving it so the fluorescent green stripes and purple locks looked like an unfrosted layer cake. Against my forehead above my horn they placed my crown. Whereas Cadance's was a tea cup, mine was an incredibly delicate circlet of blackened antiqued silver. Wire held together opposed whitish green and deep green slices of jade against my temples. In the center blazed a four point star formed of tiny tourmaline prisms. A single rare white jade star backed the setting, and pressed it against my uplifted mane and the crown of my head. The hair beside my ears kept it in place. My cutie mark had inspired my one bit of regalia. I respected minimalism and liked impressionism. 

I liked the piece.

The dress, though. Tongue-out bleh! 

"No flapping way I'm running in this! I feel like a butterfly stuck in its chrysalis, unable to break free."

"It's for casually strolling in, dearie, for looking regal."

I tried to kick at the back seam, but couldn't reach without the crinoline crinkling and pulling. The pearly green garment, replete with gauze and lace, had a stiff satin luster bustle that hid my tail. It made my flank look enormous. Like Sunset's. Not necessarily unbecoming a mare, but it felt like false advertising. The blouse plunged from my withers to behind my forelegs; in between, the mare had brushed my fur into pointed tuft and puffed lacquer on it. I refused the pearls that went with the doo and giddy-up.

Another pony powdered my bruises, but I refused to let him glue my torn ear. I'd wait for Flowing Water to do it properly, were I to decide to get it done at all. I thought it looked rather rakish. It signaled who I felt Starlight Glimmer really was.

"If I have to move, it's going to rip."

"Don't worry, we'll fix it."

Yeah, an average pony would work months to afford such a dress. I hated being as if better than other ponies!

I spat. "This is ridiculous! I'm running the leaves in this?"

"Of course not, Your— Ms. Glimmer. We have a trotting suit. Princess Celestia left so precipitously, she didn't close Day Court. It's only Day Three of your reign and you get to introduce yourself to the ponies of Canterlot! Isn't that nice?"

"You're joking. Right? Please tell me you're joking." 

I looked at the speaker, who blinked at me. More of a hoof-matron. Her black mane, pulled back severely into a bun, had grey streaks that were likely its true color. She wore a forest green velvet vest over mint green fur. 

"You're not joking," I answered myself, crestfallen.

A stallion said, "Ms. Glimmer, worry not, for I am here." 

In the doorway of the boudoir stood a tan and grey pony squinting through a monocle with a schnauzer dog face. His son, a brown and black pony with the same face and upright appearance stood beside him. Kibitz and his son Proper Step bowed in synchrony. "I shall accompany you and your staff today. As a former athlete, you understand training. Consider this opportunity just that."

I huffed, but stifled a pout. "You don't understand who I am."

"Then, if it pleases you, arrange to sit down with my son and I to explain what we need to know to better serve you. Tell us of your experiences and history since you left the estate. We shall listen and take notes."

Oh, so reasonable!

Proper Step bowed his head when I looked at him. "Did you explain last night and this morning to your father?"

"I did, Ms. Glimmer."

"Leaving nothing out?"

"Nothing. I judge you don't care what ponies think of you, only that they understand you."

"Huh. Never analyzed it that way. I like the sound of that!"

The dark stallion nodded, eyes down.

"Proper Step?"

He looked up. "Yes, Ms. Glimmer?"

"It reassures me that you've proven to have a heart. I respect how you reacted last night. Referring to me, Celestia explained that self-deprecation says a lot about a pony. We should both try to understand the wisdom in that."

His lips quivered and he blinked his watery caramel eyes, but kept it together. "Thank you, Ms. Glimmer."

Kibitz shouldered him and he stumbled. "You've got to learn to loosen up, son! Ms. Glimmer, I'll help him with that." His grey eyes twinkled.

"Thank you, Kibitz. About this court thing. I spent years learning how to cast spells, and I still can't do Motivate, which most unicorns except me can do. Three days prep...? This isn't a wise idea."

"The princess has confidence you will do well in your unique way."

"A quote?"

"More or less. Here's a script."

I got ten minutes to study it, half while suffering makeup and primping, the other half reading while being led from the Residency to the public areas. The script read like one of those parlor games full of deadpan sentences with fill-in-the-blank phrases at the point where something could be misconstrued. I flipped noisily back and forth between pages. Definitely not a canned speech. Insert something about magic. Insert something about Equestria. Insert something about the harvest and the Running of the Leaves. Insert how you are so happy to be the first crown princess in 500 years. Etc.

Five-hundred, not a thousand. Interesting. Must have been one of the two times Celestia lost a war and most of her territories; I'm not good at history, but you knew that.

The part about where Celestia had gone to read: 

Arbitrating a territorial dispute...

and

Use your discretion on what detail to give.

It was horn-written. Celestia's?

Was she testing me? Or goading me?

I hadn't looked up trotting, so it took me by surprise when the rhythmic clatter of hooves got replaced by the chatter and din of ponies. I'd entered the throne room on the public end through the southeast doors. I jumped when the heralds blared Hail to the Queen. Yeah, I knew enough to guess the tune dated back to the Platinum era.

Kibitz and Proper Step announced in unison, "Her Royal Highness, The Crown Princess of Equestria, Starlight Glimmer Regina Aurora Midnight, the Princess of Marks and the Earl of Grin Having. Hear ye, hear ye! Day Court is in back in session."

Hearing the P-word, I wanted to kick somepony, but Celestia had made a point about state occasions being the one time when I had to suffer the irritation. I huffed, paging loudly through the sheets of paper sewn together with pink ribbon, taking out my pique there.

Half way to the dual thrones on the Fountain Steps, a middle-aged stallion with a red coat and brown mane peeled out of line. His puffy green shirt and tailed-jacket sparkled with emerald gems. A palomino mare likely a decade older gasped, wavered, then dashed out behind him, mouthing, "No, no, please, no!"

I ripped out the page to flutter behind me.

A green pegasus stallion landed with a rattle of bronze armor to my right between me and the rude fellow. Streak, wearing her sweater livery emblazoned with my cutie mark crest landed with a bang that cracked a tile to my left, with an arguably more impressive sound thanks to the jangle and clacking of Hurricane's armor and the array of earrings and other punk gold and silver metal bling she wore. She thrashed her tail as she strode protectively beside me in a manner no equine could misconstrue. 

Kibitz read from his ledger: "The Honorable Viscount Fair Trade and MP Glory Gem."

The stallion pleaded, "Your Majesty! Please. This is serious."

I stopped, taking everypony by surprise. Horseshoes slid. Kibitz butted the guard. I reconfigured the Levitate holding the script to Pull, figuring I could knock him over or spin him if need be. 

"Interesting," I said, "Not a Trottingham accent, yet he addresses me like he might Her Majesty Queen Bliss More? Speaking to Her Majesty without leave would likely get him poked with a pointy stick," I said joyfully as I turned to the royal guard, adding, "May I borrow one of your javelins?" He had two in a ribbon quiver. "I'd like to set a precedent."

The entire titanic stain-glass illuminated hall fell deadly quiet, with a few startled whinnies echoing away.

The viscount coughed. "Your Royal Highness. Princess—"

"His ears work."

Streak laughed, understanding me the best in the room.

"The in-between part...? That remains to be seen."

"I'm dreadfully sorry, but I understand you're going to close Day Court early and—"

Glory Gem, a palomino earth pony with a pearlescent blonde mane. wearing a lacy understated faint-green blouse and a maxi dress to match, clopped a hoof on his withers. He quickly bowed under the pressure. She curtsied three-legged, hissing, "Lord Trade, please! Forgive us Ms. Glimmer."

I lifted the pair in my magic and scooted them out of Streak's personal space. Her armor glowed red. I bet she liked that feature! I just hoped it didn't presage setting ponies on fire.

I noted neither Kibitz nor his son stepped in. That level of... what? Trust? Freedom to fail? I suppressed a shudder. 

Fair Trade powered on. "Your Royal Highness. Another delay would be disastrous!"

"Fair Trade!" the MP warned.

He stated as if it were obvious,"You see! Glory Gem isn't herself."

"The contract speaks for itself," she spoke lowly into his ear, but sotto voce nonetheless.

"I didn't sign—"

"As if!"

Glory Gem got between the viscount and me. Their argument resumed, but she butt him with her forehead, pushing us apart but getting louder as they went.

Shaking my head, I continued to the thrones. I noticed Shining Armor talking to other guards. Where he was...

Princess Cadance entered from the doors behind the throne. She looked for and found him with a smile. A herald announced her entrance.

Kibitz asked, "What should I do with the pair?"

"Tell me more about their case, briefly."

I caught Cadance's eye, even as she walked toward her potential beau. I waved a hoof to beside me. She trotted up, ears lowering. 

I said, "Take the big throne."

"Um... You're the heir."

"You're older and have seniority."

"Doesn't work that way—"

"Please. I honestly need your help."

She nodded. I mounted the stairs after her as Kibitz followed, finishing his reprise. I tried sitting in my throne. I'd been trained to move in clothes from the age of a foal, but I'd never sat in something so stiff. Proper Step slid beside me, whispering and pressing fabric that imitated a lobster shell. With much crinkling, my haunches pressed into the velvet cushion. Cadance's pink head towered above me, though she ducked it a little and fluffed her wings nervously. She'd fixed her makeup, but after the tears episode had decided against mascara or eyeliner.

She asked, "Did I miss something? Day Court isn't usually so quiet."

"Nothing that won't be reported in the papers this evening. They'd better quote my pointed comment properly... Say, are you a high school dropout?"



Her wings snapped to her sides and she looked down her muzzle at me. "I was the valedictorian!"

"Ah, then you're likely to be more upset by the news than I thought."

"Something about me taking Celestia's throne—?"

"I wish! Take mine. Please. Okay, maybe related. You impressed Celestia with your observations about me and Sunburst this morning."

Her face colored and she looked away. "I cried in her wings like a foal."

"Talking nonetheless."

"Um—" She looked out at the expectant ponies. 

"I'd like to know what you told her."

"Um—"

"Not actually asking at this moment. You, however, impressed our favorite winged unicorn. She thinks you've leadership potential."

She met my eyes, then blinked and looked away. "Is that why I'm on the Solar Throne and you're on the Lunar?"

"Sorry. Not intentionally misleading. You're just a bigger pony." I scratched the back of my neck. "But, I caught her rule-over-a-domain vibe, especially since she told me before my coronation that she expected to have a domain for you soon. The upshot is that she's sending you back to high school."

"What? That makes no sense. I don't understand."

"You wouldn't, because there's a secret I can't share, but you're going to attend our homeroom class starting tomorrow morning."

She blinked. Her eyes widened. "Even Moon Dancer knows?"

"The secret? You will soon. It's a curse, but it means you've passed a test and Celestia wants you trained. You're going to have to grow up, though." Celestia wanted me to make that happen. 

She huffed and rearranged her wings, loudly. "You're one to talk!"

I pointed at Shining Armor. Her head jerked to follow my hoof. The blue-maned stout-fellow, with a solar cutie mark hidden under bronze shorts and gleaming armor, sensed our attention. Waved a deep blue hoof. "Do you... love him? Or is he your plaything?"

She sputtered. When I looked, her cheeks reddened.

"Plaything, then?"

She huffed. 

I said, "You are going to hear a rumor that will test where your affections lie. You'll hate me because the rumor is true. Bear in mind that I can't befriend a pony that hurts other ponies."

"Cryptic much?" she asked. When I added nothing, she took a deep breath. "You asked for my help?"

"Right. Yes. Are your special spells coercive magic?"

"Only in the sense that they make ponies remember good memories. I named my new magic based on typical reactions to the spells. I can't make a pony fall in love if they don't feel love."

"Same with Amity?"

"Same spell targeting different emotions. I found the magic in the Crystal Heart necklace the philomancer Prisma used to enslave our village. The spell amplifies the polarity of your emotions and casts them into others. Prisma had grown bitter, so it magnified her negativity. I always think positively, so it's not a problem. I befriended the old mare and broke the necklace."

"And earned your cutie mark?"

"How did you know—?"

I pointed to my hidden mark. "Princess of Marks."

"Oh. Of course."

"See those two arguing at the front of the queue? Kibitz, fill her in on the particulars."

As they whispered, I stood. I leafed through the script, looking at the list of insert-here items. I shook my head, then let the pages flutter to the stairs.

It slid to the bottom. The hall full of ponies, who'd begun chattering again, shushed. 

Taking a deep breath, I said, "We have an armistice with the Golden Stag. For those that don't remember what that word means, we are at war but have come to an agreement not to fight. Celestia has flown south to ensure the agreement continues to stand. Whilst one point does not draw a line, perhaps you can deduce good reasons why Celestia might have placed me on the Lunar Throne, pretty much against my will. However, I will do my duty, and expect that you, our loyal subjects, will act accordingly."

I had everypony's eyes riveted. Cadance, ever out of the loop, gasped. She whispered, "The princess did what?"

I motioned her beside me. "Princess Celestia asked me to close the Day Court in preparation for The Running of the Leaves. However, one order of important business remains. Fair Trade. Glory Gem. Approach the steps."

Perhaps because the MP had talked some sense into the stallion, or he had realized that I had said I wanted to jab him with a javelin, he sweat profusely. Glory Gem begged him quietly, "Just apologize—"

"And give in to you—?"

They began arguing, again. Squabbling really. Other ponies noticed, shaking their head, a few with good-natured smiles. Their relationship wasn't new; their discord was. 

I sighed. To Cadance, I said, "They're friends who've forgotten that fact."

"You want me to demonstrate my spell?"

I got a crooked smile. "Yes! I am an opportunist."

Cadance gave me a squinty look. "At least she admits it." She nodded. "Can't hurt." 

Her horn glowed the green-tinted blue of the heart on her cutie mark. Quicker than a balloon inflating, a sparkly yellow heart grew at the tip. It detached, flying buffeted like a butterfly on a breeze until it popped over the pair.

The red stallion whinnied. His face cleared of doubt as he stepped back, saying, "Why are we doing this?"

The palomino, on the other hoof, stiffened, thunderstruck. Emerald green eyes widened as the yellow glow of the magic scintillated around her, not really going in as it had on Fair Trade. The glow turned greenish like a winter aurora. She clenched every muscle, gritting her teeth. 

My shoes clattered on the steps as I rushed down, Glory Gem's distress overwhelming my shock. I'd thought her a healthy pony. As I looked, her healthy plumpness revealed itself as thick fur that hid a gaunt darker frame. I'd allowed, no requested, an unknown spell cast on an elder pony! 

As I leapt from the last stair, my regret and sorrow bloomed. My stupid heart leaked concern and I felt it projected from my chest toward hers. I'd learned a new trick, and couldn't control it.

Glory Gem's eyes rolled up and she spiraled to the floor in a faint.

Her ribs lifted—she breathed, I saw as I skidded toward her. When I inhaled, however, I hit a cloud of jasmine scent. 

A certain estate seamstress had worn that perform. She taught me an essential lesson about equality that had helped shape my life. 

Shocked, I lost the tension in my right leg. Joints buckled and my hooves twisted as chaotic momentum rolled me over. I slid on my back into the mare while my crown launched off my head.

The mare shrieked as if I'd jolted her with lightning. Glory Gem jumped to her hooves with more vitality than an elder pony reasonably demonstrated. The palomino towered above me as I lay on my back, stomach exposed. Her irises shrunk to pin-pricks. Hyperventilating, she searched right and left, confused.

"Are you okay?" I waved my hooves to get her attention; relief that she was, at least, standing flooded into my overfilled lake of concern. "I'm sorry about the spell—"

She backed away as if she'd seen a monster. Of course she had; I'd once again demonstrated I was evil. Her shoes clattered as she pumped her legs up and down nervously. "I—I—I—" She gulped. "Contract!" she cried loudly and galloped for the exit with the speed of a locomotive. She shouldered a herald, whose long trumpet rang against the gilt door, then clattered spinning across the floor.

I got to my hooves, mouth gaping. Streak landed, helping my ascent while the royal guard and Shining Armor formed a circle around Cadance, Me, and Fair Trade. 

Blinking, I asked, "What happened?"

Fair Trade offered me my crown. The calmed pony said, "I'm so sorry I let that happen, Ms. Glimmer, Your Royal Highness." He went down on one knee.

Amity. That was the way the spell was supposed to work.

I asked, "Does any one smell jasmine?"

Streak said, "She bathed in something. Jasmine? More like new-mown hay."

I heard Shining Armor murmur, "Garlic. Who wears that? Very intriguing, though..."

As I lifted my crown to my head, Fair Trade said, "Like I said, she's not been herself, ever since she started wearing that sunflower scent. I really like it, don't get me wrong..."

The entire court had gotten an eyeful. Court reporters got two good stories out of it, with photographs! If Celestia were anything like the tutors I had grown up under, I expected to be critiqued in detail. I told Proper Step to get my notebook.

I told Fair Trade that their contract was in abeyance since the contractee had fled. I cautioned he would be liable if the contract proved proper. He trotted off with a court lawyer as I closed the Day Court.

Cadance stood mortified and pale, her ears flattened to her skull. In all her years she'd worked the spell, it had never backfired. It wasn't negativity seeping in, she assured. It worked properly on Fair Trade. In the end, I convinced her she required remedial magic study, and that Sunburst was the pony to help.

It proved to me she'd be able to fight with her magic, however strange it might be.

The whole flapping day had proven weird. I shied away from evaluating my emotional reactions, but Ms. Maple was right. I need to talk them out.

Right now, I had to deal with The Running of the Leaves.
> 25 — Royal Duties II: The Running of the Leaves
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

What a relief!

I trotted confidently up with my escort of guards, including Streak and Citron, to the outdoor temporary stage. I had to wear clothes, naturally, but Celestia had done her research. 

I'd earned the gold medal in the unicorn class at the Baltimare Celestial Race (the length from Ponyville to Castle Canterlot) three years ago. I'd come in 100th; unicorns are not the fastest kind of pony! I'd been in the papers—not entirely for winning, but also because I'd declared I was training with the famous fight trainer White Towel. I'd called him Whistlebutt, considering his whistle cutie mark. I'd had to. I mean, duh. Whistlebutt then declared I had the right stuff and was a contender. I'd gone on to dis Cyclone Beaujangles, a psycho beast of a misogynist earth pony prizefighter who also had a chance that year. 

We'd ended up beating each other bloody, though not in the ring, but that's another story. The important part is that there were newspaper photos of my race win and Whistlebutt's declaration.

Bite O' Kale grocery had sponsored me in the race. I'd gotten a bonus, hours off to train, and a skimpy uniform to wear. Skimpy and rather standard. That equated to loose and airy.

I now wore a tailored vest and pleated trunks. Both were loose and made of incredibly light and silky technical fabric. They were the same light green as I remembered from Bite O' Kale, which went with the green stripe in my mane and tail, though I'd run the race with the stripe tucked in because I'd still worried somepony might recognize the runaway Aurora Midnight, the Earl of Grin Having.

I'd painted on a book cutie mark back then, and was happy those trunks were opaque. Sweat tends to dissolve makeup, even when lacquered in place. These trunks were semi-transparent and you could see the shadows of my muscles moving in chiaroscuro, as well as my curves. Added to that, gauzy windows exposed my flank just enough that you could decipher my new cutie mark. 

Ponies wore clothes for various reasons. Armor and protection from the weather were good ones. Since we have fur that grows out in winter, the favorite reason was status. Clothes enhanced a pony's appearance. 

I mounted the steps, and unexpectedly saw Prince Blueblood already there. I smiled, rather greedily if I have to say so myself.

I liked my trunks especially because of the transparency. It enhanced my appearance in a way I desired at the moment. It didn't make me look regal. No. While they emphasized my athletic form, it simply looked sexy. My opinion, anyway. I hoped it worked for the prince.

I trotted up to him. He wore satiny blue trunks and a deeper blue tank top. Sadly, his trunks weren't transparent, but you couldn't hide certain features from me in any case. I was broken: I noticed, or imagined, things automatically. I smiled at him as he stood looking out at the gathering crowd. His limp blond mane blew on the brisk breeze, and sparkled with gold. With his long horn, hefty forequarters but still long legs, and his ever so slightly pink white fur, I again thought how much he resembled his aunt, to whom he could not be related.

With the din of the crowd, and the rustle of the dried autumn leaves still in the trees around us, I decided I could get away with it. "Are you Blue-eyed or Brawler, today?"

He looked at me with a start. He wore a number 3 on his chest.

I gave him a horse grin.

He rolled his eyes. "I am competing. Therefore, 'Brawler' is most applicable!"

"I'm competing, too," I said, brightly. An event official, dressed in white, trotted up, bringing me my race number. "Number 2?" I asked.

He frowned.

Blueblood explained, "Celestia is always number 1."

"Ah..." I nodded, as the unicorn magically clipped the number to my vest. "Sometimes I can be dense."

The stallion huffed. "More often than you appreciate."

My ears twitched. Had I missed something? I took an instant to check the braids I tied my mane into, that I'd wrapped around the top of my head, and stuck my crown into. The earlier updoo wasn't going to cut it. All there. I decided he was teasing me. With a smile, I said, "I acknowledge I'm the student."

His expression turned into an elegantly amused smile. "I look forward to training you."

"To our training together," I corrected... Wait? Had we just exchanged innuendo? I smiled.

His smile grew a bit less refined and more genuine. I liked that. He said, "Indeed, Ms. Glimmer."

"Your Royal Highness," I shot back, grinning again. "About dinner? Should I suggest a place?"

He snorted, looked away, then gave me a look like I was very impertinent and for some reason that amused him. He said, "The cat is away so the mice must come out and play. Please join me in the main palace dining room. I shall instruct the staff to prepare some of my favorite dishes from when I was a foal. Sorry, but we weren't pescatarian. We unicorns didn't eat like pegasi. Will you still join me?"

"You've charmed me, my prince."

His lips went in. I heard a chuckle before it became a snort, followed by slightly pompous "ha ha ha" laughter. He shook his head as he looked away. He wiped away a tear with a fetlock as he tried to control his amusement. 

A street full of ponies quieted, making the leaf rustle sound louder and making his waning laughter louder. The Prince of Equestria was definitely not known for his mirth.

He said, "If you keep this up, ponies are going to think we are colt-friend and filly-friend."

"We aren't?" I prodded.

He laughed again, clattering his front hooves on the wooden stage.

In any case, it was too late. Rumors to that effect had already spread. Just because I didn't care if I added to the rumors what-so-ever, I stepped closer and sniffed him for all to see.

I pouted. No cinnamon scent.

Oatmeal soap and horse wasn't half bad, however.

To compound the stories, he jumped back. Looking a bit flustered, he offered to help me stretch. I reciprocated with glee and gusto. Bits to biscotti, the talk of Canterlot tonight would be how the prince and crown princess had had hooves all over each other and had smiled companionably at one another in full public display. Didn't matter that it was what team athletes of mixed or same gender did all over the world.
> 26 — Royal Duties III: Three Filly Friends
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Do you like cinnamon?" I asked. 

I stood beside Blue-eyed, looking over his muscular shoulder as he sat at the long table in his living room. He studied my hoof-written Teleport spell directly from my notebook. Proper Step had drilled me in horn-writing. As a foal. An earl did not scrawl, so my letters looked like a cursive font. My margin notes looked more casual only because I'd rendered them in all the colors of the rainbow. Sometimes I indulged in girl-culture. Annotated at all angles, the more recent stuff was in shorthoof, which I had taught myself to keep up with my side jobs tracking and training Carne Asada's lieutenants. 

When I breathed in his ear, he startled, flicking them. I could tell he concentrated. Irritation flit across his features, but relaxed to neutrality. Those first times I'd met him (okay, stalked him) I'd interpreted his expression as him being stuck up.  Was I wrong?

He said, "The infinities in these spell equations make my horn ache."

"What part of 'difficult spell' didn't you understand?"

"Still."

I pointed at a set of integrals. "Not infinities. That is a singularity."

"There's a difference?"

I sighed. "Are you forgetting the virtual mass on the imaginary axis? When I factor in Barthemule's time calculus, it proves the original author understood she warped both space and time. Time slows as the singularity collapses and then you find yourself in vacuum for a time period proportional to the distance."

"You figured how to cast this by yourself?"

"Mostly." Having witnessed Celestia's spell simplification that time had revised everything about how I cast. "Prepping it makes you feel like you are going to die, like you are contemplating suicide. When I got myself caught in a pickle that felt like life or death, I tried it for real."

"Adds immediacy."

"Ya think? But I needed to cast twice. I passed out and got captured." I shut the daisy embroidered notebook with a thump. "Cinnamon. I asked about cinnamon."

"Yeah. I like it."

"I do, too. A lot."

"I'm glad."

"Enough said," I finished with a grin, hoping he would take the hint. I slid the notebook away. "I don't want to break your brain. Guess there's reasons why few unicorns in any generation learn the spell. Makes sense why ponies embed Gateway into amulets not teleport. It might not be as easily targetable, but neither is it as scary to cast."

"Gateway?"

"You didn't hear about when rebel dragons tried to steal magic to invade Canterlot?"

"No..."

"I hope that isn't a state secret. If you repeat that..." I waggled a hoof.

"You realize that when you make threats, you are scary."

"Thank you. I practiced. A lot. I did cast Gateway, twice."

"Which is?"

I raised both forelegs. "I am not going to talk about it."

"Can you teach me?"

"Celestia captured my stolen copy. It's a read-and-cast spell in any case, so, sorry, no. That's why it's embedded, but I didn't understand that at the time. They had a knife to Citron's throat. I made it work."

"I am beginning to sense there are reasons why Celestia made you her heir."

"Her tool. Don't make a mistake there." I looked away. "I'm cursed."

He rubbed my shoulder. "Cursed in a good way."

"Ha." I caught his blue magic on my notebook and spirited it away in mine before he could reopen it. "I don't want to break you. I'm staying over tonight, by the way."

"Wait. What?"

"It's not like there isn't rumors. You even treated me to a candlelight dinner in the palace."

"Candelabras don't exactly qualify."

"Despite the candles? A distinction without a difference. Burning wick and paraffin isn't everyday magic. Some ponies might call it romantic."

"Well... okay. Candles remind me of the simpler times when I was a foal, so the staff always uses them for me. It's about me; sorry to burst your bubble."

"You didn't grow up in Canterlot, did you?"

Despite the fancy stylish couture he wore, always with a blue bow tie, his manners, and his noble elocution, dinner had been telling. Almost a regular pony, talking about the inanity of running the leaves in a city and officiating at the same time. Rustic came close to describing the meal, but in no lower class sense. Almost like what one might expect at a county estate. Proper Step had worked to refine my palette, and we had a chef besides the baker on staff who cooked almost every style, like including tonight's. Food could be less refined, more forest to plate, with the bread being more of an unleavened cracker than fluffy, with carrots and broccoli being crunchy not pureed or sautéed, with far more weedy field greens than lettuce, or with mushrooms that might be flute-like or red polka-dotted. Wild grasses and millet instead of hay. Cut fruit rather than pudding. 

All that and more described our dinner, tonight. Fun. De-stressing. 

Delicious, by the way.

"Yes," he answered, "I grew up a league south of the mountain."

In the Everfree? Riiight. I'd visited. Dangerous. So far as I knew, the only being close to a pony that lived there was a zebra. Zecora claimed the spirits of the forest hated ponies. That was a good enough reason for why nopony lived there, but there was also an ancient castle blasted to ruins, not to mention a curse I'd only partially broken. Oh, and the Golden Stag—they lived a few leagues further south!

My expression must've been obvious, because he added, "Times were different. In any case, I didn't grow up in Canterlot or anything like a modern city. And, no, Starlight Glimmer, I am not inviting you to a sleep over."

"Changing the subject?"

"I'm just explaining it—"

I waved a hoof. "Not negotiable."

"As if."

"Sunset and Citron—" I cut myself off. Not sharing that nugget of information, especially since I was pretty sure Blueblood was an information broker. "I don't want to stay at Sunset's. Today was weird, and I think you know more than the gist of it."

"I'll get you the guest suite—"

"No. I am sleeping here." I felt my face warm. 

His eyes narrowed. In a lower tone, he asked, "In my—?"

I wasn't going to push for a ride, but since he was going there— "Yes."

"Don't misconstrue our relationship—"

"Ha! Misconstrue!? Ha!"

"You are not my filly-friend."

My mouth opened. After a few seconds, I said, "But we are friends." A statement. A hopeful one, because I really didn't understand the concept fully. Not a question. 

He inhaled deeply, looked away. He nodded. Emotions flit across his features as muscles ticked and shifted. He had a decade on me. It felt like he ought to have a handle on his feelings, or a hauteur that he could snap over himself as a façade.

He blinked and sighed. He did not look at me. He said, "I had a filly-friend."

Oh, horse apples. 

Dread, programmed into me by romance novels I'd traded for with the servants (not all of them mares) when I'd been little, settled in my stomach as fluttering butterflies. I'd become attracted to Mr. Ancient History. What was I expecting!

I did catch the past tense, though. What was the term? Old Saddlebags?

"Sharp Tongue was remarkably like you, which works to your advantage. Acidic. Proficient in magic, especially battle magic, which in retrospect was a bad thing. She could throw more than sharp words."

"Sharp... objects? And be dangerous? Was she a unicorn?" 

Unicorn magic, I often sourly theorized, was made of giggles and rainbows, evolved to grant wishes. I could hurt ponies directly only when my life was threatened. I'd set a pony's tail on fire, and hopefully his stallion parts, after I'd been— 

In practice, it worked better to use Force to burn combustibles surrounding your target in a way that the magic didn't notice. That took concentration and discipline in situations when I typically could count on neither.

"Yes, of course. I said magic."

"All the tribes have magic—"

"She was older than me."

I said in a whisper, "Your first, um, filly-friend."

"First everything. A warrior in her heart, despite her heart being kind, too. When I heard my aunt had gone to save the armistice with the Golden Stag, my stomach sank. Times were chaotic when I grew up. Sharp Tongue trained with me, with my father. I wanted to make her a princess and my father approved. He was stoic at the best of times, and as cold as ice except around Celestia. That he approved meant only that she was a good student with good genes. I cared only that we were friends. Chaos. Ha! An armistice holding with that monster depended upon whether a fickle falling leaf might somehow be more amusing."

Dread. I felt that. I didn't blurt out where I knew he led.

"The armistice broke. She volunteered. She didn't come back... What returned wasn't her—after being captured five months, toyed with, which is why it got so bad."

"Couldn't heal her? She loose a hoof? Limbs!?"

"Something more important." He tapped his skull hard enough I could hear it. "Some things you can't fix, though I tried. When she could remember who I was, seeing me scared her. The experience turned her inside-out and backwards, making her see good as bad and pretty as ugly. Father claimed she'd shattered. He sent her to be cared for. Not that he cared, but because Sharp Tongue's condition distracted me, that I trained hard only when she wasn't around. I was the next arrow in his quiver."

"Your life was like living in Tartarus."

"Like living in Tartarus," he agreed.

I asked delicately, "Is she alive?"

"All ponies are mortal, unlike my aunt. Sharp Tongue, Mother, Father—" He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "That was before."

He was like me, and I felt very sorry about the horse apples I'd thought to the contrary. I didn't wish losing your entire family, or your first love, on anypony. Tears pooled and I blinked a lot, very very glad he didn't look at me. I pulled out a chair and sat next to him.

As he sat silently, I scooted over. Our fur touched; he didn't flinch. Leaning into another pony for support was a natural equine thing. Innate.

I prompted, "Before?"

"That was before. After: There shouldn't have been an after, and I fully blame Celestia for that. First my father, then my aunts. My aunts: Each uniquely ruined my life. I blame them, but can't fault them. I'm just a pony. What's one pony's life compared to an entire nation?"

"Which is how Celestia excused her meddling in my life and in my parent's."

A sharp nod. "Her mode of thinking. Royals aren't normal ponies. Those times were chaotic times. I should have died, but survived anyway. My aunt did her best to make it up to me. Everypony thought she spoiled me, and that reputation haunts me to this day. I won't deny I exploit my reputation, but mental traumas rarely show—"

"Until somepony scratches you. Like me with Fair Trade this afternoon."

He chuckled. "Pointy sticks? How droll!" He glanced briefly at me, his blue eyes taking in my closeness. He looked away, but didn't push away. "I miss Sharp Tongue, especially her sharp tongue, even after all these years."

"Uh-huh."

"I credit Celestia for trying to raise me, despite her responsibilities, trying to shape a broken soldier into a civilian after returning from war. I kept training, though she banned the guard from associating with me. I built my secret gym because I could not live without occasionally being able to beat on something. She saw me becoming apathetic, despondent, and an airhead. I cultivated that impression later, my being a 'do-nothing,' but it explains what she did next."

"What did she do?"

"I got a second filly-friend."

"Um." I scooted the chair away enough to look at him, gauging the non sequitur. "Um."

He snorted. "I've thought, what, eighteen years, about how I would relate this story were I to get the chance. Good start?"

"Yeah. Great, actually."

"The peerage send their spoiled bad-attitude foals to guard school to straighten them out; counterproductive for me. Instead, she sent me to Horseshoe Bay to apprentice under Duke Vigilant."

That had to be the story Proper Step related yesterday, before we'd found the prince had disappeared into town.

"I hadn't been elevated to a prince, yet. I was simply Celestia's nephew, with a now-meaningless pre-war title and no domain. Learning to administer a duchy under a stallion who actually commanded a small navy against pirates must have seemed like a good idea."

"It wasn't?" He didn't look at me. I scooted closer until we touched.

"Oh, it was wonderful in a way nowhere close to what Auntie intended."

"Your filly-friend?"

"Dancing Water. Not like Sharp Tongue in the least. Sometimes shy, often coquettish, but nevertheless able to draw out anypony into conversation. True to her name, she loved to dance, to prance, to be physical with energy that often defied gravity. Touchy-feely. Everypony wanted to help her. She ran the duchy's charities, often working with foals, orphans, and grade-schoolers, with a demeanor perfect for the job."

"Older than you?"

"Like you, again, mature beyond her years, when you got glimpses beyond her ebullience. Talented. She had a smile for a cutie mark. We were the same age. She liked the way I looked."

"Most mares would."

"Not you?" he asked, his mood lifted. He smiled at me.

"I didn't say that!"

"Ha ha! Dancing Water put my strength and magic to work moving boxes, building things, hustling deliveries and messages around."

"I can't see you doing menial labor."

"You said, and I quote, 'Underestimate me at your peril.' We are both good actors."

"This may be true." I nodded, grinning.

"It's absolutely true. You know why I wear my masks?"

"Princess Mi Amoré Cadenza?"

He nodded, but looked away. "After Sharp Tongue, my life became shades of grey. My heart remained stone despite surviving what came next. Regardless, Dancing Water cultivated me as a friend. I had thought I had loved Sharp Tongue. But, she was dusky grey shadows verses bright autumn leaves. Maybe it was that this is a much happier world than the one I grew up in. Dancing Water enchanted me."

I remembered the single frosty word Moon Dancer had used at lunch today; dread settled down around me. She had said, Windigoes.

Instead, I stated, "You fell in love."

"She had a fiancé, for a marriage arranged when she was 5 years old, to somepony in Trottingham she had met twice. A marriage of families, an alliance between naval powers. That Celestia had been integral to helping make the match happen only made it worse. I learned quickly what everypony in Horseshoe Bay knew, and worked hard to remain just friends, not to become overly affectionate, complementary, or doting. I was perfectly all right with stepping back, despite my feelings. A warrior understands sacrifice. She was a spring rose always in bloom. We had become friends and almost always together; I didn't suffer much.

"Dancing Water hated the stepping back part. For a week, she wouldn't see me. She'd rush out of work when I'd arrive. She'd slam doors in my face. It took that long, I found out, for her to build her courage. You, Starlight Glimmer, were not the first mare to perfect that swoop into a kiss ambush maneuver, but she certainly did not stop after the kiss until she got everything she wanted, neither would she let me go afterwards.

"Duchess Calms Seas figured out why we started acting so strangely a week after that, before her husband did. Dancing Water and I ran away together, with the help of the duchess. Between my resemblance to the princess and her rather unique mane color, we were bound to be noticed even in a small town in middle Equestria. We got six months to live together. We made friends, even set a date for our wedding, but it wasn't meant to be. Duke Vigilant proved an unrelenting unforgiving stallion. He returned me to my aunt with broken bones and a warning to keep me away from the duchy or I'd merit much worse."

Proper Step had related the Prince had broken something or somepony. 

Blueblood blew air through his nostrils in a deprecating snort. "I was the no-good nephew of Princess Celestia, not even a modern prince. She might be an absolute ruler, but she still has to deal with politics. Everything got hushed up."

"A lot happens we don't know about."

He huffed. "You stood up in Day Court and blurted out where Celestia went and why—!" His breath caught. I didn't miss him blinking back incipient tears. "You are not my foal, and barely my student, but, by Celestia's grace, you made me proud. If I spoke publicly about half what I learned, she'd make me a warden in Tartarus!"

"You are a professional information broker."

"It's a hobby, and I require information in exchange because I don't need to earn a living. I do it because somepony has to get the truth out, to keep Celestia in check. She often acts strangely—"

I nodded, but the why was a state secret: Curses.

"—and I've experienced the fallout from her bad decisions."

He laid his head on the table with a thunk. 

I said, "As have I."

His muzzle pointed toward the silver orange juice tray from this morning. I saw a bottle of port and a square crystal decanter of something brown. He looked too wrung out to move. When I pointed, he nodded. I poured a small glass of whisky. Because it seemed unfriendly not to share when somepony commiserated, I poured myself a thimble of the port.

I thought about his words, about his hobby. Of course, the princess knew what he did. I'd wager he got fed propaganda and didn't know it. I said, "We are more alike than I thought." We're both her sharp tools.

He clinked his glass against mine. "How so?"

"We both ran away."

"We did, didn't we? And got caught."

"And got beat up for our troubles."

"Did you have to remind me?"

He sipped the drink. I tasted mine. Black currants? I smiled. 

He smiled at me, sitting back up.

I thought about what Sunset had said earlier. When your stallion always has some other mare on his tongue, you realize he's probably not fully into you. Besides the very unfortunate but perfect double entendres, it reminded me that yesterday evening I had already dragged the prince from Sapphire's and maybe he had poured me a drink at his townhouse. Remembering what followed made me smile. I downed the dram of port unthinkingly. I coughed, which got him to look at me. 

The prince had loved and lost.

Twice.

In comparison, I was... What was I?

It wasn't the port that warmed my throat that made me do it. I can't blame that small amount for me saying, "It's not like I'm planning on marrying you."

He set his glass down, causing the liquor to swirl. He blinked a few times, then picked it up and downed the contents, which gave him a reason to look distressed, which was probably why he did it. I laughed into a hoof. 

I reiterated, "I'm sleeping over. You deserve to have a third filly-friend. It's not like a lot of ponies in Canterlot don't think I'm riding you already."

"After this afternoon?" He snorted. "You exaggerate."

Did he forget the kiss that made my tail lift, or that it led to a meal by candelabra-light? We hadn't been alone on that street. Gossip traveled fast in Canterlot. I bet the kitchen staff discussed our companionable meal even now. Or, what about his hooves all over me as he helped me stretch? Had I been a stallion, no problem. No escaping I was a mare; being collegiate is easy to misconstrue as strategically friendly. I laughed and shook my head.

He could not have forgotten last night.

"Okay," he admitted, "I can see that a juicy rumor could spread. I think we are old enough to weather it."

"Speak for yourself, Your Royal Ancient History-ness."

"Really!" He stood. "No way I look old!"

I reared on my chair so I could quickly match his height, aiming my lips for his.

He caught me in his magic. "Nah, uh, uh. You don't get to get away with that twice," he taunted.

He magicked us together. Whisky and pony is an unexpectedly delightful taste. 

Regardless, when he gave me a moment to breathe, I asked, "Does this mean I can sleep over?"

He kissed me again, snorting with laughter.
> 27 — Public Nightmares Part I: Morning After
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Day 600


You would have nightmares, too, if you knew the countdown to the end of the world.

I gasped awake, cringing. The green nightmare faded so quickly, only the drowning sensation of breathing liquid, floating in a world of deep green, remained.

Pony legs grasped me, fore and rear, pressing into flesh and impeding circulation where I lay upon them. Perhaps the ones hugging my rib cage had prompted the dream by restricting my breathing. His regular breath ruffled the fur on my neck. It helped that Blue-eyed's bed was soft and cushiony, and that I'd pushed pillows into pressure points. My stomach and flank were only medium plump compared to most mares. Thanks to my training, every other part of me was toned and hard, which made me less attractive. In Blue-eye'd case, every part of his warrior-trained body was hard—

I grinned. Not necessarily bad... 

Except when your partner insisted on holding you in his sleep. Much plumper Sunset was a vastly superior bedmate in this respect, and at least she let me hold her. I did not sleep as well as I could have, despite the fuzzy nonsense feeling of being protected.

He didn't call anypony's name, not even mine, but I figured I slept with the ghost of Sharp Tongue or Dancing Water in his bed. I wondered which demanded being held, or whether both had. Then again, it could be the having loved-and-lost that made him clingy.

New rule: Don't remind your partner of his past filly-friends. I preferred that aspect of the previous night. We'd slept separated. More like fallen apart exhausted. Of course I'd not slept long with him—a half-hour I figured—which meant I'd not gotten the full sleeping-with-a-bedmate treatment.

As if I'd heard a sound, my eyes went to the crack between the draperies. Blue and a bit of orange. Now? I thought. 

The sun team raised the sun. The surge in brightness moved so fast, it mimicked somepony shining a spotlight at the window. 

With months attending classes at Celestia's, and weeks back on my early morning training and exercise routine, I'd developed an internal rhythm. After centuries, Celestia had one, too. When she had told me, "Sometimes, I sleep in," it was likely another psychological tactic. 

I pulled free of the stallion's grasp. I shimmied away and slid backward until my hooves touched the rug. I backed out of the room until I stood in the doorway. Funny how all attitude and worry slipped from a pony's face when they slept. 

Him. Sunset Shimmer. 

Unless dreams disturbed them.

I smiled and rotated in the hall to face the great room.

I stopped at 90º, peering into the bathroom. Leaning against a travertine wall, blocking the view of a sink and a large tub behind, under blue tarnished bronze sconces that remained dark, in a room wanly lit by a blue skylight... 

Periwinkle mane. Green eyes. Pink fur.

I flinched.

My reaction time from zero to cast exceeded a second. Had I been protecting Carne Asada from an earth pony or pegasus, I'd have a knife plunged into my heart to the hilt and my employer would die next. Singe was not an assassin. She was a unicorn, with a uniquely combustible name. Were she my assassin, I'd have found the oaken door and the doorframe blazing, and likely my mane catching fire.

My Shield appeared in a quarter arc in the silence between us like solidified blue-green smoke, scintillating with faintly popping sparkles. Her horn remained unlit.

She shouldered herself upright, then sketched the slightest of curtsies. "Ms. Glimmer."

"Good morning to you, too." I realized my heart raced. I put a hoof to my chest and felt it stutter.

She stated, "I protect the prince."

I nodded.

"I've done so for 10 years and I am his bodyguard." 

I thought about her behavior during my knockdown fight with Brawler, then about our standoff at the townhouse. I saw hints of a long-standing working relationship. I said, "I am beginning to believe that's true."

"I won't let you hurt him."

"The other day, you let him fight—"

She surged forward, rearing, pressing her forehooves into the glowing apparition. Sparks flew and her horn had lit. Her hooves glowed dull red as she pushed forward; I felt pressure in the spell feedback. "He was playing with you." She shook her head. "You do not get to do the same with his heart."

"Or?"

Sparks sputtered off her hooves and blackened horseshoes. Our eyes met. We locked into a staring match. We both had to blink; physiology. Neither of us looked away. 

The edge of her right hoof melted into my side of the shield. I smelled hot iron, felt oven heat, as cracks spread in the spell apparition. 

"You love him," I stated. Hours before Firefall disappeared, she'd stated, You're getting emotionally involved. "You're envious."

She blinked, not looking away. A half-smile grew. "Not envious, but I do love him."

"I am not marrying him. I don't own him. I won't interfere if he chooses another." Would I not? I took a deep breath. Might depend if he excluded me, but I didn't know. No stallion had excluded me in favor of another, not yet.

Her tone lowered. "Your attitude is what I meant by not hurting him." Her hoof poked through near my muzzle and the hair on my nose started to crinkle. 

"I don't intend to, but we're only ponies. I understand he is fragile." Aren't we talking about ourselves here, Singe? You and I? "I don't hurt ponies. I try not to, anyway. I certainly don't 'play' with them, unless they give me permission to hit them, or they hurt ponies I'm protecting."

She thought about it, then nodded. She stepped back and her horn dimmed. Her front hooves clicked on the tile. Anger left her face, but she watched me.

My Shield remained crazed like old pottery. With a hole in it! I dispelled it and smiled. "I think I like you." Nifty spell, too!

"Huh?"

I turned toward the great room, adding "Feel free to criticize me when I do something wrong or act stupid. I'm new to this friendship thing, almost as new as I am to the princess thing. Love?" I sighed, feeling my heart opening as I thought about her unabashed loyalty, that she might be mistaking as the L-word, but I respected it. "I won't learn something about myself, if you don't. Consider it a royal order."

She sputtered as she followed me. 

I said, "You'd better keep your promise."

"Promise?"

"To protect the prince. He's now one of the ponies I protect. It won't end well if you don't."

Through the three-story windows to the south, I saw something I hadn't yesterday. It wasn't as if I hadn't seen drawings. I had learned about them when Carne Asada had admitted she had sold keels to the Prince of Storms from her cloaked operation in the Baltimare Ship Yard. The fight arena where I'd won my championship prizefight had a decade before been a dry dock for airships, so I understood the enormous scale.

"What's a navy airship doing floating near Canterlot?" No mistaking the outline of the Equestrian flag on the gas bag.
> 28 — Public Nightmares Part II: Her Grim Tally
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

No mistaking Proper Step's voice as I trotted into the large space. He, Mudflats, Desert Shield, and a castle maid all said, "Ms. Glimmer."

I was confounded enough that I continued until I pressed my nose against the glass. The dark grey-topped midnight blue egg-shape ship floated beyond the bailey wall at the precipice to the Ponyville plain, rotating like an air sock in the wind. Suddenly, in a wave from bow to aft, the color changed to a light sky blue with a cloudy white top. It immediately blended in, though since I knew where it was, the coloration didn't fool my eye.

Not Don't Look Don't See Don't Hear, but an impressive illusion spell nonetheless.

I repeated, "What's a navy airship doing floating near Canterlot?"

Proper Step, a pony length behind me, said, "I don't know. But I do have a communiqué from the princess."

I remembered the look of warrior Celestia, wearing gold armor that hid an angry whirling stars and shield cutie mark. My former butler held a briefing notebook and I saw some torn newspaper sticking out. The maid strode from the hall with towels and laundry in her magic. I pointed my nose at the door to the suite. She dropped her load on a cart, rolling it out using Motivate, a spell I had not yet succeeded in mastering. An orange juice pitcher and glasses waited on a sideboard.

To the prince's bodyguards, I said, "If you don't have security clearance, or have something in your past that would disqualify you, follow that pony out. I will check later."

Proper Step snapped open a folded sheet and read, "'The Golden Stag obliterated the village. Fortunately, the mayor had evacuated. I see no issues in handling the diplomacy, and will ask for ponies to help rebuild soon. Take cautious measures.' Signed, Celestia Regina Sunny Daze."

"Obliterated," came out of my mouth like a death rattle. My heart skipped, skipped, stopped, then raced in my chest. A light flashed across my vision and I heard a loud ting, like something suddenly overloaded and stunned my inner ear. White fog only I could see drifted into my peripheral vision as sweat beaded and dripped from my hide like I'd run blocks through a city.

I ceased to perceive myself in Canterlot. In my mind, I huffed out of breath, pressed into the shadows between wagons on Court Street in midtown Hooflyn. I'd galloped north toward the Hooflyn Bridge after Carne Asada had precipitated a gang war. 

I knew full well that had been almost precisely a year ago. 

In the palace, I tensed but didn't cringe or hunker down as my body commanded. I could not hide the sweat, however.

Carne Asada had...

I gulped for air.

Carne Asada had called me Daughter. Made me appear second in command to her. She made ponies believe she was mother by wielding me as her tool. She manipulated me and everypony.

Celestia had called me her heir. She'd elevated me to crown princess and made it sound like I was second only to her. She made ponies believe she'd made me her heir by her declaration at my coronation, by a flurry of articles the publication of which she'd likely orchestrated, by manufacturing that I close the Day Court and likely encouraging the drama, by displaying me to the populace at the Running of the Leaves with a #2 on my chest, by making me personable and believably romantically involved with the Prince of Equestria, and by leaving me in charge while she left on her military adventure.

Celestia had bent me to her will because, think about it a moment, how could I refuse to save the world all ponies lived in? 

Carne Asada had baited me into believing I could prevent a gang war. Intuition insisted Celestia had baited me into a similarly powerless situation. 

I took a few steps.

I focused on the pitcher of orange juice. 

Something normal. 

Something to distract from my growing panic and the tiny voice crying Run! at the back of my mind.

Even that left me breathing hard, practically hyperventilating. My ears rang—loudly. The fog encroached, narrowing my vision, strangling my access to the real world. 

Hoof falls clattered all around—from dark alleys I'd missed... 

Screams.

Carne Asada had let me manage her lieutenants—in retrospect only pretending she didn't like it. I taught them how to run their "businesses" better thanks to all I'd learned being trained to run Grin Having as an earl—stuff like how to avoid conflict and fighting, even as our syndicate encroached on the territories and "businesses" of other gangs. She used me to make her organization endure at the expense of her competitors, letting me believe I was making things better.

The Golden Stag... 

My intuition didn't trust Celestia not to lie. 

The Golden Stag obliterated... 

She was a royal. An absolute ruler. 

The Golden Stag obliterated the village! 

Normal rules didn't apply. What was Celestia setting me up to do? Was I about to be responsible for ponies' lives?

Again?

Run!

To fail? So she didn't have to?

Run!

Again?

Run!

Smoke made my nose itch and my eyes water, though the air in the palace was clean and fresh. Tarry-sweet plumes of black billowed were Force ignited the asphalt. Wagons burnt and crackled, snapping loudly when wood strapping—turned to charcoal—snapped, collapsing the carriage. Burning hair had its own a special scent.

Was that flesh?

Run!

I took a few more steps toward the orange juice and the crystal glasses beside it, living in a dual reality.

My past overlaid the present. 

I knew that intellectually, but panic made me jerk and wobble. It tried to wipe away my conscious mind, to get me to shriek, to fight, to flee. 

Run!

Sunset had triggered my PTSD in the Crystal Caves below Canterlot months ago. Somepony who was both a bully and a TA had arranged a practicum in a dark location where students could practice shooting Stun at each other, not realizing one student had been a bodyguard protecting the highest value target in the city, getting shot at on every block. 

Six months before that, in Hooflyn, cornered with the mob boss, I pushed Carne Asada between wagons. She threw a tantrum, kicking things, yelling how dare they attack her! 

An hour before that, she strapped on a peytral purse even as I pushed her down on the seat of our brougham. Force bolts seconds later reduced the carriage to splinters, but I'd had my hoof on her. I teleported us out. 

Later, she reached into her purse. It contained... metal pine cones? She threw one at her attacker.

The flash made me blink; a krump punched my insides, but all I heard was a ting! Burning wood, sparks, and metal bits peppered the wagons and splashed on the pavement like a breaking ocean wave on the beach.

Movement. It drew my eyes. The clatter of hooves burst through the ringing in my ears. A blue pony. Galloping. Panicked. Then, incapable of panic. Muscles kept reciprocating, executing movement through reflex, not conscious direction.

Run!

I could not remember what he looked like, because certain things you cannot remember what they looked like or you might go insane, but he ran because he could no longer stop.

In the palace, I managed a few more steps, coming within a half-dozen pony lengths of the sideboard. The pitcher sweated because it was chilled. I counted six crystal glasses with frosted diamond etching on the silver serving tray.

Proper Step reach out with his magic.

"Don't touch me!" I said, somehow controlling my voice, making it work, making it sound normal. Maybe. I hoped. I discovered Force in my horn, but I had that under control. The numbers were ill-formed, and the targeting vectors bounded all over Tartarus. Probably wouldn't work. Probably. Please don't work! I wasn't lost. 

Run!

Singe approached, frowning. I didn't want to be perceived as acting strangely. Like a drunk, I slowed, making every movement perfect by ensuring each muscle fired in the right sequence, ensuring that inertia and momentum failed to get the better of me. I neither staggered nor overshot.

I shook my head as she reached a rose-colored hoof my way.

The blue pony in Hooflyn stumbled and I looked past her at him. I heard him grunt, his screaming going silent as he went chin forward toward the cobbles, then sliding, crumpling, and falling with a thud. 

Silent. 

Forever.

Run!

The stallion was the first in my mental tally. I began it with his passing. A tally of ponies that died because I had failed to act... 

Ponies that died because I had been so sure of myself, so prideful that I had to save evil Carne Asada's life as her bodyguard... 

Ponies that, had I let Carne Asada die when attacked... 

Attacked, how many times? 

How many!? 

How many times had I saved evil?

That first time: A pegasus had lunged from a blind doorway. The knife flashed, in a split second, even as he plunged it into her. I teleported her away. After having removed the knife and staunched her bleeding, I let her hysterical words of revenge convince me to murder her attacker. With his knife. (I'd failed, but didn't learn that for a few days.) 

I could have left her unconscious, bleeding.

The second time: A griffon dive-bombed us. Backwash from my Force counterattack had thrown me, demolishing my pastern against a jutting bookshelf. Had I mentioned I'd bled so much I'd died? They barely revived me. 

I could have just stepped back and let the griffon...

The third time. At the beginning of the gang war. Our carriage reduced to flinders. 

I could have teleported only myself. 

The fourth time: We'd dodged between the wagons. A blue force bolt aimed—without the caster or his magic understanding Carne Asada would stand up in its path—would have cut her down. I'd tackled her. Only her mane, my cloak, and her dress caught fire. She threw the fabric aside, revealing crippled leathery wings she always hid beneath clothing. She splashed her burning hair using water from the gutter like a bird in a birdbath. Then threw something that killed the blue pony who had shot at her.

I could have stepped back.

Had I done anything else any of those times, I could have prevented a gang war.

I reached the pitcher. Not trusting my magic, I sat on a chair, lifted it slowly with two hooves, and poured a glassful, spilling teaspoons of orange juice to splash this way and that.

The liquid sounds and the clink click clink of spout against crystal rim helped mask the blue pony's final horseshoe clatter, the sounds of his pain suddenly ceasing as I heard him slide and bump to a stop.

The first of my tally.

Sixteen would never move again that afternoon. My fault because I wouldn't do what was right.

Seven would cease to breathe after I took over the Syndicate for those two weeks... 

Because... 

I ordered ponies not to fight unless cornered and if gang rivals refused to let us disengage, I told them be ruthless defending themselves—a strategy calculated to make it less likely ponies would attack in the future. A few sacrificed...

Yeah...

To prevent wholesale skirmishes turning into constant retribution and endless war.

Twenty-three deaths. 

Death. That word. I owned it.

All because I lacked the courage to act when I knew better.

No.

Twenty-four. 

Carne Asada tricked me into setting a bomb with her. Her ultimate reason for starting the gang war. She wanted to wipe out the Hooflyn EBI headquarters, where she had manipulated the bureau of investigation to store all their records about her. Her first step in a plan to use my ability to teleport and to make myself invisible (with crippling caveats she didn't understand) to murder Princess Celestia, whom she blamed for the genocide of her people. Her excuse for becoming a terrorist and a mob boss. 

Celestia later admitted to me that she drove the thestrals of the Crystal Caves from Equestria. On reflection, I realized that must have been after she banished her sister to the moon, which probably looked like a genocidal war from their perspective, but that's another story.

Carne Asada had expected me, her daughter, to teleport her away from the bomb after she'd lit the fuses. That left me having to choose between saving her, or what turned out to be 271 EBI ponies.

I became the Hero of Hooflyn. Savor the irony.

I.

Am.

Evil.

The orange juice splattered as I shook, bringing the glass to my mouth. I drank it. Sour and sweet at the same time, like yesterday. I disliked the acidic drink now more than ever, but gulped it anyway. It distracted me from the memories of the ponies around me that I hadn't had the courage to save, even if it would have cost me my life.

Twenty-four dead. 

I chose to let Carne Asada die. Since I had made that choice, was it murder? Was I a murderer?

I was evil! Why did I torture myself? Why couldn't I just not care?
> 29 — Public Nightmares Part III: Love not War
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I dropped the orange juice glass.  It shattered at my hooves.

My stomach clenched.  

The acidic drink surged up my throat.

The chair spun away as I dove off, galloping across the great room toward the bathroom.  Mudflats and Singe flung themselves out of my path.  I bounced off the metal credenza, the one that had the mirror above it that hid the secret entrance to the prince's gym, bounded off the opposite wall, then slid, brass horseshoes skidding to a stop before the travertine tiled bathroom.  My galloping hooves didn't find traction. My legs pumped uselessly for a moment, finding purchase that let me leap forward toward the commode.

I crashed into the side wall, but righted myself with a new set of bruises on my shoulder to add to my impressive collection.

The orange juice, what was left of last night's meal, and what felt like part of my liver, thumped against the porcelain with a splash. My convulsions at least masked the sound of my dead clambering for my attention.

Obliterated rang in my head. That I might again be responsible and powerless triggered the episode because I understood that Celestia had known I'd taken refuge in Baltimare.  She had known that the earl she'd manufactured—that the filly who'd run away—had been receiving unconventional training. She could have intervened, which meant she'd approved.

Ponies, dear readers, never trust an absolute ruler. Not even me, now that I'm tainted.  Royalty is a bad idea. Assumed royalty—like Carne Asada's, bestowed by force and greedy followers—is just as bad. For all the same reasons.

I was a princess twice, now.  Doña Glimmer and the Princess of Marks.

Don't let my irrationality deter you, or maybe it's a good reason to understand. Royalty and cutie marks are a plague on ponydom, which was ultimately why I sat there, hugging cold porcelain and feeling about to die, with my past battering me, on a level wishing I would, could, simply disappear forever. 

There came a faint shish and the padded clup-clup of hooves in slippers. A pony breathed.  My ears flicked and rotated, ranging, as I stared at the floating polychromic mess. I could have been a bat echolocating.  It seemed like the space out of the range of my forward facing eyes turned into a pencil sketch.  In grey graphite lines, I saw the tub, the sink, the stacked towels, the hanging sconces, and in it, animated like one of those flip books of index cards I'd once played with before Sunburst got his cutie mark, a stallion approached.  I saw a hoof lift and push back limp locks of hair from his face.

Closer.

Closer still...

"Don't touch me," I warned, then convulsed.  Bile tastes really bad.

A heavy mass hunkered down.  Air circulation changed and I felt warmth.

"I don't deserve to be comforted—"

He huffed.  It had to be the prince.  Breath ruffled the hair near my ears.

I said,"I'm evil."

A steel grey fluffy-white slipper-encased hoof reached past me and pressed a lever. The sick swirled away.  Amidst the liquid rumble, he said, "That was evil.  You trying to make everypony nauseous?"

"You arrogant son of a dragon—"  My stomach spasmed, and I gulped, swallowing.  No way was I going the throw up with him behind me!

A hoof towel, moistened, levitated in blue magic.  I'd missed the tap open and close, but I heard it in my memory.  The fabric dabbed and wiped my lips, softly.  Folded.  Dabbed some more.

"Silly filly," he said.

I shook my head.  The ringing continued.  A recollection replayed of Carne Asada pulling a pine cone out with the claw of her bat wing, followed by a flash and a pop sounding like a piece of green wood in a fireplace, but magnitudes louder.  The blue unicorn who had shot at the mob boss—

He whispered, "You are no more evil than Celestia is."

Ghostly memory dissolved in the dissonance.  My lip twitched. The fog receded.  I reached mentally for the rope dropped to me, looping my fetlock around it. "Th-th-that's a bad choice of simile, Brawler."

"Okay. No more evil than me? Better?"

I started to shiver.  His forelegs wrapped around my chest and neck. His body wrapped around me.  He hugged me silently, even as I squirmed and pushed away with my legs.  He had a mass advantage. Definitely. He had the advantage that I'd wrung myself out, too.  He pinned me, and I couldn't find it in myself to struggle.

I let his presence seep in, warming the fog in my mind like morning mist lingering in the trees, evaporating in tendrils and wisps in the newly risen sun.  The pressure calmed my heart.  The squealing in my ears faded in the distance.

I realized this: I was no longer alone.

My heart expanded.  I snapped back to myself.  Not alone.  

I had friends.

I had somepony who had experienced what I had, who thought unyielding contact radiated that fuzzy nonsense feeling of being protected.  He'd saved me

I asked, "Do you have ghosts, too?"

"Of course I do, silly filly.  Some nights I see Sharp Tongue at the end of the hall.  Her eyes widen seeing me. She shrieks in my head, the way she shrieked that last time I saw her, and runs from me, panicked.  She wouldn't let me hold her."

"Are you holding her now?"

"Of course.  The both of you, but you figured that out."

I asked, "What did Celestia do to you?"

"My aunt has priorities," he whispered into my ear, before rubbing the side of his head against my cheek.  "That's Equestria first.  That's Equestria first, last, and always.  Individual ponies? Not so much."  He took a deep breath.  "I'm a pony.  My father trained me to deal with crazy, to process irreality with magic, to survive insanity.  He made me a weapon to fight the chaos by befriending it.  When the dark, pony-twisting humor attacked yet another settlement without warning, Celestia and my father sent me in.

"I wasn't the only arrow in her quiver.  My aunts discovered another.  Perseverance got them the shot, but I was also in their sights."

"You served to set up the shot.  And she took it?"

"They did.  I would have, too."

"She saved ponies, but not you?"

"She saved everypony, except me.  She saved the entire world from chaos."

"I would have taken the shot."

He hugged me tighter and moisture wet my cheek.  I let him, for a long while, but my strength had returned.  I gently pushed up.  

He yielded, backpedalling because the room, while palatially appointed was nonetheless not that big.  Eventually, I stood beside him.  When I leaned into him, he reciprocated.  

As my heart expanded and my PTSD episode completely evaporated in my growing heat, I said, "I don't mind having been somepony's sharp tool if I wasn't the only one."

He chuckled.  "It's what our cutie marks are telling us."

I sensed sarcasm, but said, "Liar," nonetheless. 

My ears rotated to our flank. I caught a hoof slide and shot my head around.  Pony eyes watched us from the hall.  Their owners blinked and scattered instantly.  At least one vase of flowers went flying as somepony struck a table.

Brawler's foreleg covered his eyes and he sighed.  As we bumped each other turning around, and I worked successfully not to tumble into the tub, he asked, "What triggered your episode?"

"The Golden Stag 'obliterated' a village."

Oh, that was an interesting string of invective! None of the suggested actions particularly refined nor easy for Celestia to accomplish. My snorting laughter, and the sensation of his fur rubbing against mine, caused the sound of ghostly hoof-falls still in my mind to fade away once and for all.

He led down the hall, so it was natural that he saw the anomaly that floated beyond Sunset's ivory tower like the moon on the horizon, but was manifestly not.

"What's a navy frigate doing out there?".
> 30 — Public Nightmares Part IV: Conception and Decision
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are you ill?" Singe asked me in a newly contrite voice, having realized I'd suffered a PTSD episode, perhaps deciding I was more than just a fluff-head new royal and may have capital-R Reasons for behaving weird.

Brawler kept walking to the window, but waved a leg in negation for me. He said, "Just a little morning sickness. Nothing to worry about."

Singe froze up.

I heard wings flare with a snap. I shot my gaze to the door, where Streak stood shocked. That lasted an instant, though. She took advantage of the high ceiling, grinning ear-to-ear, as she swooped to my side. "Morning sickness? Do tell, Grimsy. Who's the sire?"

"I am not pregnant." Well. Not for sure until I drank a certain potion...

The prince whinnied and stopped so suddenly, his slippers, well, slipped. He continued toward the window, scrambled, and chose to land on his stomach rather than smack the glass nose first.

The other night, it was tasting the beure verte and not understanding the cliché about etchings. A few other things, like talking sometimes about being filled up and and sometimes not, maybe, that made me think bipolar. Common enough a malady amongst Carne Asada's brighter lieutenants, possibly leading to a more crooked profession that profited unruly behavior. I knew that royalty grew up in an elite bubble; he might not associate with the common rabble, but surely he had to have read some popular literature. Maybe not the romance novels I indulged in, but, I mean, really?

"If that's what it means, um—" he said, standing, facing me. Was that sweat beading? "Um..." He coughed. "I didn't grow up in Canterlot. Where I come from, we use, tiny hooves trotting." He laughed. "Nothing to worry about, right, Starlight?"

Starlight? I blinked, then squared my shoulders and hips. "PTSD. I've a few horrors in my past, but I've got a handle on it again. No worries." Being flawed served my purposes. It kept everypony on notice that I was evil; it kept me in check.

I repeated, "No worries, but I'm going to need everypony's help. You see, the world ends in 600 days."

That I suddenly saw the whites of the prince's eyes, I thought he might be about the spook, but he cantered over, circled me. "Starliiiight."

Every other pony froze, even Streak who had fought Celestia, had had all the hair burnt off her hindquarters, and heard the princess explain the ramifications of the curse.

"Not PTSD. That." I pointed at the frigate. "The Golden Stag. A village obliterated. Monsters increasingly attracted to Equestria. Culminating 600 days from now. This time, however, if ponies die, it won't be because I didn't do everything—no matter what!— I could do to prevent it." 

I trotted toward the door, Proper Step rushing forward to open it, the prince clattering behind him. "No word of this leaks or there will be a panic."

"Fodder for nightmares," remarked Brawler when I met his blue eyes briefly. I passed into the hallway, where a castle guard met us.

"I need to speak to Celestia's lieutenants—captains, staff, whomever is in charge of that frigate outside. Where do I do that?"

"The Rose Conference Room?" the purple pegasus guard asked hopefully.

"Make it happen," I ordered. I assumed that's how a princess said those things.

With a gulp, he flew off and moments later more guard galloped up to escort us. 

I continued, "Understand, the Golden Stag claim the Everfree Forest as their domain. That's less than a league south of Canterlot. Proper Step, your father's not with Celestia, is he?"

"No."

"Get him. Wait." He stopped and brown eyes regarded me. "I want Mi Amoré Cadenza. She's a flapping alicorn! Celestia asked me to beat the pegasus out of her. So be it." 

Now that my chargé d'affaires had galloped off, I remarked, "I should have asked him what else I need to know."

"The stalker, really?"

"Half your age, twice as mature," I muttered. He wisely kept silent.

The guards led us to the university wing, where the keep that housed the throne room abutted the original College of Equestria. I'd been in the throne room twice, once being unexpectedly coronated, and the second closing Day Court. Had I not been preoccupied, I might have noticed the galleries at the top level, four stories up. Four stories of spiral stairs opened up into a solarium with rose-colored glass. Large gem-like facets revealed pegasi placing fluffy cumulus clouds that gathered into the higher elevation around the peaks.

I stood blinking, looking up.

"Ms. Glimmer?"

I shook my head. "Does Princess Celestia meet here with her military advisors?"

"Yes." 

"She's lived a thousand years—"

Brawler interrupted. "My Aunt? 1,042 years—"

"I pointed to the sky."Why do I look up and visualize a squadron of griffons carrying a load of rock to dive bomb us? And she doesn't? Is there a more insecure room in the castle?"

"Pegasi or night wing guard are posted, depending on the time of day."

"Still," I huffed.

The horseshoe table looked quarried from a single slab of grey-veined white marble. White gilt chairs offered silver brocade cushions and I sat in one. They matched the sideboards and cabinets. Blackboards mounted on casters offered the only contrast, that and the pastel-colored pieces of chalk in the tray. Marble and crystal chandeliers hung down. Sun streaming at an oblique angle through the rose-colored windows cast shadows and bounced light, tinting things every shade of pink.

A few minutes later, Cadance trotted in the north entrance, followed by Shining Armor. She had a happy gait, saw who waited, then slowed, looking suddenly tired. Her eyes locked on the prince, who had taken up pacing. When she looked at the floor, I realized he still wore his slippers. Her facial emotions went through a panoply of anger, interest, and calculation. Only when she came close did she look aside, then sketch a curtsey.

"Come closer," I said.

When she did, I kicked her lightly below the right knee.

"Hey!" she cried, hopping back.

I grabbed her in my magic as she veered away, tapping her right rear leg with the edge of my brass.

"Ow, ow!"

She glared at me and backed into a chair, sitting with a thump. 

"That's two kicks. Consider yourself lucky."

Behind me, the prince sniggered.

The princess jumped up, pain forgotten, glaring.

I clapped my hooves together. "Oh, right." I circled around them until they faced each other and they turned their necks to look at me. I tapped her shoulder and she flinched, expecting worse. "You are the Princess of Love. Not Lust. Not Avarice. Got that?" I pointed at him. "Blueblood isn't going to marry you, got that?"

I looked him in his blue-eyes, which gleamed in glee, then said, "You apologize to her for the prank you pulled on her."

"What?"

"You heard me. Maybe richly deserved, but very rude."

Both of them sputtered, glaring at each other. I clopped a hoof on the black and white checkered marble floor. 

"Then you explain how royalty works in Equestria. And the both of you—" They looked at me. "Grow. Up."

Hostile eyes followed me as I trotted over to Shining Armor, who gave me a worried look. He bowed. "Ms. Glimmer."

"Starlight," I corrected. "She's your filly-friend from school? Stop waiting and help her overcome her confusion, so she can figure out what she's princess of. Hold still while I cast your daily spell."

As I completed the task, calculating that I wound the escapement codicils to almost 23 1/2 hours, he said, "Um, that could be a problem considering the spell you just had to cast."

Undressed as he thought about being, he had a solar cutie mark. That she might consequently see. I chuckled. "Some mares prefer romance—'

"No, no," he said, face coloring, "Not what I was implying!"

"What was your subconscious implying, exactly? You might want to reflect on that quickly, maybe even own it. You will be dealing with consequences soon."

Somepony knocked on the doorframe from the south wing. "Princess?"

My gaze shot over. An older Clydesdale earth pony with a blue peaked cap and shoulder shingles, each with a star on them, stood there, raising a hoof to yawn. Bright red fur was tempered with a close-cropped strawberry blond mane and tail. "Oh, you. My apologies, Ms. Glimmer. I assumed 'princess' meant Celestia, considering your proscription against ponies using the title when addressing you. An obvious mistake." He yawned again. "I'll take my leave." He turned tail.

"'The Golden Stag obliterated a village,'" I said.

He turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want to explain?"

"The princess has the situation well under hoof. By your leave."

He trotted to the stair spiraling down, and I followed. Nonplussed, I asked, "Did I grant you leave? I don't have to, do I?"

"Trivialities can be discussed during regular hours." He waved a hoof behind him, not getting the hint. 

He got halfway around the circle of the spiral stair when my targeting matched his position. I levitated him back, but at the landing he did a squirm and kick. He judged the bulb shape of my levitation field correctly. The castle stonework provided a flaw. All that with no horn to calculate vectors, but never discount what an earth pony can achieve with bodily strength. He kicked off the wall, and skidded into the room on all fours. 

Amber eyes glared, looked at me, then. "Your Royal Highness?" He stood straight. He bowed.

I huffed. "Strictly speaking, 'Royal Highness' is a correct method of address, and Celestia only granted me leave to kick ponies when it was used. So, I'll not count it as insubordination. I am not Celestia, this much is true. I am not as forgiving."

Another pony, exiting the stairs behind me, said, "Pardon me for saying—" She huffed, bending to her knees to catch her breath. "—but neither are you as experienced— Ms. Glimmer."

I faced a silver-grey unicorn with a purple mane tied into a bun. She wore a grey and white track suit that would have blended like camouflage into her fur were it not for dark sweat stains in all the expected places.

A tan pony in palace livery with a monocle in his right eye followed, also saying, "Ms. Glimmer." Kibitz.

The unicorn mare said, "I am Captain Ice Sickle, Captain of the Army and that is Captain Sky High, Captain of the Navy. Forgive the old colt. He's cranky if awoken early."

"Thank you," he said in a surly fashion.

"You're welcome. You summoned us?"

I looked into her clear blue icy eyes. "The Golden Stag obliterated a village. Do you want to explain?"

The mare sighed. "A distinct possibility. After a generation or so, uneducated ponies forget they live near a menace and treat the wilds as free land. Celestia discussed with us the likelihood of retaliation. Nothing unexpected. Nothing you need worry about."

"Kibitz, who am I?"

Intuiting my request, he said, "Ms. Glimmer is the Earl of Grin Having, Captain of the Third Army of Equestria."

"In training," Ice Sickle pointed out. "As Commander of Equestria, Princess Celestia is our immediate superior."

"And you are the spare," Sky High pointed out, then coughed, "Ms. Glimmer."

"About the protection of Canterlot?" I asked.

"We acceded to Celestia's request and posted an airship—for show. When the princess returns, I suggest you attend meetings when she calls them."

I thought about me thinking her summons the other day as being like impromptu summer school class, and that her requests for breakfast and dinner was snootiness. Misinterpretations. I compressed my lips and lowered my ears. Shoot.

"Let's meet when the Princess returns. Ms. Glimmer." She bowed and walked over to Sky High, swatted him on the shoulder, then talked quietly into his ear as they clopped down the stairway.

"That didn't go as planned," observed the prince, voice dripping with irony.

I growled, but looked past him as I heard more ponies coming up the south stairs. A shadowy pony, Proper Step, brought with him a cornflower blue pegasus in a sailor uniform. He ducked his head slightly, saying, "Ms. Glimmer. Ensign Berrytwist, Commander of the Eagle's Stoop, insisted she was too busy and sent Chief Bent Feather in her stead."

"Ms. Glimmer!" He saluted, touching a wing to his white sailor hat. His voice crackled and sounded like stirred gravel, not at all crisp like his salute or his posture. He had rheumy eyes. Middle-aged, with uneven feathers, chipped brown hooves, and a short cropped salt and pepper dark navy blue mane, he looked like a machine in need of replacement parts. When I nodded, he added, "How may I assist you?"

"The Golden Stag obliterated a village. What's your mission at Canterlot?"

He gulped. "I don't know enough to properly answer your question." He added hurriedly at my frown, "Due to extra duties! We lack a boatswain, triggerpony, and a purser, and our XO keeps going AWOL. We lack critical supplies. Then there's the crew, some I'd rate neither able nor ordinary airhooves, with a few FLOEs including a motorcolt, which I have to separate from the cadets Western Fleet Comm left onboard..."

The frogs of my hooves went cold and I shuddered. This felt very much like when Carne Asada got the bosses of all the eastern city gangs to meet for a summit, having tipped the constables off—a trick I'd taught her to my chagrin. It had been the prelude to an all-out gang war that consumed northeastern Hooflyn.

A prelude.

I growled.
> 31 — Interlude (The Ensign)
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

About 19 hours ago...



	The Ensign



I put my pencil down, flexing the frog of my hoof to get it to release the yellow painted nubbin.  It clattered on the library table as I flipped the lined pages to the front. The title read, Revised Plan to Invade Mount Aris with an Assessment of Hippogriff Upgraded Defenses and Accounting for the Failures of the Prince of Storms' Abortive Invasion of 994.
"Done," I whispered, shutting the composition book with a not entirely satisfying whump. All I had to do was deliver it to the typing pool. I wasn't the only pony in the Vanhoover Naval Academy library this morning— 
No longer morning! The red second hand of the clock ticked over to noon. Lunchtime. I had no friends to share meals with. Never would. Ponies despised me, and I despised them right back. So long as I proved useful, the navy tolerated, paid, and sheltered me. Nopony could dispute my competence on any assignment or on my few airship postings. Ponies simply hated me. Years after graduation and my cadet cruise, I rotted once again in the academy.  No promotions after the initial one from midshippony passed to ensign every cadet graduate got. Practically unheard of.
I huffed. "Well, they're getting no further treatises from this mare. After this, they can clean up their own messes." I hoofed my pencils into their pencil case, stacked the library books and periodicals I used as research, and reached for my saddlebags. 
"Two days until discharge, and happy as all Tartarus about it," I murmured.
Sometimes the Equestrian navy offered a promotion to get officers to re-up. Me? 
I blew air through my lips. 
No. 
Of course not. 
I'd begun to think I was Princess Celestia's favorite strategist, I'd filed so many plans. I judged the brass were foals to lose me, but there you were. Not even an offer to become a professor at the academy, where my height and horrific appearance could scare recruits into line.
I heard hooves approaching.
Not particularly superstitious, but I had said aloud that I was about to be discharged. The vague plan I had to wander the world, and to visit Mount Aris in person to judge if I could have succeeded where the Prince of Storms failed, faded from my head.
"Just walk by, just walk by," I said under my breath. I cringed.
The hooves stopped. "Ensign Berrytwist?"
My eyes actually burned.
I smelled dander, usually raised when a pegasus had flown a distance. I heard feathers rustle. I sighed, pushed out of my chair, and turned to face the stallion.
A blue pegasus in a white sailor uniform snapped to attention, saluting crisply with his right wing as pegasi were allowed. He held a brown satchel in the curve of his right leg, tied with elastic bands. I towered over him. He looked earnest and unguarded, but then he didn't know me, or my reputation, yet.
I saluted back. "As you were."
"Thank you, ma'am. I have orders for you from VanNavStatComm." The embroidery below his collar read Chief Petty Officer Bent Feather. The uniform indicated he had a shipboard assignment. He wasn't from Vanhoover HQ.
"I'm being discharged in two days. Are you sure?"
"Yes, ma'am, it's for you."
I reached out, hoof up, like an earth pony for the satchel, which clearly confused the warrant officer. He even looked at my flight cap. 
They always did. 
I wore it stretched between the remnant of my horn and my heavily glued crested mane. I hated hiding my handicap. I hated the word handicapped because ponies used it as a label to hide behind so they didn't have to deal with what discomforted them. I hated that even more. As a tactician and a strategist, I knew how to manipulate ponies to prevent useless distress and disruptive behaviors. 
Nopony had ever told me, verbally, hide my handicap. Still, doing so made living in Tartarus that much less horrible.
He took out an envelope and placed it in my frog. I, of course, slit it open with the sharp of my horseshoe like an earth pony or pegasus would, held it in the crease of my frog, then blew out the page with my breath so I could read it.


VanNavStatComm to Ensign Fizzlepop Berrytwist assigned Vanhoover Naval Academy Research ST3A Eyes Only. Begin. E F B posted to command—


"Flapping Freaking Horse Apples!" I cried, dropping the sheet as if it had burst into flames. "Two days before my discharge they do that!?"
I heard a loud hiss. I turned to see the librarian, an old mare with reading glasses hanging on a silver chain, glaring at me with emerald eyes.
I almost gave her the hoof, but I was well-trained. Sadly. One swipe by an Ursa Minor meant my destiny was a life without joy, even the joy of retribution or through anger. I knew how to survive: Total. Utter. Self-control.
Which had just slipped.
I let my lip curl up slightly in a grin as I caught up the communiqué in a hoof and brought it back up.


—E F B posted to command the frigate HRHAS Eagle's Stoop with Midshippony Brother Gruff serving as XO—


"I'm getting my own command!?" 
I looked to the pegasus. I realized that he was middle-aged and it showed in the white fur near his eyes and a peppering of white feathers in his wings. This was where a proud sailor would say something like, "She's a good ship," or thus and such. He remained tight-lipped.
Hooves growing cold, thinking with cause KOHICA, I snapped the paper and continued reading.


—Reposition from the dock at the Vanhoover Aeronautical History Museum to Castle Canterlot Station with all due haste without fail. Await there for further orders. End.


My mouth hung down. "It's docked at a museum?"
"Yes, ma'am. The Stoop got decommissioned half a century ago after the Battle of Crystal Mountain when the rear ballista and stern got blown off. She received enough repairs to stay afloat and acted as a naval exhibit. Recently, because of structural aging issues and for the upcoming 999th Summer Sun Celebration next year, we'd begun to refit her for cosmetics. She also serves for cadet and Seabee training in ship repair, and a place to park personnel HQ wants to retain but cannot post elsewhere."
I huffed. "I fit the category of personnel who are permanently parked but cannot be posted elsewhere."
"Sorry, ma'am. If you say so." He drew a circle on the wood floor, unwilling to meet my eyes.
"Can the museum piece even sail?"
"I've already rounded up the three unicorn rowers assigned for this mission. The Stoop's canvas and spars are all new, but we haven't had the recommissioning cruise, yet, ma'am."
"Do you have other papers for me? A promotion? Offer of Recommission, perhaps?"
"No ma'am."
"The final insult, then? A simple mission, on the bald face of it, that I cannot help but fail to execute. Demote then discharge? Am I so hated that the brass can't stomach my small service pension so I can live a decent civilian life?" I had been kicking around the idea of never turning in my last report. Now I was certain. First thing after discharge, I was traveling to Mount Aris to prove firsthoof that the brass were making a very bad mistake. 
The Chief grew stiff. "I can't answer that, Ma'am. The mission is real. It's urgent. Scuttlebutt makes me believe the brass needs a ship at Canterlot Station and that the request comes from Princess Celestia herself. First there was Saturday when the sun didn't rise. News is that some criminal unicorn kicked the princess to the cobbles on Ponyville Way in downtown Canterlot, stunning her before escaping early that morning. If that doesn't scare you, there were reports of a fire on the castle grounds not long after, then later that the princess named an heir to the crown. Serious horse apples are a-hoof, Ensign. I believe the mission is real."
"Assigning me to it, though? What the flap are they thinking?"
"Maybe you could do it?" He shrugged.
"I may grow to like you, Chief."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"If there is a real answer, it could be they have nopony else available and no other ship. What are the chances?"
"Slim, ma'am."
"Yeah, but we're in the same boat."
"Respectfully, same ship, Ma'am."
With a sigh, and filling my saddlebags, I said, "Lead on, Chief."
"One more thing," he added. "It is a posting to a command."
I closed my eyes, feeling an ache behind then throb. This poor pony sailor didn't know, and while I knew any trust or camaraderie from a service pony was simply an illusion that couldn't last long enough to enjoy, this hurt. 
Scratch that. It always hurt.
The blue pegasus pulled out a flight cap. It truly had the gold piping that signified command, but it lacked all insignia since I was still only an ensign. Accepting the cap meant I accepted being the skipper of the Eagle's Stoop. 
To do so, I had to remove the generic flight cap I wore. My camouflage.
Would my humiliation never cease?
"Of course it'll cease. I'm discharged in two days."
"Ma'am?" He coughed into a hoof. "You cannot receive discharge while posted to a command, Ma'am."
I growled and snatched the folded blue felt hat from the pegasus' feather grip. I sat and pressed the current hat hard enough to dislodge it. Released, and thanks to the elasticity of my mane, it popped off and landed with a fabric huff on the floor.
The Chief of course looked up—and involuntarily gasped.
All ponies gasped. Unicorns sometimes vomited, running away. I understood well. My long horn was snapped off at the second turn. That I had a broken horn didn't mean I didn't have magic. It meant I couldn't control it, nor use it to calculate as I was told other unicorns could. 
It left a hole in my head, or that's what other ponies whispered behind my flank. Static magic is not something ponies ever see. It is the essence of chaos and akin to the vicious unpredictability of ball lightning. Looking into my horn was looking into wild unbridled irreality; everypony instinctively sensed danger. Staring at it led to madness.
I knew.
I stared into the swirling prismatic rainbow of chaos every night in my lavatory mirror.
I hated myself. I hated my choices. I hated my fate. For the sake of a stupid hoof ball and to fend off the jibes of my so-called friends, I'd entered a cave ponies suspected harbored an Ursa Minor. I had been so stupid, I didn't deserve to have survived. Yet, I had a destiny to live out. Apparently. Undoubtedly. Abandoned by friends, I had to live long enough to find it.
I hated that, too. I hated being a blank flank at my age.
No wonder nopony trusted me. Broke horn. No cutie mark. Probably going to run, they thought, when the fighting started. There was madness inside her horn!
I unfolded the flight cap and shoved it on, breaking the glue on my crest behind. I felt the bristles lean over.
"Skipper!" the blue pegasus said, sketching a salute in recognition. 
My eyes flicked to him. He looked pale. Perhaps he'd  served alongside unicorns long enough, or been married to one, that he was one of those afflicted by nausea.
"The lavatory is over there," I said blandly, pointing.
He flapped away immediately, knocking over a chair in his wake.



> 32 — Fractious Frigate Part I: Cascade Diver
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


HRH 



Starlight Glimmer Regina Aurora Midnight



The Earl of Grin Having and the Princess of Marks


My distrust of Celestia, that she could conscience setting up a war to push her agenda forward, left me no choice. I found myself following the chief petty officer to the part of the airship docks known as Castle Canterlot Station. Because the Prince, Princess, and the lieutenant of the guard started bickering as we left the palace, I left them behind with an admonition that they had better "kiss and make up" before next I saw them, preferably literally—lest "I'd... something!"

I was glad I'd left the three behind, because Kibitz led Hue and Cry to meet me on the way out of the southeastern portcullis. Firefall remained AWOL. We took an obscure descending worn brick road on the east edge of the dish-like level of the Promenades, where events were staged under the Royal Address Balcony. The path led between the quarried stone foundation and the adjacent Palisades Park, curving toward the precipice. I cut off her next question with an answer I didn't want the prince to hear, that I might be throwing my new teacher to the wolves, assuming it wasn't somehow deserved. I recited his townhouse address and said, "I spent the late evening there, riding him."

She nodded, "Dancing, Dinner, and Dessert." Surprisingly, her stoic auburn visage cracked a carefully measured grin of approval.

"Right," I said, "All good. Private. However, you will find my cloak there. Retrieve it. His overzealous bodyguards made me suspicious, so—" I coughed. This copper knew the princess I was and the criminal I'd been. "I picked the lock to his attic and took a look-about, but felt bad and left. Try not to break doors. Once this is over, I'd rather explain myself to the prince why I sent you."

She nodded and gave Streak a look. When the uneasy pegasus shrugged and kept her silence, the copper with the red beret saluted and turned back toward downtown. We proceeded clockwise around the rim of the mountain and below the level of the castle.

The old sailor explained the terminology he used because everything, starting with boatswain, had sounded like a foreign language. Free Loading Oat Eater (FLOE) spoke volumes. Proper Step and Celestia had concentrated my limited warcraft training growing up to army matters, but as I had parts of the ship explained to me, it made coherent sense. There was plenty more to a ship than a keel, sails, and an airbag. He filled in well for the purser, the pony in of charge money matters, including finding and acquiring food, supplies, repair material, and weapons. I created a mental tally of what I might order sent to the Eagle's Stoop.

Paved into mountain sandstone, the huge blocks of rock had rested here for centuries; they displayed mineralized seams of rust and golden salt. Everything dripped, especially as we approached and went under the roaring eastern Canterlot Mountain Cascade. I smelled algae. A rushing curtain of white water hid the view. Mist rainbows from the newly risen sun illuminated everything. The sailor hid his head with his hat while the moisture wet the rest of us. Streak fluffed her wings, flicking away droplets.

I'd trotted beyond the waterfall, heading for the next one, before it occurred to me I could have cast Shield. Doubtless, that's how they kept machines and supplies dry. "Ugh, Starlight!"

I glanced over the edge of the precipice. I saw the catch lake below and the darkly foreboding Everfree Forest beyond. I strained my neck to see Ponyville as it came into view.

I subconsciously heard the whistle of feathers. Like  before the griffon attack. I jumped back—

—just before a pegasus barreled by and would have struck me. I lost traction in my startlement, hooves skidding. The wet pavement slick as ice and my steering away counterintuitively slid me toward the edge.

Streak grabbed me with all four hooves, flapping for all she was worth. She pressed on all my bruises as she stabilized me even as my forehooves went over the side. A pegasus guard shot above me, a silvery streak, then dove in pursuit.

My bodyguard instinct cried assassination attempt.

"A cascade diver," my logical mind made me assert aloud. I really was nopony. That did not stop my wildly swiveling ears from hearing new spectrums of sound previously missed, mostly hooves slapping wet stone and dripping water, but also whistling wind and birds twittering. I swallowed hard, working to calm my racing heart. When the guard questioned the miscreant that buzzed me, I'd learn more. 

A month ago, a classmate had illegally dived the eastern cascade. Blind Luck was an appropriate name, especially since the frizzy-maned tan filly was a unicorn! A pegasus could let the wind currents suck them downward in a slipstream. My genius classmate had used Shield rolled into a dolphin shape. Everypony knew she had succeeded, to the extent. She'd shown up a mass of bruises, with cracked ribs and a concussion, having arrowed to the bottom of the catch lake, only surviving because her Shield trapped air. Like all spells, the magic wouldn't let a pony get badly hurt; a relative term because it floated her unconscious to the surface. 

I needed no additional impetus to cast Shield. Five minutes later, the frigate hove into view.

The air bag also had the streamlined shape of a dolphin, accentuated by the bluish greyish sky illusion laid upon it. I saw an oversized pony climbing the net rigging toward the airbag, then realized the puce stallion wasn't that big and neither in scale was the frigate. I soon deciphered the oddities of the stretched fabric-sided hull, held taut by a frame, starched shell-solid by paint and shellac. Canoes were constructed this way so a single pony could carry it on their back. I saw pony-sized chips and huge dents, that incidentally had net stretched between copper strips as a strengthener. The side I viewed looked splintered; paint hid a charcoaled texture in places where burns were patched but not repaired. Were it a canoe, it would leak. The inverted hammerhead keel looked too lacy to standup to a gale, let alone a lake, but rigged with sailcloth it functioned to let the airship sail through the air. The engineering aspects went beyond me. My horn sensed magic, probably runes along the upward bend toward the back. Not a particularly stealthy attribute.

The chief corrected my observations. "That front 'crossbow' is a Ballista Minotaur-pony3, hot stuff last century. The rear casement got blown off in the Stoop's final engagement and never replaced. The three on the side are Harpy-class trebuchets. Like those aft two, all three on the port side are undergoing recommissioning."

"Which means they don't work."

"Should be scrapped. Yes, but we don't have the liberty to do that. We've only pony power to fix them. Budgets."

"It looks impressive from a distance."

"Heh, heh," he said, scratching the back of his mane. "I ought warn you, Ms. Glimmer: Our skipper is a short-timer."

I arched an eyebrow. "As in not competent?"

"Competent by most measures. Too competent, maybe. Yet, she's still an ensign after four years duty, which says how well she's liked."

"You dislike her?"

"I am not saying that. What I am saying is she's days from discharge and looking forward to it."

The road led upward to a small flat area outside the castle wall. Docks for commercial airships sported a long plain white building, mooring for four ships, and retractable ramps. The Stoop docked at the fourth grey pole, and moved lazily like a windsock. A lower deck opened with a tongue-like wood ramp from which a slat-and-rope-bridge hoof-way extended to the dock. It didn't restrain the ship from being buffeted by the winds that whipped my mane across my face as I left the road along the side of the mountain and entered the cobbled dock area. As I clattered up the slat ramp, I noted the buzzing ropes were as thick as my leg and wouldn't snap anytime soon. Looking down between the slats, I saw white water slowly descending. We were so high, I felt the thunder of the cascade filling the lake more than I heard it. A flock of ducks in a V arrowed by, little more than dots below. I'd been flown by a pegasus thrice now, so I kept my gait and vertigo under control.

The air smelled good, and felt cool and misty. From my vantage, I saw Ponyville stood a few hundred pony lengths outside the Everfree Forest at the closest; the lofty trees likely shadowed it near sunset. Ponies looked like ants, some trailing something at this distance, but pink and mint color made it obvious they were ponies with wagons. Inside that forest lived various species of magical deer...

The Golden Stag obliterated the village.

I shivered as we entered the maw of the ship. The gloom echoed with our hoof falls. Wooden ribs and crossmembers creaked and groaned as the wind randomly buffeted the vessel. I got directed to a stair before my eyes adjusted. I strode behind the chief onto the main deck. As I squinted into the sunlight, I noted the scuffed and gouged teak planks nevertheless gleamed. I saw at least a dozen sailors, many hammering and adjusting guy wires on the closest trebuchet. Slightly older sailors sat, watching and commenting. Commenting on a pony's laziness while sitting seemed vaguely derogatory—

The chief blew a whistle. 

I jumped, my fur bristling.  

The loud scree! cut through the sound of the wind blowing over the rails, ramped up from a low shrilling to a loud piping then back down to the low shriek that cut off sharply. He shouted, "Crown Princess on Deck!"

Streak slammed into me, covering me with her wings, interposed between me and the petty officer. That merited more looks from the older sailors than I had. The cadets had a green stripe on their uniforms; they snapped to attention. A few fell, scrambling off the arm of the trebuchet. A guy wire went sprong! The cadets saluted. The veterans unenthusiastically sketched a hoof off the deck toward their heads, then occupied themselves elsewhere.

"I see," I murmured.

With a sigh, Bent Feather added, "Carry on!"

I unglued Streak, who discovered her wits and fluffed her feathers back in place. The chief added sotto voce, "That was 'Piping Aside.' If you're embarked, best get used to the bosun whistle."

"Yeah, sure, that'll happen," Streak murmured, unimpressed.  Streak didn't notice the naval pegasus critically eyeing Hurricane's armor. 

Proper Step allowed himself a quiet chuckle. He murmured, "Never say never because that always makes it happen."

I said, "I hold the rank of Captain of the Army. On land... in training, to be clear."

"Noted," the petty officer said with a small smile. "Follow me." We passed by the gawking crew, while the cadets went back to work, into what he called the "forecastle" with a flying bridge, so-called I presumed because it extended a few pony lengths "port" and "starboard" over the rails of the main deck like wings. I noted the metal undersurface: painted grey. No illusion there.  

The same grey paint covered everything not decking, an obvious many-layered frosting laid down over decades, rounding every corner. Lanterns that were brass inside, glowed wanly with enchanted multicolor pebbles. The wood decks displayed layers of shellac, polished to gleam like ice.

We ascended two flights of stairs (still below decks) until the chief rapped a coded knockity-knock on a hatch-like door, before pushing down the brass lever. It revealed a mahogany desk and a view aft: the top of the bailey wall, the castle spires, buttressed ramparts, and ivory towers, which made for a grand view. I saw a large bunk, an inked-up wall-size navigation map of Equestria, a stowed duffle bag, and military issue chairs. No personalization; no memorabilia; no certificates; no desk nameplate; nothing.

This mare needed none.

Bent Feather pointed a wing at the raised sill before I could trip entering the commander's quarters.
> 33 — Fractious Frigate Part II: Handicapped Mares
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The occupant of the desk made the stark officer's stateroom look confining, or rather out-of-scale. The young mare's exceptionally pale cyan eyes lifted wearily from her paperwork. My first thought was blind, then she regarded me, eyes half-lidded as the petty officer came beside her and whispered into an ear that flicked his direction. 

Only her irises looked pale. Piercing dark pupils studied me as he whispered. Even reclining on the floor behind the desk, the dark-magenta ensign towered over a third Celestia's height. Lithe and elegant, even relaxed, the act of turning her head to regard me highlighted sinewy muscle. She wore a deep blue flight hat with gold stitching, made of fold-flat fabric that resembled the paper hats server ponies at a hayburger joint wore. The hat sat shoved into her exceedingly tall rose-color upright-crested mane, as if notching a blooded axe, stretched taut between the bristly mane and what had to be an atypically stubby horn for a Saddle Arabian. Both Sunburst's and Zecora's mane looked clipped-short in comparison. 

A scar caught my attention, running from her lower right cheek, across her eyelid, all the way to her hidden horn. It looked well-healed, tanned, and taut, like her face had grown but her scar hadn't kept up. She nodded, put down the quill she wielded in the frog of her hoof, and levered herself to full magisterial height, executing a crisp but measured salute. The tallest bristles in her mane brushed the ceiling beams.

"Ms. Glimmer," she said with a clear soprano voice so controlled and so flawless that she might make an excellent singer. My mother had been an opera singer, so I could judge these things. The blue pegasus joined her in the salute, but swiftly left the cabin. The door snicked closed, leaving the two of us inside. 

The ensign towered over her desk in a room that, like all in Equestria, had been built to host Equestria's monarch—and, inconsequentially, the world's tallest ponies. I took a moment to evaluate her half-dozen minor body slashes and pockmarks, noting the muscles visible in her shoulders. This mare had never lived a peaceful life. 

What had the chief said? Right: "Carry on."

She sat back down, half-lidded eyes evaluating me. Her mild grin displayed teeth bright white against her deep magenta fur, shocking and calculated, but not mocking. Her eyes flicked to my right ear. The torn one. Lingered. 

She said, "So you are the Princess of Marks. Must be true since you've noted all my blemishes."

The title: Not an address, but an observation. No kicks necessary, then. Something told me if she wanted to belittle me, she'd not be passive-aggressive. The mare had presence and her body language telegraphed dangerous while her minimal movement cried unerringly competent. Not at all friendly, though, something regular ponies prized above all else. Between her attractive but distinct physicality and composed attitude, I began to understand why ponies didn't like her. 

I said, "Should be Princess of Cutie Marks—"

She scooted sideways on purpose. Over the files and scrolls, this revealed her flank. 

I gasped.

For the second time in so many days, I'd encountered an adult blank flank. This mare couldn't give a stray horse apple that I saw what practically everypony thought as a defect. One amongst her many that prevented her from fitting in.

Like me. I said, "I think I like you."

She scoffed. "That would be a first." 

"I earned my cutie mark less than four days ago—"

Her eyes shot to my flank. "Auroras and stars—" 

"—when I ripped the cutie mark out of a pony's flank."

Her eyes finally widened. 

I waved a hoof. "I gave it back. Doing it laid Running Mead out on the ground; he was Canterlot's number one crime boss—and Celestia sent him to Tartarus."

Her mild grin widened into a half-smile. "A mare of action. I'm not sure I can be of service, but here I am. I docked this museum piece without parts or ponies falling off, all departments put to bed—literally put to bed in the case of all three of our rowers—none of the colts I'm foalsitting have killed themselves or their fellows in the two watches it took to sail here despite throwing one in the brig, and my paperwork is complete. How may I help you?"

"Setting expectations?"

A slight nod. Maybe her half-lidded expression was exhaustion.

"What were your orders?"

"Reposition the Eagle's Stoop at Canterlot with all due haste. Remain at alert. Await further orders." She found a piece of parchment with an official looking gold stamp, rotated for me to read.

"Don't commissioned officers usually re-enlist?"

She sucked in a breath.

I clarified, "I'm not trying to be rude. Celestia—"

"Princess Celestia—" she corrected.

"You recognize subtlety. Cool. Short review: Celestia wanted a tool. She manufactured an Earl. Me." I curtsied. "Put me through the wringer, then did the coronation thing so she could run off on a military adventure. I don't trust anything that happens wasn't planned somehow by her. She dropped a hot potato on my back. I require a tool that's sharp like me to buck it, slice it, and stuff it with butter. I am hoping that tool is you.

She took another measured breath. "Permission to speak freely?"

I didn't understand the jargon, but it was clear enough. I nodded.

"Nopony in the service wants a cripple around, especially a mare, no matter how hard she proves herself. They don't want to serve under her. They don't trust she won't cut and run, even though I can fight as well as any earth pony. I get horse apples for duty assignments and no promotions, despite having graduated at the top of my class. Ms. Glimmer, I can take the hint that I am not wanted in this pony's service and I am accepting discharge."

"When?"

"In two days—were we in Vanhoover. Now, I have to wait until this milk run tour of duty is over or somepony relieves me of command." 

She lifted an eyebrow, likely hopeful I might give her what she wanted.

I looked her over again. I saw plenty of scars. Muscle. Her eyes studied me with wary intelligence. I said, "I bet you can fight. I will learn something when we get a chance to spar."

She looked ready to huff, then her eyes halted at the bruises on my side, flicked to my face, finally resting on my split ear which I flicked back and forth with a grin. I said, "I've decided not to glue it. Maybe I'll get an earring. Makes a statement, don't you think?"

"That you're not a nice pony," she said. 

Not a question. I took it as a compliment. "I protect ponies—don't get me wrong. You say you're handicapped?"

"Handicapped," she sneered. "What ponies say when they want to gloss over a reality they don't want to have to deal with, candy-coating it so they don't feel bad." She might have spat, were she not on her ship.

I jerked my head back with the force of her sentiment, then put a hoof to my chin, thinking. "Huh?" I said, "I never thought about it that way. That said..." 

I stood, making sure she could see my left rear leg. I gave it a shake. The brass shoe fell off, then the insert fell and rolled until it hit the wall.

I noted her eyes followed its wobble.

"Speaking 'freely:' Fought a griffon a year and a half ago. I won. 

"Splintered my pastern into 61 pieces. Nearly bled to death. Had it replaced.

"Was told I'd never trot or fight again, but didn't accept that. My frog is numb and could bleed for hours if a stone got lodged between it and the hoof, thus the insert.

"I drag a hoof sometimes, when I don't keep up my therapy. I understand the word handicapped."

She stared at the brass oval before I magicked it and the shoe back on. Her nose pulsed as she breathed hard, but she said nothing. Added nothing. She silently seethed, cooled down, then nodded. 

Into the silence, I asked, "Is there anything about yourself that will prevent you from captaining this ship?"

The delay was perceptible, but I judged to some extent she had choked up. "No, Ma'am."

"Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"No, Ma'am."

"You were at the top of your class at the naval academy?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I know I'm out of my depth; I expect you will correct me when I get things wrong, otherwise I won't learn. I'm pretty good at magic. I was a champion prizefighter. I was a great bodyguard, until my employer lost her bet with reality and I ended up running her crime syndicate for a while. I kept rival gangs from killing each other—before I ghosted the organization. One of the many reasons Celestia granted me a royal pardon. What warcraft I learned as an earl won't cut it. Let me lay out my problem for you."

I let Proper Step into the stateroom and he placed Celestia's communique on the desk. Streak found herself a place at my flank, despite the room growing cramped. Cyan eyes flicked to Hurricane's armor, then the page my Chargé d'affaires rotated for her.

"'Obliterated?'" Ensign Berrytwist read as Proper Step squeezed by to the navigation map.

"There," I said, where Proper Step's hoof tapped.

The mare said, "There's a patrol ship out that direction."

"We have, had(?), an armistice with the Golden Stag. They claim Equestria as their own." 

Proper Step explained they were a type of deer, with fawn or tawny coats. They demonstrated sexual dimorphism and functional polymorphism, not unlike ponykind with pegasi, night wings, earth ponies, and unicorns. One type reportedly dwarfed even a moose. All had horns, and theoretically magic. We likely conquered their lands (only Celestia knew and wasn't telling) and made farmlands, razing their aboriginal forests. They didn't like us. They were secretive and protective, and we knew little about them other than that.

"'Take cautious measures'?" she asked about the communiqué.

"What she meant is open to interpretation, mine, others. Celestia positioned you here for a reason. The last time I had the power to do something and didn't, the Hooflyn Gang War broke out. Ponies died. I feel directly responsible for 24 of those deaths. 

She tried, "Maybe it's enough to float visible at the mountain?"

"Maybe she's testing me, again. This time I won't let ponies die because I was afraid to do something about it."

The ensign coughed. "You think the Golden Stag might attack Canterlot?"

"Maybe? Maybe the farms around Ponyville? I traveled the Ponyville grade with ponies pulling lorries a couple of times. Mostly they haul food produced locally. The railroad carries luxuries at best from distant sources."

She nodded. "Obliterate the farms, weaken Canterlot?"

"I've been badly used my whole life and I'm suspicious of everything. What do you think?"

"I've learned to trust nopony."

"Including me?" I asked.

She smirked, but didn't elucidate. "I've been used, shunned, and disliked since... well, when I was a foal—no matter how good, helpful, or friendly I tried to be."

"Friendship was your mistake?"

"Yes, Ma'am, it was."

I could commiserate, though I had been progressing beyond that these last few days. No need to interject, however.

She continued. "Strategy and tactics is something I believe I am good at. I've planned sieges of most of the Equestrian cities I've visited. For my graduating thesis, I focused on a siege of Canterlot—which didn't earn me friends. Still my hobby. Do you really want me to tell you what I think?"

When I nodded, she waved an ebony hoof at the map, circling the entire Ponyville plain. Anypony could survey the terrain, hidden, perched at canopy level in the Everfree, she asserted. She traced out which roads could be cut in minutes, which farms could be burnt in the first half-hour (thousands of acres of unharvested hay, alfalfa, and golden fodder). The general terror would flood Canterlot with refugees with no food to feed them, emptying the town of defenders, letting the invaders torch its thatched roofs. Canterlot's food basket could be obliterated in an hour.

I asked, "What can we do about it?"

A savage grin grew on the large mare's lips, which made her teeth seem to glow in her mouth, but it vanished as she blew air through her lips. "That's where I need help..."
> 34 — Fractious Frigate Part III: Comedy Act
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I later slipped into the hallway, leaving Streak—whose cutie mark related to hauling—the chief, Proper Step, and my guard coordinating the physical necessities needed to transform the "museum piece" into a minimally functional fighting ship, and the logistics to make what we decided upon happen in hours not days. The ensign reminded me of myself when I finally found the clue to solve a magical spell that eluded me, or when I stepped into the arena to fight a pony that outclassed me but I'd trained specifically to fight: Sheer concentration, and determination to get the job done.

I didn't know if she was the type of pony I could be friends with. Really, I didn't know what that weird string of words really actually meant when applied to me, but the concept didn't worry me so much as intrigue me. 

Both. 

Simultaneously. 

This was what cognitive dissonance felt like. Months ago I'd bought myself a Psych-101 text book, Understanding Pony Behavior, to deal with understanding ponies I knew, specifically Sunset. Yes, I could learn non-magical, non-fight related stuff.

I closed the stateroom door with a slight click. 

Fizzlepop had a personnel problem. Beyond putting my stamp of approval on the appropriations needed for the Stoop—and since I'd excelled at running teams and organizations of unsavory ponies—I volunteered to do some Pony-Relations (P-R) work. From the gleam in the ensign's eye when I agreed, I knew this would be fun.

My task regarded an ensign, busted down to midship-pony—

My heart rate spiked. Over the creak of the vessel and the faint susurrations of the wind through the open hatchways, I heard pony cartilage crinkle. Like crouching.

I wasn't alone.

"Ms. Glimmer," an armored pegasus said, returning to full height as I spun to face her.

I whipped the wall with my tail painfully, barely missing hitting my horn because the hallway was so narrow. Fizzlepop and Celestia would find these corridors strictly one way. The ship's map in the shipboard manual had hinted space was at a premium. Annoying to find it true. I looked at the green-eyed silver, pink, and brown-streaked pegasus. She kept her wings clasped to her side, but stepped back. She'd been so close, she could have tackled me. I'd almost backed into her.

"Pastel, was it?"

"Uh?" She looked confused, momentarily. "Yes. I—"

"Did you catch the cascade diver?"

"No," she said. She flicked open a sparkly silver wing; it showed bruises and missing pinions amongst the pink-tipped feathers. Evidently her assailant had struck her only in the brown areas of her silver coat, which made the colorization look more like damage than fur color. 

"Did you crash?" I asked. A more plausible explanation. 

"Yeah. Crashed. That's right. Sorry, Ms. Glimmer. The featherbrain got away."

I sighed. I suspected my guard was also a featherbrain, though I wouldn't say that aloud. I credited her for trying.

"Accompany me," I said, turning around, having to crane my neck a bit. "I'm going to the brig."

"It—it's this way," Pastel said.

I rolled my eyes as I rotated toward a darkened intersection. I learned maps well, but if you started in the wrong direction...

I came alongside Pastel in the tight corridor.

Our fur crackled as it rubbed.

I spotted the deck sign with a number, a letter, and a circled S for starboard.

"Wait," I said, "Starboard is the wrong way."

The static crackle sounded more like a magic sparkle-pop. And. Maybe. Maybe the cartilage crinkle had been a sparkle-pop, too.

When the draft of air that had been flowing from me toward Pastel, because of our proximity, gifted me the confusing scent of anise perfume, I was already rearing to change direction.

I froze, halfway risen, starting to pirouette.

She rose, too. Startled by my sudden move? Her shoulder struck my neck but between my training of using other pony's momentum to my advantage and her obviously clumsy maneuver, I only hit the wall when she could have compromised my jugular in a choke hold and put me on the floor, dizzy. It spun me so we were now flank to flank. And. Despite her royal guard brass armor, I managed to hit her flank. Bearing one's cutie mark rendered armor less protective—

She bucked. Reflexively. 

I saw it in the corner of my eye; I ducked; her hooves skimmed my dock and spine. Going flat fighting a pegasus, indeed having gotten myself tangled limb to limb with a prize-fighting pegasus in close quarters, had guaranteed a loss on points in one of my fights. I had more losses against pegasi than any other pony kind. I sprung back up as she reached full extension, catching her haunches and stomach on my back. In a fight, I'd have bucked her rib cage, but I shrugged her off.

What was this, a Hearth’s Warming Eve comedy sketch? Yeah, both gangsters and Proper Step at the estate had presented sketches at such parties, with a similar slapstick theme. 

I said in a low voice, "Just stop. Stop! Don't move—"

As she thumped hip-first against the wall—rather hard, with an accompanying clank, likely thanks to compromised muscles due to her crash earlier—I saw a flash of green reflect off the ceiling.

Green eyes.

Green magic!?

I reacted before I could stop myself. Having moments ago closed the stateroom door, I still had most of Push in my horn. I Pushed upward.

Maybe harder than I intended.

"No! No, no, no," I muttered, as I pirouetted and barreled forward. 

By then—Clank, clunk. Pastel had flown across the T-intersection of poorly lit halls and crashed into the wall, back-first, hip upwards, head below. Armor protects an otherwise squishy pony. A helmet does too, if you don't have a protruding horn you could strike or crack. All things considered, she didn't hit hard enough to damage herself. But then... 

She dropped, muzzle-first. I wasn't fast enough to catch her. 

Yeah, a broken nose makes a pop pretty much like that sounded. I cringed, and heard nothing else. She slid to her right, knocked out long enough that her silvery wings drooped and she toppled like a tree cut by an axe. Sparkles scintillated over her body, with a green glow, but she woke with enough sense left to prevent her hindquarters from crashing down. She flared her wings. Thanks to eye confusing light sources, lanterns and rays of sun reflected down hallways, they looked gossamer.

I slid before her. As she tilted over, steadied by my magic, she seemed black in places. Shadows and contrition can play havoc on a pony's perception; I knew that well. My blue-green magic settled her on her side.

"I'm sorry! Reflexes. I've never fought a royal guard full out; it didn't occur to me that you might have warding runes in your armor!"

As I sat her up, she appeared normal, though she shook her head. Stunned and dizzy, and possibly concussed, I hoped she wouldn't puke next. Any ref would continue counting her out. "Can you speak?"

"Woof," she said, then laughed.

I sat back and held up two hooves. "How many?"

"Two. I'm okay," she said, snuffling before I could stop her. Some red drops pit-pat on the floor as she winced. An iron scent, sure to make a normal pony uneasy, mingled with her anise scent. She frowned at the accumulating puddle, raising a hoof to between her eyes. I understood: Snuffling after receiving a bloody nose always gave me an instant headache. 

I gently pinched her nostrils and elevated her muzzle to the ceiling, murmuring apologies. I felt terrible, like I'd dropped my host's favorite glass Hearth’s Warming Eve ornament. More than I'd have before I understood friendship. Before my reckoning with Sunburst cleared up my stupidity. Before... before that do-nothing prince opened his heart to me and affected the operation of my own traitorous organ.

My heart opened now, but logic said only contrition flooded out.

The tension in the guard relaxed in steps. She sighed. After a minute, she pushed herself up, fluttering her wings to displace my magic. I wouldn't want my virtual touch, either! The bleeding had stopped astonishingly quickly. Thank Celestia for small miracles.

Despite her saying, "I always get the tough foalsitting assignments," her head wobbled.

I breezed by the diatribe. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Yeah. You're as advertised."

"Sorry."

She staggered, then trotted away, taking the nearest stair down toward the narrow rays of sunlight streaming up from the main deck.

I shook my head. Lightning quick reflexes, yeah, that was what it was, what made me hit before thinking. I'd have to make it up to her. I needed to train her, too. 

She needed it.
> 35 — Fractious Frigate Part IV: Brig
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Certain of my location and direction in the ship, I passed by the commander's quarters and heard them arguing about what to do, but didn't strain my ears. I looked up at the sign to confirm my recollection of the map.

A scorch mark! Black. One would have thought it would be painted over since the Stoop's last battle. I shrugged and turned right.

The ship designer should have settled for an inclined ladder because the stairs that led down four decks into the hull required me to back down them. No portals. Only rows of sealed stateroom hatches. Wood, not metal for weight considerations.  Being a ship, everything smelled washed (swabbed?) bearing a faint scent of pine solution or teak oil. The lights left everything shadowy. The bow narrowed to lines of lockers. At the end, lay a single doorway. I hoofed open BRIG 1D Bow. I stepped over the threshold and entered silently.

If anything, the limpet lanterns seemed dimmer. I stepped by a desk, likely placed to make an obstacle between the lockups and the exit. The V of the bow partitioned the caged section into two separate holding areas. The iron bars looked formidable, but a crinkle in one proved it was thin lightweight pipe. Each had a pallet and mattress, a chamber pot mariners inscrutably called a head, and a wash basin and bucket instead of a sink and spigot.

No ponies.

I blinked; the only reason the griffon rooster on the port side was wearing a sailor uniform, opened widely on his chest to display a thatch of scruffy grey fur met by feathers, was that he was a midshippony, or rather a midshipgrif. 

Thank you, Berrytwist! My heart beat faster. 

Griffons weren't uncommon in Equestria, but rare. I'd never been introduced to the hen that tried to kill Carne Asada and almost succeeded with me. I knew that they were civilized and evolved from predators. I recognized a feather dander scent I did not know I knew—but when you survive an encounter like that, there's plenty indelibly burnt into your brain that wouldn't show up until triggered. The griffon had triggered the adrenaline in my veins. It did not trigger my PTSD. I supposed it was because that I was a bodyguard at the time of the attack, doing my job. I saved Carne Asada. I teleported the griffon master away. I had been in control.

I'd not been in control during the Hooflyn Gang War. Such details made a difference.

The fellow appeared asleep. His broad wishbone chest raised and lowered rhythmically. Regardless, I had drops of Pastel's blood dotted my fur. He was a predator. If I smelled myself, so did he. I did not trust him as a predicate to our future encounter.

Reclining, I deduced he massed at least 50% more than I did, even considering his light bone structure, which resembled that of a pegasus. It made him longer and taller than a comparable earth pony. His black-tipped lion tail and yellow talons projected over the edge of the pallet. His lion body was a deep shade of grey up, to his ruff. He'd lost most of the black feathers on his face leaving blemished and craggy pink skin, framing a crooked bent beak that made me think he'd been in plenty of fights. He reclined on his left. He'd lost plenty of feathers up top, confirming he was far into middle age. That he wanted to hide his baldness was confirmed by his sailor hat. It had slipped partially off as he slept.

I  judged the muscle in his mammalian half; bulges confirmed his strength. His bird-like forelegs looked too thin, but I knew better than to judge them weaker than a pony's—which neglected talons that looked over a hoof length long. 

Having met a mob lieutenant's pet cat, Whiskers—who after purring for minutes decided inscrutably that I was the enemy and clawed me—I expected commensurately stronger, longer claws lay retracted in paws twice as wide as any of my hooves.

I noted those paws were pressed against the mattress, as well as the angle of the relaxed talons, and how he'd shifted his weight incidentally to increase the application of force were he to move. As a prizefighter, I'd learned to read opponents, especially ones I wasn't sure were stunned or KO'd. I brought my muzzle close to the bars, within a measured distance.

I said, "I heard you got busted down to midshippony. From what rank—?"

Bang! Clank! The tubing bars made an eh-eh-eeeeh groan as he pressed at them while his mattress, thrown back when he launched himself, went thud against the wall. It went thud again when it hit the pallet and slid toward the floor with a fabric hiss. The water in the bucket splashed against the wall and dripped to the floor. The basin vibrated in place.

His beak and face stuck out three hoof lengths between the bars, and push as he might, it wasn't getting any closer to my muzzle. His ravaged beak—despite chips, gouges, and crinkles—could snip off a pony hoof. A dark eye glared at me on the right. His left eye, covered by a black eye patch, seemed no more friendly.

Other than the sound of the bars straining under metal fatigue and the sound of the mattress made when launched, he'd made no sound. I felt his hot breath muss the fur on my face. I smelled last night's dinner. Fish juice, unless wiped off, turned quickly.

I decided against kissing him. 

I shoved my right hoof left on his upper beak, twisting the hooked part over until it hooked the metal bar. It felt like the shell on a boiled lobster, only tougher. I lit my horn with Push, but because of his precarious perch after trying to startle me, he had no leverage so I decided not to cast, only to prep.

Eyes locking on his single one in the dimness, I said, "I love sardines. Fresh ones."

He realized his mistake and hyperventilated. One bar then another clanked as he grasped them with his talons. At least he was smart enough not to try to slash me, which would have failed because I'd calculated those targets in my queued spells. Levitating him back would have wrenched his neck. Well, more than it was getting wrenched now, especially since I brought up my left hoof, planting my rear hooves for stability, as I twisted and torqued his head further.

He demonstrated discipline. Enough to think that an unprovoked attack on a fellow airpony or officer would get him court-martialed. (Was I getting a handle on this jargon, or what?)

I continued. "I haven't found a good place for fried kippers and onions since I left Baltimare. You?"

When his eye widened in fear, which worried me that he might struggle irrationally, I shook my head.

He relaxed.

I let go.

Sitting, then scooting over because he sat in the puddle from the bucket, he rubbed his neck, eyeing me warily. A deep, crackly voice as wrecked as his beak, stated, "You're no officer."

I looked at myself, ending by scratching behind my ear. The torn one. "Maybe? Maybe not?" I grinned.

"What do you want?"

"First, your former rank."

"Previously, ensign."

I narrowed my eyes at his tone. I whirled a hoof. "All the way back."

He sighed, "Captain."

"Of a ship?"

"Squadron commander is also a captain, similar pay, similar authority over the squadron; we're like marines except we fly. Aren't you an officer? Why'd you bother to wake me? The ensign regaled you with my horse apples attitude toward authority, blah, blah, blah."

"She implied you were key to making this vessel operational. Is that the right word? Operational?"

He gave an exasperated sound between a caw and cough, like a pony might blow air through their lips. "This scow? Seriously?" He face-taloned, but peeked at me through the digits to see if I were serious.

I nodded.

"Look, ma'am, or Ms., or whomever you are. I want my shore leave. I need strong cidering before I slash somepony up. There's nothing I can do here. Nopony is seriously going to fight using this wreck, and I don't buy your flapping horse apples for a minute. Um, ma'am."

I scoffed at him. "She said you could fight." I made a raspberry. "I see a broken old bird with the aspirations of a drunkard. Even I could hoof you over your rooster— or rather lion—parts on a plate. This is a waste—"

He stood quickly. Stiffly. I guess that was attention. "I can fight."

"Maybe I'll oblige you one day."

He scoffed.

I chuckled. "What were you busted for, sailor?"

"Which time? Breaking naval property. Breaking fellow airponies. Disobeying stupid orders because they won't assign me to where I am better than anypony or grif?"

"Impressive list. Are you full of yourself, or are you the real deal?"

"I can fight."

"What did you do, other than drill squadrons in training? Did you fight? Wait, did you fight when the prince of storms attacked Mount Aris four years ago?"

"Yes. For what it was worth, that was battle cruiser against battle cruiser, and we lost as many as they did, which was all they had. My squadron only got to watch. After that, Equestria hasn't needed squadrons much."

"You got that eye patch—?"

"Somewhere else."

"Where?"

His eye narrowed. "If I told you I'd have to kill you."

I smirked. "I have clearance for such information."

He wiped the top of his beak, his nostrils, and sniffed. "I'm the toughest flyer in the navy. I test top secret and experimental aviator equipment. The X7 pegasus catapults they want to install on the carriers apparently needed further iteration. With only one eye, I'm good as ever; the brass doesn't see it that way."

He lifted the patch, revealing a gouge from the bottom to the top of his eye socket. The eye in between looked pale blue and like a deflated hoof ball. I caught myself before pulling back.

"Impressive," I said.

He let the elastic snap back.

"I need your service now, despite what Berrytwist says about you, the bad parts that is. She says there's plenty good."

"You'd be a foal to trust me. Like I said, I'm due shore leave."

I levitated over the key and unlocked the door, then threw it to jangle on the desk before back hoofing the door open. It clanged despite creaking. I said, "I need a ship to protect Canterlot with. What I've got is the Eagle's Stoop. You're going to make that happen."

He scoffed. Nevertheless, his talons click-clicked on the deck behind me as I exited the brig. I lit my horn, purposely, casting a first level Illuminate spell that only lit my horn, as an excuse to keep Shield prepped without making it obvious. Not trusting a griffon. Sorry, so kick me, I'm prejudiced.

I asked as he followed me down the corridor to the stairs, "So, is Brother Grif actually your name? Don't know enough about griffons to catch the cultural significance of brother."

"There are two griffons aboard named 'Gruff.' It helps me figure out if you're screaming at me or the other grif."

"Oh, really?" It occurred to me Berrytwist might have said Brother Gruff, though he was old enough to be my grandfather. I kept my mouth shut, suddenly rather embarrassed.
> 36 — Fractious Frigate V: Mare's Honor
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Brother Gruff followed me up the stair onto the bustling main deck. I raised a hoof against the bright morning sun. Cadets had hustled out a four-wheeled stake bed wagon. The meeting must have ended as Streak flapped in the air, sorting out the hitch and traces.

The second griffon fluttered beside the cart. The golden hen looked considerably younger than her brother. Her brown wings, white lion's tail, and white head feathers resembled those of the griffon master that had nearly killed me. The frisson raised the hair on my neck, but she lacked the sinewy muscle and confidence of the living weapon and instead looking svelte like a sparrow. The down feathers around eyes shined metallic blue, like the neck feathers on a pigeon; blue tipped the crest feathers sticking forward from her sailor hat. I guessed her ten years older than me. Her white uniform looked crisp as she and Streak assembled the kit on the cart. The name embroidered near the collar of the blouse read Sister Gruff.

I looked back. Brother Gruff startled, fluffed his feathers, and smiled at me. Regardless of his beak, the muscles in his face worked his cheeks similarly to a pony's did. His smile looked fake. I narrowed my eyes, turned, and judged his very wrinkled and fish-stained uniform shirt. The catch strips were unzipped, revealing a whiter spot where insignia had been stripped. It also revealed embroidery: Brother Gruff.

I looked from him to his busy "sister" and back. Not related, I decided. It took less than a minute for Streak to hitch up with Sister Gruff's assistance. Ponies cleared the deck.

Sister Gruff walked up to Brother Gruff, shoving his shoulder with a talon. She said, "Don't leave me to do your work. I'm warning you."

The hen was my size, but I didn't doubt she could be dangerous. Her smaller svelte beak had razor sharp edges. Her ivory talons resembled pretty ceramic knives.

Brother Gruff grumped and moved behind me. This put me between them. The hen hissed. "Don't trust him, Ma'am."

I blew amused air through my lips. I'd kept my horn lit, and in the morning sunlight nopony could see my aura. I also queued Levitation.

Bent Feather climbed onto the bed of the supply wagon, together with one of my two guards. Made sense, as somepony had to direct Streak where to fly for supplies and to carry my orders. I trotted up. "Send back another guard when you arrive."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

I looked for Pastel. I only needed one guard to act as a decoy, anyway, since I could protect myself. The wagon rolled across the shellacked teakwood as I realized Pastel was nowhere to be seen. Had she taken it upon herself to head back into Canterlot? I huffed, following as Streak galloped toward the forecastle, thinking how I needed to train the Royal Guard in properly protecting princesses. I'd been hauled by Streak before, but I still tensed as she looked like she would crash into the frigate's three story central superstructure. She pulled up at the last second. True to her name, she streaked upward, banking left, and over the starboard railing.

I still heard wings flapping. I spun around, ears swiveling to track the retreating sound. I kept spinning; not fast enough.

Reflexes tricked, I turned 360º and found myself looking up as a grey griffon, flapping for all he was worth, flew toward the forecastle. His tactic was to fly out of magic range before I could react. Most unicorns took seconds from wanting to use their magic to casting. Most unicorns knew only two spells, Illuminate and Levitate, and possibly a cutie mark-related spell. Of those ponies who could cast Levitate, few could target at distance, vector individual multiple items, or lift even a pony weight. Citron, who could set stucco and even cement on fire, couldn't lift me. All ponies, and likely griffons, knew these limitations.

I wasn't most ponies.

"Taking my shore leave now," Brother Gruff shouted, saluting me with a talon. He tracked to fly over the forecastle and over the bow. Made aware of the winds coming up the mountain as I took the gangway, I realized he'd not simply leapt the rail as he wanted to avoid being smashed into the side of the ship. 

Good for me.

Sister Gruff cawed. "I'm going to kill him!"

I cleared my spell queue, except for targeting vectors, spinning up a different spell. Voice lowered, I stated, "Please. Let me."

The hen reflexively jumped sideways. Her talons and suddenly triggered lion's claws clattering and scritching against the deck.

I cast.

My world slowed to a near standstill, and ratcheted 5° to the right. Brother Gruff's huge dark grey wings lowered in a downstroke that met below his massive V-shaped chest. Lightning spidered in bright blue jags over the sphere of space-time that encased me as my spell formed its singularity and warped reality. Though I was affected, slowed so I moved as if embedded in molasses, I positioned my legs widely. His wing position looked perfect.

Darkness enveloped me. Practice made perfect. I'd taken a deep breath before I floated weightless in frigid vacuum.

Pop! A thunder-like Bang! followed an instant later, caused the implosion of my in-teleport and the explosion of my out-teleport. I appeared over the forecastle.

I'd never teleported so high into the air. Like I'd proved with the prince, being able to throw him three stories up with Levitate because the spell understood he'd be safe, my Teleport succeeded because the spell understood I'd be safe despite the height.

I fell onto Brother Gruff's back.

His wings came up, even as he jerked startled first by the out-teleport and second by weight on his back. His wings buffeted me as I clasped my forelegs around what would be his withers were he a pony. My lower belly settled over his flank. I clasped with my legs, his buttocks firmly against my groin and inner legs.

That felt interesting, especially as he tried to whip his tail, which I'd captured, and buck. As a feline, not an equine, his lower back musculature couldn't propel his legs that way. Even with him twisting, I held him.

His wings couldn't manage my weight, however. Twisting and flailing and flapping, he crested the forecastle. He twisted his bird head, but the instant his deep brown eyes met my aggravated glare, he decided not to bite or peck.

"Smart pony," I spat as we arrowed down toward the bow. We'd hit it, rather than continuing beyond, falling toward the catch lake below the mountain. The impact would break our bones, more of his than mine since I rode him.

Not my intention.

I re-vectored my spent Teleport, spinning it back up quickly, made simpler by how badly I needed to prevent killing myself. My equations balanced and...

In the time in-between, I lifted my legs away from his body as fast as I could considering molasses-time. I hadn't warned him about the vacuum. I pitched our Y-axis over 90°.

Pop! I landed on my left side with a whump! 

I'd so startled everypony with my departure, nopony had moved. Since I'd targeted blindly back from whence I'd first cast, had ponies filled the space, the spell could have failed. Considering the danger I'd put myself in, I might have found myself shoved into a space that would have not been advantageous but safe.

The teak proved hard; I slid with accumulated momentum. Brother Gruff landed, trapping my left hoof. He gasped and hacked; his lungs had emptied into vacuum. I tugged and pulled free, jumping to all fours. I resisted kicking him while he was down as he coughed, ejecting red flecked spittle across the deck.

He scrambled out of reach, still coughing. Sailors and Sister Gruff dodged back, making room. When he eyed the railing—likely considering a desperate leap and dive as his wings twitched—I said, "No."

His single eye focused on me, glaring. The time he took failing to win a game of who would blink first gave me time to spin up Pull. 

He leapt.

I caught his tail, at the tuft. He had enormous power. I could lift five pony weight, that was a static lift. I dragged him down enough that he collided with the railing. He rolled into it, however, so he didn't break anything.

"You are determined to take that shore leave, aren't you?"

"I'm owed!"

"And you'll leave the first opportunity you get?"

He said nothing, simply glared as I dragged him back in front of me. No wonder he'd waited in the brig. I wasn't achieving the Ensign's Pony Relations goal, nor mine.

I said, "You have choices. Act like a proper sailor and give me your word that you won't go— what, AWOL?"

He stood. Doing so, he towered over me. He fluffed his wings. "Or?"

"Fight me. You win, I grant you shore leave. I win, you give me your word." 

He stepped back. "I get court-martialed, either way."

"Nah. You're free to pummel me with no consequence. Mare's honor." I held up my right hoof.

"Who are you?" he hacked, then coughed again, smearing red on his talon.

"Good question," I said, closing the distance between us. "Your future spouse? Considering I rode your rump midair, your husband?"

He stepped back, then back again. "Who are you?"

When Proper Step looked ready to clarify, I shook my head. I asked, "Are you going to accept the deal and fight? Or give up being an idiot."

He blinked at me.

I said, "I'll even spot you the first punch."

He studied me for a moment, noticing my bruises, his gaze coming to rest on my torn ear. 

I wriggled it. "The last pony I rode got in a few good hits." I inhaled deeply, queuing up spells and and adjusting my stance. My center of balance now floated, allowing me to move any way I wanted fluidly. I waved a hoof, announcing to our audience, "Ha! Ha! This rooster's just a big chicken."

His muscles rippled. He didn't prep. He reacted. A brawler, then, used to projecting his weight and terrifying his opponent by being a griffon. I didn't calculate that he used his wings to thrust forward. He led with his right talon, claws out. 

He fought dirty.

Guess my taunt stuck home.

That wasn't a punch, either. I'd only said I'd spot him a punch. In the arena, ponies wore gloves. A bare-hoofed punch could kill a pony. He could have balled his talon to hoof-punch, but hadn't.

Celestia, he was fast.

I dodged quick enough that he missed my muzzle, but gravity took over as he over-extended his reach. His talon sunk down. He raked me with the back of his claws and the tips were plenty sharp. I felt the hide separate on my withers. 

It sent electric jags of pain through my body, causing the muscles to cramp all the way up my neck. Wincing, I clattered out of reach from the freight train to my right. I struck the railing, bruising my flank. That pain informed me I had an anchor I could push against. I flashed on the griffon master when she sliced open my flank back during her ambush of Carne Asada, then took advantage of the adrenaline surge it caused. 

Momentum exposed his left side to me. I chose my least murderous option, because I needed the sailor to capitulate.

I dashed forward, then leapt as if running a steeplechase. I traveled over him, kicking with my back legs, connecting with my rear hooves just hard enough.

He flipped over with a thump and slid away. I skidded on my brass horseshoes before sliding into an airbag spar. He flailed with his wings out, thrashing the deck like a songbird thrown to the ground by a gust of wind. He fetched up against the railing. He shook his left wing, but couldn't close it right. His anatomy resembled that of a pegasus. I'd stunned the nerve.

I said, "Like for like, bro. I said I'd take a punch. Raking me wasn't one."

He glared daggers at me, upset that he couldn't close his wing, perhaps worried I'd done real damage. Not enough that he gave up. His muscles moved through his body as his confusion peaked. His eye narrowed. He took time to evaluate me, improve his stance, and act like a real fighter, and I let him.

I dismissed the idea of taunting him again.

He launched. With a wing out of commission, it slowed him severely.

I took advantage of all the early morning running I did, and dodged out of reach. 

He barreled at me twice more—and maneuvered me toward a mast! I couldn't dodge!

I reared, exposing my belly.

He adjusted his angle and talons to compensate, lowering his body to avoid my pedaling hooves, while slowing his advance because of the crouch.

He'd missed that I'd also crouched. I kicked myself airborne at the last instant, and because of his stance it didn't need to be very high. I landed a hoof on the meaty part of his neck as he completed raking where I'd been with a talon. The hoof-strike transferred my momentum into his body, tripping me. I rolled as I came down, somersaulting head, neck, spine, rump. Not enough momentum or purchase to kip-up to my hooves, but I rolled and stood. 

He slid sideways into the mast. Thump!

I'd seen enough: if he cornered me, I'd be finished. Stunning his wing was fortuitous. I'd learned much I could apply to my next griffon fight. Were he able fall on me with his full weight, talons out, rear claws extended, even if I used Shield he could have maneuvered me into any disadvantageous setup. 

My body had started to cool, the best telltale I was losing blood. Wetness dripped down my leg. As he levered himself up, eye on me, I reared again, dancing back, punching the air with my hooves. He turned, blood dripping from his nostrils at the top of his beak. He bellowed, "I'm taking my shore leave!"

He accepted my bait. Never a prizefighter, I decided. I finished my spell prep and calculated the vectors even as he charged. Time to end this before the statistics of my defying the power, mass, and inertia of a much stronger foe killed me.

I fell forward as I triggered Teleport. In the momentarily slow time, my hooves almost touched down. I bunched the muscles in my withers. That merited me another jag of pain. Tension transferred down my back as the darkness of in-between stole away the air and all heat from my universe.

I teleported ahead of his gallop, and a pony length and a half to his left. I shifted my vectors, pointing my flank perpendicular to his path. 

The Pop! and Bang! sounded simultaneously. My forehooves struck wood and I fell into my crouch. I bucked.

Instinct, or blind luck, curved him away as I executed. I raked the top of his flank. A hit on a pony, but not so much on a feline body. Despite his age, he was more supple, more flexible. My ancestors were built for extended running. His were built to twist, sprint, and pounce. He galloped much lower than a pony would.

Still, the strike spun him completely around. He slid into the railing flank first. I spun also, instinct dominating good fight sense. Nopony wanted a flank exposed to a predator, but my best strength short of a rearing downward stomp was a buck.

He sprung before I had a chance to correct my mistake. In that moment, I could have re-vectored the spent Teleport any direction to dodge, risking it failing for obstacles in my guess work. I could have quick draw prepped Shield with lots of approximations, which had a better chance of succeeding thanks to the danger I was in, but if it failed...

Or I could fight like an earth pony, something I trained for.

He again led with his right. This time he balled his talon into what amounted to a good sized rock. Good for me. Like a thrown javelin, he launched himself all fours airborne. He twist midair as I compensated, yawing and twisting also as I dodged.

I took his glancing blow on my left cheek, which I already rotated away. I came up with a right uppercut.

I caught his jaw where his beak met his face, feeling the thump vibrate through my hoof. His head went back. I'd used the joint above my bent hoof because using the side or flat of a hoof could be lethal—it was why prizefighters wore gloves on all hooves. I let my momentum spin me as I followed through, protecting my eyes from a slash with his wing feathers, and my side from a kick from his rear paws, claws extended.

I need not have worried.

Tension left his body immediately. His bulging muscles went flaccid as he turned for a heartbeat into a rag doll. He struck the decking like a spun throw rug—legs and wings out— and whumped onto his belly. His fur and neck dragged. He keeled over, rolling onto his left side, even as I galloped after him. 

He jerked, catching himself, keeping from breaking his neck. Rear claws extended at the last moment, stopping his spin.

No need to judge if he was aware enough to rake me on my approach with his rear legs like that twice-cursed lieutenant's cat, something I'd never let happen to me again, especially with lion paws. I teleported instead, popping in a couple hoof lengths above, having maneuvered my body into a sitting position. I punched the air out of his lungs as I pinned him. I queued Push as I splayed my rear back leg under his still limp haunch, brushing his belly as I reached my frog back until I touched something warm and soft.

"I think I won-on!" I sang, firming up my best fight arena wrestling pin, augmented with the dirty fighting the mob worked its best to instill. His wing jerked under me.

Yeah, I KO'd him momentarily. It took him a second to regain enough control to struggle, long enough to properly cast Push, to capture his talons, then his beak as he moved shakily to intimidate or throw me.

When he realized magic restrained him, he flexed his rear legs. Rather than calculating further targets to cast upon, I instead thrust backward against what I felt with the frog of my hoof. His stallion parts, or rather his—

Ponies cheered and shouted. The crew had figured out my previous profession. They had started counting him out. They sounded gleeful. "Five... Six..."

"You wanna remain a rooster?" I asked.

"Eight..."

"Who are you?"

"Nine..."

I chuckled. 

"Ten!" they cried, stomping loudly with their hooves. A certain sister griffon crowed loudly.

I wasn't a one trick pony! I'd beaten my second griffon. I said, "Give it up, already." I pressed harder with my back hoof, though frankly, reaching was causing a cramp in my ankle flexor. I started shaking.

"You win."

I jumped away, clattering around, eyes on the middle-aged wreck. Blood from his nose dripped across his cheek and down his neck. He sat up, not standing, flexing his still stunned wing worriedly. He looked green, then gulped, proving it was nausea. I'd KO'd him, if for only an instant, though judging how he managed to cross his legs, his rooster lion parts might concern him more.

He asked again, "W-who in T-t-tartarus are you?"

I grinned, then a jag of pain reminded me I was hurt. I looked left to my withers and saw 3 two-hoof length long gouges. The separated fur bled less than it looked like it ought, but red drenched me to the fetlock. A glance showed where I'd somersaulted. The length of red smear astonished me.

I gulped, my hide cooling more. Nonetheless, I answered, "I am, or rather was, a prizefighter. I won the championship three years ago. You might know the name, Princess Grim?"

He blinked at me. Obviously not a fights fan, but I heard gasps amongst the gathered sailors, and one griffon hen.

I added, feeling strangely proud, "I am Starlight Glimmer, the Earl of Grin Having, Captain of the Third Army of Equestria—in training—the Princess of Marks, and the Crown Princess of Equestria."

Ponies around me, by misbegotten pony instinct, went down on one knee, while a few petty officers saluted. Not what happened a half hour ago, but Oh Well! Brother Gruff threw off his shock, scrambling back and shakily standing on legs that didn't seem up to the challenge of holding him. He saluted with an open talon.

"Don't do the bowing, saluting thing, ponies. Please."

Everypony stood. Brother Gruff was too stunned to comply, and I decided in my largess not to kick him.

I asked, "We had a deal. Do I have your word?"

He said, "Y-yes M-Ma'am," not completely in control of his tongue, or his flagging salute, so he nodded.

"Good," I said, the fight finally catching up to me. I sat.

A sailor trotted up with white linen. I belatedly realized I had magic and I took it from him and applied pressure.

Proper Step and the ensign trotted up. I said to her, "I promised him no repercussions."

"No repercussions. Aye, ma'am," she said, nodding. "But are you okay?"

"I took worse as a prizefighter. Usually, I have a doctor to fix me up, but now I can heal myself." I grinned. "Give me five minutes. Proper Step wake me if I fall asleep."

I heard activity around me, orders being called out. I felt happy—I enjoyed fighting; getting injured somewhat less so, but that was a cost of my happiness, I supposed. Centering myself, I balanced the Barthemule mathematics associated with Dr. Flowing Water's spell that I'd copied, what, four months ago? I used the spell to search for the ebb and flow on internal energies. My own pain provided guidance. The voices and clatter faded as I slipped into an phantasmagorical landscape. This time I saw shadowed, snow tipped fjords, three of them, rising above strange pinkish sand on a shore line of crimson waters. The waves moved sluggishly, like honey. I sensed how it ought be flowing, more tidal, less restricted. I recognized the wrong in the landscape and the red waters flowing from the heights. Long ago, when Zecora had given me nettle ewe tea to ramp up my magic to save a pony's life, I'd had taken the drug-enhanced IQ to realize a pony's cells contained all the information necessary to heal themselves. The spell let me read my internal operations manual and apply the knowledge, speeding healing by two magnitudes. I pushed and cajoled my environment. The world quivered, responding to my command as storm clouds gathered above. Lightning, followed by thunder along the cliffs, announced the resulting pain. Rain came, hot and humid. The steep walls of the fjords melted. I'd incited fever. My body focused it healing to the gashes—

I gasped, shaken by what wasn't an internal earthquake.

"Ms. Glimmer," Proper Step said as my eyes snapped open, looking into his concerned eyes.

I brushed aside the blood-stained linen to see the scabby surface had indeed sealed itself. It looked nasty, red, and raw. It radiated heat. Healing was well underway. It hurt less, though it twinged angrily as I stood.

I said, "I'll be fine."

"Good trick," the ensign said, having bent down to see the difference. She nodded and stood. "I'd like to outline their mission, but suspect the word of a prizefighting princess might set the tone and expectations better."

I nodded. Self-healing sapped my energy, so I wobbled as I stood and squared my shoulders. I followed Berrytwist, her uniform immaculate, as she led me to a raised area. She introduced me as "Ms. Glimmer."

I said, "Yesterday, Princess Celestia left for southwest of the Everfree Forest. As a result, she asked the Eagle's Stoop be repositioned to Canterlot. This morning she reported a village obliterated." 

I let that sink in, then pointed toward the forest south of us below the ship. "The Golden Stag avow themselves the enemy of Equestria, and have moved against us. Proper Step will detail them later. When Celestia made her report this morning, she said, 'Take appropriate measures.' The last time I failed to act, ponies died."

I reared, pedaling my legs, shouting, "I will not fail to act this time! The Eagle's Stoop and her crew, you ponies and griffons, are the only tool allowed me. I recognize the enormity of the task I ask with a ship of this antiquity, but you must protect Ponyville for me, for everypony. The farmland surrounding the town feeds Canterlot, the capital of Equestria. Do you see my worry? The Golden Stag may choose to attack if the path looks open. Us looking strong may be enough, but it mayn't be. This is what you trained for, everypony. Make Princess Celestia and Equestria proud!"

As I'd spoken, I'd read plenty of worried faces. Most were cadets, but not a few of the seasoned airponies looked taken aback. If Brother Gruff's derision for the Stoop and the Ensign's words were any measure, I was asking a lot from a crew insufficiently trained and poorly provisioned, at least until Streak and others returned throughout the day with their wagon loads. They had to patrol today, no matter what. 

If I was right.

I refused to take the chance that I was catastrophizing. Not with my 24 dead screaming in my ears.

The ensign took over, pointing out that the best time for the putative enemy to attack would be during the last hour of the day. When the shadows of the forest grew the darkest and the long shadow approached the margins of the town and farms, while the sun dazzled eyes. Counting on ponies being blinded by the sunset, the Golden Stag could take initiative then as at no other time. She went on, urging her crew to get as many trebuchets operational as they could, even if for one shot. It'd save everypony's life.

Her words faded into a buzz in my head. I'd taken the interlude to return to my inner landscape and complete the healing process.

When Proper Step woke me, he clasped a tall wooden cup of water between his black hooves. He held it as I greedily gulped it down. Last night, I'd slept exceptionally well, apparently. I threw off my fatigue swiftly, and the healing fever passed quickly, leaving thin ragged lines of pink that my lavender fur covered. In a few days, I suspected nopony would notice my newest souvenirs.

Healing did use lots of energy. Worse, I hadn't eaten breakfast. My stomach growled so loudly that everypony heard, a few daring to smirk. My face reddened, but Proper Step understood when I trotted him off the ship, regaling him about where I wished to eat.
> 37 — Feeling Filly I: Bakery Surpises
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I remembered the bakery I'd led Blueblood into that first night fondly.  Well, maybe not so fondly as what followed in the subsequent hours. I trotted into the Pâtisserie la Reine, tail high. 

Oblivious while healing myself the second time, somepony had helpfully washed the blood off and brushed my fur and mane.  I looked more presentable now than I had with the sweat-matted fur and bed-head I'd treated Celestia's captains to this morning.

Maybe that was why they hadn't taken me seriously?

Nah. I trusted they had some professionalism. 

The chief baker recognized me instantly, though I didn't recognize her. The powder blue pegasus flew around behind the counter. She hadn't served us, or even been here the other night. Judging by how packed it was, word of my visit had traveled throughout Canterlot.

A tan unicorn bakery assistant floated a white porcelain plate with an extra special sliced loaf glistening with honey toward me.

A royal guardpony had joined us as we reached Palisades Park. The yellow mare shot out a pink hoof to stop the potential threat, such that it was. My nostrils reflexively pulsed, recognizing the offering.

Butter pumpkin bread!? My foalhood favorite. I didn't recall mentioning my preference, but maybe I had!

Yes, I'll admit it: I squealed. My little brass horseshoes clattered as I danced a little filly dance.

Everypony certainly noticed after I'd stuffed two luscious, caramelized cinnamony slices into my mouth. I savored the honey-butter that made it so moist I almost didn't need a drink to wash it down. I didn't prove my assessment by speaking and sputtering crumbs. With all eyes on my chubby cheeks, and their owners realizing now that I'd noticed, the chatter in the restaurant bakery resumed, everypony looking toward the glass display cases, then crowding them.  

I hoped the baker baked extra.

My initial hunger satiated, me licking my lips without thoughts of propriety, Proper Step levitated over a glass of seltzer. The fizz-burn felt good going down.

I said, "Homeroom has started by now. Wonder if Cadance told everypony what happened?"

"I'd wager she's as tardy as you."

"I really said 'kiss and make up,' did I?"

"Yes. Yes, you did, Ms. Glimmer."

I pursed my lips, then licked them, smiling, remembering the flavor of the browned honey-glazed loaf that tantalizingly floated just out of reach. "You know, I shouldn't be such a food horse."

My advisor tilted his head.

"Pig. Whatevs. I'm bringing treats for everypony! Probably eaten breakfast, but there's always room for pastries, am I right?"

He grinned. "Undoubtedly."

I snagged another pumpkin bread, which now sported a scrawled Royal Pumpkin on the card in the case. I figured I'd engulf the one I had all by myself. I selected croissants, tricorn pocket pastries filled with apricot, raspberry, and milk jam, and a glazed fruit custard tart piled high with strawberries. I happily consumed each cookie sample. I got chocolate, brown butter, and toffee that way, along with the Prench bread (slathered with butter) offered me. It took the edge off the enormous hunger healing caused. 

It did one other thing: It weighed down on my stomach.

As the baker personally boxed my selections with twine, and Proper Step paid, I looked around. My body recalled Singe, puffed-up with attitude, in the bathroom this morning. My orange juice fiasco had vanquished all thought of typical morning pony rituals. Worse, twenty minutes ago, Proper Step had given me a tall drink of water.

This posed, let's say, multiple issues needing immediate attention. My guard pointed a wing. A sign read, "Loo." I waved off the guard in my urgency. I didn't understand the tendency for fillies to herd to the "powder room." I passed pony kegs of sugar and flour stacked to the ceiling around a bend illuminated by reflected sunlight. The door to my left was the room I needed, but—

A door opened to the alleyway. Backlit, I saw a pony silhouette. I squinted. A breeze tussled a periwinkle mane. Pink fur. She said, "The prince was right to expect you. Hurry."

In the alley? I thought. He was somewhat eccentric; he wouldn't want to be recognized. My knees knocked together, now, my bladder having informed my hindbrain that my destination lay within sight.

"Um," I said, beginning to sweat. "Um."

"He's waiting outside."

I peered into the glare, then at the porcelain trough in the shadows to my left— "I need to go."

She nodded rapidly. "There's facilities where we're going—"

I ground my teeth, my front knees wanting to join the dance my rear legs had begun. "Not going to make it!" I shouted. "Tell his Royal Highness he can flapping wait!" I slammed the door. 

Yeah. Barely made it. I lit my horn; I hadn't seen the switch. I saw the requisite pail and dipper, a sink with a square block of milled soap, and plenty of hung towels. I sighed for multiple reasons. The baker kept proper hygiene; no smells.

Hoof steps approach the door. Ears, attuned to threats, heard the tinkle and pop of magic sparkles. Relieved I had a spell spinning, instinct transformed Illuminate to Shield, leaving me in darkness. 

A heartbeat later, retreating hooves clattered. Heavier hooves banged down—a pegasus landed with the shish of wings furling.

"Ms. Glimmer?" my guard asked. "You okay?"

"Be right out!" I sang.

I swatted the light switch, a wired lever that swished a flask of magic pebbles. A minute later, refreshed, relieved, hooves scrubbed and a missed few flecks of blood flicked from my shoulder, I re-entered the hall.

The guard met my gaze. I blinked at the bright sunlight flooding in from the left. No shadow in the doorway. No Singe.

The pegasus fluttered into the doorway a stepped toward. I followed and looked both ways down the alley, squinting again in the light. I glimpsed a brown-furred, red-maned nopony turn the corner at the end of the alley. No sign of the Prince's bodyguard.

I huffed.

Annoyed, I stomped back into the bakery. Even the fond smells of yeast and butter didn't vanquish the feeling. My mood had been broken. I thought of the times I'd spent enjoying the white unicorn with the limp blond mane—how I'd opened my heart, and more, to him. Anticipation of a replay of the best parts had filled my subconscious. Disappointment flooded into the sudden void.

"Horse apples!" I muttered.

"What, ma'am?"

I shook my head. I'd have choice words for him about his secretiveness!

Ponies saw me re-enter the restaurant, saw my face. The crowd parted as I headed out the door to the Strand.

Yeah, I'd have choice words for him... Assuming I didn't melt in his presence—as my body wanted to. The warmth that flooded through me at the thought of him, proved it. 

I hated this change. Stupid pony friendship reflexes! I was so much better without them!

In the doorway stood a young stallion my age. He had yellow fur that bristled with masculinity at the sleeves, waistband, and neck of his army uniform shirt. A lemon meringue mane framed his smiling face. I imagined a spark from his white teeth dazzled me to explain why I halted so suddenly that I slid hoof lengths.

Sadly, I knew why I stopped. I remembered how he'd kissed me deeply, and amazingly, just before supporting me against cursed-Celestia, laying down his life to protect me. It didn't hurt that my former mob teammate had become handsome, having grown into his hooves. Unconditional support is sexy. He was sexy.

An older part of me groaned, ready to throw in the towel. I was hopelessly broken.
> 38 — Feeling Filly II: Greedy Little Filly
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I walked up to the stallion, smile growing. Citron blocked the entrance—and a new customer in a top hat, who looked confused..

I caught myself before I kissed him. I might not understand my impulses, but I could control them! My response seemed tied to not seeing the prince, so it would be wrong to set Citron's expectations.

I asked, "You were looking for me?" Unaccountably, I sniffed the air. Cinnamon? Wait, what!?

A part of me was making comparisons. I was in a flapping bakery. Of course, cinnamon. Anise, also, like someone had spilled the spice at the rear of the bakery. Singe's perfume? I shook my head. Lots of yeast...

I raised a hoof and pushed the stallion out of the doorway and into the sunlight. Top hat tipped his hat, trotting in.

Citron replied, "Yeah. Shining Armor was in a state. The pink princess—"

"Figures," I said, an entourage with the box of pastries forming up behind me. I trotted for the castle.

"The lieutenant cut our class short, so I figured I'd look for you. Ponies said you— Wait, are you sniffing me?"

I jerked my head back. "Um."

"Is that a mare thing? I've had other mares do that, but was too embarrassed to ask. Do I stink?"

I snorted, bumping his shoulder. "You don't stink." I specifically put my nose to his neck and inhaled. "No. You smell like a pony, and I presume like your breakfast. Alfalfa?" Nice, but not cinnamon. "We smell like what we eat, and slightly of sweat." I chuckled. "Not a bad scent."

"You don't smell like fish."

I aimed a kick, which he dodged, my earlier enchantment dissipating. The castle looming blocks down the Strand reminded me that the Eagle's Stoop floated beyond, being provisioned and repaired. We trotted past pedestrians fresh from breakfast. Some noticed the guard, fewer recognized their new princess. 

I turned the corner toward Alicorn Way, then down a street lined with warehouses and factory stores. It bustled, but the workers were far too occupied to notice me. I heard steam engines, the clank of springs, boxes hitting a wagon bed, and ponies talking. Relative anonymity for me.

I blurted, "Celestia wrote that a village was obliterated." 

To his shocked face, I explained about the Golden Stag, the Stoop, and my plans. He squared his shoulders and hips, and raised his head, shedding his casual attitude. Having worked a year with the teenager, I recognized him becoming all business. Then he leaned in to me.

I'd become agitated as I spoke; his gallant contact made it fade. The colt I'd known had grown up. He pressed against my wound, but it was considerably healed and I had plenty of practice ignoring discomfort. Pain was part and parcel of any profession I chose.

I swiveled my ears back, hearing approaching horseshoes on cobblestones. I kept talking as I was well guarded.

A velvety nose touched my left flank to the rear of my cutie mark.

I squeaked. Its owner plowed forward with his muzzle, rapidly cutting me away from Citron. I gasped, outraged, then saw a limp blond mane and blue eyes. 

The Prince's station explained why nopony had stopped him.

"Hey!" yelled Citron, his flank touched also, clattering sideways from the heftier stallion.

My jaw dropped at his cheekiness. The pearlescent unicorn grinned at me, then looked sternly at my bodyguard. "I say, find your own lane, my dear sir!"

Citron huffed, but fell behind while the prince snugged to my side as Citron had. Citron clattered behind us. I worried for an instant the colt might pull the same maneuver and I clenched my rear in anticipation, but—disappointingly—he trotted to my right side and snugged in there.

Oh, my! What a new sensation! 

Sandwiched between two stallions, both bigger and taller than me, I was struck... Speechless. I felt their warmth and their muscles moving. They were careful to adjust their lean, otherwise they might have picked me up and carried me. 

The feeling... 

How to describe it...?

I shivered, allowing myself to feel delighted. Part of me suspected stallion aggression, but didn't care.

Citron and Blueblood looked at me, their horns clacking together when the did so; the prince's was considerably longer, which compensated for Citron's average nubbin. They said over each other, "Starlight?" (the prince) "You okay?" (Citron).

My heart opened up widely, as wide as my grin. I had two stallions at the moment and loved them both! I indulged in a delighted greediness that they were all mine. 

It wasn't the first time I'd grown a herd around me. In Baltimare, Citron, with Pig Pen and Crystal Skies, had vied to protect me when the pony of mystery we escorted turned out to be somepony sent by Carne Asada to test my team, and the earth pony turned out to be sketchy. A mare knows when she's gathered. It amused me then because I could whip everypony's flank, including our "teacher's." Later, I added  on Broomhill Dare and her husband Safe, who incidentally had been that sketchy teacher—but Carne Asada's rivals had that same day laid a trap for us, which made the original three's herding instinct even stronger. 

After the explosion in Hooflyn, after I returned crusted in dried blood from triaging the EBI agents hurt that night, after I announced Doña Carne Asada was dead, I inadvertently formed another herd of dozens of gang members and the lieutenants caught up in war. They declared me the new Doña—Carne Asada had called me her daughter, after all. They became the fiercely loyal core that allowed me to take over the syndicate with no bloodshed (that I knew of) and to defuse the inter-gang tensions that would have fomented wars of retribution for years beyond.

Says something about me that I used the new herd and accomplished what I wanted, then ghosted the syndicate two weeks later.

I bet a few gangsters—any who read the papers—recognized their former Doña had been coronated Crown Princess of Equestria. 

I shook my head to dispel that worrisome thought of what they might do as a result, before it ruined my mood. I forced the grin on my face not to fade as the two stallions glared at one another.

I considered the implications of greedy. What would I do with two stallions at one time? 

Shocked at the thought that welled up, I vanquished it. I certainly didn't want a herd, and I wondered if I could share that way. Moreover, who said I had to choose? I wasn't about to choose, now, or for the foreseeable future. With my goals, with my dangerous mission, marriage was far off—should I be so lucky to live that long. As a princess—well, there had to be an upside, right?—nopony could make me choose either stallion, or any stallion, as a consort.

I didn't like conflict. The idea that I might be fought over did not thrill me. Instinct was another thing to oppress ponies and prevent them from being equal—like cutie marks, which I'd vowed to eliminate...

Was my cutie mark making me do this?

I shivered again. My body said, No. The delight I felt was plainly pony instinct. Which is why I persisted in my greediness until I realized I felt—as the prince's muscles and bones moved against my left side—that he limped.

I halted.

The two stallions dragged against my barrel and neck. The static in the autumn air caused my fur to crackle, friction pulling the ponies together to bump head and neck before me. The breeze blew from the castle. Citron's agitated state strengthened his alfalfa sweat scent, but I gasped at the prince's cinnamon scent, absent last night, even in bed, but deliciously noticeable now.

Bed made me think Maiden's Cure, then that I hadn't picked up a certain potion that every mare trusted from the nurse's office. "Um—"

The prince's nostrils flared. 

I interposed my body between the two, pushing Citron back with my flank. "Don't go all Brawler on me."

He blinked, glassy eyed. 

"Blue-eyed Brawler?" I prompted.

He blinked, then nodded. "Play on words. Right."

A critical eye showed disheveled fur, hair very much not in place, vague bruises I might have given him—or Cadance had. 

"Didn't think Cadance had it in her, but yay her." I laughed as I clattered around.

I looked to Citron, pointing at the prince's injuries, but his expression went from—what? Annoyed? Jealous?—to mildly amused, the tip of his tongue peeking out as his lips curved slightly up. I caught the prince rolling his eyes, but grinning.

I suspected we each had a different joke in our heads, but suddenly I felt good. I liked being liked by lots of ponies. Popularity? A new affectation. Probably that friendship thing rearing its ugly head again! 

But.

I liked it.

The prince said, "One of things I like about you, Starlight, is simply being around you makes me feel good. It's a given."

Citron snorted, then muttered, "Hard to compete with that, but I'd say life around you is always delightfully interesting."

The greedy little filly inside squealed, would have danced, but I kept her under control, simply smiling, feeling my open heart radiate for the both of them. They watched me, smiling as if basking in my sun.

Blueblood explained, "Had a little fight."

"Cadance didn't get hurt, I presume?"

He looked away, noncommittally.

"Well, she'll surely volunteer in class. You ought invite her to your secret fight gym." 

Turning to Citron, I added, "A former dungeon under his palace suite." 

To the prince: "As much as I want you to myself, I'm not adverse to sharing." I looked between the two, then grinned wider. "'Sharing.' A new word for me, but I'll do my best."

To their benefit, they both gave a whinny and stepped back slightly from one another. Not sure what my comment made them think, but I smiled more. I trotted toward the castle, tail contentedly swishing. Both sped to take point.

The prince did limp, slightly. Demure Cadance must have gotten in a good kick. I wasn't going to ask.

Blueblood stated off-hoof, "Your shoulder. That doesn't look good."

Citron tilted his head, then came around me to look at the exact spot. "I thought you winced. What happened?"

"I KO'd a griffon," I replied, blandly. 

"Griffon?" the two echoed.

I blew air through my lips, then said, "Good fun," before grinning.

The prince said rhetorically, "She does have a death wish."

Citron quipped, "It's her hobby."

"The ensign's XO was more disgusted with his assignment than—"

"XO? What now?" Citron asked.

I waited for Blueblood to fill in the military deets, but then I remembered he'd been a child soldier, so couldn't have been in any modern military. Fought for a frontier pony country, doubtless. I said, "Executive officer. Second in command. Wants to be assigned to jobs he thinks he's better suited for, but certainly determined to take shore leave, to go on a cidering binge. I convinced him otherwise."

"Gave you that?" the prince asked, examining the wound as we walked.

"I teleported him back when he tried to leave, but then he didn't take the clue to straighten up and fly right. Instead, he accepted my challenge when I said he needed to beat me if he wanted his shore leave."

Citron whistled. "Didn't know you'd KO'd Punch Drunk and Shadow Strike, not to mention obliterating Cyclone Beaujangles, twice?"

"You'd have to have been in the syndicate to know about Cyclone, though I do think his breaking all four legs did make the papers!" I chuckled.

"Right." Citron turned to the prince (now that he was between him and me) and said, "You're right about the death wish, Your Royal Highness."

I growled, but waved the prince closer. "You're out of the loop, but shouldn't be. That frigate we saw floating outside the castle walls this morning..."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Stoop's a museum piece, but I'm working with the ensign captaining it to make it operational. She says all the right things. She won't do anything unwarranted. She understands how vulnerable Canterlot is with the Golden Stag having already attacked. I want a visible, close up and personal, deterrence on patrol to keep the deer from even thinking of burning down Ponyville or torching the surrounding farms. I think it's important to disabuse them of taking an easy opening shot in a war they're itching for."

"Deterrence?" the prince asked.

"Javelin ballista loads. Stones, glue balls, maybe hopefully smoke bombs for the trebuchets? Failing that, I'll accept apple pies. Doesn't sound like much, but getting hit by falling objects always hurts. I'm warning the both of you. Either of you blab to Celestia's captains, I'll kill you."

"No, ma'am," they said simultaneously. I eyed the prince, expecting he'd have a superior take on fighting. He immediately shook his head.

Having bemoaned a lack of real weapons, I got an idea. "Citron. How far can you cast Force?

A hoof to his chin, he said "Well? Since I've been pardoned... I set the abandoned warehouse in the old railway yard on fire from over a city block away. It was through a fence without melting the chain links. I joined the fire brigade so I could get a closer look at the flames. Pretty spectacular. Mesmerizing."

I hugged him. "My favorite pyro-pony."

"Uh, okay," he said cautiously.

"You could give the Eagle's Stoop real firepower." I pointed at Citron looking at the prince. "I've seen him set cement on fire."

The prince stepped back.

Citron looked pale. "Not sure that floats my boat, Starlight."

I pouted at him, giving him puppy eyes. "Please?"

"Not a fan of heights." He scrunched his nose and shook his head.

"I can make it worth your while," I said, immediately closing the distance and kissing him. Our lips bounced off, but it took him less than a couple seconds to trot close enough. I did make it worth his while, for us both, enough that I reaffirmed in my mind he could make me ready. Before the cobble road could trip us up and we had to dodge further traffic, and the sense of the prince's stare (not to mention the work ponies who noticed) grew beyond distracting, I pulled away. 

"You're confusing me," Citron whispered.

I wiped my lips with a fetlock."I'm confusing me! I apologize. To you. To you both. This is important to me. I'm desperate to protect ponies!"

"I'll do it. I'll be your fire-breathing dragon, but you owe me some time alone, okay?" He cleaned it up by adding, "To talk it all out."

"Absolutely." I raised my right hoof. "Princess' honor."

"The P-word. Now I am worried," Citron said.

"Me, too," the prince chimed in. "I can't stay long, and I did need to speak to you." He eyed Citron, pointing his nose ahead and way from us. "Privately."

Citron, satisfied with his deal, sped up to clear our way.

"Right," I said. "You sent Singe to fetch me. What's up?"

"Singe?" 

Did he sound surprised? 

"Starlight, I want you to promise me never to leave the castle grounds without a full escort of guards."

I started to huff, but his eyes looked worried. I asked, "The fight you hinted at wasn't Cadance?"

"I can't explain, now. I might ignore you if you ask later. Even if the pony asking is one of my bodyguards and I'm not there, Don't. Go. Off. Alone."

I circled around him, growing concerned.

"Please promise."

Fatigue? His limp got worse. He let me approach and blow his fur aside to reveal— not bruises. Something reminded me of Pastel, from earlier, in the frigate. He flinched away.

"Starlight. I'm protecting you. Even if I act strangely, and don't tell you the same thing later—"

"I knew it. You're bipolar!"

"Not it," he said, sternly. 

His ears swiveled, listening away from me, oddly, as he added, "Please, Starlight. Even if I won't open up to you, please believe me. In a very significant way, you transformed me. You opened my eyes. You made me 'see my evil ways.' You made me a better pony. I believe this. And. I'm not sure if I could live without you."

I stopped, tail stiff.

Proper Step carrying my pastry box on his back, and the pink-maned yellow guard, both stopped, maintaining their distance.

Citron stopped, getting in the way of traffic, stopping an eight and coach bus, a tanker wagon, and a dozen pony pedestrians. While the sound of brakes faded, the sounds of industry continued. Did I imagine the street became hushed?

My voice squeaked when I said the unspoken part out loud. "Is he proposing to me?"

The prince looked rapidly right and left, at Citron and Proper Step. Worried and earnest, his ears flicking, he said, "I— I— I would want to, but there are reasons why the prince can't. This pony—" he pointed at himself, patting his chest lightly, then pounding, repetitively. "This pony—This pony learned what love is from you—and will be forever grateful."

With that, his strong haunches flexed and thrust him away faster than I could react to his leap. He looked worriedly to the sky as he galloped by Citron, then turned, skidding, and shot down an alleyway with his hooves fading into the din and clatter.

My mouth hung open.

I failed to send my pegasus guard following. I was stunned. Totally. Stunned.

His admonishment... I was in danger?

He loves me? 

I scoffed. I was unworthy of any pony's love. I was an evil manipulative combative monster! who used ponies to get her way. Stupid friendship horse apples! They dazzled ponies, hiding the truth.

I took his warning, however. We galloped the rest of the way to the castle.

Way to ruin the mood...
> 39 — Feeling Filly III: The Importance of Good Note Taking
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'll have you know there's a baby dragon here," Spike said from his perch on Cadance's rump.  He had quite a ride because there was quite a bit of swish and sway in that posterior.  My average size and athleticism couldn't compete with her beauty, despite her being unfashionably skinny.

"Really?" I asked, interrupted during our conversation.  I frowned at the princess. What gives?

"Twilight hatched him ten years ago."

My mind replaced hatched with gave birth to.  "Wait, what?"

"Hatched his egg," she emphasized with a giggle. "Part of Twilight's magic practicum for entering Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns."

Ah. That. I'd spent 10 minutes making foals of the proctors when they thought I'd teleported but couldn't teleport back. I was actually using an incredibly finicky hard to maintain spell that made them ignore me. I knocked over quills, blew in a teacher's ears, and changed my presumptive fail (because I was obviously another of Celestia's incapable favorites) to an A+. Fun. I grinned, remembering it fondly.

Spike made an exploding sound that required copious spit, waving his "action figures," which looked suspiciously like an earth pony and a pegasus doll, both stallions. The brown feather harassed the green hoof dressed in farmer overalls. I assumed he was a villain in the comic book story in the saurian's head.  He added, breathlessly. "Her magic storm destroyed half of Canterlot, too."

This morning, Twilight had managed to catch a spell I'd lost when I'd been startled, reading my equations and numeric solutions from my horn and keeping the spell alive, complete with my vectors transformed to her POV. The ingénue hadn't even acted as if that was the least bit remarkable! 

I couldn't do that, had never thought to try. 

I had to admit Twilight Sparkle was the better mage. I totally believed the little dragon, turning to Cadance for more detail. 

Cadance shook her head. "Not quite, Mignon. She did open a chasm all the way to Tartarus from the Luna Tower, down Alicorn Way.  Fortunately, nopony was seriously hurt because it was so straight.  Plenty of bruises when the cobblestones heaved up and threw ponies over, I've been told."

"It was unicorn magic," I grumbled.  Couldn't hurt or kill, unless the thaumaturge's life was in danger, best I could attest.

"You sound disappointed," Spike observed, flying his pegasus like a hawk in a stoop at his earth pony.

"How old are you, really?" I asked.

"Nine years, ten months," he answered smugly.

"How many days?"

"Seven."

"Not a baby."

"Dragons live centuries," he countered, aiming a buck at the pegasus doll.  "Baby dragon."

"I ran an Earldom at that age." When Cadance lifted an eyebrow, I added, "Supervised.  Not wanting to, not realizing Celestia expected I'd rebel and set my inferiors straight—"

"Mais, you were as the Prench say, naïve?  Did as told?" Cadance smirked. "Like moi?" A passive–aggressive reference to her misconception of needing to marry a prince?

"Una estupida, as the Equidorians say," I shot back.

"Acted like a baby—?" Spike started.

We two princesses shouted in unison. "Shut up!"

He made a zipping motion, but continued, "No talking about mushy stuff like getting married and kissy stuff, because, you know—"

"A baby flapping dragon," I hissed under my breath.

"I don't have wings," he said smugly, as if that proved something—not catching the bad word.

Hue and Cry, leading the way, snorted.  I grinned and Cadance grinned, too. The constable wasn't all "just the facts, ma'am." That she had started our little expedition to the townhouse by informing me without emotion that Pastellist (her full name) had been found assaulted and unconscious at the bottom of the Canterlot Cascade had made me wonder if she were coldblooded. 

I pointed at myself.  "I'm a princess—"

Without looking up from a staring contest between his two dolls, he told them, "Ms. Glimmer used the 'P-word' and pulled rank."

I stopped, my jaw dropping.  Our guard piled up behind us.

"What?" he asked.  "I'm Twilight's number one assistant.  She doesn't pay attention to anything but her books. She'd starve, if I didn't remind her to eat. She'd forget anything that wasn't magic if I didn't remember the important stuff, like new scary princesses with foalish rules that get you kicked if you mess up."

Cadance's mouth now hung slack jawed as I trotted up to her rear. "Mignon? Is that what you called him?" I pinched the cherubic dragon's cheek with the frog on my right hoof, half shaking him. "You're an adult from now on, Mignon. Got that? Prepare to report all the mushy details to Twilight."

"Hay!" he said.

"Is that a good idea?" Cadance asked, matching my trot.

Reconsidering, Spike said, "I can be adult," nodding.  He put away his toys and held his claws ready to cover his ears.

I remembered when Proper Step started pulling this schtick on me: treating me like a foal with bedtimes and not allowing me around interesting adults versus me accepting responsibility, allowing me to host adult parties, and earn ponies' respect. Which grew tiring, but that's another story! 

It especially gave me less time to play with Sunburst. I was such a foal, in retrospect, falling for the offer like candy.  He and Celestia played me like a cello! 

Didn't mean I was above the tactic, however. 

I explained, "If he's Twilight's reality conduit, I need to deal with him. He appears capable, so we'll see."

"Maybe." Her demeanor stiffened as she added, "I know why you asked me to go with you to the Prince's townhouse. I get it."

"Oh?"

She growled something about the confrontation I'd fomented this morning. "It's my personal life. Butt out."

I chuckled. "Cadance, you realize you don't have to marry him to ride—"

"Starlight!" Cadance said, turning red as little saurian claws streaked to clap over green side frills—which I assumed were ears.

I leaned into her, smirking. "Relax. Loosen up.  Have fun... Keep using my first name."

"Oh... okay." She shook herself out, but Spike had been riding (different meaning) Twilight for years and simply bounced. Her face scrunched and she stomped a hoof. "Mais!  Stop treating me like a foal. I know now what is le prince consort. D'accord? No telling me whom I am attracted to, either, s'il vous plait! It me angers." She slipped into her native Prench, babbling on. 

I listened, tapping a hoof, then interjected, "You realize you have competition for the prince?" I didn't add that this morning the unicorn had essentially proposed to me. 

Her teeth clacked shut.

I added, "I know you like Shining Armor."

Spike perked up. "My uncle?"

"Twilight knows."  To Cadance: "He has feelings, you know."

She reddened and nodded.

"My ride comment applies to him to." I winked, knowing that Spike missed no words. I didn't expect that a dragon's skin could blush, but there you were. "Think of his feelings. A friend of mine once advised me not to play with my food."

A friend.

I had friends. I cared about ponies.

That stopped me.  When Hue and Cry had asked me to the townhouse, but said nothing about Firefall, other than that they hadn't found her—it had sent my thoughts spiraling. I'd gotten to like Firefall. To get Sunset not to tag along and complicate things vis-à-vis the Prince, I'd convinced Twilight and Sunburst to work on Sunset's inability to cast Force. I understood Sunset had failed to save somepony dear to her because she choked on that spell—in Tartarus of all places. It was one of the traumas that led to her becoming addicted. I needed her to get over it. Learning the spell was a first step. Given my choice of tools, I foisted Twilight and Sunburst on her. 

I looked around. "Streak?"

The pegasus trotted up, grinning—

She'd hauled a dozen loads for the Stoop today, and when she'd returned to class sweaty, she'd gone on and on about how Hurricane's armor had tripled her stamina. She was the friend that had said the playing with your food remark.

She was a friend. Which had reminded me...

"Could you fly to the Stoop and find out if everything is still good? ETA on leaving dock? Is that okay, Hue and Cry?"

She shrugged. "I've verified Streak wasn't at the townhouse." Pointedly, she didn't say if the ex-gangster was a suspect.  Streak streaked off instantly.

That left our other classmate: Moon Dancer.

The yellow-furred filly pushed her glasses up. Her short red-striped mane was up in a colt bun as usual, looking like a hair fountain. I glanced at her silently behind us, listening to our banter, watching.  When the sergeant major had arrived and said she needed us at the prince's townhouse, she had stated, "I'm going."

Not a request.

Considering she'd started my affair with the prince, I'd decided to humor her.  I would find out why, eventually.

Hue and Cry stopped on the right (south) side of the street.  Because of the Running of the Leaves, the afternoon sun shone through the bare branches of the old elms and oaks.  The ivy growing on the mansion townhouse rustled in the breeze, causing dappled shadows on white stucco or brown and red brick walls and making some windows glitter.  She asked, "So this is where you last saw Firefall?"

"No, over there," I said, leaping the skeletal shrubs populating the median.  My injured left shoulder twinged. I rolled it as I remembered the dark night and seeing the sky through a break in the trees, noting the prince's townhouse half a block beyond. It had a flagstone foundation lower story; grey and tan plates of rock with mortar a few shades darker than the white stucco walls above.  Deep brown wood crossmembers matched the framing of the multi-light windows, giving it an alpine look. They merged into a semi-Mansard roof attic level that lacked windows.  It had a flat roof, from whence Firefall had departed after her investigations that night. In the dark, I'd imagined the building to be all dark brick, like the buildings in Baltimare, but seeing it the daylight, it looked very prosaic compared to its fancier neighbors. I compared what I saw with my recollection of Firefall fluttering down, framed by dark sky with the moon off to the side, and trees full of rustling leaves—which had made my bodyguard instincts ring with thoughts of ambush. "Here."

As the others clattered up, Spike took out a small scroll and a quill.  He touched the point to his tongue, turning it inky green, before touching it to the parchment.  I asked, "What are you doing?"

"I take notes for Twilight when she's researching or using her horn.  She forgets to write down the details every time." He held the red feather in his claw expectantly. "I'm being adult."

I nodded.  "Allllllrighty."

"So," he waved the quill. "This is where somepony foalnapped Firefall?"

"She landed right here." A root had heaved up the sidewalk slightly.  I snorted. "She thought I ought to stay the night with the prince, that after she'd warned me I was getting emotionally involved."

"Were you?" Spike asked, jotting, even as Hue and Cry opened her mouth.

Emotionally involved? Maybe the best evening in my life...

And the worst...

Spike's inadvertent characterization of what happened to Firefall percolated into my mind.  In my memory, I heard his voice.  

Foalnapped.

I gasped. My hoof went instantly to my chest.  I felt smothered, like I couldn't take my next breath.  My world went emerald green in recollection.  Not the glare and clangor of my PTSD.  No. Simply a vivid memory of unnatural silence, like you would experience being thrown into a vat of cold liquid with a splash, submerged with your head below the water, ears filled, then held down.

Memories of drowning.

I staggered. Heart racing, I shot my other leg up to my throat, not thinking.  I found myself floating in Cadance's blue green magic, but the floating sensation made it worse.  I had floated head down in translucent green viscosity, tubes shoved down my throat and every other opening. I remembered gagging, certain my life was ending.  Details flooded back.  Not your normal nightmare.  

Nightmares faded immediately.  

This I remembered as clearly as I remembered the other horrible deadly situations burnt into my memory.  I remembered just as clearly brutish Cyclone Beaujangles stalking up to me—he'd minutes before laid a hoof punch to the side of my head, an ambush, while I'd been pulling a cart. Knocked out, my kit and cart had dragged me pony lengths down the cobbled street, stunned, recovering my senses. I'd run for my life, staggered really, and collapsed on a lawn where he'd planned to pummel me to death. I remembered him clearly, standing above me, the blue fur, red crest mane, magenta eyes in a Clydesdale pony body, sneering as if I was too filthy to exist, intent upon making me suffer as he murdered me.

That was years ago. 

Now: I clearly remembered the slime that coated me, pressed on me, wet my fur. Vividly. I remembered the tube in my throat. It had felt corrugated. As I gulped, it crinkled like the shell of a shrimp—

"Starlight?" Cadance asked.

I gasped and looked up, seeing the Princess kneeling before me. Unlike the PTSD, I'd simply had a very strong recollection.  I put my legs down and stood, but shuddered.

"It's less like a nightmare and more like it was real," I said.

I looked at the others, and shuddered again. 

"What was?" Spike asked.

"It's scary to think how many times I've almost gotten myself killed." The prince and Citron were right about the death wish. "I had a nightmare when I fell asleep in the prince's bed. It's as scary as all those times I almost died. I remember it like..." I shuddered. "Like it was real."  I sat, put my hooves over my eyes and tried not to hyperventilate, not entirely succeeding.

Covering my eyes felt like cowering, hiding from the world. "Get a grip!" I shouted, standing.

Everypony jumped back and stared.  Spike blinked, then scribbled rapidly. 

"Sorry. What I experienced has to be a nightmare. I'd just—"  

"e-x-p-e-r... 'e?'" 

"i-e," I hissed.

Spike scribbled, then tilted his head.

"Nightmare has a G."

He raised a thumb claw in an imitation of a pegasus' pinions-up wing gesture.

"—Been visiting the prince.  I fell asleep afterward, then had a flapping nightmare. So unfair!" I trotted ahead, passing Hue and Cry. "My subconscious thinks I don't deserve happiness, evidently. Firefall seemed annoyed, but she fluttered off when I told her I could take care of myself." I waved an exasperated hoof toward the castle behind me while heading for the Prince's. I muttered under my breath, "Foalnapped?"

Hue and Cry trotted beside me. "Leaving you alone?"

"I'd thought her more professional. I vaguely remember deciding to give her some extra bodyguard training. Now I'm sorry I wasn't stricter with her. I hope she's okay. I hope her daughter's okay!"

"Her father shipped out as part of the reinforcements for Princess Celestia."

I stopped, covering my eyes with a fetlock. "Bad luck."

"The filly is staying with me and my partner. She's told us everything she knows about her mom and dad. I don't think the mare is AWOL."

I nodded. A constable out front of the townhouse stood when he saw us, but he'd taken care not to be visible through the hedges around the stone fence or through the wrought iron gate. Somepony had paid attention when I'd asked for a low-key investigation. Doubtless every neighbor knew. I hoped they'd not inform the prince or the Inquisition.

I pointed. "Desert Sands opened the door and went in, after which Firefall, who'd been behind me, shot over us all and through the door. Singe, true to her fiery name, became incensed and galloped after her. Mudflats had trotted ahead to—as Firefall had put it—'Make sure yesterday's riding partner had left.'"

Cadance gasped. "Starlight! Sometime indirect language is more appropriate." She blushed, while the dragon she motioned to with her nose obliviously wrote what I'd said.

Hue and Cry jotted a note. "All three bodyguards were there?"

"Yes. Inside. Leaving us two outside, unguarded. I shoved Blueblood inside when I realized how stupid that was."

"None seemed happy?"

"Most of the evening. The dancing, first. Then especially after I'd wheedled the colt into taking me home with him. I had to give the three a stern talking-to about explaining when and when not to disobey their employer for his own safety."

"Didn't like it?"

"They knew I was a better bodyguard than they were."

"In the end, they complied? Resentfully?"

"Not sure how the characterize it. At one point, when they insisted I go home instead of staying over, they tried ordering the prince around. He told them he'd take care of whatever worried them." I shrugged. "Don't know what worried them, after all I'm perfectly safe."

Cadance snorted.

When I gave her the look, she swatted my torn ear and glared at the latest wound on my shoulder, which made it throb.

I started laughing. She joined in.

I admitted, "Safe is a relative term."

"Did Firefall leave with the bodyguards?"

"No. She left through the attic hatchway."

"I see." She closed her notepad and looked at us. "I asked for you, which means your guards, as few as is reasonable. Princess Cadance can ask to accompany you. Your friend, however..." She looked at Moon Dancer who had been attentively and quietly watching from behind.

"How about a duchess?" the yellow-furred filly asked.

A duchess was essentially a petty princess outside the royal bloodline or affiliation, the pony in her domain from whence all power flowed. Were the royalty wiped out, new royalty would be chosen from their ranks, unless there was an appointed crown representative, who'd thenceforth start the next dynasty.

I said, "Moon Dancer's aunt is a duchess."

Moon Dancer said monotonically in her mousy voice, "I succeeded her last night when she died."
> 40 — Feeling Filly IV: Moon Dancing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cadance turned so swiftly, Spike slipped off. He landed solidly on the small lawn as the princess scooped up Twilight's friend in a hug that lifted her off her forehooves. "I'm so so sorry!"

For her part, Moon Dancer looked glassy-eyed, not weepy. She hadn't told her friend Twilight, nor us. I remembered my poor response at my parents' funeral, especially when Princess Celestia, who'd delivered their eulogy and then elevated me to being an earl, hadn't had the common decency to hug me and tell me everything would be okay.

I felt nothing Moon Dancer felt, or how to feel anything at the moment, but wasn't going to traumatize my classmate the way the cursed alicorn had. I hated that I thought I might understand how Celestia felt. I joined in with a half-flanked hug and back pats, and a promise that if she needed an ear she could ask for mine any time. 

"My condolences," Hue and Cry said, bowing her head with her red beret floating beside her in her magic, "Lady Moon Dancer."

I cleared my throat, standing back. "I think it's some sort of protocol for me to say this, and I want it to be me, to be the reigning princess to say it—" Not Celestia. I bowed my head slightly. "I recognize you, Lady Moon Dancer, Duchess of Horseshoe Bay. All of Equestria mourns with you."

Celestia had said that to the new Earl of Grin Having. 

Magnified light-violet eyes regarded me through big clunky black glasses. The unicorn curtseyed. She sniffled, but her voice abandoned her. I told myself I had no choice but to understand. It had to be and could only be about her. 

I turned to the sergeant major and gave her an expectant look.

"It's a possible crime scene, everypony. The dragon stays on the princess' back. Everypony must wear hoofies, and hairnets if you can't tie your mane and tail into a bun. Pegasi must wear wing stockings, so you might ask your guard to stay outside. Don't touch anything. Point if you notice something."

In the vestibule, I recounted putting on slippers, having to explain about my prosthesis and past injury, further telling Spike that my frog was like the underside of his claws feeling wrapped in canvas and not working when he tried to use them.  Upstairs, a constable in blue-gauze hoofies took Hue and Cry aside. Unlike Cadance—who had plenty of reasons to be very nosey about anything to do with the prince—Moon Dancer strolled around, taking in all the business furniture, the albino grass-like carpeting, even counting the colorful bottles of spirits and etched crystal on the wet-bar.

The moment Hue and Cry mounted the stairs, I told her, "This was where I was when I heard a big thump. I nearly galloped upstairs..."

The RMC officer interjected, "Because you had a hunch?"

"Furniture slid. His bodyguards called down it was an icebox, that Mudflats was a klutz, and... something about stomping a bug? I spun up Teleport, but Firefall shouted, 'Incompetents!'"

"Was it her?"

"I'd known her only a day, that evening truthfully... Can't imagine anypony, let alone anypony in Blueblood's unskilled entourage, could've imitated her voice, let alone have put her personality into that single word."

"Had they yet ordered the prince around, like you said earlier?" she asked, jotting notes in unison with Spike.

"No. That came after I chased the glass of apricot cordial that the prince enticed me up to his living space with."

Cadance glanced to the wet bar, then to me.

"What!? An earl needs to know and hold her cider. I've drank since I was six." Watered down. "I like apricot!"

Upstairs, my body warmed. I looked fondly past the small breakfast table to the bedroom, to where I'd led the prince trotting from the study holding him in a long kiss. I remembered being pressed into satin sheets, and relived the flash of magic he projected when I'd been in the tub. I smiled, remembering that the prince didn't care I was wet as he levitated me, legs pedaling in the air, back to the bedroom.

Hue and Cry was halfway up the attic stairway when she said, "This will be a few minutes." She closed the plain white door behind her, leaving a city constable to supervise. Moon Dancer entered the study that held a sofa, two reading chairs, and a glass racetrack coffee table, with other attractions hidden by a half wall.

I caught Moon Dancer staring at the photo of the red-maned mare and foal out front of the Flying Horses Carousel. Her mood seemed weirdly serene. 

"Why didn't you tell us?" I asked quietly, in case she wanted to ignore the question. 

She kept looking at the mahogany breakfront with the arranged frames. "Because," she answered, "I'm happy she died."

"And nopony would understand?" I asked into the silence. 

Moon Dancer blinked at the picture, frozen. Her lips pursed and she breathed hard. Her eyes swept me, noting my hide full of trophies, reevaluating me, before she faced me. As I glanced at the picture, a tear raced down her cheek to hang suspended.  

"She," she said, with a venomous hiss that made me step back, "She ruined my parents' lives! I remember my mother as a mare suddenly crying from the melancholy of missing my father. I remember her fights with the Duke and the Duchess over their control of her life. It likely attracted the windigos that devastated Horseshoe Bay. Mom refused to evacuate, but my great aunt dragged me with her. Had she left me, Mom would've taken shelter, if for no other reason but to keep me safe. 

She'd be alive." 

Moon Dancer stopped, hyperventilating, tears raining down. Sobbing, she whispered, "I'm embarrassed to admit... I'm gleeful. I'm gleeful! When I closed the door behind the messenger... 

I. 

Danced."

I stepped up as she cried, giving her adequate opportunity to tell me not to touch her. I put my hoofie-covered hooves around her shoulders and hugged her fiercely. 

I wasn't the only filly to have had her parents stolen from her. I remembered the windigo storm from when I was nine. Before I had understood the danger Equestria faced, I'd have celebrated Celestia's death "gleefully." Now, I'd be unhappy for the responsibility it saddled me with—but not exactly sad. Ponies had callously ruined my life, multiple times. I sobbed with her, feeling like sisters in all but blood. 

I waved away the others, who I heard stirring nearby. I whispered in her fuzzy ear that she could feel whatever she wanted to feel. I'd keep her secret forever.  

"True friend," was all she replied.

After some time, we cried ourselves out. We sat on the carpet, staring up at the pictures. I was entranced by Blueblood's father. He did resemble Celestia, and though a son of a dragon by his son's own account, the artistry and severe realism mesmerized me. She stared at the carousel mare. 

Moon Dancer asked, "Do you love him?"

I snorted. "The painting of his father is nice—"

"No!" She gave a horse laugh and covered her eyes.  She took a deep breath and calmly said, "The prince.  Do you love him?"

This was from the filly who was gleeful over a relative's passing. Was Moon Dancer's true personality to be brutally honest?  Which is why she was so shy? To hide it? I realized my face had warmed. Had this morning made the papers? How could it have? She'd been in class all day with me. How could— Right! The photo in the Inquisition with my tail pulled aside, revealingly, with Blueblood's hooves all over my body. Other rumors abounded. 

I'd admitted what led up to getting myself ridden as we walked up to the townhouse. Explicitly. 

My face burned as I said, "I wouldn't go that far? I-I've known him...? A couple days? These things take time?"

"Do they?"

He and I had gone from fighting to, well— I coughed —in a few hours. Moon Dancer might be my age, but I'd lived an unrefined life on the streets and grown up so fast. "Attraction isn't love. It's like needing to eat. Everypony needs to. You do it, satisfy the hunger— you get hungry again."

Moon Dancer gave me that annoyed look I realized most normal teenagers gave parents when the oblivious ponies decided way too late to give the talk. I covered my eyes with a fetlock. "Did I—?"

"My great aunt gave me that lecture."

"Embarrassing," we both said in harmony, then looked at the pictures. 

"But," she asked again, "Do you love him?"

"I don't know. Not yet? I like his secret side. I like that he understands what I've been through because he's been through it too? His capacity to make me feel alive and loved, cherished, overpowers my self-doubt. It sets me free from my ghosts. That he looks good and knows how to use his—" I coughed, again, embarrassingly. "He's very athletic. I like that? It-it-it all makes me want to make him feel the same as I do? I-I know I struggle with the friendship thing, but— this may sound cutesy—I feel my heart open simply thinking about him. He makes me want to try my best."

Moon Dancer stood, then walked past me.  As she did so, she whispered, "He deserves to be happy and I won't mind if you're the pony that makes that happen."

My eyes followed her. I thought, What just happened?

I scrambled to my hooves and trotted over. Moon Dancer had greeted our companions, a hoof scratching the back of her head, prevaricating, "She was helping me sort my emotions—"

"Starlight?" asked Cadance. Was that a proud expression?

"—Turns out we both lost our parents, so..."

All eyes went to me, but a movement drew my eyes up the stair. The attic door stood open. A mote of white withdrew. I had no doubt it had watched me. Darkness sucked it away like a ghost. 

My horn lit reflexively. Force, that stupidly inappropriate spell—but, hay, at least unlike Sunset I could cast it reliably for over a year now. I didn't know if Hue and Cry could read my aura, but I knew no non-alicorn other than Twilight actually could. I switched to Illuminate; no way I was going upstairs without some spell prepared. 

"Was the attic door locked?" I asked Hue and Cry. "When you first came here?" My eyes kept flicking to the attic, not the copper coming down the stairs. 

"Was it locked that night—?" she asked in return. 

"I picked the lock." 

That got me looks from everypony, the guard also. Hue and Cry knew. 

I added, "Was it locked when Firefall flew up—?   Was Mudflats —? Well, if she went up there—" I shook myself out. "Not sure why I'm thinking sinister here."

Hue and Cry said, "Only you know the dark corners of your mind. Time to go upstairs and meet my forensics expert."

As I mounted the stairs, the constable blocked the others from following me. I waved off my guards. The doorway opened to a dark space exactly as I remembered. Dust tickled my nose as I looked at the hulking boxes and canvas-covered sofas and chairs fading into shadow. The attic hatchway provided dim light off to my right, and I saw some magenta and yellow horn light from around the corner, coming from stallions who conversed quietly. The stairway landing to the attic was the size of a large wardrobe, so I craned my neck around the doorframe to the right to look into the portion of the attic hidden from view. 

I saw a wane moonlight glow a heartbeat before I saw the monster from whence the glow emanated.
> 41 — Feeling Filly V: Alpha and Omega
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I flung myself left, bouncing off the door, bashing shoulder-first into a box. My guard leapt Hue and Cry to gallop up the stair. My Illuminate triggered at level three; the bright flash blinded me. 

No way would the Canterlot City Constabulary or Royal Military Constabulary allow monsters here. I waved a rear hoof, halting my guard to forestall further embarrassment. Lightning fast reflexes. 'Nuf said.

Somepony whined, eyes covered with an enormous appendage, standing upright like Spike the Dragon would, at Ensign Berrytwist's height. Through purple phosphines, I saw shaggy forelimbs. She—because in mammals, stallionhood was obvious when rearing—she was definitely female. Wiry curly fur covered her body except her stomach, which looked pinkish white. Her ground-pepper grey-white hair was sheared like rounded topiary at her ankles, her upper chest, and at the crown of her head. One of her hairless ears pointed upward, mutilated so the triangle of flesh stood vertical, unlike the right, which flopped over, weighted with a silver diamond stud. She actually stood on four limbs in a very small space. Dull shovel-like claws, three to four hoof lengths long, clicked nervously as she shuffled.

Her eyes captured mine. I'd lit a white sprite that stuck to a ceiling rafter like a glob of paste. In it, she had colorless eyes, like my former teammate Crystal Skies' albino sister had. Faintly red, it gave her a piercing gaze, despite squinting. Inadvertently; her body language was that of a dog. A topiary cut tail tapped the wood plank floor.

She wore a blue Prench constable cap, a steel spiked black collar with a blue cape, and a copper badge on a strap. She stood rigid. For whatever reason, she appeared incapable of breaking our gaze, or to speak other than to whimper and radiate docility.

"Speak," I said, her cowardly aura hitting me wrong. Oh, dear. Ponies said that to their dogs. My face heated up.

"Omega this," she mumbled. Her oversized canines, two of which qualified as shovel-like small tusks, got in the way. She shook, pronouncing with spittle, "Must 'princess' say."

I nodded. My famous P-word rule. Wait. That was Old Ponish! Omega was zed in the ancient tongue.

She bowed her head, maintaining eye contact. "Alpha, Princess is. Diamanté Omega in 'questias's service is."

Old Ponish was a dead language, though I read it in every other grimoire. Had been a dead language, apparently. I tried, "Please stand. By my leave, address me as—" Ms. was a modern term. "—Mage Glimmer."

Her tail thumped faster and she nodded. A white flip notepad dangled on her wrist; she flipped it open. Her stubby school pencil made a scritching sound as she wrote, before turning her claw in a way no pony could articulate a hoof.

The page read, "Short hoof understand perhaps?"

I smiled.

Whilst her toothy canid smile was not welcoming, I recognized the effort. She wrote upside down to add, "Understand Equestrian. Sorry frighten you. Omega scary pony."

I chuckled.

Hue and Cry spoke beside me, causing whiplash. "You've met our forensic expert. Omega is going to make detective directly out of the Constabulary Academy. She has a keen nose and brain, but she's a bit shy."

Omega's eerily red eyes met mine the instant I returned my gaze. How her species defined shy wasn't the pony way. She nodded though. My eyes dropped to her badge.  It read, Ambassador "Omega" Tears of the Moon.

"Ambassador?"

Hue and Cry said, "Omega is—"

I interrupted, "Tears of the Moon is her name—"

Omega waved a claw, for the first time looking away, distressfully sputtering, "Omega is! Omega is! Need never be more."

Hue and Cry said, "She's a diamond dog, a refugee from a colony northeast of Ponyville. Badly abused, judging from the wounds she suffered when escaped—"

"Omega is," Omega insisted with a canine whine—with the nuance that Omega explained everything.

I sat and put up both hooves. "Stop. If she wants to tell me her story later, she may." Moon Dancer craned her neck around the door frame.

"Princess alpha is. Omega Finder of Tears of the Moon is. Name use may. Omega good, though."

Hue and Cry ducked her head. "I apologize. Princess Celestia appointed her the Equestrian ambassador to the diamond dogs, to make her an Equestrian citizen because the Peerage refused to grant the carnivore asylum at the princess' request. Unfortunately, Omega clearly needed it."

Everypony and everycreature looked uncomfortable. I extinguished the sprite.

In the returning dimness, Omega's squint vanished. The muscles in her face relaxed. Not only did the wrinkles around her eyes disappear, but also her lips, which had in retrospect resembled a snarl. Skin slid to cover her dentition including her tusks, in an albeit bulgy non-pony fashion. She went from looking threatening to looking like a puppy dog. She'd sheared her fur around her head to magnify the little-puppy affect.

I gasped as did Moon Dancer and Cadance who had climbed up behind her. Having experienced the transition to puppy-cute, I fought letting it influence me, instead focusing on the fact that she did actually glow, and not by the reflected light from the doorway or distant hatchway, or a rime of direct horn light. Her glow was ghostly. I'd have put it down to some species-specific bioluminescence, but my horn detected faint waves magic. Diamond dog, no, Diamanté magic.

I liked magic!

I'm going to have to get to know her better.

The diamanté pointed a claw at some algal dark green spots on the floor surrounded by yellow tape. A splat displayed the quarter crescent of a hoof print.

"Yeah, that's my hoof. Stepped in it. The royals must use honey-scented machine oil—"

"Oily?" Omega's pad read.

"Yes. I wiped it there." I pointed at the furniture cover on a sofa with a green smear. Looking back at the spots, I realized it looked dark. "It dried?"

"Not oil," Omega's pad read. She levered herself down to the smear, folding where no pony would, accentuating muscles and ligaments. She sniffed.

Her body consisted primarily of muscle, predominantly her forelegs rivaled by her smaller squatter hindquarters. Her torso seemed an after thought—half mine's volume—though her ribcage seemed quite stout. 

She was a digger. If her legs could bend out and splay just so, she could dig like a mole. Diamanté magic had to be digging magic.

Cadance tapped my shoulder, pointing at Omega's pad. 

It read, "May I smell you?"

I nodded.

I examined her up close, and glowing, as she first lifted my rear right hoof, the correct one, to sniff and nod, then sniffed me all over. Dogs saw with their noses. I didn't object when she sniffed in places that made Cadance clatter nervously, especially when I spread my limbs to make the examination easier. Another way for me to telegraph that I wasn't the same type of princess as her.

Omega stepped back, spiral pad up. Hue and Cry presented a stuffed sample bag to the diamanté, opening it for her. 

She nodded.

Hue and Cry stated, "Your cloak?"

I recognized the black silk garment and nodded.

The diamanté scribbled, "Bed made, soiled sheets. Scent there recent on you. You intimate with same pony?"

I nodded. I decided not to look at Cadance.

"Confirmed," appeared on the pad.

I asked, "Do you smell cinnamon?"

She looked puzzled and scribbled, "Smell many stallions and mares on you."

I sniffed myself, remembering the spot where the prince had leaned against me, after I'd fought a griffon, and having perspired.  I caught faint a cinnamon odor, or did I imagine that? Did my emotions color my perception?

Omega sniffed the spot and frowned, opening her toothy mouth to speak but then not, looking perplexed.

"Never mind," I said, trotting closer to the row lit by the open attic hatchway.  "What else did you want to ask?"

Hue and Cry said, "We didn't find Firefall, but her scent lingers in spots, including a spot where she slid on her back."

She pointed at some yellow tape and wing marks in the dust with chalk around them.

I looked at the smudges. "Or dragged."

Omega's pad read, "Firefall's scent confirmed."

Hue and Cry added, "More odd stuff. Plenty of pony prints. Dust blown off of furniture—"

I blinked, remembering what I'd seen from the attic hatchway—realizing I didn't see it now. I trotted toward the horn glow, brow furling.  "Were bags hung from the rafters?"

"Not when we arrived—"

A voice I didn't want to hear finished, "—But... Ponies had tried to hide the fact."

I trotted around canvas-covered torchére lamps to see a unicorn. Magenta roiled around his horn. It didn't hide that he had a peppermint-candy swirled white and violet mane. The mauve stallion wore a casual tan suit, with a dark brown bowler perched between his ears. His white blaze resembled Sunburst's. His magenta eyes tracked my approach like those of an archer with a loaded bow.  

I'd dealt with the Interpone agent before. 

I'd fought him in the Sofa and Quill factory on Chestnut Street, which was yet another time I'd almost gotten myself killed. I almost deserved it. I'd stupidly let myself get mind-controlled by Running Mead and had been sent to kill the agent. He and I had bad blood. I'd later made a Hobs deal with him to capture the crime boss that had controlled and abused me, using nettle-ewe-addicted Sunset Shimmer as bait. 

I'd gotten my cutie mark when I'd torn Running Mead's cutie mark from his flank. 

The copper proved greedy, though, reneging on his part of the bargain to let me run after he hooked the big fish. He resented he hadn't bridled me and that I had spirited away Streak at the same time.

I trotted up three-legged, grinning evilly. I played with my torn hear, which for the record stung when I did that, pointedly looking at his ear. In the factory, I'd been in the act of shooting him with a Force bolt during our fight—but acting against one's deeply rooted principles broke Running Mead's mind control. Considering my injuries, my magic might have allowed the defensive shot that might have killed him, but instead I'd jerked and squirmed midair, shooting wildly, before crashing badly.

I nevertheless burnt off the tip of his ear, a third of the way down.

I said, "Now we match like colt- and filly-friends, eh? I'm thinking of a diamond piercing for mine. Were you to buy a matching one, you could pretend to be the dashing pirate scoundrel you are—on the inside. Arrgh!"

He pursed his lips as his expression congested, but didn't lose his cool as he had during the press conference prior to my coronation. Reporters from the major newspapers had learned I was the Hero of Hooflyn, moments before he marched in to pull his horse apples. Couldn't read the room, that one.

"So, Aurora Midnight. You turned out to be Doña Carne Asada's 'daughter,' after all. You were Running Mead's most effective enforcer because you'd been groomed by her. Your mayhem is practically a masterpiece. Nothing innocent about you, Princess."

"One. Kick," I said under my breath.

He trotted closer, close enough that I smelled the camomile tea on his breath. They called that "Getting in your face." Worse, it forced me to look up at him. With a smirk, he added, "Princess Celestia pardoned you of all your crimes. That means you can talk without incriminating yourself! Tell me about the Elderberry Shipyards. Did they sell airship keels to the Prince of Storms, under Carne Asada's direction?"

The son of the owner of those shipyards, Safe, had worked for me with Citron, Crystal Skies, and others to protect Carne Asada. After I'd taken over the syndicate, I'd read her files. I cautioned him to steer clear of his mother. Carne Asada had enough blackmail to make the corrupt mare do practically anything, but she'd volunteered selling those keels, forcing Celestia's navy to fight battle cruisers built upon them. I'd burnt that file because I'd known it would follow Safe around and destroy his life.

I protected my own. 

I lost my amused grin as I stepped back. I had my hoof up near my right ear, so... I jabbed the stallion in the nose. I could have slapped him, but why? 

Cartilage went pop! Fresh crimson splattered my blue hoofie.
> 42 — Feeling Filly VI: The Royal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Guards!" I yelled. "Eject this stinking horse apple from this house!"

My two guards galloped up, with my party diving aside as they did so. Omega belly-flopped and slid away toward the hatchway ladder. Hue and Cry apologized for letting in the Interpone agent, as did the city constable Fellows had been talking to. 

Detective Fellows sat there, shocked with a hoof over his bleeding nose. The unicorn of the brass-armored duo pulled him to his hooves with blue magic, while the two caught the Interpone agent between themselves to trot him out.

Fellows shouted, struggling to get free, "Interpone won't stand for this! We're building an international case—"

"Against the Crown Princess of Equestria?" I huffed, waggling a hoof. "Toss him off the roof. That'll be faster!"

Cadance cried, "Starlight! He's a unicorn."

"Even better!"

He shouted over me, "Eventually you'll leave Equestria...!"

Spike on her rump, chortled. Excited seeing a comic book play out in real life? I'd dealt with Citron and his Power Ponies comics obsession: I had the dragon pegged. He scribbled furiously.

Alas, my guards didn't take my suggestion and hustled the peppermint unicorn down the stairs, his hooves ineffectually skittering and clicking against wood, sometimes plaster, sometimes against bronze postern grieves. Everypony winced at a string of interesting oft-melodious Prench invective that faded behind him.

Moon Dancer observed with a smile, "You don't like him."

I snorted.

Cadance said, "The princess is going to want to talk to you about punching ponies, when she gets back."

I smiled, very happy with myself at the moment. As I levitated the shaking diamanté to her—what, paws?—I said, "Looking forward to it!"

"Alpha is," Finder of Tears of the Moon pointed out. 

I approached and dusted her off with the gauze of the left hoofie—considering I was leaving red hoof marks behind me with the right, which didn't help keep the crime scene pristine and I would have to explain them to the prince. 

"Not too happy this royal thing is going to my head," I muttered to myself—and for the benefit of the creature with fur shaved to resemble a topiary. I steadied her with a hoof, rubbing her gently as she shivered until she stopped. "Sorry."

"Omega this."

"Anypony have a fresh hoofie?" I asked.

Something clearly heavy had hung suspended from the rafters. A crossmember with dry rot had sagged under the weight and another circumspect constable pointed out where the wood had cracked. Omega sniffed around the floor, pointing out no dust lingered here, that somepony had used ammoniated cleaner. 

The pad read, "Not adept hiding tracks." The diamanté pointed to Hue and Cry who produced a jam jar. Sparkling algal-green grit filled it halfway and made a shishing sound as she swirled it.

"What is it, if not oil?" I asked.

"Still analyzing it."

"May I," I asked and she unscrewed the lid.  

I sniffed. Not at all like algae, or like any leafy herb.  "Sweet, maybe?" I inverted my hoof, holding it out.

"Dried liquid," got scribbled out.

"Please."

Hue and cry poured out a sample. Everypony gasped as I leaned forward and touched the tip of my tongue to it. Yes, I'd worked for a crime boss in Canterlot who trafficked in nettle-ewe. I knew better than to taste product, and this could very well be product, but intuition said not. Intuition said, sweet.

"Honey!" I said, jerking my head back, wiping my tongue on my fetlock in surprise. 

I froze.

No. Not a drug. Recollection. My whole body went cold, and that's not why I froze, either. I flashed back on the green dream again. With all the horrifying input I remembered for what amounted to minutes of experience, one thing hadn't really made an impression. It hadn't made an impression until now.

"Starlight! What's wrong?" demanded Cadance.

"It tastes like honey."

Appropriately, Spike barfed.  Well, it sounded like vomiting.

He gagged and choked, sulfurous fumes swirling from his nose as he bent over distressed. The green scaly creature didn't have a large enough body to resound like that. Cadance danced some more as Spike's claws sunk into her hindquarters as he struggled not to fall. His abdomen visibly quivered as he produced the loud nauseating sound amidst a bright yellow-green curl of flame and smoke.

With practiced dexterity, he reached out, gripping with his rear claws to snatch a scroll midair. Pained Cadance, tears in her eyes from her scratched tender parts, looked ready to buck. I would have. Her long tail swished, but for its weight it didn't come anywhere close to knocking off the saurian.

He smiled, immediately relieved, waving a scroll tied with red ribbon sealed with wax. I recognized Celestia's seal. The waving extinguished the flames, yellow at this point. Lines of orange coals faded along the blackened edges of the scroll.

"From Princess Celestia." He brought it up and added, "For the Captains of the Army and Navy."

I blinked at the scroll, then the dragon. "Dragon magic?" I asked.

"Cool? Like a superpower, huh? Twilight figured it out, but it took the princess to make it work. I can send between her and me easily. Other places require Twilight's help."

I held out my hoof.

"Not addressed to you, Ms. Glimmer."

"Crown Princess of Equestria," I replied, shaking said hoof.

He glanced across the dusty attic to where I'd jabbed a pony in the nose.  

He hoofed it over.

I am negotiating with Great Leaper. Face to face with a fawn is a breakthrough, but progress is slow. I will be delayed wrapping this up or starting remediation. If the airship I requested over your objections arrives at Castle Canterlot Station, ensure it is visible. You know how I feel about such things. —Celestia Regina Sunny Daze 

I muttered, "They objected to Celestia's request?" I let go of the scroll in my magic and it rolled itself up with a thwack. "She left me responsible, but didn't mention me!? Didn't mention me at all?"

"Maybe she'll send you another scroll?" Spike said, not looking particularly thrilled at the prospect.

I thought briefly of sending a scroll back, then wondered if I'd have to shove it down the little guy's throat and became unsure.

Streak asked, "Who objected?"

I looked to the hatchway, heart speeding. Streak had poked her head in. 

I took a deep breath. "How's the Stoop?"

A blue hoof pointed at the constables, then at her ears.  I nodded and climbed the ladder to the roof.  White marble rocks over heavily tarred paper made for a flat terrace, and crunched under my hooves as I pulled myself up, even with the hoofies on. A few stubborn autumn red and brown leaves rustled in a stiffening breeze that made some branches clack together with marimba sounds. I saw the castle clearly a half-dozen blocks away. Cadance, with Spike holding on, followed me up.

Streak continued when I hoof-gestured.

"Bent Feather explained weighing anchor means leaving the docks. They're doing it as I speak."

"Doing what Celestia wants, as it turns out." I looked southwest, but the castle walls were very high. The late afternoon sun, while warm, made me squint looking that direction. "The trebuchets?" I asked.

"All fixed with the parts we scavenged, but I'll bet you bits to biscotti that half of them will disintegrate after the first load."

"Doubtless. Brother Gruff?"

"Still onboard. Serious son of a dragon... Oh, no offense."

"None taken," Spike said, eyes narrowed in clear contradiction to his words.

"He's whipping the crew into order. Too bad the dude's not a pegasus, or I might find myself falling for some old pony like you're doing."

I narrowed my eyes now.

She snorted. "Um, about that. Bent Feather is not a particularly strong flyer, better for running the ship than flying reconnaissance. Citron can't help with that and Berrytwist asked for me to help out." The pegasus positioned her body sideways and slightly flared her wings to make Hurricane's magic armor more visible.

"You posing for a cheesecake calendar photograph?"

She rolled her eyes. 

"Do you want to go?"

"I'd like to see what this baby can do, and, you know, it might be good practice, for when I'm really a member of Celestia's royal guard."

I brought a hoof to my mouth to hide a little grin. "Sure, why not—"

True to her name, the pegasus had streaked off.

"Don't get hurt!" I shouted after her, the position I'd put her and Citron into sinking in.

Were the captains right? I really hoped I was paranoid. Psychiatric counseling might cure me of that. Nothing would cure losing either of my friends.  My breath caught.

As I turned to the hatch, I heard below, "It's my special talent."

I poked my head down to see Moon Dancer addressing Omega. She had a blue opal on an upraised hoof. Sky light caused flashes like meteors in the night. The gem scintillated as I looked. "I can use them. Lunar magic. Can you find them for me?"

The diamanté bent her head down and a pink tongue licked the gemstone. 

From my angle, I saw the canine's eyes close into slits. I knew what drug-induced bliss looked like. I'd seen it in Sunset's eyes often enough. She nodded, then wrote on her pad.

As she showed the pony, I heard her ask in Old Ponish, "Moonstruck?"

Moon Dancer nodded and the canid excitedly jotted something else.

Moon Dancer read it and, well, danced, squealing quietly, "Really?"

I stepped back.

Well, the diamanté was a copper, so nothing nefarious was happening there. They deserved privacy as much as I did.

"Cadance?" I asked.

"Yes." The pink pony princess looked up at me, then raised her head. She'd also been eavesdropping on Moon Dancer.

"I don't want to butt into personal matters."

Cadance gave me the look.

I said, "Please.  I found out last night—" when I ate dinner with the prince "—that the palace chefs can cook any cuisine.  They could cook your home cooking, from Provençe."

She looked skeptical.

I remembered the night before, and the restaurant had the benefit of me having taken the prince there already, and he'd liked it. "The One Fell Swoop, near the end of the Strand. It's truly authentic. Please take Blueblood there for dinner.  You'll both like it."

She did not look amused.

"Good memories are better than bad, and you need to make the good ones. Please."

She looked away, thinking.

"Take Shining Armor—"

"I'll go," she said rapidly. "Don't be pushy."

She backed up to the hatch and climbed down, mildly thrashing tail first. Spike climbed down on his own behind her.

As I reached the bottom of the ladder myself, I stopped. A few puzzle pieces snapped in place and I asked the constables who waited, "Is there an icebox up here?"
> 43 — Feeling Filly VII: Sunburst in a Stallion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That's as likely as Cerberus having left the gates of Tartarus," I said, nonplussed, staring at Sunset's ivory tower from inside the castle gate. It was tall with a purple gold-gilt onion dome. First Sunset riding Citron, then what Citron made me think of earlier at the bakery; I was almost glad I'd sent him to give the Stoop real "firepower," putting off dealing with my attraction to the lemon meringue-colored stallion, at least for today. 

I turned to Sunburst and asked, "My friend Sunset Shimmer and her archenemy Twilight Sparkle?" I used full names because I was flabbergasted.

I'd run into my new homeroom teacher and former soulmate about to leave the castle, having had to tap him, causing him to drop his book. I held it in my magic, still.  Mr. S. chuckled. Pony lengths from the iron portcullis, he explained, "Sparkle is a genius at minutiae. She got Shimmer to stop congesting her horn concatenating the mnemonic clauses at their psychological comma conjunctions spinning up her Force equations. That her solution always works left the filly crying."

I'd had plenty of tutoring sessions with Sunset, ending up with us arguing and her stomping off to a restaurant to order alcoholic cider and beer for the reasons you'd expect. Her incompatibility with Celestia had even led her to becoming addicted to nettle-ewe. I'd never come close to the breakthrough Twilight had managed in one afternoon. I'd failed my first Canterlot friend, but was happy and relieved nonetheless. Color me impressed once again with Twilight, the purple runt. Good things came in small packages, apparently. 

"Shimmer decided she'd found her long lost little sister; said as much and proposed a sleepover. Sparkle went all waggly-tailed puppy-eyed."

"Do they have books in the library about sleepovers?" I asked sarcastically. I magicked the book into his saddlebags. 

"Apparently."

I facehoofed, trying not to snort, then groaned. No way in Tartarus would I sleep at Sunset's tonight! Blech!

With me inadvertently convincing Cadance to befriend (instead of stalking) the Do-nothing Prince, I had nowhere to sleep. Well, at least with companions.

Funny how my preferences had changed in the last days. 

Sunburst stuttered, pointing over his shoulder. "I-I... Um— I was going into town to, um— get a b-burger... We could discuss what you missed in class?"

I looked at his goldenrod fur—and ruddy crest and goatee—illuminated richly by the westering sun. His turquoise eyes glimmered earnestly. How could I have ever thought he could betray or forget me? Celestia had given him a room in the guest wing, so... "You know you're entitled to eat with the palace staff, right?"

"I, well. I'm apartment hunting..." His voice lowered. "I don't belong here."

"You're teaching the most crucial students in Canterlot!"

He looked away, muttering. "Librarian—"

"Nerd!" I placed a hoof on his withers. "Come with me."

It took a few tugs, but he followed. The colt didn't seem the type, but I felt muscles. I shed my guard as I guided him into the palace. 

"Most crucial?" he asked.

"The princess needs us to save the world for her. She didn't state it, but we'll be teaching you in return. You're part of the team."

"The Team?" He huffed, chuckling, clearly not believing me. Didn't change the facts, though. Since Her Royal Highness was enjoying her military adventure camp-out meals and not in attendance, I pushed open the door to the main dining hall. It had a table long enough to host four dozen ponies, with tall wide windows that looked out on the gardens I'd trotted through. The flags of a number of local countries hung down, with banners of princesses and politicians, even Queen Bliss More's of Trottingham. I saw the Equestrian flag, with Celestia's, Cadance's, and Blueblood's banners. I also spotted the Grin Having crest, but not a banner for the crown princess. Under design? Pearlescent porcelain chargers and cobalt crystal place settings adorned the table, accented with gold. Lavender cascaded from hanging pots.

Did I have to take Celestia's spot at the table? With the orangy sun streaming in, the huge room felt much more enormous than it had at night with Blueblood and me, with our small section of the hall illuminated by a real candle candelabra. It looked ready for a state dinner. "Um," I said.  

A pegasus maître d’ trotted over, excitedly but elegantly moving his wings as he approached. "Dinner, Ms. Glimmer? For two, or additional friends?" The orange fellow, with a ruddy mane and red-tipped feathers ducked his head. "Fine Spread, if it pleases you, Ma'am." He wore a white starched collar and a thread black tie. His gold satin vest featured a neatly folded white towel hanging from a pocket.

"Fine Spread, is there some place smaller—"


"We can get burgers—" Sunburst whispered toward my ear. 

"More cozy?" I asked. 

Sunburst's jaw clacked shut.

"More intimate? Absolutely! May I suggest..."

We trotted onto a second floor balcony, large enough for a table of four. Ivy swarmed the walls, and red tree roses threaded through the balustrade topped with white marble. Trees and shrubs below and surrounding served to make it private, while leaving views of the gardens, the castle walls, and the sunset unobscured.

The pegasus brushed the seats with his towel before seating us, as servants cleared the table and put down generic silverware and chargers, making everything perfect. 

"Your pleasure, Ma'am and good sir?"

"M-menu?" Sunburst asked.

"Name anything you desire." Fine Spread coughed. "Ms. Glimmer took the Prince's suggestions and proved Princess Celestia's tastes are rather old fashioned and that our chef is up to the task of surprising any palette."

I blushed, remembering I'd taken over at my meal with the prince, elaborating upon the forest-to-table fare he'd grown up with. The entire staff knew what I'd done. Being brought up an Earl, tutored by Proper Step, then catering to Doña Carne Asada's expensive Las Pegasus tastes, had schooled me well. One look at Sunburst's mouth moving without words coming out made me remember us as foals.

I asked, "You still like sweet onions?"

"Y-Yes."

"How about sweet onion succotash?"

The pegasus asked,"Peasant style? Pepper, paprika, and cream?"

"How about... Equidorian? With squash threads, pickled melon rind, and smoked cumin and paprika." I looked at Sunburst and added, "Not spicy." 

Sunburst looked intrigued.

The pegasus smiled. "My wife is a member of the Night Watch, but she cooks for the princess on state occasions, and for the staff."

"Night wing?"

"Yes. We know the cuisine well. Got to keep the guard happy."

"Is she nocturnal?"

"Smoke's morning is my evening, and vice-versa. Breakfast and supper is fungible. It works out much better than you'd think. Thank you for asking."

"Tell her I want to meet her and the squad."

"I will Ma'am. Succotash for you both?"

I touched hoof to heart. "I'm feeling like risotto."

"Is it true you're a pescatarian?"

"Yes."

He practically squealed. "We got crawdads in from the catch lake below the mountain for the pegasus staff. I'd suggest them."

"Oooo."

"Blackened and spicy?"

"Yes, please."

He grinned. "I'd suggest a spinach blue cheese salad, with a cream horseradish dressing for sir and smoked mackerel-bacon vinaigrette dressing for ma'am."

"Sounds magnificent."

The pegasus all but zoomed happily away, leaving us with our flutes of sparkling water and silence. 

We clinked the rims. Sunburst said, "Not a little filly anymore," sipping.

"Not the colt with his nose in books, either. I bet my friend Broomhill Dare, who's attending Prancetown and earning her Ph.d.—"

"One of the pardoned ponies?"

"You listened at my surprise coronation!" I grinned. "I'd bet Broomtail knows your work and would fall over herself to meet you." 

Thinking of her, it occurred to me that like Sunburst, much of Equestria had been listening, or rather reading about my debut in the newspapers. Fellows had. By naming them for royal pardons, I'd outed Broomhill Dare—as well as Safe, Pig Pen, and Crystal Skies—as being somewhat more special, read criminal, than their normy friends thought they were. Zecora Zeb was isolated, so nopony would care about her. Did I need to contact my former team? Check if they were okay? It would be the friendly, supportive thing to do.

"Really?" he said, "It never occurred I might have fans."

"That you might be famous in magic circles?"

He laughed. "We grew up, huh?"

We didn't say much after that, both acting shy. Presumably he processed the same emotions he and I had released yesterday. A delightful meal arrived as the orange sun dropped below the horizon and darkness swiftly fell. Magic lanterns floated from inside and glowed in orbit around the balcony. 

Smoke brought my main dish personally, dressed in a starched white blouse and black tie. She had an early-dawn purple mane, desaturated blood-red naked clawed wings, black fur, obvious muscle, and a long scar on her haunch. Her amber eyes glowed; the irises looked round. In bright light, they'd have dragon slits. She had nubbin fangs, like Carne Asada had, but since I hadn't yet learned her pony kind existed—they were rather rare—I hadn't figured out Carne Asada's ancestry until the end, thinking she was a handicapped featherless pegasus instead. That she always had kept her wings under her clothing made that reasonable. 

We talked about her duties, and some pegasus fight moves I knew, like the fluffer and the feather cut she said she knew variations of. She agreed to spar with me next week so I could practice countermoves. I kept it brief. I didn't want to bore Sunburst. 

Sunburst and I didn't talk much, even when we shared one enormous slice of Celestia's Favorite Chocolate Cake for dessert. While amazing, I wondered whether Celestia was secretly diabetic. Fine Spread gave us only one fork; helpful colt. Sunburst shared it, taking it in stride. 

I wondered if the cursed crown princess thing was getting in the way. 

The moment I thought that, a servant trotted up with a silver platter balanced on her back and a folded note. 

Ens BT Cmdr E S to Capt 3rd AoEq Ms Glimmer HRHCPEq HRHEO Begin SIT nominal Min casualties no FAT Engaged hostile unk BDE blk pegasi advancing in EvrF shadow line Dispersed no FAT Investigating Mayor Pnyv, wthr BDE, and apple farm reps asstng Investigating deer tracks rptd by lcls Citron Streak R both assets THX rpt SIT nominal NRN End

This was what a military communiqué looked like; it made my hooves go ice cold as I deciphered the abbreviations. Light semaphore telegraphy. Her Royal Highness Eyes Only and finishing with No Response Necessary. BDE had to be brigade, Pnyv Ponyville.

Sunburst slid his chair over to read it. I let him. I focused on minimal casualties and no fatalities. What were hostile black pegasi? Why did the thought of my intuition being unfathomably correct make me tremble?

Sunburst's hooves reached over. Dexterous velvety frogs cupping against his hooves lightly massaged my withers; he noticed and stayed away from the griffon wound. My muscles unknotted in stages and I let out some unguarded deep sighs. The cake felt like lead in my stomach. 

"Deer tracks?" he asked.

"Deer inhabit all of Equestria and they're never friendly, even if they keep to themselves. We might be inadvertently finding what we expect, but the Stoop is a warning for anyfawn who aligns with the Golden Stag."

He asked, "Hostile black pegasi? Night wings?"

I startled, heart racing as I stood. What else flying at a distance might look like dark furred pegasi, if not? I turned to the servant standing aside. "Is Shadow the leader of the Night Watch?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Ask her back."

I explained to Sunburst what Carne Asada (who'd been a terrorist as well as a gangster) and traditional night wings thought of Celestia: She was a usurper who'd committed genocide a thousand years ago. They'd been driven from the Crystal Caves below Canterlot, then Equestria. "The princess admits the latter is essentially true, but the details aren't, and details as to why are wrong. I doubt the ensign knows what she may have seen; she may never have met a night wing before."

Indeed, Shadow didn't know that history. I didn't explain the royal sisters battle was the origin of Celestia's curse, with the night wings supporting her sister. Shadow was a second generation Equestrian; had her parents not known the traditional story? She scoffed at the idea, and I chose to believe her reaction. I explained the Princess' warning, the communiqué, Celestia's use of "obliterated," and asked all the guards be put on alert. 

"You trained for this?" Sunburst asked after the worried night wing pitched over the balcony. With an echoing canvas snap, she zoomed into the night on leathery wings for the palace aerie. He referred to the years Proper Step drilled me on becoming an earl, before I couldn't take it and ran away. 

I snorted and ordered an apricot brandy. A heroine in a romance I'd once read drank the spirit to calm herself when her love interest did maniacal things. Seemed reasonable and I liked apricots. 

Sunburst's hooves and attention helped a lot more than the cidering, but my few sips tasted interesting enough that they took my mind elsewhere. He sniffed and shook his head. 

"Do I report this to Celestia's captains?" I eventually asked aloud.

"Whose? What?"

I explained my morning encounter and my distrust. 

Sunburst pointed out, "You do admit you're a novice." 

I motioned over a servant, got an envelope for the communiqué, and addressed it to Ice Sickle and Sky High. I scrawled below:

I acted. I was right. Your turn. Mess this up at your peril. —Ms. Glimmer HRHCPEq

Feeling like a foal pretending to be a grownup, I escorted him to his room. Still not having a place to crash (not that I couldn't ask for a suite), and feeling like I hadn't connected—when, with his stuttering burger suggestion, it seemed Sunburst wanted to—I said, "You wanted to go over today's lesson?"

He unlatched his door and innocently ushered not-so-innocent me in. I strode two pony lengths and stopped in shock when the lights popped on. He rammed nose first into my tail. Normally, that would have given me an opportunity for innuendo, but I let it pass.

Somepony had pushed plush sofas, red velvet chairs, and carved mahogany tables on top one another against a wall, leaving naught to sit on but the golden oak plank floor. Everywhere else lay tomes, grimoires with metal locks, hardbacks dark with age, stacks of periodicals, pamphlets, and scrolls ranging from important little notes to super-wides in gilt scroll cases, along with folios tied with everything from twine to gold chains. Oh, I don't want to forget the boxed stone plates and hoof-sized clay tablets! It reminded me of the library I shared with him back in Grin Having at my Sire's Hollow home. Celestia hadn't understood its dimensions when secretly stocking it. 

I actually squealed. The sight made me so happy, I brushed aside the memory of the tower of books that had fallen on me, from which Sunburst had saved me, earning his cutie mark.

I gave a little filly's dance, horseshoes clattering rapidly, and pranced around the room, tail high, looking at titles, some of which I recognized from the Starswirl the Bearded Wing of the Canterlot library. Sunburst, Celestia's former protégé and magic researcher, had copies of anything he desired.

"Almost envious," I said. Then I looked at him and grinned. "But then I know their handsome librarian. Librarians are the best ponies."

"Sounds like the Starlight Starbright I once knew."

I grinned wider. "Once I ran away from Grin Having, getting books proved harder, but I could be creative." I decided not to mention dumpster diving periodicals at Prancetown University. 

I trotted up to him a happy filly. My impulse was to kiss him. We were magic nerds. Compatible. Books served arguably—in my mind at least—as an aphrodisiac.

I stopped, though. I was being greedy again. He had not enticed me here to show me his book collection... or his etchings. 

I'd invaded. 

He didn't share my enthusiasm. Clearly. On his face. He looked happy that I was happy, but also pensive. Maybe he thought, I invited her in, but who is this monster?

I blurted out, "You hate me, don't you?"

He blinked at my mercurial outburst, his ears leaning back. Wearing no makeup, bruises darkened my lavender hide anywhere you looked, and though healed, the parallel slices cut through my fur on my shoulder were pinkish-red. I looked dangerous. I'd invited myself in. A thug in appearance, I had power second only to Celestia. I was dangerous.

Were I him, I'd think, I'm so screwed!

"Sorry! Sorry!" I cried, tears in my eyes. I walked past him for the door, but he reached out. A hoof on my heart stopped me.

"No," he said. He proved himself strong, pulling me around into an embrace. "N-n-not you. Never you. I'd constructed a boogiemare explaining what I'd seen, something I could hate, to reconcile what made no sense —but it wasn't you. Never was. I don't hate you."

He hugged harder. He didn't smell like cinnamon. He smelled like onions, and it wasn't the onions that made me sob. I hugged him back. His tears wet the back of my neck.

We eventually stopped. We weren't foals, and having been foals together, we felt the impetus to act adult as we had tried to back then, when we were anything but adult. We sat, eyes looking at the treasure of books, hooves making circles on the floor. Anything but discussing why our eyes were red and the fur on our cheeks slightly crusty.

I had more practice being assertive. "You were how I imagined my future. Us? Trotting together? Talking magic and mathematics, learning how the world worked and manipulating reality to suit our whims? Having brainy foals to teach our discoveries to. I felt so... betrayed—when Proper Step shattered that." I growled.

"Disappointed." He nodded, whispering as if he wanted to hide his words even from himself in his embarrassment. "I felt disappointed... Used and abused, and disillusioned. Colt-me thought we made a great team, but that was colt's thinking. I—I thought that, anyway. I stopped being a colt and created a stallion when it fully sunk in."

"Tricked. We were both tricked."

"Yes, we were, definitely. I'll never see Princess Celestia the same again—though I understand why she did it. You are amazing. I feel her choice, as hateful as it was, was like the destiny embodied in a cutie mark. It-it had to be."

What? Me becoming crown princess? Temporary mob boss? Beating the horse apples out of Celestia outside of Donut Joe's for everypony to see? Meeting and destroying a monster in a lightning storm because I'd be murdered otherwise? I took a deep breath, to tamp it all down. "You're amazing, too. New magic. I mean, wow. You'll have to teach me, all of it."

He nodded vigorously, then sighed. "Were we that naïve?"

"More than we can remember? We were foals, right? I feel..." I shook my head vigorously, my pigtails striking my head and neck. Yeah, I'd tied the pigtails in my nervousness while we sat, both struck dumb. Pathetic, right? "I don't know what I feel, other than confused and wanting us to be together, but what was was never to be."

Like reciting poetry, he whispered, 

Starlight, Starbright, what little mare do I see tonight, with her nose oh so rosy red and her horn all aglow?

"You—you remember!" He'd said that days before he got his cutie mark and left me— 

I reined myself in, keeping my betrayal saga from replaying my head. Old thought patterns were hard to break, yet the ugly emotions dissipated like morning fog.

Sunlight of clarity replaced it. He'd said that. The doggerel seemed like poetry in that light. Whilst it could be playful friendship, it sounded at my age, and with my experience, suddenly very romantic. My heart beat faster, growing and opening up in my chest.

"I do, but I'm— I mean—" He coughed, then again, then cleared his throat. "I wasn't thinking of commitments even when I had you completely out of mind. My-my research! Princess Celestia's p-plans! You—I mean... You're a princess and all—"

The P-word. I pursed my lips. "Celestia's bridled me. Her political maneuvers are irrelevant."

"I see responsibility... but, I get it was against your will. I—I avoided friendships, also, but that's doesn't mean I want to avoid you! N-Not after I understand what happened." He'd looked away; his face had reddened. Then he looked at me intensely, if only momentarily, adding, "I don't want to lose you again, Starlight. Us, together again, talking magic, laughing—i-i-it feels like my broken world is glued back together again. It's overwhelming."

My breath caught. I recaptured the fleeting essence of the innocence of those days as goosebumps formed. Was he leaning my direction?

Was he about to kiss me?

I speedily interjected, "I'm not looking for marriage—" Starlight! Where did that come from!? Right. His word. Me confused by the prince this morning. I coughed. "For, for, for commitments right now? I'm what? Too young? I mean. The next few years won't be the time to think about making families, or having foals, especially foals—" I'm saying that! I'm saying that? Foals conceived now would be one year old when Celestia's sister returned to bring eternal night. "That would be insane? Right?"

Would I make a good mother when I couldn't even remember my mother's face? 

My face burned so hotly, it could have set off a fire alarm. In the following silence, I glanced back at him.

Was it my imagination, or did he look like he'd been shot down?

He said, steadily enough, "Friendship, though? Let's start that over."

I looked at him. He raised his eyes, and they met mine as boldly as his shy nature allowed. I smiled, suddenly feeling inordinately happy. My heart overflowed as I said, "That's a plan. Please. Let's do that."

He nodded, and instantly tracked us off into a discussion of magic. The torcheré lamps, also pushed to one corner, cast deep shadows, making us face one another to read the books he pulled unerringly from the pile. He went over our lesson, then his research as books, and three clay tablets, filled the space before us, keeping us emotionally and physically distanced. After a time, sitting on the hardwood floor made my rump fall asleep.

The bedroom seemed an afterthought it was so small, perhaps a walk-in closet at one time? I made no comment when he gathered us on the satin bedspread, continuing our discussion and debate. The skylight had a ring of magic globes, so it felt like late afternoon. even when the moon added its light.

In stages, his eyelids drooped, and his fervor flagged. I'm not sure what reserve I pulled from, but I kept going. I had nowhere to go, remember? Anywhere I desired to go, anyway, and a fear of being asked to leave filled me. I used to like being alone.

And then...

He fell asleep. I kept expostulating on dactylic phrasing in mnemonics, waiting for a snort or a penetrating comment. None came. He faintly whistled as his sleep deepened and his eyes moved as dreams started.

He wore his wizard's cloak. It had ridden up, held in place by his red tail, revealing a bit of haunch. He looked adorable and I enjoyed the sight for many minutes. I so wanted to see his cutie mark, to examine it as only I could. I'll admit I wanted a peek at other things, but I wasn't going to do that.

We had a fragile relationship.

We had all the time in the world to strength it. Well, actually, 599 days.

I carefully stood, using the remaining muscle control in my exhausted state to circle about and lay beside him. I felt his breathing, then I snugged my back and flank against his so I definitely felt his warmth.

My wounded and healed shoulder felt particularly warm with the contact. I ignored the itch. Dr. Flowing Waters had made a point of noting my body had to heal also, and that my magic only directed and sped it up.

I fell asleep, feeling content about everything I'd accomplished today. Especially the last bit.
> 44 — The End is Neigh I: Good Morning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Day 599


Predawn orange and red lit the bedroom.  I blinked, opening my eyes to a skylight filled with puffy clouds with colored highlights and chiaroscuro shadows. This wasn't the gold swirled pale blue ceiling over Sunset's bed.... Warm breath tussling the fur on my chest hastened my recollection.

I froze.

I lay on my back, my fore and back legs relaxed above me. Without moving, I glanced to the right to find Sunburst nestled against me, his face against my withers, his muzzle extended across my ribs. Somehow he had shoved his legs between me and the bed, but not entirely under me. In his sleep, it looked like he wanted to stay warm.

I grinned. Even his awful case of bedhead didn't change that. He used mane glue, and sleeping had smashed his crest in bizarre ways reminiscent of broken stalagmites. With a bristly mane as a foal, his mane looked to have grown into one of those limp right- or left-sided cascades of hair nopony desired.

I felt trusted.  I enjoyed bodily contact. A lot. I wanted to go back to sleep, for those reasons and that I still felt exhausted.

Regardless, I had priorities.  I carefully disentangled us. I avoided jostling him or the books that had joined the pony party as we moved in our sleep. I slipped off the mattress, took one long gaze at my old friend to burn the image into my memory, then slinked from the bedroom, strapping my messenger bag on. 

The doors to the guest suite clicked softly closed under the frogs of my hooves. I stretched, thinking how my shoulder felt warm and my muscles tight. My healing bruises felt tight, also, but the sensation of needing to scratch an itch in my shoulder made my shoulder more worrisome. Something was worse than usual.

"Ms. Glimmer?"

I jumped.  Don't believe anypony that said I'd shrieked as I spun to face an old dark stallion. A hoof to my pounding heart, I asked, "What?"

"Did you get any rest?" Proper Step asked.

"I didn't ride him," I shot back a little too quickly to be believed. "J-just up late. Studying. Really."

His dark brown eyes flicked over me, noting my unruly hair (I immediately tied it into a colt bun), stopping on bruises.  Probably counting to see if I'd accumulated more, but pausing on the griffon wound, he asked, "How did you sleep?"

My rebellious body produced a yawn, and with a hoof over my mouth. I stretched again, getting twinges from the wound and the bruises. He noticed. "Not as well as I'd have liked, but oh well."

"You shouldn't rely on the vigor of youth. Maybe you should visit Dr. Flowing Water—"

I wasn't stupid. "Make me appointment for between first and second period." I'd then at least have Sunburst's lesson to think about during the exam.

The stallion frowned, but nodded.  He held his notebook, once again stuffed with news clippings, a crushed scroll, and parchments. "Tell me what I need to know," I said, trotting toward the palace kitchens, thinking I need a wake-me-up. "I have to do my morning trots and train with Blueblood before Sunburst's class. No news about Blueblood, I hope?"

The ensign had sent news of an apple farmer setting the Everfree near the deer tracks ablaze last evening, but nothing since. "Mildly comforting.  Blueblood?" I prompted since Proper Step had winced at his name.

He floated a clipping with a photo of us at the Running of the Leaves,  him stretching me out. "How this photographer—Photo Finish is it?—managed to catch me with my tail moved aside that way is astounding, but that the Inquisition published a princess picture so compromising is more so." I grinned wolfishly. Maybe I did have the right stuff to attract stallions! I liked the picture, though it twisted the situation. It showed the real me. I hated when ponies thought I was actually nice or proper. "What's with the headline, Royal Engagement?"

"Speculation sells papers. Despite the images of you two hoof fighting, they're pushing the narrative you're romantically involved."

"They're right," I observed. He'd essentially proposed to me. "Make a full color print of that photograph. For above the sofa, for my guest parlor, should I ever be assigned a suite in the palace."

He snatched the paper back as I walked through the servant's entrance, past cupboards and pantries, toward the ten burner stove with tea kettles. Tables with hay, grains, and berries were attended by ponies in white smocks who whinnied as the two of us approached. "More importantly, the princess sent an update."

"Four bags of black tea; strong. Sweeten with fifty percent orange juice in a to-go cup." I really need that first, but couldn't wait. "What'd she say?"

My chargé d'affaires looked around us.

Also looking, eyes narrowed, I whispered, "Berry juice hay infusion with green tea for him."

Ponies, whose ears had cocked our direction, scrambled to give us space. He said, "You noticed—"

"Paid attention, to get away with my filly schemes. Yes. Her Majesty said?"

He floated a scroll. It had blackened edges and had been delivered via Spike.

I don't think the Fawn herd leader Great Leaper has authority for all the Golden Stag, so she won't agree to Our apologies and a magic wall between our domains. I'm ordering the cruiser Tomorrow overfly the Everfree this afternoon, a month earlier than usual, skimming the forest canopy to demonstrate I'm not cut off from support, and for reconnaissance of their positions. Take precautions.

"Take precautions!?" 

I spat, then levitated a handy checkered towel to the floor to wipe away the spittle. "Did either of the two idiots read a copy of this?"

"Yes," said a severe voice. I turned to see a silvery icy blue unicorn trotting in. "I've been—"

Two things could have happened. 

I could thank her. Because of Captain Ice Sickle, I'd gotten practical experience working with the Equestrian military. I'd learned I could defeat a griffon more than once—I wasn't a one trick pony. Applying myself, keeping my eye on the goal, I'd done my best for Canterlot and Ponyville. 

However, my shoulder ached.  

That was enough to tick me off, so I chose the second alternative. I'd seen Carne Asada lose her cool.  I remembered well how the dear-departed ruddy-furred night wing—with a red bow at her dock and her bright dragon eyes and nubby fangs—hissed like a boiler before exploding.

With the Doña fully in mind, I bellowed, "Bow before the Crown Princess of Equestria!" 

The unicorn's legs locked up. Pony reflex, I presumed. Her steel horseshoes skidded across the gold-speckled grey granite loudly. Everypony within earshot froze. A pot clanged on the floor and splashed. The fleshy sound of dozens of ponies lowering themselves to one knee filled the silence. 

The Captain of the Army, either because of her pinnacle rank amongst her peers, her late middle-age, or her complete and utter shock, lowered herself last and slowly. I appreciated she kept her eyes locked with mine. I let a feral grin slip across my lips. I chose to think she thought she could be worthwhile to her princess. Confidence looked good on any pony. I deplored yes-ponies.

"Everypony but her," I pointed, "As you were."

I walked over as kitchen activity resumed, pots clanking and knives studiously chopping. When I towered above her, I craned my head down so we were nose to nose. She preferred coffee. I looked into her eyes. "Speak."

"Ms. Glimmer, I apologize—"

"To flapping Tartarus with formalities! Tell me what you'd tell Celestia!" The strain on my shoulder and the griffon wound forced me erect. I rubbed it as I said, "Stand. I made my point. I expect you to tell me what I need to know to fight, no matter what."

The old mare licked her lips, looked at the ponies resuming their kitchen tasks, then took a couple deep breaths. "Ma'am. We sent an advisor for Berrytwist to join the Eagle's Stoop, the best we could do considering you transferred the Ensign under your chain of command."

Had I? Good to know.

"I had Sky High promote her to Lieutenant Junior Grade, long overdue and obvious considering the leadership she demonstrated. Because of the rank of her advisor, we gave her a brevet promotion to Lieutenant Commander to ensure the chain of command remains unambiguous. The Stoop recovered no bodies, but evidence implies the platoon of black pegasi her crew scattered were not ponies, but neither were they some species of Golden Stag. Your intuition ran into coincidence to the benefit of Canterlot."

"Uh? Thank you? What about the fires?"

"We've confirmed deer tracks."

"Golden Stag?"

"Some sort of Fawn, but the farmer's reactions could give the Golden Stag actual cause to retaliate. Sky High called up The Prince of Manehatten, a pegasus carrier to protect the rail lines from attack or sabotage. We have no hoof soldiers posted in the city garrison this time of year, so I need you to order out the pegasi guard and the Night Watch to protect the rails as we summon troops, until the carrier arrives and whatever else in service can be flown here and take up station keeping. I want to deploy earth pony and unicorn guard throughout town and at the bottom of the Ponyville Incline."

"I so order. About Berrytwist: You didn't ask me to relinquish her command."

"The broke-horn is well trained, and Sky High admits he hasn't fought a frigate, or any ship of the line, in two decades. Please pass on your command to trust my advisor."

I nodded, then looked to Proper Step. "Do that, also."

"One last thing," she said.

I almost groaned, thinking homework, but nodded.

"You made a lot of mistakes, Captain Glimmer, but the situation on the ground mostly canceled them out. You need to learn why."

Ice Sickle let it sink in that she had used my rank before adding, "When this tempest in a teakettle blows over, Sky High and I will begin teaching you what you actually need to know." 

She saluted and stood there. I understood.

"Dismissed."

She trotted off.  

"More classes. Worse than homework. I am embarrassed with riches!" I muttered, not really unhappy as long as at least some magic study would be involved. 

A unicorn servant brought my warm orange tea drink and Proper Step's wake-up in thermal bottles.  I thought about what happened. Funny that the Do-nothing Prince had a pegasus carrier named after him. 

How did the obvious naval term broke-horn apply to the tall purple unicorn?

I chugged my warm drink before  my morning trot. A pegasus guard shadowed me as I approached the edge of Mistmane Botanical Gardens. I noticed the guard at Sunset's tower fly off. I felt vindicated seeing staff stripped to protect the railroads. How much did the interior of a castle need protecting? Really? However...

I stopped the young golden stallion with cornflower eyes and two-toned blue mane sticking out of his helmet. "Flash, is it?"

"Yes, Ms. Glimmer. Flash Sentry."

"Twilight Sparkle lives outside the palace. Have her escorted inside the castle wall as quickly as possible. Wait! Duchess Moon Dancer, also."

He saluted and fluttered off.

Peace descended on the gardens. No ponies, just leaves rustling. The weather team had filled the sky with scattered rain clouds, making the breeze brisk and invigorating. That wondrous smell before a rain filled the air. What was it called... petrichor? My brass clattered on flagstones. Fully caffeinated, my drug of choice masking my nagging exhaustion, I trotted with my head and tail held high past the late season sunflowers with spicy heads that had begun to droop.

Fifteen minutes got me deep into the gardens, past the burnt-down pavilions, past the seapony fountain, and close enough to the southern curtain wall that I understood the gigantic scope of the curvy marble-faced structure. Truly a monument to unicorn technology that begged the question, why? It was a bailey wall, with a ten pony length separation between two walls, each with a walkway atop that a pony could pull a weapons cart along.  The sweeping structures that protected the walk from rain met at buttresses what were in fact guard houses. As far as I knew, ponies rarely patrolled the interior.  Generally pegasi were posted at the guard stations on the outside wall, but not today.  The captains and I had assigned them elsewhere.

Celestia had secrets.  Of course my lack of historical knowledge did not a secret make, but I wondered. Castle Canterlot, for all its elegance, was built on the high ground and was truly Fortress Canterlot. It was the safest place in Equestria.

The Golden Stag were a clue as to why.

I had confidence that I had managed to protect everypony I could think of. However, along with the nagging ache in my withers, I had a nagging feeling I'd missed something important.  Notice, my dear reader, I wasn't exactly clueless. Unfortunately, I'd steered myself on a collision course toward what I'd failed to deduce.
> 45 — The End is Neigh II: Bad Morning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I trotted along, the shadows of scudding clouds along the horizon played tag around me. As I exited the desert garden—with prickly cactus and rocky soil for tall lanky trees with multicolor peeling bark—I walked through a cloud's shadow. It wasn't cold per se. Going at an aerobic fast trot, I'd perspired. Not as fast as I could go, but the sudden cool nonetheless made me shiver. 

Thinking of my body let me notice my stomach. The orange juice tea had been a bad idea, considering I'd vomited up the juice yesterday. My queasiness grew and my hide cooled. I felt warm but also cold.

My left shoulder throbbed. I changed course, taking a path toward the castle, led by my subconscious that might be somewhat smarter than the rest of the little horse. I touched the swollen area; it radiated heat. 

I touched my forehead.

Proper Step was right. He'd parented me through a dozen flu seasons. He had spotted a sick filly and I'd brushed it off.

"You, Starlight, are visiting Flowing Water right now," I told myself, shuddering spontaneously. 

I had flu symptoms—achy, feverish, exhausted, feeling cold. No runny nose or cough. I shivered as my mind processed the possibilities. Thankfully, the clouds east of Canterlot moved and the sun returned, bathing me in warmth and light that made me squint.

I had an infection.

My face and nose wrinkled as my anger flared. There it was in my messenger bag, amongst the brown hair ties and purple scrunchies, Mustang's jackknife, and a copy of Sunburst's book: a pot of silver salve. Dr. Flowing Water had warned me not to heal myself for various reasons, the worst of which was breaking something and passing out and dying of internal bleeding. The admonition to always sanitize a wound, however, had come in second.

The griffon had scratched me deeply. I'd heard of cat scratch fever, learned plenty considering that traitorous cat that had wounded me. Brother Gruff's talon couldn't be considered sanitary in any sense. Who knew where he'd scratched! 

I'd gone and sealed the wound without cleaning it.

Did I have blood poisoning? The word sepsis bubbled up. Jittering, I stopped short. These were the scaredy-cat thoughts of a mare who'd had her hide split open by a punch, ribs broken, and a postern obliterated causing her to bleed practically to death?

That control thing again, wasn't it? All those times I'd had control. I'd done my best. Now, however, I was paying for stupid.

I stalked forward, shouting at myself, "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" I looked through the trees, where they thinned enough to see the castle. I couldn't take the most direct route through the underbrush and brambles, so I followed the path.

Wait!

I stopped, growling. I spun up Teleport. Four or five in a row would get me to the castle immediately. Targeting carefully, I could ensure appearing knee-high to land without injuring myself.

As I got the target vectors set, I lost the mnemonic when placing the main codicil. I reinstantiated the predicate chain and thought the numbers into my horn, getting them to spin and...

I blinked. My targeting vectors drifted.

The numbers, which I always saw as burning digits across my vision and could ignore as well as the floaters in my eyes, weren't burning. They'd become lethargic.

The act of noticing triggered a quantum observational paradox. The digits swirled away.

What?

I sat, rubbing my eyes with the frogs of my front hooves. Frustrating. I was feverish. I wasn't well rested. It was that feeling every scholar hates that tells her that she hadn't bothered to eat or pay attention to the clock, and she'd better close her eyes now because dawn was an hour away and her first class only three beyond. 

"Okay, I get it," I muttered. "I'm sick." I got up. I trotted, looking for one of the garden maps. The paths were all clear. Whilst I could return the way I'd come, cutting across paved paths and through trees and over berms was closer. "Where in Tartarus is that flapping map!"

I spotted the post with a square frame and a set of three paths splitting from my own. As I approached, I realized I went asymptotically slower. My energy wasn't good, and I'd exercised with caffeine to push me beyond my limit. I slowed and didn't reach the sign pole before I sat, panting. The side paths apparently curved away from the castle east and west. The middle one went north.

I shouted, "Guards! Guards! Can anyone hear me? I need help!"

Silly me. I'd sent Flash Sentry to pick up Twilight, who'd likely pack dozens of things. I'd set the guards to be weary of an external threat; I could take care of myself. Right? I told everypony that. I'd let the captains drain the ranks and reserves. The gardeners didn't start work at dawn like Celestia, but a half-hour from now. 

After five minutes of wanting to get up, I accumulated enough energy to manage the feat. I creaked like an old cart. Exhaustion was like pain: a signal that attention was necessary, not an impediment. I'd mastered all but the most agonizing pain long ago, and even with my postern shattered, having splinters cut open my skin so I bled across the floor, I'd fought and decimated the griffon, saving the lives of at least two dozen of Carne Asada's top lieutenants.

Huh?

The two dozen...? They'd panicked when I'd teleported in, the assassin behind me. Stampeding the conference room door, they'd gotten stuck in the exit as we fought. 

That was it, wasn't it?

I'd kept the griffon away from higher value targets than myself. I'd saved their panicked flanks. That was why they'd quickly crowned me Carne Asada's successor when the night wing had become too stupid to live. I'd looked after them for a year besides saving them, told them how to work around Carne Asada's bewildering policies that I hadn't yet realized were intended to foment a gang war. Of course they'd anointed me!

I'd been protecting ponies even then, and didn't realize it.

Truly twice crowned a princess, then. 

I really really hated Princess Celestia. She'd been incredibly successful in forging me. She'd made me her sharp tool. To protect ponies. I lived for everypony except myself. I would never live a normal life, never be a common pony.

I screamed, "Help! Anypony! Guards!"

The eucalyptus trees, fragrant as they were, transitioned to bamboo on my right and skeletal hardwood on my left. The gigantic green tubular grass gathered shadows despite the warming sun now way above the castle walls. The bamboo blocked the light, tocking and clunking loudly in the breeze, letting through random flashes and throwing dabbled shadows. 

I had a rhythm at this point, though mechanical. Ten minutes from now, I'd be in earshot of the palace. I suspected the surge of energy I felt from that thought was illusory. It had to last long enough and I decided it would. Delusions could be aspirational!

Castle spires and a tower rose into view as I crested a hill. I couldn't get lost.

"What could go wrong now?"

I turned toward the sound a pony's wings made while slicing through the air, relief flooding in that somepony had heard me. 

The pegasus' feather rustle, oddly, sounded like the buzz of a cicada. 

A rather large cicada.

The bamboo to my right clattered and tocked together resonantly when pushed aside, followed by the clatter and clunk of this second pony's hooves sprinting, throwing rocks and dirt.

The cotton in my head did not stop me from realizing how very wrong the situation felt. I ducked down, veering off the path toward a picnic table and stone benches pony lengths ahead.

I scented cinnamon. That made me stop short—

—Which saved my life.

A pony whizzed by, hooves pointed edge forward, wings furled for the least air resistance. A quarter pony length closer, my temple might have been smashed in or my neck broken.

I reared instinctively, dancing back as a backwash of anise and yeast scent buffeted my mane.

My assailant spun midair, not particularly gracefully. She flared her wings, which looked oddly transparent as they buzzed, then popped open with a canvas sound, to bring the pony to a stop using the picnic table as a back stop for her rear legs. Momentum miscalculated, the pony made a loud oof! and caught herself from flipping backwards.

I recognized clumsy Pastelist from the Stoop, the royal guard Hue and Cry had reported beaten unconscious at the bottom of the Canterlot Cascade. She looked beaten up, but was anything but unconscious.

She hissed like a snake. Her eyes focused on me. Her reflective—or were they transparent?—wings furled. For a moment, her grin seemed to sport fangs. Fangs more like a snake—or like a diamanté's canines—than a night wing's nubbins. Prominent.

Her hindquarters bunched as she positioned to spring my direction.

A curtain of green light enveloped the pegasus left to right. A magic aura. Even compromised by the cotton in my head, I recognized that much. The faux aurora went instantly right to left to reveal a pink unicorn with a periwinkle mane, albeit with a hide peppered in bruises. A cut bled sticky red across her back. Her guard armor had disappeared. 

"Singe?" I cried, startled by the unicorn having dropped the perfect illusion. I should have run but, still rearing, I stepped backward with growing confusion as the prince's primary bodyguard leapt at me.
> 46 — The End is Neigh III: Not What They Seem
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A galloping white stallion barreled into the mare who lunged for my throat. Blond mane shot forward at the impact of shoulder against chest. I heard a rib break and pop. Both ponies spun midair, keeling over, and crashing off to my right. They hit the brick paved path, Singe below but both dragging across the rough surface, to hit the mulched dirt beyond. The momentum flipped them both up and apart, causing them to crash down again, flinging weathered grey-brown wood chips in a spray that hit the bamboo beyond.

The prince instantly stood, but his left leg collapsed under him. He compensated, lifting it to his stomach.

His haunch looked sprayed with green enamel. One part looked punched in, like a metal fender on a carriage. His head jerked my direction. His blue eyes focused on me as he yelled, "Behind you!"

Gravel crunched. Somepony was directly behind me, in my blind spot—the one all ponies had. I might be too fogged to Teleport, but being fogged didn’t stop pony reflexes.

I bucked.

I hit somepony. 

Unaimed, mind you. My left hoof missed completely, but I dragged my right brass across somepony's neck and withers. The unbalanced connection caused me to stumble as I brought my haunches back. It let me distance myself from Mudflats who whinnied in pain as he flopped sideways. He landed in denuded bushes. They'd been staked. Nearly impaled, the stick broke and cut open his right flank. He bucked himself up, then bucked again, trying to keep upright while simultaneously jumping away from me. Blood welled up and colored his grey-brown fur crimson along a raggedy line of puckering hide.

His mud-brown eyes widened, showing progressively more white. He backpedaled, cracking away branches of another bush that impeded him.

"Get her!" Singe yelled before coughing the air from her lungs. The prince collided with her. They skidded across the ground. Bamboo tocked-t-tock-tocked out of sequence as they struck the hollow wood.

My ear twitched. Another assailant?

Instinct cried out that I needed Force. That stupid oft-inappropriate spell, but that wasn't possible. The geometric folding of Levitate was far too complex. 

My hide cooled. This an assassination attempt, wasn't it...?

Heart racing so hard I thought it might explode, I tried to track every pony. I smelled marjoram—like from a savory bread hot from the oven. From behind me?

Every unicorn had a first spell. Illuminate, to push back the darkness and scare away the monsters lurking under the bed. I knew it, together with transforms of Levitate, like the wood grain texture of the front of my hoof, a pattern that required little calculation whatsoever. Reflex casting was as fast as quick draw or pulling something out of a spell queue to spin up. Not battle magic, whatsoever.

Ugh! It took three seconds to spin up!

Hooves suddenly pounded behind me. I dodged. They shifted counter the direction I turned. Unlike Mudflats, this nimble pony understood how to fight.

Adrenaline jacked the spell to level three, which was fortunate since I couldn't target somepony I hadn't located. Blue-green light sprayed out from my horn like ethereal paint. It splashed Desert Sands' muzzle and splashed his eyes as he sped his trot, ready for a final leap.

I threw myself aside but he compensated. We bounced off one another. I scrambled away, huffing and puffing, lightning blue jags of pain stabbing my left shoulder. The griffon wound, broken open, wept yellow fluid that smelled like milk gone bad. Really bad. Increasingly leaden as my horn cooled, I plodded. I had plenty of useless splendors of magic left, but desperately needed stamina. 

They'd surrounded me. I couldn't outrun a mouse. 

The prince body-slammed Singe, but that mare who'd bossed the prince around that night on the attic stair, proved a tough opponent. 

This princess obviously had a champion. My heart opened, useless emotions blooming. I wished instead for the energy to run.

I screamed, "Guards! Guards! Help!"

I blinked, realizing everypony had horns. Unicorns. If any were able to cast Force...

Mirror Shield, I thought, forcing myself to think. It wasn't one of my reflexive spells, but was simple enough. I desperately wanted Teleport, but only three unicorns and one alicorn in the entire world could cast it. Hard? An understatement! I could really use Don't Look Don't See Don't Hear right now, also, but in addition to it being complicated—and finicky—the pseudo-invisibility spell required hyper awareness.

Not happening!

No. I concentrated on the possible, glancing to Mudflats. He shook, maybe in fear, but held a defensive posture. I worried he might panic and attack if I got close. Desert Sands kept his distance, blinking and rubbing the glowing apparition I'd flooded his eyes with. Was he convinced I could fight him? Was he unwilling to close without an advantage?

Yay, me!

The three shifted to block my retreat north, into better view of the castle. Singe leapt at me, which was foalish. The prince walloped her, shoving her down with his greater mass. They tumbled and he somersaulted to his hooves.

Why wasn't he using his fancy Shield spell? That first time I'd attacked him, he'd used net-like transforms of Levitate. He'd seemed coated in grease! Not only had he kept me from tripping or tackling him, but had thrown me.

Were his injuries that bad? Was he as impaired as I was?

I saw no blood around his head, or damage to his horn. It took enormous pressure and leverage to chip a unicorn's horn, let alone crack it. No burns, either.

Desert Sands feinted. I jumped. He wiped at his eyes with a devilish grin, blinking, squinting at me, not entirely blinded.

I backed into a bench.

My Mirror Shield popped out.

Desperately, I waved it between the two stallions. Somepony had to fire. Stupidly, my use of Mirror Shield ought having given then the idea of using Force, had it not already occurred to them!

"Starlight!" cried the prince.

I turned; so did my Mirror Shield. I didn't have the capacity to target beyond x-hoof lengths ahead, centered on my nose.

A green force bolt bloomed from the direction of the fighting mare and stallion. The terminus of the frictional cylinder ended three pony lengths away. "Perfectly aimed" as either Citron, the pony with the flame cutie mark—or Broomhill Dare, the genius of all spells Levitate of which Force was a transform—would say. The plasma bloomed greenish white.

It splashed off my Mirror Shield. Energy dissipation pushed me hard against the bench.

Other ponies would have panicked or at least run. Though weak, I was a seasoned fighter. Nevertheless, I startled.

In Singe's place stood an oddly shiny black unicorn wearing protective metallic-green goggles over her deeply green eyes. Her horn wasn't the mineralized keratin javelin unicorns sported, but an obsidian sword, jagged like a graphic representation of a lightning bolt. Worse, it had a leprous oval hole in it that had to impede her splendor flow, both surface conduction and along the superconductor veins within. It didn't stop there. Her body looked tarred. No, enameled, gleaming where it reflected the sky though black. The only fur I saw was black, also, between plates of, what, living armor(?). The armor split at her joints, formed three plates stacked on her chest like a segmented peytral, and tiled her belly like a brick walk invaded by grass—albeit, fine black grass.

I did not miss that her "armor" resembled the dented wound on Blueblood's flank. His looked enameled lime green. It turned ruby above the hip joint. What had he been sprayed with?

Both Blueblood's leg and the creature's side sported crumps on the surface.

Her legs, though! It reminded me of bubble cheese. I cringed as I stupidly stared, while sliding along the bench. The leprous holes looked excruciating.

One wing looked crushed. A clear membrane of gossamer slipped out and down limply, flattened under a plate of hard black flesh that diffracted the light like a butterfly wing

No, Starlight. You're assuming this is the pony. It's an illusion. One constructed to affect you, to set you up for a kill.

I waved my head reflexively, confused and cotton-brained. The motion proved instructive. Not only did I register feedback along the length of my horn from my spell, I registered all magic in my vicinity, exactly as I'd detected the runes on the Eagle's Stoop. The bloom of Singe's Force spell faded as her superluminal numbers disorganized beyond reintegration.

I. 

Felt. 

Nothing else.

No congealed magic reciprocating in a standing wave. Not an illusion as I understood it...

My jaw fell and I gasped. I'd made a wagonload of mistakes.

Insect wings.

Cicada buzzing sounds.

A "brigade" of black pegasi approaching Canterlot in the shadow of the Everfree Forest.

A beaten unconscious royal guard, who had flown after a cascade diver, who if I'd had my head out a couple more hoof lengths would have broken my neck and sent me tumbling, or, if not struck dead, breaking myself apart as I bounced off the jagged outcrops of the rocky cliff face.

That guard, who had chased the cascade diver, had cornered me in the corridor outside the ensign's stateroom. Not a comedy of errors, after all. But for my lightning fast reflexes, I would have suffered a KO that I'd never have woken from. The scorch mark on the sign in hall when I searched for the brig: a Force bolt I'd accidentally ducked and had been too obtuse to notice being shot.

Singe.

That Pastellist was the black, fanged, insectile pony that had just shot a Force bolt at me. 

Singe. She'd been in the bakery—impersonating the prince's guard! Had she gotten me in the alley, blinded by the sun... What? I'd have found a knife in my heart? Wait? Was she outside the loo and been chased away by my pegasus guard.

I started to hyperventilate. How many other times?

In the prince's townhouse? What had happened there? Did the green nightmare have something to do with it? My waking in the tub...

I didn't know!

"Sweet Celestia!" I cried.

The prince tackled Singe—not well. His injured leg tripped him up. She half bucked; he went over.

"Blueblood!" I galloped at them, clattering across the brick path, no faster than a trot, stumbling, unable to find my gait. My shoulder throbbed and smelled of corruption; worse it felt bound by rubber bands. "Blueblood!"

I distracted her, for what it was worth.

Singe raised her head from pointing her horn down, point-blank, to track it toward me as she cast. The green frictional cylinder bloomed a dark saturated green sweeping the ground, setting a strip of wood chips aflame coming toward me as I closed the pony lengths between us.

She was a fighter. Trained or experienced, didn't matter. Still casting, she reared and stomped the prince. Her hooves came down hard on the prince and he cried out as I closed the distance to less than the length of her cylindrical apparition. 

Force manifested spinning concentric cylinders that rubbed at the speed of sound, thus the sonic boom, creating a bloom of projected plasma that caused damage. All unicorns, me included, needed distance from the end of the apparition so the spell "didn't know" it would hurt a pony, to prevent it from failing. Was the creature I barreled toward a unicorn at all? Did she have those limits?

With wings, was she an alicorn?

Her spell hit my Mirror Shield. The apparition bent like a cardboard tube. By the time I'd slid within a pony length, the spell had bent 180º.

Her horn burst into a cloud of noxious oily smoke. The creature screamed, whinnying, backing and stomping, waving her head, drawing lines of black in the air.

I reared and stumbled. I tripped on the prince's outstretched front legs, then hoofed something brittle due to my weight.

I screamed, looking down, becoming horrified. "Blueblood! Help! Anypony!"

The prince groaned. Hoof marks dented his hide. Pressure cuts bled. His shoulder looked cracked, dislocated. One rib was displaced inward.

A second gouge on across his neck cut deeply, but had missed his windpipe. It bled, too—

Singe turned toward me and I couldn't ignore her. The crown princess of Equestria, who'd thwarted her multiple times, maybe thwarted an invasion, was her primary target.

A burnt horn was horribly bad, crippling. It wouldn't kill a pony, but might destroy their magic, might hurt like all Tartarus. I'd been a prizefighter—living proof that no unicorn needed magic to be dangerous.

Her horn sparked and sputtered like metal wire under a welder's torch.

A curtain of green light veiled her left to right and then right to left, revealing Firefall. The auburn pony had a blackened horn, bruises, and bleeding cuts, but I understood the tactic.

Demoralize your enemy. Weaken your enemy's will to fight.

I placed my hooves on Blueblood's neck wound, keeping my eyes on Firefall's magenta ones even as I let my ears swivel and range. I had other assailants. Hot blood flowed beneath the frogs of my hooves. Not much; nothing to be ignored either. The prince's throat bobbled as he swallowed.

"You have to run," he croaked. 

"I won't," I hissed. I can't say "can't" because that would tell my opponent too much. So long as she impersonates a pony, she can't use Force? Was that why she changed to the monster? Those times they impersonated his bodyguards they definitely used Levitate. Anything else? Don't assume you know their magic, Starlight! Hooves clicked on brick. 

When hooves crunched on wood chips. I glanced. Desert Sands flanked Firefall/Singe. His face glowed brightly, but he didn't look blinded.

The glossy blue-green shimmer of my Mirror Shield followed my slight head movement.

The spell would be completely useless if either pony charged me—it reflected only energy. I needed Shield, which pushed against mass, but was a complex transform that required multidimensional folding of the apparitional surface of Push. I was in worse physical danger than magical if the black unicorns could only cast Levitate while impersonating a pony.

I glanced at the prince.

His liquid sky blue eyes speared me. I saw running blood, bruises. He'd fought for me. He might die for me!

My heart opened again. Useless, useless, useless!

Moon Dancer had asked if I loved him? Perceptive filly. At this moment, I loved him with all my heart.

At this moment.

I didn't understand friendship. How could I understand this, or know what came next.

I might die soon. 

Could I not at least experience love like a normal common pony?

Intuition said, No, of course not. Harmony might not have cursed me as it had Celestia for a thousand years, but I was cursed nonetheless.

Tragic, really. I snorted at my stray thought.

Mudflats' hoof scraped a brick.

I looked his way, just in time to see him bring his chest down to the ground as he lay like a sphinx.

Firefall/Singe shouted, "Attack her, you foals!"

Mudflats said, "I'm not sure."

"Do you want Queen Chrysalis to cull you? Are you immature grubs or functional workers!"

"Can't you feel it, Facet?" he asked the mare. "Are you that blind?"

A glance at Desert Sands showed he'd stopped a few pony lengths off Singe's, no Facet's flank. Not exactly committed. Staring.

At me. Fascinated. 

"Starlight Glimmer is a queen," Blueblood explained.
> 47 — The End is Neigh IV: Crimes of Selfishness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The words were too much for Blueblood: he coughed and hacked. Was that blood on his lips?

"You're deluded," Singe/Firefall/Facet said. "Why Chrysalis didn't cull you boggles my mind. There are no other colonies, Thorax. None. Nopony needs a drone. Delusions of being a queen's prince have no place in a modern world where we fight everycreature to stave off starvation."

"Starlight Glimmer is my queen."

My fuzzed brain, multitasking to keep Mirror Shield up, if for no other reason than for the threat it might represent, left me frowning at their words.

"Thorax! Redeem yourself. Kill her. Prove why Chrysalis chose you when she culled the others."

I looked down, met his blue eyes, seeing reflected in them exactly what I felt.

Love. 

"How can you misread him so badly?" I asked, looking up, meeting Firefall's magenta eyes. "I have medicine in my messenger bag. Let me dress his wounds."

The creature harrumphed, waving a hoof dismissively. "Thorax is a useless sensora drone. Do as you please." She tensed, though, hoping I'd distract myself. 

I reached up a bloody hoof, flicking the snap holding my messenger bag on. It flopped down; I guided it by lifting my neck, letting it spill its contents. The book, which had weight to overcome friction against the painted fabric, slid out first with a thump. The tub of silver salve rolled out as I'd hoped. No hair ties or quills came out, but something relatively heavy, because it was half-steel half-ivory, woofed into the dirt, not revealing itself.

I transformed my spell to Levitate. As I lifted the tub slowly—to stifle it wanting to jerk spasmodically, signaling my vulnerability—I watched for Facet to flinch, or to transform back to the insect.

I tried desperately to get Shield up. Though they impersonated unicorns, they hadn't studied this unicorn or learned about prizefighters. Was that the reason I realized that Firefall, when she visited after I left the townhouse, wasn't behaving as before? They hadn't had time to study her better?

Which meant.

What?

Had they killed her upstairs as Blueblood, now laying below my hooves, convinced me not to gallop to save her?

I shook my head vigorously but stopped when Firefall's impostor tensed. I denied the thought. If I let it in, it might crush my world.

I fumbled with the salve, using my hoof after dumping the goo. The sensora planned what they planned. I kept pressure where I could best stop the worst bleeding on his neck. I spread the pale pink paste over his chest, lightly, learning where bones lay broken from his groans. He coughed and hacked again, and wheezed. A punctured lung, doubtless. The first rib felt snapped, pushed in. Way too close to his heart.

He had to live! He had to.

Mudflats said, "Do we need to do this? I can't, Facet. I feel it. Radiating from the pony princess. Queen Chrysalis, I think—"

"That's where you've gone wrong, Ocelli! Thinking!" she said, so furious that spittle sprayed out. "Workers. Don't. Think. Being around ponies, made soft by luxuries and an easy life, is corrupting you. You're Sensora. Only the queen is born; only the queen thinks!"

"I think Chrysalis is wrong," he stated in a whisper.

Blueblood coughed, but got out. "Chrysalis is wrong. Ocelli is right. Starlight radiates it. We don't have to steal love, nor hoard it. They share it, their love. They fill you up beyond capacity if you let it in their way. It heals you."

Mudflats said, "What's spilling from Thorax fills me up, too. I—I can't do this. H—h—hurt them. I won't. I won't do it!"

"Fills you up?" I asked, glancing over my shoulder and catching Mudflats' suddenly soulful dark brown pony eyes. Under that impersonation, he was a black enameled insect pony, but he looked like a stallion now—very much in existential emotional distress.

"Yes," he murmured, sounding in awe of having made eye contact—with me.

What had I said to Blueblood in the bathroom when he'd babbled about this very thing?

Right...

"Then give me back all I’ve given you! Let it go."

"Can I? Should I?"

"Absolutely," I said, keeping my eyes fixedly on those of Firefall. This is when she would, should act. I shouted, commanded with all the bluster I could scavenge, "Share it! Share it all!"

"Oh!" Mudflats exclaimed, sitting up by the clatter of his hooves. "Oh... What's that?"

Blinding light flashed into existence.

Sun-bright light bloomed behind me, to my right, where Mudflats sat. It grew pinkish in hue, reflected in Firefall's widening eyes. Her mouth slowly drew open as she shielded her sight. A whirring sound increased. The same magical pressure I'd felt in the tub with Blueblood sitting there pushed at my backside now. The scent of honey grew thick...
> 48 — The End of Neigh V: Death for the Sake of Love
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like Blueblood, Mudflats released his magic. The sensora, as they called themselves, had a magic. I couldn't fathom how it was truly love, but whatever it was, the radiation grew and grew. It felt amazing bathed in the glow, like being caressed and accepted unconditionally. Warmed to the marrow of my bones.

Firefall gulped, but now looked away. Were I more than a shadow of myself, I'd have knocked her down and out. Now, I'd merely break the enchantment we were under. Within hoof range, she'd kill me, then Blueblood.

Desert Sands shielded his eyes with a fetlock, but kept us all in sight. He licked his lips, as if he were experiencing a feast. 

For them, feeling love was akin to that?

"You could share, too," I said his direction.

The unicorn impostor fixed me in a stare that could kill, hissing like a snake.

All this time, I patted the ground with a free hoof. I knew my targeting ability was unreliable, but I hadn't bobbled the salve. I was certain I could impart accurate momentum to a moving object. I had used my right hoof for the salve at the cost of applying wound pressure. I'd used it to move a weapon into place.

The light radiating from my left brightened and the sound resolved into a ringing that crescendoed as a crystalline chime.  Sparkles that accompanied all magic sizzled in random directions and popped faintly. The result bobbed in my peripheral vision.  The breeze jostled it, nudging it closer.

Seeing  Firefall's gaze captured, I chanced it wasn't a ruse and glanced. It almost captured my gaze, too. I had the presence to force my eyes back.

Midair— 

Well, their queen had a name: Chrysalis. With their insect features and naming themselves for body parts, that made sick sense. 

—Midair, knee high, a pearlescent pink-tinted moth's chrysalis floated. Fashioned of magic, or love, or a transparent substance unique to their pony kind, it resembled swirled, faceted, cut crystal. Something foal-like, head-down flank-up, connected by faintly pulsing arteries, squirmed gently within. It glowed with pink light. Magic waves vibrated across the surface of my horn that alternately tinkled and tickled, feeling like an itchy back well-and-thoroughly scratched by a dear friend.

Did innocence feel this way? Or was purity?

I remembered holding Blueblood, leaning from the tub, covering him with suds. Contact had resolved the mysterious magic outburst. I'd hugged him until...

Not hugging Mudflats' chrysalis! —Were I even in the position to do so.  Instead, standing—slowly not to break the enchantment—I reached out my left rear leg, felt, and then tapped—

Plink!

The glow flared and went out. A limp body fell wetly to the wood chips with a plop. A pony grunted and I looked. 

Ocelli resembled the black sensora in shape, but looked covered in moist velvety fur rather than chitinous armor. He, or was it a she (no stallion parts), had a light yellow-green coat, with an orange underbelly and lime beetle wing-covers she shuffled, revealing translucent gauzy violet wings. Her ears were thinner, longer pony types that wiggled as she realized she was very different than before. She wore those strapless goggles I'd seen on Facet; through the metallic orange glass, her orange pony eyes sparkled with wonder.

I tore my eyes away. Had I done that? 

Ocelli gasped, standing. She examined herself, emitting squeaks and gasps of amazement.

Blueblood said, sounding stronger, "You're no longer starving, are you?"

"I—I've never felt so well fed before! Not starved of love, not even hungry, though it radiates deliciously from... her—" A hoof pointed my way, in my peripheral vision.

"Love will feed your magic, but you can make it now yourself, even share it," Blueblood said, obviously aiming his words at Desert Sands, if not— Her name was Facet. "You need to eat pony food, but hay no longer tastes like ashes."

"What is this Facet? Me? Huh?" Ocelli waved metallic orange hooves at herself. "What has Chrysalis hoarded, kept from her workers, from all sensora!?"

"Delusion, cull," Facet hissed. "Delusion."

"Traitor. Filthy traitors, you both!" Desert Sands added.

"Slacker! Parasite!" Ocelli shot back.

Both the transformed sensora and fake unicorn tensed. I thought they might throw themselves at each other, but no.

The former Mudflats sidled closer to me, facing the other two sensora, interposing her body between us and Desert Sands. She reeked of honey as her damp fur dried in the sun. Stuck wood chips fell off, but a faint bitter-orange scent presented itself when she fluttered her lace wings. 

Was she protecting me?

The standoff was tenuous at best, if more stable. I positioned my best chance to fight back under my hoof with what I hoped seemed random movement. "Did you kill Firefall?"

Blueblood unexpectedly answered, "They didn't. They moved her, though." He sounded stronger. The flow of blood from his neck had stopped! "I couldn't find her. New safe house, Facet-51?"

"We weren't the only infiltration cell, Thorax-7," she hissed back, smugly—using generic names based on body parts and numbers, but sarcastic, like I would use a pony's full name to bring my ire to their attention. 

Firefall was alive. A relief in itself.

I asked, "At the townhouse? The otter dance? The kiss? The after—the after the tub? You, Thorax?"

He nodded, smiled. His chest, though bloodied and smeared with pink, moved less labored. He coughed, however, and groaned.

Facet said sadly, "Gloriously good at performing as a stallion, since he is male, and I trained him myself. What a waste."

I met Facet's fake-Firefall magenta eyes. She wasn't missing Ocelli's positioning or that I was distracted by the impostor prince.

"The green nightmare, came out of my mouth unbidden. Ocelli's form in the sensora chrysalis, head-down flank-up, tubes shoved into every orifice. I gulped, gulped again, as the orange juice threatened to return to its point of origin. "You did that?"

The fake Blueblood quieted. He wheezed as he breathed, not answering for long enough that I inhaled to speak. 

He said, "Chrysalis' sensora ponies replace other ponies. We weave them into dream capsules. When I got you upstairs, they wanted us to subdue you then and there, but I made them remember that if we were to replace you as well as the prince, given the opportunity, we needed to know you better."

"So you—?"

"I wasn't sure. You're so different. You're a liminal, a pony undergoing so much life change that pent-up emotions flare blindingly. Your personality defies prediction, bounding from vulnerable to diamond hard. Instinct screamed you might be my destiny—"

"So you captured me?"

"I did. After I gathered your love, the transition was instantaneous. Instinct did the weaving, but I became lost when I had your dream capsule to move around like an anonymous sack."

Facet took a step toward me. 

I stood instantly, heart racing, tail thrashing. I did my best to make sure the sensora didn't see that the change of elevation made my head whirl. My aching wound made me want to cringe.

I sat. She held her more advantageous position, in reach of Blueblood.

Thorax continued. "The hormones and spice in a chrysalis is like what swims in your head when you dream. You never wake encapsulated; you're not supposed to; but you woke within five minutes. I'd encapsulated you in the tub so I could clean the residue, but you squirmed even as I hung you up. You thrashed, you moaned, you bit down on feed-lines. I imagined you ripping them, ripping the others out, poisoning the respiratory gel. Worse, your love shriveled, evaporated, and turned to cinders. Gathering love is the whole purpose of a dream capsule, to allow you to dream thinking you're awake, enjoying a full life in your dreams while emitting love. You woke to an unexpected reality. Fear sours everything. It crushed you until your heart beat irregularly. I feared I'd lose you before I could act. I understood then that nothing in this world could ever be as precious as you."

"That's when you freed me?"

"That's when I realized that love wasn't food. Love is caring for someone more than your own life."

"Jellyhead!" Facet hissed. "Cull, don't you know how to titrate the dream mixture—?"

"He was right. I wanted to die," I said. "Trying to, because living that nightmare was making me go insane." The green nightmare was so vivid because it was real.  Thorax had turned me into a food generator. "Don't know if I can forgive you."

"I can live with being unforgiven."

Facet made gagging sounds, but judging by the set of her muscles and her stance, she communicated derision. I was giving her further motivation to kill us.

"You'd better live," I admonished him. His condition seemed more stable now; I hoped it wasn't shock setting in.

"I'll love you, regardless. Allow me to be your prince, my queen, and I'll gladly die for you."

"She's not a sensora pony, you stupid drone! She's a unicorn. You can't mate with her—"

"I already have—"

"Nor can she make you a prince—"

Facet jumped at me. 

Somepony yelled, "Ms. Glimmer!?"

In recollection, underneath Blueblood/Thorax's words, I'd heard running hooves. We'd had our attention, stupidly or otherwise, riveted by the true story of my green nightmare. Maybe intentionally, if Thorax had been more situationally aware than us all and had heard my rescuers' approach. With my senses dulled by feverish exhaustion, my situational awareness extended only a few pony lengths to Facet's eyes.

The fake Firefall got half a pony length extended when she heard the shout—

It was the real Prince Blueblood—!

—She shrieked and aborted the maneuver, guessing a closer attack.

Desert Sands, however launched at Ocelli at the same time Facet's horn sparked and a curtain shot around her.

"Coxa!" cried the colorful sensora at Desert Sands, "Don't do this!"

They collided with a crunch and a bang, rolling behind me out of view, as Facet completed her transition back to a black sensora, twisting as she did. Her burnt—once again smoking—horn sparked and I had time enough to think she might shoot Force or had forgotten she might now be incapable.

Thorax's back legs flung me back and away as they connected with my chest. This wasn't a buck, but measures to throw me out of reach as he used me as a backplate to roll against. With Facet's attention directed toward Blueblood and—

Not Cadance but Moon Dancer, galloping our way...

Had they seen Ocelli's flash from his suite?

—Thorax leapt at the sensora. His tendons clunked as his action pulled his dislocated shoulder back into place. His rib looked whole again. He breathed like a bellows.

He'd said it, hadn't he? Love healed a sensora pony. Mudflats/Ocelli's transition had released an immense load of it.

Facet had been completely distracted. Thorax's attack was neither stealthy nor particularly quick. Facet had twisted away and thus leaned away. She used her legs to try to catch and flip him over herself.

He—and I guessed that drone/stallion sensora were plenty more massive then worker/mare sensora—dragged hooves at the last moment so that he fell atop her.

What happened in the next instants, I didn't see. I heard meaty thuds, grunts, and pained whinnies. I didn't run; that response was never at the top of my reflex actions.

I had a weapon. I scrambled closer to Facet and Thorax fighting, to retrieve it. 

Mustang used the ivory sheathed jackknife in the usual mode, since the deceased mare had been an earth pony. She bit the sides, to actuate the spring knife and to grip it with her teeth in the indents carved into the ivory. The thing even had a secondary razor that popped out laterally from the body, taking it from a three hoof length blade to a six hoof length single edged short sword. With that, Mustang had charged at me down a dead-end alley, prepared to slit my throat for having dissed her gang colt friend, and having led her cohort into—what had they called it—a rumble?

I used my hoof instead. The blade spun dangerously when I actuated it on the ground, but it had been a dual hilted weapon, not custom for an earth pony. I frog-lifted it on a ridge carved to look like a dragon's crested spine. 

I did not trust I could throw it accurately, or make a deadly swipe with it. I had none of that type of weapons training, though I will admit I'd played with the jackknife a few dozen times.

I could fling it with my magic, but never at a pony thanks to my unicorn magic limitations. Could I skim and slice her hide, or something? I felt in danger; that allowed more defensive accuracy. If she charged me, I might be able to protect myself—

I looked up in time to see the fake Blueblood with his green enamel leg, no longer completely lame, again shoulder butt. He succeeded, but had repeated the tactic one too many times. He caught her only at belly height, which dragged her back, legs folding, but left her beside him, not pinned.

Perhaps it was instinctual.  Perhaps it was calculated.  Nevertheless, it proved deadly.

She ducked her head. 

I was correct that a sensora's horn resembled a sword.

I wound up and threw the jackknife as she craned her head down, jabbing her jagged horn into his neck above the shoulder and pulling it back in one ripping stroke— 

that—

it—

"No!" I screamed. I punched the thrown knife with my magic, shoving it at her jawline, hoping to score any sensitive spot from an ear down to her shoulder.  

As I did that—

Facet used her momentum from pulling her horn free to thrust herself up, forward, and away—to the left from my perspective.

In the subsequent instant, as she stood, her knees locked. She froze so suddenly, her stiff legs dug four lines clear down to the dirt in the wood chip mulch.

Dark green eyes, widening under metallic green goggles, peered down.

The jackknife waggled in the hoof length between the peytral plates of her insectile armor. The notched upturned tip stood embedded a quarter hoof length.

In that heartbeat, as her horn sparked as she thought Levitate, I condensed a nebula of magic on the hilt.

Teeth gritting, I thrust the knife in.

My magic should not have let me. 

But. 

It did.

Because I thought I'd seen her kill Thorax? 

Elation flooded me as my mouth dropped, but then I saw... Blood, crimson as any pony's, welled up around the blade, bubbling and popping as it dripped.

My thought, Murderer! followed.

I'd never intentionally killed a pony, though I had certainly tried once, coincidentally with a knife used by an assassin, fueled by emotions inflamed by Carne Asada's revenge-driven evil words. 

The orange juice-flavored tea fountained up my throat, by this time mostly bile. Even that didn't break through my shock. Hot bitterness leaked through my closed lips and dripped down my chin and jaw. I gagged, but focused on the knife.

I'd done that. Luck compounded by hate.

Her horn continued to spark, even as Thorax's blood seeped down her horn's black length, then dripped red down the sides of her face to form a scarlet cap.

She continued to stand.

So... 

I'd missed her heart, but I'd cut–

Sensora green magic appeared like an aurora over the knife even as my magic fizzled out. I couldn't think numbers at the moment, though I realized then I really needed to. 

Her eyes went to the knife as she stood there rigidly. It wiggled in time to the beat of her heart. 

Her eyes went to Blueblood, sundered, but alive, his breathing labored, rigid from pain and falling into shock. 

Her eyes flicked back to the knife. The weapon slipped a hair.  A rivulet streamed over the top of the hilt to drip beyond at the end of the weapon. 

The knife kept her from hemorrhaging. Stronger than bodily tissue, the steel acted paradoxically as a pressure seal.

"Don't do that!" I yelled. "You pull that, you die."

"This cull needs to die," she said, a matter-of-factly. "He— I— we know too much to be captured."

A bloodied Desert Sands backed off. A glance showed he'd knocked out Ocelli. He glanced at the approaching Equestrian prince, then at Facet.

"Report our failure," she commanded in a frightened sounding monotone whisper.

He unveiled himself as a black sensora. Gossamer wings buzzed, creating that cicada sound I'd first heard in Blueblood Park when the sensora impostors had escaped me. His yeasty marjoram scent pumped into the air.

Blueblood or Moon Dancer could have caught the creature, but I was the important pony. The buzz-buzz buzz-buzz faded rapidly.

I sensed their magic reach my direction and I cried, "Stop. These ponies are under my protection!"

I'd meant Thorax and Ocelli. 

I spun up my healing spell. Maybe it was desperation, or that it was intimately tied up with my cutie mark magic, maybe adrenaline, or love, but the numbers balanced at a minimal level. Keeping my eyes on the yellowed blood-spattered ivory hilt, and with a renewed aura on my horn, the standoff continued.

What I read from the spell told me I had no time to dawdle. I stepped closer, then closer. I soon crept with striking range, giving her the two targets she desired most. She held herself ridged. No doubt that was as much fear as it was agonizing pain. I crept a bit further, then sat.

The knife was at my nose level.

I edged my hooves toward the prince. I stepped in warm wetness and fought new nausea that would ruin everything.

Nopony moved.

Blue magic pulsed around the real Blueblood's horn five pony lengths away, purple around Moon Dancer's. But for unconscious Thorax, everypony could strike, even Facet. I faced a blade.

I blinked, now seeing spell-induced visions— metaphors— They were alternately in Facet's chest: the axed redwood tree representation of a nicked major heart artery; and in Thorax's neck: an opened earthquake fault through a Canterlot street—showing cobbles, under pavement, and pipes—that represented sliced muscles, tissues, and a collection of feeder veins. The pipes filled with suffocating fluid.

"What are you waiting for?" I asked. I meant the question for me; maybe I meant it for my entire audience.

I thrust my muzzle forward, mouth open, clamping my teeth to hold the knife in place. The secondary hilt razor sliced my lip and my incautious tongue. Her blood filled my nostrils. I tasted salt and iron. The jackknife clamped in place so it would not move, I plunged my magic into Thorax. The metaphorical universe of the healing spell bloomed to surround my perception. I worked to force his body to seal his throat by cramping muscle and knitting windpipe. 

I let my awareness flit to an aorta that could rip any second, asking the rubbery walls to knit as if a life depended on it.

It did.

So it went. 

Back and forth. 

Despite burning facial pain, beyond exhaustion, beyond the impression that my heart palpated and might soon burst... I could barely breathe, but continued. I thrust splendor after splendor into my horn as I kept the spell spinning. If I had to use up my life when I ran out of splendors, I'd do that for Thorax and Facet. 

I would not let the label murderer ever be applied to me, not at least today. 

Nor would I let Thorax die.

Nopony had ever told me I was the most precious pony in the world. Nor that they cared for me more than life itself. This made me stupidly happy. It fed me strength.

The right to be happy? Did I deserve that?

No.

Ponies found Teleport the impossible spell. Technically, the confounding tracts strapped to the primary obscurities necessary for violating normal physical law took a lot of crafting and determination, and the ability to understand infinities and singularities—essentially thinking inside-out and in reverse. The demonstrable miracle warped space and time. Anypony determined enough could eventually master this. When they spun it up enough to trial cast, though, every thaumaturge realized the truth: 

It. 

Felt.

Like. 

Death. 

To pass through a singularity was death because nopony could survive being crushed through a dimensionless point. It was capital D Death—and you needed the faith that you might be reconstituted, or... 

I'd cast Teleport fully that first time because deep down I'd feared I'd die if I didn't.

You experience black, silent, vacuum frigid enough that it could be absolute zero. Blood or sweat turned to frost that steamed furiously up in ribbons when you Teleported back into the pony universe. It took a warped pony, like Carne Asada, to enjoy the experience because it was the singular thing she thought her arch-nemesis Princess Celestia, her "white windigo," could experience that she could not.

Now you understand justifying insanity.

I worked my healing magic until the world went black, silent, and frigidly cold and I could no longer breathe. 

This felt like death, because for the sake of love, it was death. 

Mine.