The story begins during the eve of the grand galloping gala. Darkness is brewing in the heart of the young prince Blueblood, who whilst wrestling his own soul is granted a vision... Of greatness and power.
The story follows prince Blueblood in his quest for power, the crown of Equestria and subsequent aspirations for world domination. After coming to realize his true destiny; that what he truly yearns for is nothing else but to stand on the very summit of might. Blueblood schemes to abolish harmony and rule the world with the ironclad hooves of a tyrant. The dark quest of a long since broken soul has now begun, either to end in triumph, defeat... Or death.
"Clad in gold or encased in silver, are not rabble still what it is? You claim to be noble, foolishly and with such an air of confidence... But allow me to reveal the truth; thou art not! In fact, you are nothing but a ragged cloth and no amount of gold can shroud the stains which festers upon your coat", the vain prince proclaimed. The seemingly unrelenting stream of words, this flood of malice, came to an halt. Prince Blueblood turned his gaze away and with one wave of his horn a waiting decanter, yet containing a modest amount of punch, took flight and refilled his chalice once again. The elegant figure grew tired of this farce which never seemed to cease, another dull special occasion he could not avoid attending. It would seem they came in clusters these days, he thought and sighed deeply. The Summer Sun celebration, followed tightly by unbroken lines of summits, parties and now this ghastly gala. Blueblood found the bottom of his chalice yet again, only to confound himself with the fact that he had never actually noticed the intricate patterns that embellished its inside. A smirk made its appearance on his face, the first one he had allowed himself during the entire day, in fact. Sometimes strange turns take place in the alleyways of life and even the inside of a cup could make all the difference for a pony's mood. Pondering this little escape from matters at hoof did indeed provide a slight relief, if but a short one.
For the moment the room was devoid of noise and a calm, cold atmosphere stood triumphant as the proud conqueror of the narrow social field that were. Then silence gave way to wrath and ire, violently the chalice was hurled across the room. A explosion of sound pervaded the air as metal and marble came to clash. His face distorted by anger the prince dashed forth and once more lashed his tongue at the unfortunate, "who are you... So uncouth as to lack the bare minimum of judgement? Do you not understand the context, nor what choices lies before us? You sad excuse for nobility, nought but a paper tiger, stripped clean of your stripes! Forgotten by all, unseen by real eyes and adorned with lies of grandeur...".
Silence unfolded its shroud once more, its dominance only wavered by the soft panting of the prince. The outburst had left his manedo in disarray, a hint of sweat also made its appearance across the rims of both his mane and attire, but neither fact was offered even the tiniest slice of his attention. Blueblood opened his mouth only to close it instantly at the notion of hooves that briskly trod the outer hall. As if frozen the prince remained standing for a short moment. Then his gaze swept over the room and as if in a frenzy he searched. Per chance he did not know himself what he sought, be it shelter or excuse, but none the less a maddening, desperate gaze fell upon the mirror standing in the corner of the room.
Suddenly the prince wobbled over to the beautiful looking-glass, which was framed in elegant black wood and ordained by silver patterns. The prince leaned down and stared into the mirror. "My only delight is that I will not have to endure the sight of you for the scarce remains of this eve...", he whispered. No answer was heard and the door opened up its ponderous and marble jaws to reveal one chambermaid and two royal guards, his chaperones had made their appearance.
"Your grace, it is time for your grooming. We shall escort you at the express demand of her royal Highness, princess Celestia", the leftmost guard proclaimed. Blueblood chuckled and tore his gaze from his own reflection. A puppet in her schemes still, he thought to himself. With resigned steeps he walked forth, but despite his meek obedience he towered up proudly and smiled. Perhaps doing so was the only defiance he could mount against the fickle whims of fate. He would obey for now, smile and keep up this bizarre pretense, but one fateful day she would lower her guard. No longer would he dance to the mockingbird's tune, he would tear it down from the skies and compose a melody of his own. Yes, indeed, a melody of his own design... A fabulous dance macabre.
Time ravished the evening and soon the event reached its closing. Whilst the bulk of the whole affair was of a dull, grey and most unbecoming nature, surprise upon surprise had marked the gala's requiem. What had started out as a mediocre charade gradually spread its wings and revealed a most refreshing grande finale; chaos! Complete and utter chaos. The prince stood dumbfounded, covered in cake and smirking broadly, without so much as a thought of hiding it. Nor did he care to keep up his pretense; to continue playing his role in this little theater performance. The sight of the perplexed princess trying to hold her ground and maintain order in the face of such confusion was truly marvelous, an unparalleled joy of such a kind the prince had never felt before. Perhaps he had truly found his calling in this world at this very moment, without actually grasping it himself. None the less he quickly excused himself before any pests would make their appearance and ruin the sensation.
Dashing through the royal halls he proceeded to his humble abode, this forlorn marble cage, and then kicked open the door with such a force that a gust of wind blew down the dust from his tall filling cabinet. Seldom did servants enter this room and when they did it was under his supervision, a circumstance which slightly impaired such aspects as cleaning. Once more he wandered over to the far wall of the room. Staring once more into the mirror, this time seemingly past his own reflection, as if into the maw of a dark abyss. Slowly losing his sense of present, space and self. He remembered partly a quote of a wise pony of ages past and whispered, "...if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you".
Time crawled by tirelessly without pause or sentiment. If the concept of time possessed a will, then surely it was of an unforgiving and vile nature. Countless pleas it ignored, scorning them with silence. At the very least so it would seem in the eyes of one pony who currently suffered under its reigns. The pony in question smiled, or at least he thought it was a smile, for the irony of his current prospects. Darkness the one place whereas his eyes could rest, darkness the one sight he was offered. The roaring winds raging flight through snow and ice his lullaby, the searing cold that slithered within the void his one embrace.
Staring into nothingness, the very bowels of the abyss, the pony thought his gaze met that of another... Yet always darkness prevailed, regardless of his plight and desire. The pony's lips spread, perhaps in defiance of his cruel fate, per chance in a feeble attempt to maintain his sanity as well as his image of himself. Slowly, softly, a name was spoken. His name...
"Sombra..."
Memories, in all their vague forms crept forth and engulfed the darkness, draped it in gold, silver and ivory. Other colors emerged in their wake as if to greet him, to hail his splendor and bask in the majestic power of his being. A scene of old once again exposed itself before the lonesome beholder, a shadow of his former self, his own voice which thundered with rage and spite,
"I can not help but believe that you veil the world in illusions... It is not so kind as you persistently tried to tell yourself and those who blindly followed your lead. Farewell, my dearest teacher. No longer can I abide this harmony of yours, for the world is cruel and wicked... A fate we ultimately must adhere to. Cast aside thine mercy, fool, for only ire can grant the strength to maintain life when its grandeur has fallen so low as yours. Hate me, despise me, raise thine horn and seek vengeance! Only then can the worth of all my efforts be judged, or was it all for naught?!"
The shape remained motionless spread over the marble floor, broken and tattered, its mane clad closely against its coat. Both body and marble stained red by ink of franklins, ill obtained. No sound traveled the hall. Only the voice of Sombra had echoed soon to fade and die without an answer to be heard. In silence he stood, once more alone, freed from his shackles and all his weakness. The mighty stallion let his eyes linger upon the remains, only to shortly thereafter rise his gaze and break the cruel reign of silence.
"Where you always this weak...?", Sombra asked in a solemn voice, without hope for reply, nor a true desire for one. The answer was simple.
It was not his teacher whose powers had lessened... It was he who had become strong, superior to them all and thus supreme. No longer would he ask, nor seek, for now he held the right to shape the answers and their meaning.
The bloodstained crown was stolen from its rest and floated ceremoniously onto the head of its new master, imbedding itself upon his raven mane.
Now he was king, as it was always meant to be.
Cold pervaded his entire body as the vision relinquished its sway over him. The prince fell down, his hooves unable to carry him. Lying down whilst grasping for air Blueblood began to ponder what he had just witnessed. It felt as if he was trying to solve a broken puzzle with missing pieces, no less. Only one thing was certain to him and that was the awe and fear which had wrapped itself around him. Also, burning faintly in his heart, his own desire for power seemingly renewed and resonating, in lack of better words, with the dark power displayed by this fiend from the vision.
Prince Blueblood rose up slowly; then he smiled for the third time this eve. Truly this day had been riddled by surprises of the most delightful variety. A dark laugh stole away from his throat and filled room and hallway alike, rising throughout the castle's interior. Suddenly all the troubles of his life shattered about and disappeared, if but for this moment. He was alive at last and he was full to the brim with joy... And thriving desire. The unshakeable ambition that so long lay dormant, shackled deep within the inner sanctums of his soul had now awakened completely, never again to disperse. This eve was the beginning of his greatness, of his future and destiny.
Chapter one: A night stained by ink; black an' red alike.
One lonesome candle spread its light upon the dark desk; made out of oak it was and old beyond most ponies memories. It had been passed down in the family since long before Celestia's reign made its mark on history. A fond companion, inanimate yet always ready to lend its services, ever waiting for its master to return. It wouldn't reject him; regardless of his fickle ways and the violent mood-swings, which sometimes came upon him. Many moons had passed since the last time the prince had entered this room, or the east side of the castle at all, for that matter. Too many painful memories lingered.
The tip of a quill met the blank surface of ink, to proceed towards the parchment that yet lay bare on the oak body. Swift movements spread the black substance across the fibers, words soon covered next to the entire surface. Prince Blueblood reached for his seal and began heating the wax above the candle. A tear found its way from his leftmost eye, to his surprise. He came to remember a time when he used to write letters together with his old teacher in this very room. Stroking a hoof along the old drapes behind the desk the prince chuckled halfheartedly and said, "few things remain as they were, now do they? I wonder what you would have had say about this whole affair? Would you have cursed me, or perchance endorsed me in my ambition?".
The wax had began to drip down below, staining the white candle in beautiful pools of red. The prince simply stared at the spectacle, as the red defiled the white yet further and black smoke rose up above. "We might never know, old one... We might never know", said the prince, in a manner that the words slowly died out towards the end; almost becoming a whisper. Scrolling the parchment and thereafter sealing it, the prince then tread across the room and let his eyes sweep over yonder, far beyond the castle walls. The forest below Canterlot, whose upper peaks almost shimmered silver against the a dark background, was what he beheld with such vigilance. The time drew nigh, he thought to himself.
Standing in front of the mantelpiece Blueblood wrapped himself in a cloak, black as night, except for a single golden pin that adorned the crude attire. Walking slowly through the halls, seemingly lost in thought the prince did not immediately react when another shape joined his serene procession. "I see, so you came after all, old friend", the prince said without making pause. The shrouded shape hid its features to a greater extent; wearing a mask under the cowl.
After walking along for quite a while the uncanny fellow finally spoke, "You left me little choice, your grace".
They left the castle through a gate mysteriously devoid of guards, a fact which eased the masked pony's mind slightly. This had been a dangerous gamble and the slightest mishap could come to cost them all they had toiled for. Princess Celestia would not take kindly to this malicious scheme, should it reach her ears, nor would princess Luna. Terrified that her gaze would fall on them from the tower up above the figure made every effort to maintain calm and a graceful demeanor.
"Can we truly pull of a stunt such as this, your grace? Even if we manage to get our hooves on the goods and escape without being recognized, well... The entire kingdom is bound to be in an uproar and I can almost guarantee that the guardsteeds will turn every single rock in Canterlot in their search. I mean, honestly, this is as close as it comes to social suicide. We'd be better of polishing hooves for a livin' than rottin' away in a dungeon, wouldn't we...?!".
"As per usual you are talkative beyond all reason, not to mention fairly annoying", prince Blueblood replied in a calm voice.
Tossing an eye towards the Canterlot sculpture gardens the prince's eyes lingered, for he saw a lone filly walk slowly between statues and shrubberies. The lone child meekly, as if crestfallen, approached one distant statue. There was something about the scene that brought forth compassion; a sort of sorrowful disposition.
"Worry not about tomorrow, my friend...", the prince said and once more eyed the faraway scene. The masked one met his gaze, questioning. A smirk clad Blueblood's face and he spoke but one more sentence; a sentence that came to instill everlasting fear in his companion, "Chaos is brewing". The prince let out a dark, crackling laugh as the two ventured onwards.
Traversing the dark, foggy streets of Canterlot it almost seemed like the shadow and mist danced to their every step. As they passed through the old Watchmaker street prince Blueblood suddenly froze up and remained motionless. He stared at the end of street, where it ramified into a crossroad. All of a sudden the fog dispersed and revealed the fiend from his vision, brazenly making his way towards them along with a blazing fire; black and encased in emerald green; following in his wake.
"Your grace, why have we stopped?", a voice suddenly asked. The prince stood bewildered and looked around them. A smile cleaved the handsome face of the royal stallion, who stroke his mane and resumed their journey without uttering a word. Skulking about in the night, encountering phantoms no one else could see... This little adventure was just getting better by the minute.
The outer wall came into sight. Hidden in the shadows they waited quietly, motionless. Two pair of eyes focused on the metal arms that steadily crept 'round the clocks before them. At the stroke of one o'clock they mounted the city walls. "Who goes there?!", a deep voice rumbled. Stuck by surprise they turned, only to be met by a guardssteed brandishing his halberd towards them.
"Wait... Prince Blueblood? My pardons, I didn't realize. What brings you ou... Wh... What... Wait!", the guard's calm voice turned into a short scream before coming to an end. It was unfortunate. Nopony was supposed to be here. A sword, imbedded in the poor soul's neck was pulled out and wiped clean of the blood on a handkerchief before it slowly became transparent. "Oh my, do take care of the mess, will you...", the prince ordained, appearing to place little importance to the murderous hoofiwork. The masked one dragged the lifeless cadaver down the stairs and into a small, windowless alley. The guard's own halberd was used to modify the cut, adding several more in the process as well as sullying the weapon with blood. Afterwards the macabre scene was hidden away with nearby rubble and one barrel, which had originally been placed just a few meters further down the cramped passage.
They left the scene of carnage and climbed up the wall once more. Having walked back and forth a few times the prince then pointed towards a cliff below them and reached into his cloak. He pulled out a simple rope and a four metallic clutches for their front hooves. They descended with haste and reached the ground. Both of them ran through the thick fog towards the slope above the cliff. A tedious climb began, much too tedious to concern ourselves with, actually.
Down by the foot of the mountain, where cold and lifeless stone was succeeded by the vivid forest. Moist, lit up moderately by the distant moonshine, yet awash with ever thicker fog; much thicker then it had seemed up in the city. Not too far away howled the timberwolves, alas the prince began walking in the very same direction from which the howling could be heard. A lone timberwolf rushed towards them through fog and dew. "It's coming for us!", the masked one cried out.
"No", said the prince heartily, then he turned and smiled in a fatherly manner before clarifying, "It's fleeing towards us".
A heavy hoof came down upon it from behind; crushing the wolf's right hind-leg with a horrifying sound, as wood being split mingled with the creature's painful whimper, emerging a grotesque serenade of suffering and violence intertwined. The pitiful animal tumbled straight into a tree and tried desperately to crawl away, broken as it was, to no avail. An enormous earthpony towered up over the wolf. No hint of hesitation could be noticed as the humongous one placed his right front hoof on the prey; pressing it down upon the head of the waling beast, until a dull crackling sound signaled the end of its life.
"Pardon the sight, your majesty... They were starting to get on our nerves", said the monstrous shape. Another voice entered the fray, "Brother, have you forgotten your manners? We stand before royalty!".
The owner of the voice stepped forth and bent his knee elegantly, a bow fit for a court. "We are at your service, my liege. Allow me to express our..."
The prince interrupted him blatantly, "Spare me the pleasantries, Mace. Neither of you have been summoned for such social shenanigans". The stern face loosened up slightly, the prince closed his eyes and sighed before he resumed to speak, "... I called you here because I trust you". In truth the prince did harbor a liking for these brutes, perhaps one could say that they were the only real friends he had. The Ironhoof brothers were simple, savage, yet always honest in their violent ways and akin to himself recluses of their own choosing. The best sort of tools to carve the first steps of his ascendance, ones who would not hesitate to dirty their hooves nor would they seek to confide any uncertainty among his enemies. Whatever disputes would emerge were bound to remain among the few.
"Well then, now it begins... No turning back now, my friends.", the prince proclaimed. The three other lined up in front of him. A meager crew, the prince thought to himself, but nevertheless this slim number might well be ideal for the task at hoof. The dark bejewel sky was truly beautiful this night, a spectacular sight. It was a perfect time for a tumble with fate's vanguards.
"Gentlecolts, we shall now commence the operation... Do try to survive, thank you", Blueblood said and turned his gaze towards the night-clad concave once again. Truly, this was a wonderful night.
Traveling with haste the company left the forest behind them. Their path brought them north, where a desolate road awaited. Making halt by the edge of said road, the shady crew crept into hiding behind boulder-formations on both sides of the path. There they waited; like an ant-lion await its prey. No movement. No sound, except for breath and heartbeat of the hunters. Oh, the cruelty of time; it does not pity the hunted, nor the hunter.
Mace rolled a dice, painted in black and red so that three sides displayed each color. Staring first at the road before shifting his gaze onto the item. Number three and red would guide the spectacle, the battle-hardened pony thought to himself. The sound of hooves in the distance, at least four; six if miss Fortune hated their guts. Genuinely bad odds under normal circumstances. Luckily for them the circumstances were all but normal. The guards were conducting a remarkably short transport in secret and had almost reached the capital. Besides this was deep within Equestria's borders anyhow; there was little to be vary of other than timberwolves and small packs of diamond-dogs. These pale recruits wouldn't know what hit 'em. Silhouettes came closer, pulling a cart with a chest between them. Two guards behind the cart, which in turn was pulled by another two. Mace clicked his tongue in annoyance. Leading the squad a unicorn walked first in line. A lieutenant, by the looks of it... And the pair in the back did not look like pushovers either.
A cold wind swept by Lieutenant Valor Bound, leaving him in thoughts of his warm, soft bed. The wife and kids had probably stayed up to wait for him. The thought of seeing all of the family again, to hug his wife and perhaps finally perform the finishing touches on the scooter he was making for his son, Honor. Permission had been scarce lately, though there was hardly any reason to complain. Of course he was a bit regretful about leaving all his dear ones hanging like this, but he most surely intended to make it up to them all.
There was that wind again, blasted weather. To make matters worse it was accompanied by this sacrilegious fog. Sighing he asked himself what the weather team's night shift was doing. Did he pay taxes for this? Well, perhaps they were underponied just like the military? Anyhow, there was no point complaining, after all they would all soon be home. Casting an eye backwards made it clear that at least private Vivid shared his thoughts, her head was completely in the clouds, so to speak. Even Brawny, the 'ol drama queen, seemed lost in thoughts; he was not even making complains about his hooves any longer. Canterlot castle towered up only a few miles away now. "A sight for sore eyes", Valor said, a smile on his face.
"Are we, now? How sweet.", somepony said, and a flying hoof met his face.
Quite the tumble indeed, it was. Whereas the hind-guard were facing off and holding their ground against the assaulting force, one of the Ironhoof brothers, Bulwark jumped atop the cart and straddled its protectors. The beastly one tried his hoof at Strangling them, one leg bent around each, as the very cargo they were sworn to protect made advance or excessive movement impossible. Brawny made use of all his strength and managed to sent the large stallion falling down the side of the chart. Freeing himself from the leather straps the brave one dashed forth to face the enemy. Frozen in horror, he stood. When he had sent the Ironhoof brother flying... The fiend had still held a firm grip 'round Vivid's neck. Lifeless she lay, a hint of foam across her lips, her neck twisted an unnatural way. Screaming Brawny tossed himself against the humongous pony, but met midair with cold, metal and pain. Skewered, still hanging above ground; watching as his own lifeblood left its vessel. Slowly he came to realize. Opening his mouth for the last time he spoke, "...Oh... It's... A sword?". Before him stood a smiling prince Blueblood, whose face had been granted a stylish hint of red.
"And thus, the lamest last words in Equestria's history was spoken. My congratulations, Sir!", the prince cried out in zealous joy.
A painful murmur lingered yet over by the roadside. "Is he the last one?", somepony asked. Valor Bound heard the voices, yet they seemed so distant. The lieutenant tried to move his legs, but something was wrong, it all felt blurry. It was as if he had been spinning around too long, like he had done as a child. Well, it had never actually felt like this, but it was the closest association he had to this sort of.... Dizziness.
Slowly the senses returned, it felt like an eternity. He felt his legs move again. Something was still amiss though. What was it? He couldn't put his hoof on it, but there was no time, he had to escape. Pain, searing pain. Why? Was it his head? The hit he had sustained, perhaps? No, it wasn't that. He couldn't turn; he was still laying down despite having tried to turn. Every time he tried the pain would intensify, if such a thing was even possible. Screaming... His screaming was what he heard. Then he opened his eyes.
A sword, pinning both his front legs to the ground, through flesh, bone and marrow. A shape headed towards him. A shape he recognized. "Lieutenant Valor Bound, for thine long years of service I, prince Blueblood, hereby grant you... The privilege to die by my horn", was the last words the poor soul ever heard.
Four ponies were all that remained, stained red and exhausted, but still they towered up triumphantly.
Did these proud sinners carry remorse, did they cry for the fallen and their loved ones' impending plight? Nay! Walking down the path of greatness one is bound to trample the inferior insects crawling the dirt. What can justify taking the life of another being in pursuit of one's goals? The answer is simple; there's simply no need to justify it, at least not in the eyes of others. The very moment it becomes apparent that a vicious act will further the cause it is already valid by your own creed. Always, the end a pony seeks justifies the means, however crude it may seem.
A bloodstained sword floated down towards the chest, only to plunge down with tremendous force; metal against metal clang and spread its melody. Chest and sword, surrounded by the same blue shine as it's master's horn took to air and descended in front of the four. Spreading open it's gap the chest revealed riches beyond most ponies wildest dreams.
Letting out a sinister laugh, which degenerated into intense coughing midway, the prince placed himself beside the chest. Turning his head towards the rest, he then spoke, "Seems like this year's tax refund has solved our little problem of founding".
Blueblood tossed his eyes over yonder, towards the castle. For a while he seemed to be engrossed by thought. Then he lowered his head and said in a longing voice, "...I want to be groomed".
"...Who is a handsome, evil mastermind? Oh, yes... You are!", said the prince to his noble self. This had been going on for almost half an hour now. A lonesome parade, yet the one-stallion audience seemed just as delighted each time it beheld itself in the mirror. The steady beat of rain against the balcony accompanied the performance, chocolate rain, to be precise. All of Canterlot suffered under magically-induced chaos. Ponies ran about like rodents far below, which added to our hero's amusement even further. It was fun. Truly, it was!
"Ahh, Discord, my compliments and applause. I could well become addicted to your artwork... Da capo, maestro! Da capo!", cried the prince as he tossed a red rose down from the balcony. Falling downwards, tumbling back and forth, here and there, until finally it reached the ground. Or, well, whatever was currently in the way of said surface... Which unfortunately happened to be the leftmost of Fancy Pants' buttocks. A strange coincidence, maybe? Just as strange as the fact that but one thorn had remained upon the otherwise bare stem; a thorn whose destiny it was to inflict pain on the stallion in question, apparently.
Yet prince Blueblood would never learn the tale of rose, sky n' pain. Dancing waltz upon his balcony with gleeful demeanor still, overjoyed by how well everything had turned out thus far. The gold stashed away safely. The allegiance of the Ironhoof family was now guaranteed. To top it all off the entire realm stood under the influence of such an astounding fellow as this ol' draconequus.
Indeed, everything was simply marvelous right now. Except for one, tiny-winy aspect, of course... The prince had a craving for tea, but he was much too lazy to go fetch a cup. What was the matter with servants these days? One little demi-god running about causing mayhem and they all felt inclined to take the day off, without as much as stating their reason. "Humbug", said the prince in clearly faked voice.
It was rather comfy in the castle, seeing as it was silent and all. Something did disturb the tranquility slightly. The sound of someone's hooves treading back and forth over by the main entrance. In a stroke of curiosity the prince decided to sneak a peek. Not that he had any reason to hide. It was simply more entertaining to remain unseen. Surprisingly enough it was his aunt, princess Celestia herself. To see her be so openly nervous was a rare sight indeed. Well, at any rate he would keep an eye on this little game of theirs, whilst cheering silently for the draconequus-team.
Leaving the scene he headed for the castle kitchens. From out of one of the outer windows he noticed a troop running towards the inner entrance. They had already passed the far gate and showed no sign of relenting. Prince Blueblood recognized two of the members, that "what's-her-name" Sparkle and that weird mare whom kept pestering him during the gala. When he thought about it she was probably also the current record holder among those ponies whom he had tried to get rid off. She had almost endured his "reversed-chivalry, combined with narcissism"-drama an entire evening, which was sort of impressive, all things considered.
Devoid of all life, draped in darkness. Not the kind of sensation one would expect of a kitchen. A small trail of light followed him the first few yards, as the door kept opening itself with a creaking sound. The light was soon welcomed by the shiny surfaces of pots and pans, allowing its reflection to play throughout the room.
Boiling the tea went fairly smooth, assuming one doesn't count incinerated kitchenware as a significant loss. Then there was the matter of waiting. Blueblood would no longer allow his noble self to be subdued by the bitter tyranny of waiting. Three to five minutes was simply unacceptable!
Therefore he began stirring the cup, while casting an eye at his own reflection in one of the pans. There was no denying it. No matter how hard he tried. He was simply too fabulous! Allowing his mind to wander, pondering his own excellency and tipping over the cup in the process. An insignificant sacrifice in front of such beauty that stroke his eyes.
Porcelain fare badly when faced with floors, it would seem. Particularly those made of stone, to no one's surprise. Still feeling a tad annoyed by the servants' display of lacking passion for their trade the prince had no intention of cleaning up the mess. Somehow, however, he felt inclined to approach the pool. Weird as it might seem the prince looked into the blank surface. The image of a face, as black as night with fiery emerald eyes, flashed in the spilled beverage, to vanish in an instant. Again, he thought. It occurred more frequently than before.
A sigh escaped the mouth of the regal stallion. Truly, the day was still young. Why bother with broken cups and the like? The night had been long and tiring and soon enough the Ironhoof brothers would return. There was still the matter of restoring their nobility, or at least to start laying the foundation for doing do. Officials to be bribed, silent threats to be made, blackmailing, hiring mercenaries and all the likes of similar arrangements that filled his to-do list. Indeed, the day had just begun.
"So much to do, so little time... Might as well savour the moment", said the prince as he freed his gaze from a curl of his mane and left to spectate the chaos that ravaged the city.