Prince Blueblood

The problem with being at the top of Canterlot society was that one spent most of one's life looking down. And while Blueblood did enjoy heights, such a view grew wearisome when the ponies below insisted on being so terribly same.

He stood near the entrance to the grand ballroom, a crystal champagne flute dangling from his telekinesis, a bored look on his face. His position in the hall was a carefully chosen one. If he was too near the centre of the room then it would be too easy for ponies to approach him, and that could cause problems. On the other hoof, if he was to stand over at the sides of the hall or in a corner somewhere, then it would appear too much like he was aloof, or worse, snobbish, and he didn't really want that.

Perhaps he could develop a headache. A tasteful one, nothing dramatic. Just enough to justify an early retreat to—

Now this did look interesting!

Gracefully, Blueblood trotted up to the newcomer, then pulled his very best smile.

"Prince Blueblood. And you are?"

Old laws and customs were mostly a boon to House Platinum. Old tax exemptions, historical claims to land, rights dating back to the Unification Era… Alas, old laws and customs could also be a nuisance.

As Blueblood checked his appearance in the mirror one more time, he had to remind himself that this marriage might not be as archaic and barbaric as it sounded. He merely had to humor his fiancée with an official meeting here at the Canterlot palace, and then they would have a whole year's engagement to find common ground. A marriage didn't need to be romantic or even happy to be beneficial. Whether she was a bumbling yokel or a refined lady, he would find some value in this union.

A knock on the door interrupted his deliberations.

"Your Highness," the voice of his personal valet called, "The Lady has arrived and she is ready to be received."

"Let her in."

Of all the indignities Blueblood had suffered in his life—and admittedly, the number was comparatively small by any reasonable standard, but that didn't stop each one stinging more than it had any right to—being physically grabbed and wrestled into a sack was not only humiliating, but made him angry.

The sack smelt of dirty potatoes, a plebeian smell he only knew because of his nightly, secret inspections of the Royal Kitchens (for his Aunt's safety: poison could be anywhere!).

Bump-bump, bump-bump.

Clearly, a lifetime of expensive lessons and fine breeding meant nothing to his assailant, who, as the sack began to swing to and fro in a way that left poor Prince Blueblood feeling quite nauseous, was moving at an alarming rate in some unknown direction. Not a mode of transportation to which princes were accustomed.

Despite this situation, Blueblood continued to maintain the highest degree of decorum, which is to say he did not scream, thrash, or otherwise lower himself to the level of a common foalnapping victim. A Prince of Equestria did not flail.

Besides, his horn was presently wedged at an awkward angle against what felt like a knot in the burlap, and any attempt to charge a spell resulted in an uncomfortable pressure that threatened to give him a headache. He had a very delicate horn. His personal physician had said so. It was a sign of refined magical sensitivity!

And even if he could manage a spell, what then? Blast his way out mid-gallop and tumble onto cobblestones? Levitate himself while still inside a sack like some ridiculous ghost at a Nightmare Night party? No. The dignified thing to do was to wait, bide his time, and then express his displeasure to this ruffian in terms that would leave no doubt as to the severity of their mistake.

"This is quite unacceptable. I demand you set me down at once, or I shall have Auntie banish you to the moon! Do you even know who I am?"

It wasn't that Blueblood disliked his second Auntie. One couldn't dislike a pony one barely knew. But Luna had returned from her thousand-year banishment with certain... expectations. Expectations that belonged to an era when princes grew up not only with training in etiquette and court management, but in warcraft.

"Thy defensive stance is abysmal," Luna declared, circling her 'nephew' in the training courtyard of the palace. "A foal of six could topple thee, and easily at that!"

"With respect, Auntie, I don't anticipate being toppled by anypony." He'd never been in a fight in his life, and couldn't imagine why he would ever have to. "Unless you count an overly enthusiastic dance partner or—"

A midnight wing swept out like a blade. For a moment Blueblood was wondering why he was looking at the sky. Then his perfectly coiffed mane touched the dirt and the world made sense again.

"Or that?"

"'Auntie'!" Luna roared. "We are not thy 'Auntie'! My sister may permit thee to address her as though she were thy nanny..." A flash of her horn, and Blueblood was yanked unceremoniously to his hooves. "But thou shalt show Us proper deference!"

"Yes, Your Alicornial Highness," he sighed.

But his sarcasm was lost in the hiss and whir of a wooden quarterstaff slicing towards his head. If Luna kept this up, there would be nothing left of him but Blue jam.

"Mark Our words," Luna growled, pressing the attack. "Thou shalt attain a level of mastery in combat before another fortnight passes." Another strike, narrowly dodged. "We have even found thee an appropriate teacher."

She what?

"There she comes now," Luna continued with an evil grin, halting her assault and looking toward the training gate.