QoC - Sweet Talks are made of this [MLP/RGRE]


                                            Author: QoC

                                            Pastebin URL: 7W1q3Y21.html

                                            Date: Jun 20th, 2017


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                                            Sweet Talks Are Made of This:


                                            > You are Sweet Talks, ambassador of the Crystal Empire, and you are without a doubt, in way over your head.

                                            > Your home nation’s attempts of self defense failed against the newly birthed Lunar Republic, under Queen Nightmare Moon’s rule, things have been looking grim.

                                            > Since her subjugation of the former princess Celestia at the recent Summer Sun Celebration, Nightmare Moon has enslaved anyone opposing her rule.

                                            > Wherever her army strikes, chaos rules supreme. Gruesome machines of war unleash hellfire, and unspeakable conjurations and wizardry are uttered in echoing screams.

                                            > And whenever the republic forces seems to face defeat, she adorns her own suit of armor, and joins the fray, turning the tide of the battle single-hoofedly.

                                            > Her newly instituted laws are strict, and without mercy. Anypony stepping outside the norm is punished harshly.

                                            > Fiend of frights, mistress of misfortunes, bane of brightness. Many titles adorns her visage. And she is currently sitting at a large negotiation table, opposite of you.

                                            > On the table sits a large map, depicting the vast planes of Equestria. Single monolithic towers made of ebony marble juts out here and there in the landscape, signifying her strongholds in the various nations.

                                            > It is of no surprise that the majority of the map is dominated by her insignia.

                                            > The rest of the room adorns her colors, black and indigo blue. Banners hangs across the walls, either bearing her cutiemark, or her dark saying, “In umbra, Luna regit.”

                                            > The entire room is lit up by a number of magic torches, spreading an eerie pale glow across the dark gray stones.

                                            > No pony has said anything the last ten minutes. The only sounds come from the queens noter. A unicorn mare with a dark gray coat, her brown mane tied in a tight hair bun. Occasionally, she lights up her horn, moving smaller pieces across the table, and notes their new position.

                                            > Sometimes, she gets a distant look in her eyes as her horn flares, no doubt receiving fresh intelligence from the republic forces.

                                            > The soft scribble of her pen, and board pieces scratching the map is the only disturbances of the peace.

                                            > You have to write down your own notes. An obvious difference in the terms of power you and the queen hold. At least you could use your magic to write, keeping your mouth free to speak.

                                            > Sometimes, the lunar queen casts a quick glance at her noter, before returning to the map, her face is a stoic mask of a calm demeanor.

                                            > Finally, after a quick once-over of her notes, the ivory mare looks up from her note board.

                                            > “The minotaur queendom has surrendered unconditionally, your majesty”, she states. “The minotaurian queen was killed in open combat, and her daughters has laid down their weapons.

                                            > “Excellent,” Moon begins. “Spread the good news to the state papers, miss Quill.”

                                            > “At once, your majesty”, she says, as her horn lights up alongside a small note.

                                            > Looking back across the table at you, the queen grins.

                                            > “Seems like all the chess pieces are falling around you, ambassador Talks,” she says in a mocking drawl.

                                            “Your highness, please, we don’t want a war, we never have. We’ll gladly negotiate trade deals. The northern royal mines hew heaps of high quality crystals in every single day. We would be very willing to trade, in return for more sunli-“

                                            > “Silence!”, the queen erupts. A few puffs of dust falls to the floor from the ceiling.

                                            > “That is a forbidden word, ambassador,” she corrects. “I am sure you understand, I simply cannot have foreign state officials prancing around, spreading such sickening ideologies,” she continues.

                                            >Sinking down your nervousness, you press on.

                                            “Please see reason, your highness, the agriculture across the land is withering. The few rays of…” you hesitate, “stellar light you most mercifully allow is not enough to sustain the crops. The corn stocks have already…”

                                            > *THUNK!*

                                            > The sharp sound of the hardwood note board hitting the floor interrupts your trail of words.

                                            > Both you and the queen looks towards the source of the sound. The noter, miss Quill, looks at the note board in frightened surprise. Quickly, she looks to her queen.

                                            > “I am so sorry, your majesty, I-I must have made a miscalculation in my enchantment,” she stammers, franticly lighting up her horn again to grip the board.

                                            > “No need to fret, miss Quill. Anypony can make a mishap. Do not repeat it though, if you please.”

                                            > Looking back towards you, Nightmare Moon presses on. “Ambassador Talks, you were saying…?”

                                            > You however, have not moved your eyes from miss Quill. Despite her obvious effort, she could not get her note board to levitate again, sparks flying from her horn in distraught.

                                            > Puzzled, you try your own magic to help the panicking mare, but just as soon as you had a levitation spell ready to assist, the magic fizzles out.

                                            “H-huh?”

                                            > You try again, and just as before, the enchantment slips away from your will.

                                            > “What is the meaning of this, miss Quill?”, the Nightmare Moon asks sternly, now having noticed the poor mares struggle.

                                            > “I-I-I don’t understand, your m-majesty,” she quakes, on the edge of hysteria. “I-I can’t get the enchantment to work!”

                                            > “Nonsense, let me, the queen says, lighting up her own horn. Just like your and miss Rarity though, she looks to be having difficulties herself.

                                            > The note board glows in blue colors, and slowly begins a jagged ascension from the floor.

                                            > After a few breathless moments, the board falls back onto the floor.

                                            > You stare at the queen. She has… lost her magic? An alicorn, a pureblood alicorn, has lost the ability to work her spells. Before mentioned alicorn looks on the board with a flabbergasted expression.

                                            > Then she turns towards you, a raging fire in her eyes.

                                            > “How dare you set up an antimagic field, in this most sacred of negotiation chambers?!”

                                            “I have done no such thing, Nightmare.” Your voice thankfully doesn’t betray you.

                                            > “If you have not, then who has…” her once thundering voice trails into a soft murmur as a stray suspicion crosses her mind.

                                            > “By the elders…” she begins. “MISS QUILL! I thought I told you explicitly not tell *him* about this meeting!” The queen bellows, standing from her chair so fast that it tips over, hitting the floor.

                                            > Him?

                                            > “I-I didn’t, your majesty,” the poor mare cries.

                                            > “If you did not, then how did he find us?!”

                                            > The now broken down noter simply whimpers on the floor.

                                            > “I d-don’t know, you majesty. Please, I would never go against your wishes.”

                                            > The queen of the night looks franticly around the room. Then she eyes the guards stationed around the stone walls, looking at her attentively yet a bit shaken.

                                            > “Thestrals, barricade the door!”

                                            > The guards quickly rush towards the door, pilling left over chairs and other pieces of furniture, before stacking up on one another to press against the wooden bulwark.

                                            > As the commotion quiets down, no pony says a word.

                                            > You hold your breath, awaiting to see what terror is stalking the halls outside the chamber. Nightmare on her part looks on the door with an anxious expression, while miss Quill lies on the other side of the table,  as inconsolable as well.

                                            > Finally, you notice it. The chamber has gotten considerably darker. In fact, most of the magic flames are only just barely hanging on to life, spluttering on their pedestals.

                                            > They did not do that a couple of minutes ago.

                                            “Nightmare Moon, just what is the cause of this raucous?”

                                            > Before the queen can answer your question, a firm knocking emanates through the heavy barricade.

                                            > “Moonie, are you in there?” a deep baritone voice cuts clearly through the door.

                                            > Moonie?

                                            > Never having moved your eyes from the queen of eternal night, you see her pupils turn to the size of pinpricks.

                                            > “Moonie, I’m respecting your privacy by knocking, but asserting my authority as your husband by coming in anyways,” the voice continues.

                                            > H-husband?

                                            > Before anypony can react, the door begins swinging inwards.

                                            > Guards, furniture, tables and everything is simply pushed out of the way of the mysterious character.

                                            > A tall figure enters the room gracefully, stepping over the strewn about obstacles with a curious glance.

                                            > And he is tall, easily having at least a head worth of height to the dark queen herself, and twice as wide over the shoulders. His physique reminds you of a minotaur, albeit with more balanced proportions.

                                            > He has wigglers, as minotaurs calls them. However, compared to their brutish appendages, his are long and sleek. His face a clear manifestation of patriarchal confidence. His clothes are stately, yet relaxed.

                                            > Apart from a simple silver crown atop of his head, there are no visible indications to his apparently royal connection.

                                            > He does not need it though. His figure alone is more than enough to command respect.

                                            > “Honey, I brought you and your friends some tea, buns and biscuits,” he says merrily, presenting a large silver tray. A tea set, and a tastefully made small braided basket with an assortment of what appears to be fresh tea buns and biscuits is on display.

                                            > The smell of freshly made bakery wafts through the room, eliciting sniffs all around.

                                            > Placing the tray onto the map table, he moves to a large pair of curtains on the side, drawing back the dense fabric.

                                            > Bright light flashes the room through the crystal glass, followed by no small amount of hissing from unprepared eyes.

                                            > “You really shouldn’t shut off natural light entirely, honey. Magical flames aren’t good for your eyes,” he says dotingly.

                                            > The natural light of the strictly regulated sun pierces through the darkness, as the last pedestals had died out.

                                            > Moving back to the table, the now apparent king spots miss Quill.

                                            > “Oh sweetie, what’s gotten you so upset,” he says as he moves around the table. His voice reminds you of your own fathers voice. Paternal and comforting.

                                            > He effortlessly hoists up the mare, holding her in his arms against his broad chest. A few stray sniffles escaping the pony.

                                            > He sits down onto one of the chairs at the table, as he carefully begins buttering up a tea bun, offering it to the mare in his arms.

                                            > He looks to the rest of the room. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come, take a seat. Bring some more chairs in, Willow and Indigo Sky. There’s more than enough tea and biscuits for everyone.”

                                            Still in apparent shock, Nightmare Moon sits back down on his left side, wearing an uncomfortable mask on her face.

                                            > “My most brightest of stars, why do you join us?” She asks nervously.

                                            > Seeing the noter finally nibbling on the offered treat, the king leans over, placing a chaste kiss on the queens cheek.

                                            > Her face turns a faint red, even through her ebony coat.

                                            > A kiss, in public no less. How… forward.

                                            > “Because diplomacy has never been your forte, honey,” he explains, matter of factly. “Sometimes, a lot of your negotiations looks to be in need a of a… different view. He looks from the queen to you, and his face lighten up in excitement.

                                            > “Miss Sweet Talks, ambassador of the Crystal Empire, way up north, right? He asks, extending a closed hand in the usual pony greeting.

                                            “Um, yes si- your highness,” you awkwardly correct as you bump your hoof into the log of an appendage. With the upmost respect, your highness… who are you?” you ask carefully.

                                            > The king smiles, as he withdraw his arm, and begin pouring tea into cups.

                                            > “My name is Anonymous Incognito, the first. I am not from these lands,” he explains, handing you a cup. He seems content with leaving out his origin, so you don’t press the issue.

                                            > Also, the fact that you get the first cup of tea has not gone unnoticed by neither you or Nightmare Moon.

                                            > You thank him, as he pours another cup for his now visibly fuming wife. He notices the pout on her face.

                                            > “Now now, Moons, guests first. I have already told you that.

                                            > “I KNO- I mean, of course, dearest,” she retorts feebly.

                                            > “Now, miss Talks, why did the Crystal Empire send an ambassador to our republic?” The king inquires, handing out cups to the rest of the guards. The basket of bakery is soon passed around as well.

                                            > He sits down miss Quill on a chair, still nibbling on her tea bun, and leans across the table. His clothing does little to hide his impressive bulk as he looks down upon you with a content look in his eyes.

                                            > Before you get to talk, you hear Nightmare Moon breathe in to answer for you, no doubt wishing to ruin your first-hoof impression with the king.

                                            > However, not a word has passed her lips before a hand shoots out, clamping down on her muzzle.

                                            > “A-bah-bah, I want to hear her side first, honey.” The king dotes.

                                            > Looking at this small quarrel, you eye an opportunity. The king not only has the teats of the queen in a twist, she dares not voice her disagreements. T-This could be your chance!

                                            “W-Well,” you weakly start, “The ponies of the crystal empire wishes for the fighting to seize, and for trade routes to be established.”

                                            > Anonymous leans back into his chair, absentmindedly scratching one of the ears of his wife. She leans into his touch, faintly humming to herself.

                                            > His face contorts in thought. “Please elaborate this deal to me, miss Talks. What does the republic stand to gain from this?”

                                            “As I mentioned to her highness before,  the royal mines produces wagonloads worth of high quality crystals every single day. Precious metals and gems a hewn in the process as well.

                                            > You try to levitate some of the official documents from your saddlebag, as proof of your claim. Still though, your magic fizzles out, your horn sending out small sparks.

                                            > Your cheeks light up in embarrassment. You don’t understand this at all. Your magic worked perfectly earlier in the day, even during this very meeting.

                                            > You hurriedly  pick up the papers in your hooves, and hoof them to the kings outstretched hand.

                                            > As your hoof gets closer to his hand, you feel it. A very faint numbing aura surrounds the king.

                                            > He is the cause of the lack of magic. He is the reason no unicorn – or alicorn – in this room can do magics. Gulping nervously, you wonder. Just where did this king come from?

                                            > “Hm…” he muses, looking over the papers. “While the republic does need high quality crystals, our own quarries are more than capable of supplying our own needs in terms of metal and gemstones.”

                                            > Drat.

                                            > “What other wares does your empire specialize in, ambassador?”

                                            >  Oh thank the heavens, he is open for negotiating.

                                            “Well, we have quite a big segment of Yakyakistan wool passing through. The capitals location is also close to one of the major passages to the Minotaur queendom. Their iron is strong, and their milk a delicacy,” you say hopefully.

                                            > “Most interesting, most interesting,” he comments. “Though, this generous offer must surely come at a price,” he smirks.

                                            “We simply ask for more stellar rays, your highness”, you say, bowing your head.

                                            > “Stellar rays? Oh, you mean sunshine?” he asks nonchalantly. You nod.

                                            > Nightmare Moon flinches in her seat, though her husband’s ministrations soon calm her down again.

                                            “Although the rays of sun granted by her highness is most welcomed, the northern climate in our empire does not allow for much warmth to pass. The grand stocks have begun emptying, and many of the local depots have already run dry this early in the year,” you explain.

                                            >  The apparent desperation in your voice seems to strike a note in the king. He looks outside the window in thought.

                                            “Your highness, I beg you, please consider. The extended sunlight granted two months back were appreciated, but-…”

                                            > Anonymous holds up his hand, silencing you.

                                            > “You mentioned ‘extended sunlight’, ambassador,” he says with a distant expression.

                                            “Y-yes, your highness?”

                                            > Curse your nervousness!

                                            > “Honey,” the king begins, “you didn’t happen to allow for more sunlight because I mentioned it a couple of months back, did you?” he turns to Nightmare Moon.

                                            > “Mhmmm…” the queen confirms with closed eyes, and a pleased look on her face.

                                            > Raising an eyebrow at his wife’s answer, the king looks back at you. An amused grin crosses his lips.

                                            > He leans to his wife, and whispers something in her ear. Because of the distance across the table, you can only catch a few fragments of what he says, though you are pretty sure ‘motorboating’ and ‘moonpies’ where mentioned.

                                            > The queens eyes shoots open, a hesitant grimace on her face.

                                            > “Well… when you put it like that, I suppose I can allow for some more, ugh, sunlight,” the queen concedes.

                                            > “Perfect, thank you Moons” he says. The king rises from his chair, and heads for the door. You stand up as well.

                                            > “We can discuss the finer details over dinner, ambassador, if you would care to join us?”

                                            “Gladly, your highness!” you say smiling.


                                            >Watching the royal entourage from a distance was an... interesting study of group dynamics.

                                            >A steady stream of messengers, noters and journalists followed in the wake of the royal pair, each with their own questions, or missives.

                                            >Admittedly, the majority of enquiries was directed at the queen, but if she was occupied with answering another one, king Anonymous would answer in her stead.

                                            >At the start of the journey to the dinning hall, all the questioners had been following behind the queen, hoping for a fragment of her undivided attention.

                                            >However, when Anonymous had begun answering the milling probes as well, the ponies began drifting towards him as well.

                                            >His answers were concise, few words spent unnecessarily, but still providing crystal clear instructions. The explanations given were all delivered after a brief break to consider the pros and cons.

                                            >A reaffirming smile, or well meaning comment followed with his comments, sparking positivity and confidence in his listeners.

                                            >Not once did the queen stop to draw his answers or his reasoning into doubt. Although you did spy her left ear following her significant others words like a hawk.

                                            >"King Anonymous, what's the royal stance on the Saddle Arabian expansion in shipwright?" A reporter from the Nightly News asks.

                                            >"The republic welcomes new trade possibilities, and congratulate the Saddle Arabians on their innovation," he says confidently.

                                            >"Your highness, the republic army has been grounded to a halt twenty miles into Diamond Dog territory. Our advances are stopped by the dogs defenses and ditches. What would you have us do?", a gruff looking thestral questions.

                                            >The king halts for a moment before he answers.

                                            >"Have the troops pull back fifteen miles from the front. When the enemy combatants try to recover ground, have long range magic artillery fire on their supply lines, followed up by a flanking maneuver on their side from the air.

                                            >Geez, that sounds a bi-...

                                            >"Genius, your highness! We can have the air troops keep the dogs out in the open, while the main forces move to attack again," the mare says before quickly departing.

                                            >The kings smiles a somber smirk, as new ponies group up for his opinion.

                                            >"Your majesty, the royal coffers..."

                                            >"Sir Anonymous, there's a fire at..."

                                            >"Your greatness, what should we..."

                                            >The questions, ranging far and wide in both severity and effect are answered. Political, military, socio-economical and every day issues are all given equal amounts of attention.

                                            >From the humble farm mare asking for resources with rebuilding her family farm to the Canterlot nobles whining about some new taxes, each individual can present their case for the king, and receive a royal resolution.

                                            >You are speechless. The stress, and pressure put on the king does not seem to phase him in the slightest. He elegantly navigates the cases, and with a lack of a better term, looks to be enjoying himself.

                                            >Looking to your left, you spy miss Quill. The mare with a now frazzled mane bun has recovered from her small breakdown. She is carefully reading through her notes as she walks alongside you.

                                            >It is not without quite some difficulty though. Her bags are stocked with multiple sheets and books, and her magic is still out of the question.

                                            >Her awkward juggling of the papers using her hooves, proves clearly that she is still very much in preference of using her own magics to get by her daily life.

                                            >Looking around you, there is not a single unicorn nearby who is using their horns. Not even the guards or Nightmare Moon herself.

                                            >Even out here, the pedestals with the magic flames are affected. As your retinue walks along the stone walls, each bright ethereal fire turns from a clear source of light, to nothing more than a flicker.

                                            >It looks like your hypothesis might just be proven theory, you ruminate.

                                            >King Anonymous really is the source of the anti magic field.

                                            >How could this be, you ponder. There's no known living thing in existence in Equestria that does not have some inherent magical reservoir, however minute.

                                            >For crying out loud, magical signatures where how microbes were discovered by scientists in the royal labs centuries ago.

                                            >How could a highly functional – and quite capable of baking – creature exist, much less thrive in high society?

                                            >Is he wearing some sort of mobile field? Can those even be mobile? And where does he carry it on his body?

                                            >Your thoughts are interrupted, as even the mightiest of travels has their endings. The gathering of royalty, guards, and common ponies has arrived at the doors to the dinning hall.

                                            >The queen turns to look at her husband in front of the doorway. He in turn is busy explaining the technicalities of his rebuttal to what seems to be an architect, judging from her saddlebags full of blueprint drawings.

                                            >Nightmare Moon clears her throat, before tapping her enraptured husbands shoulder.

                                            >"Dearest star," she says, nodding towards the door.

                                            >"Oh, right, I'll be done in a second, Moons," he says. "Miss Mullion, I can assure you, this plan will work! As a matter of-"

                                            >Huffing in annoyance, "Moons" begin dragging her husband by the sleeve into the hall, as the king eagerly continues his assurances to the royal architect.

                                            >You follow the royal pair, alongside miss Quill.

                                            >The sound of one of the guards left in the hallway call out.

                                            >"The royal pair will be unavailable for the next three hours. Important enquires are to be delivered to the stationed captain. She will then hand those deemed worthy to the royal noter, who again will..."

                                            >The guards monotonous speech fades out, as the heavy oak doors are closed behind you.

                                            >Taking in the dining hall is a sight to behold. The large walls are either clad in bounding shades of blue, purple and onyx, or with humongous paintings.

                                            >A large wooden table takes up the majority of the central plateau. A heavy table cover in the royal colors cover the surface. Silver tableware and candelabra has been placed on the cloth, giving the room a warm and comforting shine.

                                            >The table is only laid for four ponies sitting at one of the ends. The large pairs of chairs at the end is obviously made for the king and queen. You hold your breath as you hope your suspicions will be proven.

                                            >The royal pair covers the distance to the chairs, with the king sitting down in the largest.

                                            >He motions for you to sit in the chair to the right of his, offering you a warm smile.

                                            >This places you right next to him, perpendicularly.

                                            >Score one, for Sweet Talks!


                                            > Miss Quill mimics your motions and sits down on the opposite side of you, next to Nightmare Moon. Her notes are placed orderly on the table, well within reach, of course.

                                            > A small bell sits atop a small deep purple colored pillow, next to the queen.

                                            > Seeing her husband make himself at home in the chair, she gently grabs the bell in her muzzle, and does a light shake of her head.

                                            > The soft crystal clear sound of the bell rings through the room.

                                            > Immediately, a door adjacent to the one you entered through opens up, and a quartet of waiters stroll in with menus in hoof. A very stern looking chef follows along with them, her scrutinizing gaze on each and every one of them.

                                            > “Good evening, your majesties, honored guests,” she begins. “Tonight, the royal kitchen offers a new variety of new wines to go alongside the classic entrées.” As she continues listing of the dishes of the menu, the waiters hoofs each you an embellished menu.

                                            > Lending half an ear to the chefs continued speach of alcohol, you open up the menu. The usual categories are there; salads, fruits, drinks, salads, various breads, meats, starters, deser… You thoughts halt, and do a double-take.

                                            > ‘Meats’…

                                            > Right there, to the center right of the page, is a modest list of various fish and meat dishes. Grilled pork belly, slow-roasted salmon, seared honey-marinated chicken… Surely the queen had not gotten effectively mad with her newfound royal duties, you question.

                                            > Megalomania did not usually bring about carnivorous tendencies, r-right?

                                            > It must surely have been made for visiting griffon dignitaries. Yes, you knew about the vast griffon fish markets, and their love for the seas treasures. Hehe, silly old Talks.

                                            > You never were very good with the scent of cooked animal parts.

                                            > Or looking at it being ingested. Call it a childish phobia, but the thought of consuming another, feeling creature shook you on a primal level.

                                            > However, you consider, the riscs of having to face off the smell of… that… were highly likely to be in your favor.

                                            > Having now steadied your thoughts, you calmly look back to the rest of your company. The queen listens attentively to the chefs speech. Quill has her menu placed down again on the table. Anonymous is the only one who still has his menu open, with a thoughtful expression on his face.

                                            > Finally finishing her sermon, the chef draws a deep breath and stands still, waiting for somepony to say anything.

                                            > Nightmare quickly picks up. “We will have two bottles of tonight’s white. I would like my usual Canterlot ensemble. What about you, my luminous?”

                                            > Looking away from the menu, the king looks to the chef.

                                            > “I’d like a griffonian ale, miss,” he says. “And ask Giselle to prepare the chicken for me, please.”

                                            > The chef nods courtly. “Of course, your highness,” the chef answers without breaking a sweat.

                                            > The chef turns her head towards you expectantly.

                                            “Uuuuuh… Buuuuu… The salat, please. I’ll go with water,” you answer her unsaid question. The chef acknowledges your order with a small nod, and takes Quills order.

                                            > Quill too answers with her order, and hoofs her menu to the chef.

                                            > Having finished her job, the chef turns around, and marches out of the room. The four waiters remains behind. Your various drinks and beverages are brought out the second the chef leaves.

                                            > You idly look on, as a crystal decanter and glass is placed in front of you, the delicate jingle of ice cubes hitting the glass emanating through your skull.

                                            > The king’s a predator.

                                            > The king is a predator.

                                            > The king is an honest to the Gods predator, and he is sitting next to you.

                                            > ‘Deep breaths, Sweet’, your mind repeats. ‘Keep up appearances! Stay calm; do not let this affect you! You’re a trained professional. Keep up appearances.’

                                            > “Is something the matter, Miss Ambassador?” Anonymous asks you with a puzzled look. His deep voice emanates a cautious hesitation.

                                            “Eep!”

                                            > You turn to give him what you hope is a content smile.

                                            “N-Nothing in the slightest, yo-“.

                                            > “Fufufu, if I did not know any better, my dear, I would hazard a guess that our dear ambassador is not familiar with a carnivores palate,” the queen chuckles with a mischievous grin.

                                            “It doesn’t touch me in the s-slightest”, you say exasperated. You feel your ears heating up in embarrassment.

                                            > The queen continues her chuckle, bringing up a hoof to try to hide her gloating smirk.

                                            > “Ohohoho, but I do think it does, Miss Ambassador”, Nightmare continues, as she idly circles the edge of her wine glass. “Where were your previous deployment, before the Lunar Republic? Was it not the minotaurian queendom?” the queen asks aloud.

                                            > She is right. The Minotaurs are strictly vegetarian, besides their milks and cheeses. You didn’t even hear about meat-eating for the entire time you were there.

                                            “Yes, it was, your highness…”

                                            > “No inquiry is needed then! Surely, we thought that the crystal empire introduced their diplomats to a wider scale of situations, but it seems that we were wrong…”

                                            > Your embarrassment is complete. You barely notice the queen continue her serenade of tormenting words. You simply stare blankly into the glass decorating the table in front of you.

                                            > You can’t oppose the queen’s words. What would you even oppose. Everything she has said is true. You absolutely loathe the looks of it. The sounds of the cutting. The all-enveloping stench of… of a slaughtered being.

                                            > The crystal empire did bring up the culture and traditions of carnivore societies. The absolutely one class you didn’t pass was Carnivore Relations. You barely managed to keep yourself from vomiting your hearts out at the exam table.

                                            > The soft ring of the queen's bell echo through the room.

                                            > All the other noises vanish as if swept away. You look to your left, the source of the sound.

                                            > The king holds the bell in his hand, looking at it in mild bemusement. The small silver casing looks almost comically fragile in his broad grip.

                                            > Not two seconds later, the head chef hurriedly enters and stands at the king’s side.

                                            > “Was something the matter, your majesty? Would you like another beverage or perhaps a glass of wine?” she nervously asks.

                                            > The king smiles warmly at her as he sets down the bell, “Nothing of the sort, though, could you please tell Giselle that I have changed my mind. I would rather have a salad instead.”

                                            > The message takes a second to register in the mind of the mare. “O-Of course, your majesty. I’ll bring your request the kitchens immediately.”

                                            > The head chef makes a quick return out of the room, and silence reigns again.

                                            > “Now, tell me more about those Minotaur cheeses the crystal empire imports, Miss Ambassador”, the king enquires unfazed as he looks at you.

                                            > As you begin to expand on your diplomatic knowledge on bovine courses, you notice something in the corner of your eye. The queen hasn’t said anything. She looks on your conversation with little interest.

                                            > But deep inside, you know. Nightmare was not pleased with having her fun taken away from her.