Spoiled Rich pauses as she trots away from the bare plot of land that used to be the Golden Oak Library, dusting off her personalized, H-T emblazoned saddlebags with a grimace. She turns, breath hitching as she watches her precious filly disappear into the crystal maw with the Apple colt.

It’s dangerous!

Her limbs lock, forelegs already starting to charge back, and she nearly eats the dirt she just brushed off her bags. Her breathing comes and goes in quick spurts, and it takes far longer than she likes to recover from the panic attack. That overwhelming sense of fear, that she has to rescue the budding young mare and march her back to the mansion, to safety. What kind of dam would she be if she let something happen to her filly?

And with the Apple colt, of all ponies! Why did it have to be with his colt?

She hides the grimace, and then the following scowl, wearing that inscrutable, haughty smile like one of those big, floofy hats Rarity makes. Maybe she should patronize the unicorn’s store more frequently. She is a member of the Princesses’ herd, after all, and buying a token dress after the Princesses’ announcement was just that, a token gesture, utterly meaningless and only served to maintain her position relative to the other sycophants doing the same thing.

Not that the dress was bad. In fact, she had to beat off her husband lest he get the wrong idea, and it only got harder after the Princesses’ Equestria-wide announcement.

Five alicorn foals!

It was, and still is, unthinkable. She couldn’t process it. The ramifications are too large, too far-reaching, too nebulous to do anything but guess. If the foals inherit even a fraction of their dam’s power? It could topple the precarious position the ponies occupy at the top of the hierarchy.

More broadly, obviously ponies would follow Celestia’s example, and she had received a few tenuous feelers from mares looking to join the Rich herd, solitary mares she previously anticipated requesting Filthy as a stud, though even that sort of thing was hushed up enough that she wouldn’t care to speculate on a single mare’s preference until the actual request was made. And, even then, she’d only know about it because she is lead mare.

But if Equestria’s burgeoning spike not only in power but also numbers is met by their neighboring countries with anything other than outward congratulations and a tacit agreement to watch their relative power dwindle away? Then having a foal during the resulting strife couldn’t be a worse decision, and she is glad to have fended off Filthy’s amorous assaults until her heat ended. There’s always next year, should things stay stable.

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t sometimes envious of Silver Set and her herdmate’s three foals. Like any trend, it doesn’t pay to be in the wave that follows, and she doesn’t want her next foal to just be another born in the glut next year, or the one after that. No, she has to find something else, some other ‘in’ through which she can elevate herself and her future foal. Should she make that decision.

Actually, there is something she could use. It has been years, but her memory has always been sharp.

She startles slightly as she stops outside her mansion, apparently having trotted the entire way lost in her thoughts. It must have been the lack of ponies on the street, nearly everypony still in Canterlot for the now-defunct Friendship Festival.

“Thorax?” she calls as she enters, curious if the changeling is here or holding down Barnyard Bargains.

“Mrs. Rich?” comes the cautious return call as Thorax steps out of the main dining hall.

The lime green changeling brushes a few crumbs from his orange tinted thorax with an apologetic smile. Spoiled Rich would have preferred to look down her nose, but he stands a hoof taller than her, and she can’t shake the odd sense that he should tower above her like Princess Celestia. It must be the pronged horns that splay out far more obtrusively than a unicorn’s horn and the purple gossamer wings that lend an aura of nobility the otherwise unassuming changeling wouldn’t possess.

“Welcome home!” He brightens as he sets his hoof back on her plush carpet. “I didn’t know you’d be back so soon! Is everything at the Friendship Festival proceeding well?”

“It was,” she said haughtily, “until the Princesses were hauled off.”

His pupil-less rose eyes spin wildly. “Oh, no!” Thorax exclaims as he bounds forward, planting his forelegs on Spoiled Rich’s withers as he stares into her shocked eyes. If she wasn’t an earth pony it would have knocked her over. “Is the Queen okay? Was she hurt?!”

“She left with them, unharmed.” Spoiled Rich harrumphs as Thorax stares off into space. She clears her throat a second time, and this time he notices.

“Oh! Sorry! Sorry.” He drops down with an apologetic grimace, brushing off her dress. His hoof goes to his belly. “I was just thinking about the little ones.”

Her trained eye can barely detect the bulge around his darker green barrel. It’s more than the sandwich of bread and pork would entail, unless he has been gorging himself again. He is the other reason Filthy doesn’t mind waiting another year, as noherd of any note would want too many foals in a year. Two being the maximum, and woe to any stallion who wanted to try his hoof at more. And the novelty of having another join the herd would wear off soon enough. But he wouldn’t be this concerned with Filthy’s foal, of course not.

“Is it that time again?” she asked, mildly disgusted but hiding it well. Not that foalbearing is a particularly nasty subject, nor is she squeamish, but she has little desire to observe one of the changelings lay their eggs in the communal spawning ground. Though she would certainly not want to appear as if she found foals or even nymphs distasteful, given the current political climate.

“Just about! I can feel the little bugger pressing up against me. Not that it’s uncomfortable or anything!” Thorax’s best reassuring grin spreads across his face, but it always seems a bit creepy to her. Like a chimera that’s just realized that you know it’s trying to sneak up on you, and doesn’t want to call off the hunt just yet. “Since nopony was coming to the shop, I figured that I would head down there while it’s still cool.” His grin widens even more. “Hey, have you been there yet? I could show you around!”

“Mm,” Spoiled Rich stalls. She feels like getting to know the de facto fourth member of their herd is something she has put off for too long and that trumps her apathy. “Very well, but give me a moment.”

Hooves pound into the carpet as Thorax does a little happy dance, obviously not expecting that response. “Okay!”

She grumbles to herself as she heads into one of the sitting rooms. It would have been easier for Randolph to locate the deck of cards, but their butler is in Canterlot with Filthy. She brushes past a number of books and other games the fillies haven’t played in years. They would make acceptable gifts for grandfoals, no need to throw them out yet. She finally finds the cards along with her notes on the game of Bridge. She tucks the cards into her sleeve, part of her wanting to roll it up like she did as a young mare, and returns to find Thorax anxiously waiting. “Lead the way.”

He bounds to the door and opens it for her. A worried look flashes across his face. “Oh, um. Just so you know. It’s in the Everfree Forest. But right on the edge! It’s perfectly safe!”

“Indeed,” Spoiled Rich draws out, squelching her dismay at the mere mention of the forest. She follows him as they trot through Ponyville, and the continued lack of ponies continues to surprise her. She spots Apple Bloom breaking into a darkened Sugarcube Corner and quickly disappearing out of sight as they head to the south. It might have concerned her, as the Cakes are in Canterlot, but she doubts the young mare is up to anything nefarious. “How do you find working at Barnyard Bargains?”

“Work’s been great!” Thorax replies, his quick pace leaving her panting, even despite her participation in the Running of the Leaves. “It’s a lot like being a guard, except that I get to talk to ponies! Which is great! You wouldn’t believe how much ponies like to talk about what they do. Like Burnt Oak, he was telling me all about how he picks which trees to fell, and using the sawmill, and then about building wagons! It’s fascinating!”

His fascination with the simple act of cutting and crafting mystifies her; it’s so unlike many of the ponies she knows. And, she hates to admit, herself. It actually reminds her of many of Doug’s foals, whose interests vary more than most. And who, if they don’t pick some area of expertise, would have difficulty amounting to anything.

“It is a common enough occupation,” she says with a hint of a frown. Her husband loves working in the shop itself, getting a feel for what the customers are interested in and the trends of the market. Even though she feels his time would be better spent securing more profitable contracts and contacts outside of Ponyville, and hopes the extra time he is spending in Canterlot will be well worth it.

“Yup!” Thorax grins at that, though his face quickly falls. “I’d like it if we could get better jobs, but entry level work is all that’s been available. Nopony really trusts us changelings to do anything except breed.”

“Which you are frighteningly good at,” Spoiled Rich points out as they enter the forest. Overgrown trees crowd each side of the rough-cut path, simultaneously making her feel claustrophobic while hampering anycreature detecting their passage or assaulting them. It doesn’t help the feeling, though, and she warily checks each side as she stays close to the changeling.

“Yeah,” Thorax concedes as they enter a hollowed-out section of forest. It feels almost like a cave with how densely packed the branches are overhead and to the sides, scattered spots of dim light barely able to pierce through. Three u-shaped earthen mounds form a loose circle around the center, forming a bulwark of sorts. He heads to one of them and disappears down, and she can’t shake the feeling that the spawning chamber down there is more of a sepulcher.

He pokes his head out as she stalls. “You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to, but it might be a few minutes.”

“Er,” she says, glancing around nervously. Maybe she can stare at a section of wall. The steps are tightly spaced in a spiral, barely enough room to place a hoof next to the other, and if she slips she would tumble down and crash into at least six walls. Assuming it only goes down one story.

“It helps to go down backward,” Thorax recommends, following his own advice. She follows him, wishing there is more than the soft light of his horn guiding them. “Sorry it’s so steep. It has to be, or the newly hatched grubs might crawl out. This way they just tumble back down!”

The reinforced dirt walls turn to stone after one revolution, traces of acid giving the illusion that some still drips down. Two stories after that and it opens up into a cramped cellar, crystals and glowing moss casting an eerie green glow. Dozens of small mounds line the floor, and Spoiled Rich would freak out if she awoke down here with no explanation. She still might.

He heads to the one clear space in the room and spins around to face her, his rump dropping to the floor. She turns her head as a slimy squelch echoes against his hearty grunts.

“Sorry,” he apologizes before his throat clenches, his entire body tensing. “We don’t expect many visitors here. The hive in the Badlands was a lot more impressive.”

“How many are yours?” she asks, though she wishes she picked a question that took her mind off what is happening behind her.

“Four.” Another grunt accompanies the answer. “Including this one. That’s how many the Queen wants from each of us, at least this year. I figured I’d get mine out of the way, and I think everyling had the same idea.” She hears the rustle of him getting back up, then a long sigh. “I hope she’s okay. And comes back soon. I’m not ready for when these girls start hatching!”

“Is that going to be soon?” Spoiled Rich takes an awkward step backward.

“The first two rounds already hatched, and I think Chryssy moved them all by herself.” He grimaces, berating himself. “I mean, Queen Chrysalis!” He gives a nervous chuckle. “She hates to be called that name. That and Scinty.”

“Noted,” Spoiled Rich says, though she had already resolved to only call the capricious changeling queen by her title, much like one would with any pompous noble. She frowns. “And how are the other… nymphs? Doing?”

“Oh! Um…” Thorax nervously shuffles to the side, then grabs the slick egg from the floor and tenderly places it next to the others. He shamelessly retches up a bit of green goop and secures the egg to the floor, much to her actual disgust. He continues as if nothing happened, “Maybe I should check on them?”

Spoiled Rich stares at him. Queen Chrysalis had set out for Canterlot three days ago. Have they been left alone this whole time!?

“Yes, you should,” she states forcefully. No foal should be abandoned like that, even a changeling! She even leads the way, climbing up the spiral staircase, though she has to let him choose which of the other two entrances to take back down. Two stories down and they come to a reinforced door, a dull roar emanating from the other side.

“Well, here goes,” Thorax says with a cheesy grin before he opens the door.

Inside is the kind of mayhem one might expect if you left Pinkie Pie and fifteen of her clones alone in a room and told her to stare at drying paint. A single changeling sits in the center, patiently staring at Thorax with a widening smile. Around her tumble, race, and fly the other fifteen changeling nymphs. Empty bags of flour lie strewn across the floor, any traces licked clean, though the water trough is acceptably full.

“Thorax is here!”

The cry starts with one, quickly echoing among all the changelings as they make a beeline to the entrance. Which means that half of them go straight there, and the other half loop around in a pincer formation, ensuring the only escape is backwards, and that way is currently occupied by an earth pony frantically backing up.

Small, colorful bodies slam into the lime green changeling. He takes it in stride, grinning all the while, petting heads and nuzzling sides of anyling who comes close. They all giggle and screech, especially when he catches one and delivers a powerful raspberry to the belly.

“Attention, everyling!” Thorax calls after a minute of play, long enough for Spoiled Rich to regain her bearings. They all settle down, forming two rows of eight nymphs, the larger in back. He waves a hoof, and she takes a reluctant step forward. “This is Spoiled Rich! She’s my lead mare in Ponyville!”

“Hi, Spoiled Rich!” the nymphs chorus.

Her breath catches in her throat. “Hello,” she says with a short wave, having to force the words out. Her hushed whisper is nearly as forceful as a shout, “These are two weeks old?!”

“This batch is far better behaved than any I ever helped with at the hive,” Thorax confides, and every mouth in the room twists to a large, fangy grin. “I think sharing love helped immensely!” His voice drops to a stage whisper. “As did finding all the food.”

“Indeed,” she replies with a curt nod. “And what are we supposed to do?”

“Mrs. Rich is a schoolteacher,” Thorax says to the nymphs, many of whom are already starting to poke each other in the side. He offers her a wide, phony smile. “And she knows lots of games!”

Spoiled Rich might have glared at the sudden invitation, and at the same time is curious how exactly he knew she taught before Ms. Cheerilee was hired. Except that this provides the perfect way for her to get her skills back in shape, and not make a foal of herself in front of Doug and the Princesses. She pulls the deck of cards from her sleeve, and all the nymphs burst forth to crowd around her. “How many of you know your numbers?”

She barely weathers the cacophony of shouted things, most of which are numbers.

“Very good,” she utters, partly deafened. They’re as enthusiastic as a pack of Lemons with all the self control of Scootaloo. She counts it fortunate she only had to substitute for Ms. Cheerilee a few times. “This is a card game for four players, so we’ll need to divide into eight groups of two.”

“I’ll get more cards!” Thorax breathes a huge sigh of relief as he heads upstairs, leaving the nymphs to squabble amongst themselves.

The nymphs quickly catch on to how the game is played, and their competitive nature gets her to add on scoring and then a rough tournament set up with duplicated decks. They need little instruction, allowing her to watch their initially naive play evolve with every hoof of cards.

“They’re so precious,” Thorax whispers to her. “I can’t believe you don’t want more.”

“Mm,” she says, staring off into space as she settles next to him.

Next Chapter: Ch. 9 - Warlord's Reach, Part One Estimated time remaining: 30 Hours, 47 Minutes