Chapter Fifty Seven

A Different Kind of Court

“Will you just hold still?” Spike asked as he tried to button up the back of Asalah’s dress. “Your squirming isn’t making this any easier, you know, and the maid said supper’s in twenty minutes.”

“I can’t help it. The dress is just too small,” the zebra replied.

“Where?”

“Pretty much everywhere, Spike,” Asalah said. “I don’t think the royalty here have hips, or, if they do, they must be thin as sticks. It feels like my legs are going to burst right through the dress.”

“At least your stomach isn’t,” Trixie replied, motioning down to the noticeable bump in her golden dress. “If I loosen the back any more, I swear it’s going to slip off me if I stand still for too long.”

“Well, I guess whoever designed the dress didn’t think somepony as figured as Asalah would ever wear it,” Spike muttered, hoping that the green fabric wouldn’t tear apart if she sat down. “How are you two doing?”

“Better than Trixie, though the stomach’s still a bit tight,” Maria replied, her own white outfit sporting a rather high collar and long sleeves. “I don’t know what gargantuan mare this was made for, but it’s the only one that has leggings that don’t trail past my hooves.”

“Well, I like my dress,” Chrysalis said, her deep red outfit hugging her every curve.

“But you can shapeshift,” her husband replied.

“Some, but not enough to make this ideal,” the changeling said. “Besides, it’s a bit too low-cut, for even my tastes. I guess I’ll just have to wear a scarf or something to prevent my breasts from spilling out, in case I have to sit up quickly or something.”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Spike said with a laugh.

“Well, I’m sure the Tsar and Tsarina would,” Chrysalis said, smirking in spite of herself. “I’d rather not have that happen when we’re in front of the rulers of Russia. You know, the ones that just so happen to opened their home to us?”

“I agree,” Asalah said as she felt the last of the buttons pop into place. “Thank you, Spike.”

“No problem,” he said. “Now, about my suit... did they ever figure out where my tail would go?”

“See, that’s where the tailors had trouble,” Trixie said. “None of the suits they have are fitted for dragons, their tails being much wider than ponies’, and really, the whole ‘spines along your back’ bit made it clear that they’d have to either make something from scratch, or just cut holes in the back of their fine, silk suits, and you know-”

“—let me guess, they didn’t want to ruin them?” Maria asked.

Trixie nodded, holding said suit aloft, which seemed to be a rather nice-looking one, almost like something an officer would wear, only more regal in design. “I’m sure your tail will fit quite nicely in the hole they made in these, though it may take some practice to get the hang of sliding your spines in and out of the slits along the back.”

“I can only hope so,” the dragon said as Trixie handed him the suit. “I’d like to make a good impression on the local royals, for once. I mean, when was the last time it didn’t involve a war, or a vampiress, or some kind of argument?”

“Well, if we’re discounting the club incident in Saddle Arabia, and the terrified faces of all the Baghdad scholars, when you seemingly vaporized that collection of books and scrolls, then... I don’t know. What about Maredagascar?” Maria asked.

“But what about our fight, there?” Chrysalis asked. “When I told you all the truth about who I was?”

“But the sultan there didn’t know about that, so I’d chalk that one up as a good impression,” Asalah said. “That, and he was very friendly, so even if he had heard us, he would’ve likely been too polite to say anything about it.”

“I don’t know, his palace was pretty big, and we were arguing during the storm,” Spike said as he pulled on the shirt, taking care to fold his wings down. “So, yeah, I’d count that as a good first impression. He did wish us well when we left, after all. Though I bet that’s customary for any host to say. Care to help me with my spines?”

“Here,” Chrysalis said, walking over and tugging the shirt this way and that, until, at last, her husband’s green spines poked through the fabric. “Now don’t try any exercises in this, or you might just shred through everything.”

“Trust me, exercising in the last thing on my mind,” the dragon muttered, glancing over at the door that led to Eutropia’s room. “Asalah, could you check on Eutropia for us? She hasn’t come out yet, and dinner’s going to be ready soon.”

“Yes, I can do that,” the zebra replied, walking slowly, so as to avoid stressing her dress too early. In time, it would loosen slightly, from the natural process of the material stretching, but for now, it was a bit too tight for normal walking.

“Eutropia?” She asked as she opened the door. “Are you in here?”

“Over here,” the griffin said, standing by the window near her bed.

Closing the door behind her, Asalah walked over to the young griffin’s side. “I see you found your dress,” she said with a smile. “It looks good on you.”

“I don’t know, it felt a bit too loose in the chest when I put it on,” Eutropia muttered. “I had to tighten it up with a knot or two in the back.”

“You still look lovely,” the zebra said. “The sapphire dress really seems to contrast well with your feathers. I’m just surprised they had a dress made for visiting griffins; the wing slots mesh well with the rest of it.”

“But I don’t feel like I’m meant to wear something like this,” the griffin replied, motioning at the blue fabric. “It’s weird. I never wore something this pretty in my life. I’m completely out of my element, Asalah. I’ve never even been invited to one of the dinner parties my mom threw for guards, let alone one for nobles. What if I mess up?”

Asalah was surprised: the normally stoic, tough-as-nails griffin, who didn’t take anything from anyone... sounded genuinely scared. “There, there. Everything’s going to be all right,” she said, patting her on the back.

“How do you know?” Eutropia asked. “I mean, I’m just some simple griffin from Istanbul, whose mother is... was a guard, and whose family never really amounted to much on a social level. Why am I here, in this gorgeous dress, being treated like royalty, when I know I’m not?”

The zebra sighed. “My dear, I know how you feel,” she said. “When I was younger, and I just left the comfort of my caretaker’s guidance, the world of nobility was strange, and often scary at times, but I persevered and learned quickly, as most young ladies do. And, over time, what was once scary and strange, actually became fun, even mundane at times. Just sit by me, and if you have any questions, I’ll be sure to answer them as best I can.” Funny how she was telling her this in such a matronly fashion, when they were practically the same age.

“You’d do that for me?” The griffin asked.

“That’s what friends are for, right?” Asalah asked. “I am your friend, aren’t I?”

The griffin was silent for a few moments. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, Asalah, I’d count you as a friend. Is everyone else ready?”

“Yes, yes we are,” Asalah said as she led her friend away from the window. “Come now, relax. Dinner with royalty might seem scary, but it won’t be all that bad, trust me. Just put on your most polite smile, and you’ll get through this just fine.”

“I hope so,” Eutropia replied.

The minute they rejoined the others, Trixie said that the griffin fit into her dress very well, before there was a knock at the door. Spike, making sure to walk slowly, as to get used to his fancy suit, opened it to find a peculiar stallion waiting for them. He was old, very old indeed, and while his expression was a warm one, his posture was as formal as could be.

“Dinner awaits,” he said, his voice as creaky as an old door’s hinges. “If you’ll follow me, please, I shall escort you to the dining hall.” Lining up, Spike and company left the room, treading carefully behind the elderly stallion.

“Will anypony else be dining with us?” Spike asked.

“No, no, you shall only be dining with the Tsar and his family, this evening,” the servant replied. “Usually there are other guests, but tonight is but a private affair. Many nobles around the country seldom meet with the Tsar during dinner.”

“Why is that?”

“Meeting with the Tsar is usually a rather public affair, with many guests attending lavish feasts, where the Tsar is needing to discuss upcoming matters with key members of the courts or ruling houses, usually before legislation comes up. This is so he is most informed of what the proposal means, at least, if it’s a rather sudden one that he has little knowledge of. Meeting the Tsar in private, however, is a rarer different occurrence. It is usually only reserved for the most influential politicians or aristocracy; dinner alone, with him and his family, is simply unheard of.”

“Well, I do hope we aren’t causing a fuss,” Chrysalis said.

“Not at all, madam,” the stallion replied as they turned a corner. A set of large doors, inlaid with small carvings of what looked like an ancient battle, stood before them. A pair of large, burly guards, dressed in fine suits, like the servant’s own, quickly opened the doors for them.

“Your excellency,” the elderly stallion said, stepping ahead of the others. “May I introduce Spike Dragul, his family, and friend.”

Eutropia managed to suppress a snort at the mention of her as a “friend,” if only because the stallion either didn’t know their names, or that it was just some sort of protocol. Still, she caught Asalah’s eye, who imperceptibly winked at her.

“Welcome, my dear guests,” the Tsar said, walking forward with his arms wide open. “Please, come; sit. Dinner is ready.”

Politely bowing to the Tsar, Spike, his family, and Eutropia seated themselves at the large table in the middle of the room. To Spike, it was very reminiscent of the tables Celestia usually brought out for the Grand Galloping Gala: not very broad, but very long, and often decorated with carvings and fine embellishments, like jewels. The Tsar’s table had no jewels in it, but up and down the legs were polished specks of amber, the round stones seemingly glowing in the late afternoon light.

Spike sat directly across from the Tsar, with Trixie and Maria on his right, and Chrysalis and Asalah to his left. Eutropia, mindful of how she sat down, sat beside Asalah, who winked at her again. The Tsarina sat next to her husband, her attire now in lovely light shade of violet.

“Will it just be us, tonight?” Spike asked.

“Oh, no, where are my manners?” The Tsar said before he turned away slightly, and with a simple clap of his hands, the doors to another room opened, allowing in five of the most well-dressed foals Spike’s ever seen. Well, foals being a subjective term: to the Tsar and his wife, they were, indeed, their own foals. For Spike, it was like looking into his future as a nobleman in Canterlot.

Four fillies, most of them likely several years younger than Spike, walking with a kind of grace that he thought only older mares could carry themselves with. The fifth was a handsome little colt, likely no older than he was when he first arrived in Ponyville, giving off an aura of both authority and deference to his sisters. All five of them came in and lined up alongside their mother: from the tallest filly, right down to the small colt.

“Honored guests, these are our children,” the Tsarina said with a smile, motioning towards the youth next to her. “Our daughters, Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia.”

As each of their names were mentioned, the fillies gave short, very formal curtsies.

“And the littlest one is Alexei, our son,” the Tsar said, smiling in the young colt’s direction. “The Tsesarevich.”

“Tsesarevich?” Spike repeated.

“It is a title that signifies the heir,” the Tsarina replied. “Not to be confused with “Tsarevich”, which is just a title signifying a son of the Tsar. But with little Alexei being our only son, it is only fitting to call him the heir apparent.”

“How old is he?” Chrysalis asked, seemingly enamored by the cute little colt. She could only imagine her own little foal, should it be a colt, looking a lot like him. Though she imagined he'd be a little more colored; he did seem rather pale.

“Olga is the oldest, being seventeen,” the Tsar said. “Tatiana is fifteen, Maria is thirteen, Anastasia is eleven, and little Alexei, here, is seven.” There was a hint of pride in his voice, as if the fact that his son reached seven was an accomplishment in and of itself.

“Those are lovely names,” Asalah said. “Yet, that reminds me, I don’t think we’ve ever heard yours.”

“Ah, where are my manners?” He replied. “My name is Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov, though by way of technicality, I am called Nicholas II. You, on the other hand, may simply call me Nicholas, or sir, if you prefer.”

“And I am Alexandra Feodorovna, though that is but the name bestowed upon me by our church,” his wife said. “My birth name was a bit simpler: Alix of Hesse. I was from Germareny, originally.”

“We never got the chance to visit there, when we were in Central Europe a few months ago,” Maria commented.

“Well, I would very much like to hear of your travels, thus far,” Nicholas said, and, with a wave of his hand, several doors opened to allow a multitude of stallions to stroll in, all bearing trays of rather delicious-smelling food. “Over dinner, of course,” he added.

As if his ending words were a cue, the five young royals seated themselves down the line, with little Alexei facing Eutropia near the very end. The servants around them moved with a practiced ease and grace that rivaled dancers; platters of food were soon spread out before them, with the most of it being efficiently served onto everyone’s plates as they passed.

“And I, of your country, your highness,” Spike replied as he surveyed his plate. It all looked so good, so much more than what he and his family have been eating since they left Bakhtak’s cooking. Wow, it felt so strange to think that they’ve only been gone for a little more than a week, and yet she only fed them for a few days.

“Well, what would you like to know, honored guests?” Nicholas asked, the servants dispersing as quickly as they appeared.

“Well, first things first: what of your government?” The dragon asked. “Back in Equestria, the princesses, more or less, have a say in everything. Though it’s often that their input is only needed for the more important aspects, with most of the lesser ones being left to the governing bodies and the minor nobles across the country.”

“Ah, well, in Russia, I am the head of everything, more or less,” Nicholas replied, taking a sip of wine. “I have a say in everything, be it the government or religion. Some might call me a despot, but in truth, I think of myself more as the head of an autocratic empire. Though there is a good deal of self-government in many of the more rural areas, along with an independent justice system, and while it’s still in its infancy, I have also been forming a Duma.”

“Duma?” Asalah asked.

“Basically a national assembly, along with a constitution to dictate it,” the Tsar said. “Mostly made up of nobles and the wealthy; you know, those who can afford to be away from, say, the farm, for months at a time, deliberating and discussing laws and such. I know, already, that it will be readily open to corruption, but I am confident that it will run much smoother, now that the gentry realize that revolution is not the way to make good changes.”

“Revolution?” Trixie asked.

“Yes, during my father’s time,” Nicholas replied. “Many of the elite were able to take large sections of land, and ended up treating those that lived on them as little more than livestock, even more so that they used to. My grandfather sought to end this, freeing the serfs and putting into place many new reforms. He was even drafting a new constitution by the time the revolution began... at least until his assassination. My father, upon assuming the throne, brutally put down the rebels, while rolling back many of the reforms of my grandfather... the same reforms that I have been working to reintroduce and expand upon for these past few years.”

“Oh my,” Chrysalis said, the word “assassination” bringing back some rather awful memories of her own ascension to the throne. All the death and destruction to maintain her power and control over her kingdom... it would seem she wasn’t the only one to have done such things. “Your father... was he killed as well?”

“No, not him,” the stallion said with a sigh. “He thought it best to keep me from politics until I was nearly thirty, deciding, instead, that I should spend more time in the army. Yet he overestimated his own health, and died before I was even married.”

“I’m sorry,” Spike said. “I never got to know my father, so I can only imagine what losing one would feel like. It must’ve been hard on you.”

“It was, but my dear Alexandra helped me through the worst of it,” Nicholas said, smiling at his wife and pulling her hand in for a gentle squeeze. “Her patience and gentle nature were gifts I was not ready for, nor did I deserve at the time.”

“Yet I was there, and need them, you did,” she replied with a smile of her own. “The road was long and hard, but we pulled through it, together.”

Off to the side, in spite of themselves, their daughters either rolled their eyes or made slight grimaces, except for the oldest; Olga, who made an “aww” face, and the youngest; Alexei, who simply looked a bit confused, or maybe he was just bored.

“So what happened after that?” Spike asked.

“Well, there were many that saw me as ill-suited for governing, and, to a great extent, they were right,” the Tsar said as everyone continued to eat. “I had so little experience running things, that I feared another revolution would erupt before Olga was born. So, I turned to someone my father and grandfather trusted with matters for the longest time. He was an old ice dragon by the name of Arkhangelsk, and was even around when my ancestor, Peter the Great, was in power.”

“So I take it you took him on as an advisor?” Chrysalis asked.

“Yes, and my country is all the better for it,” Nicholas replied. “I was able to not only revitalize much of the judicial aspects, but now the state assembly is finally leaving its infancy state; many more citizens are now having a say in government. A say in line with my own, that is.”

“Have you ever given thought to dispersing your power?” Eutropia asked, her voice only slightly louder than a whisper. “It seems that one pony with as much power as you would be open to... temptation. I imagine it’s a lot like what has happened before, in Istanbul.” She knew of the stories, of emperors before and after the Turks going mad with power, or causing so much trouble that revolutions and rebellions were almost common-place.

“Oh, the country has had poorer Tsars in the past, ones who did fall from grace and commit rather dreadful acts,” the Tsarina said. “Not my Nicholas, though. It’s a test of character to be in charge of such an expansive and diverse populace.”

“I see,” Asalah said, giving her griffin companion a wink of encouragement. “Well, that’s a good a reason as any to keep family in the picture. From my own experience, a stallion without a family to support him is, well... much less stable.”

“Oh, I agree,” the Tsar said. “Without my wife, and, more recently, my children, I could never have helped my country prosper as well as it has. Like Olga’s devotion to those injured in wars, which helped convince me to set up networks of hospitals in every major city, including some of the more provincial towns.”

“Sounds like something Celestia would do, if she were in your position,” Spike commented.

“That reminds me, what exactly is it like in Equestria? I heard some stories of the place from a few of our nannies, but they were never in the clearest sense.” It was not the Tsar, nor the Tsarina, who asked this, but little Anastasia. She spoke with a kind of clarity and vocabulary that Spike would never have expected of a filly her age. Only eleven years old, and already more mature than most ponies her age, back in Equestria. Then again, she was a princess, so that might’ve been just a result of the way she’s been raised.

“Well, Equestria is a beautiful country, though I’m sure most would say that about their homeland,” the dragon said with a smile. “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna are in charge of most things, though the nobles are often in deliberation within the more mundane aspects of governing: setting tax codes, redistributing funds for projects that need attention, adjusting tax rates on farmers, depending on the amount gained at harvest... you know, things like that.”

“Sounds a lot like here,” Olga replied.

“Well, yeah, there are some similarities, but I’m sure you could find things like that when you compare practically any two counties,” Spike said with a slight shrug. “All I know is that the government of Equestria has, more or less, evolved over the centuries, though many aspects of it, like the assembly and the minor nobles having a say in government... that’s been there for who knows how long. And in all likelihood, there’s not much more room for change in there, without completely restructuring the entire system, and it works, so where’s the rush?”

“What about when you get back?” Alexandra asked. “I do believe some of the maids overheard a few of you talking about returning home and what that would bring. Might I ask what would happen, exactly?”

“Well, for starters, I’m going to be part of the ruling elite, in Equestria, alongside the Princesses, of course. After that, I’ll be putting together a large, sort-of assembly: one that’s directly between myself, the princesses, and the more general assembly. This one will handle more of the matters of the state; the ones that often end up being overlooked or underfunded. Think of it as a way of expanding the role of government, without actually having it take on new responsibilities: more of a way to pick up the slack that’s already there.” Spike wasn’t sure how much more there was to all of what he was saying, but they asked, and he might as well fill them in on it. “Other than that, it seems that getting home will be a bigger hurdle to overcome than actually dealing with the things that are to come, once we are home.”

“Such as?”

“Well, introducing me to the family, for one,” Chrysalis said. “Everyone else he knows thinks I’m somepony else, entirely. I actually joined with Spike, when he first began his journey, under the guise of someone else, and while I came to love him dearly, and he the same, Equestria and my own realm have had... issues, in the past.”

“Your own realm?”

“My kingdom; the kingdom of the changelings,” the queen replied. “A couple years ago, I sorta... tried to invade and conquer Equestria...”

Stunned stares emanated from the Tsar and Tsarina, as well as from Olga and Maria. The other children simply seemed more than happy to just be eating.

“Yes, I was at a sort of.... low point in life, you might say,” Chrysalis continued. “Power-hungry, land-hungry, amongst other things. Most ponies won’t take it well: when they find out that I’m married to Spike, especially those closest to him.”

“I’m guessing your husband has powerful friends, other than the princesses?” Nicholas asked.

“Oh, you have no idea,” the queen said, shaking her head. “Two of them in particular will have the biggest problem with me. During my... invasion, I, more or less, held one of them captive and changed my appearance to look like her, taking her place during her own wedding. Her fiance was forcefully put under my control, and even though I was thoroughly defeated, the whole thing’s just a bad memory waiting to resurface.”

“And the other one that he knows?”

“Well... the stallion under my control was, more or less, his adopted brother, and, by way of proxy, the other pony’s sister.”

“I can see how that would be terribly awkward, should you meet with them,” Olga said. “Almost ruining her brother’s wedding? I can only imagine his sister being much less pleased than he.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Spike muttered. “She actually saw through her disguise, but nopony believed her until after she showed up with the real bride. It turns out that my wife hid her in the same place she hid the real pony she was impersonating: Princess Cadence. Then, from wherever they were, they showed up and stopped the wedding. I should know, I saw the whole thing go down. It was crazy.”

“Much crazier than our weddings,” Maria and Trixie said with knowing smiles. “Nice, simple ceremonies.”

“While Spike and I were actually wed before the king of Prance,” Chrysalis added. “And Asalah here...”

“My father, the sultan of Agrabah, wed us, or at least oversaw it,” the zebra said. “Still, while nobody would think it to be true, our weddings were actually the calmer points of Spike’s journey, so far. We’ve been through quite a few... “exciting” times, these past few months.”

“Exciting?” The Tsar repeated. “That just makes me want to hear more about it.”

“Well, as we’ll be here for another week, it’d be best I think to split it up,” Chrysalis said. “After all, there’s a lot to tell.”

“I like it,” Alexei said, his diminutive smile no less genuine than his vibrant voice. Finally, dinner conversations that weren’t likely to be boring in the slightest. “Papa, is that alright?”

“Yes, yes it is,” Nicholas said. “Please, start at the beginning, if you would be so kind.”

“All right then,” Spike said, taking a pause from eating his dinner. “It all started several months ago, all the way back in Canterlot...”

After dinner, Spike and his family, as well as Eutropia, returned to their rooms, changing into clothes more suited for casual sightseeing. At least, that’s what the Tsar insisted they do; seeing that he had no other guests due to arrive, during their stay, Nicholas simply told them to “dress as you see fit.” Alexandra added “modestly” to that, seeing that little Alexei was known to wander the halls, even with his chaperones watching his every move.

So it was with little surprise that the Tsar showed up at their door, an hour after dinner, with the Tsarina in tow. Each were dressed in glamorous nightwear, the Tsar cutting an impressive figure in his fine suit, while his wife, on the other hand, wore a dress that was as simple as it was practical: flowing, yet not loose or frilly.

“We would be honored if you would accompany us for a special tour,” Nicholas said.

“Where to?” Asalah asked.

“To the gardens,” Alexandra said. “They close the gates to visitors in a short while, and although you will be here for a week, it would be best for you to see them now, before the cold really begins to set in, and some of the less-hardy plants are brought to less accessible areas.”

“If it’s okay with you, I’m fine just staying here, for now,” Eutropia said.

“Me too, my hooves are killing me,” Trixie muttered, lying down on the large bed.

“What about you three?” Spike asked.

“Well, I haven’t seen a real garden in a long time... since we left my home, actually,” Maria said. “It’d be a nice change of scenery, if only for a while.” Asalah and Chrysalis nodded, their simple evening gowns being more than appropriate for such a short walk.

With a nod, the Tsar led his four guests out, into the hall, where, after a while, they came to a stop at a large pair of doors, a guard standing at each side. “These lead outside, but as winter approaches, they are often sealed, so as to prevent the cold from getting in,” Alexandra said. “Bitter and biting, it is, what with the wind always trying to blow snow in, through every crack and crevice.”

The pair of guards nodded and opened the door, a faint rush of cool flew past them as they went, quickly making their way past several trees, whose golden and scarlet leaves were already littering the ground. Shrubs, here and there, were still tenuously clung to their own foliage, but soon, they too would drop what little leaves they held. Soon enough, they reached a large building, much of it, apparently, set into the ground, but made almost entirely of large sheets of glass. The faint shimmer around it signified that it was radiating heat, but also something else, as well.

“Is this protected by magic?” Maria asked. The gardens of her own home were left to the devices of wind, rain, and cold, but she’s heard stories of the kings of Mali keeping certain plants in greenhouses that repelled heat. Could it be that there were spells that did the opposite?

“Yes, by some of the finest heat-retention spells there are,” the Tsar said, opening the door. “It’s not very practical to keep such spells on, say, the palace: seeing that they need to be maintained all the time. On the gardens, however, the cost is greatly outweighed by the benefits. See for yourself.”

All around the interior of the building, all kinds of plants grew from various pots, trays, and even in water-filled tubs sitting on the floor. Greenery stretched into every corner, or so it seemed; a sight so greatly at odds with the increasingly-bleak landscape, just outside the building. From the tall reeds to the flattened lily pads; from the small trees, adorned with tropical fruits, to the vines climbing over anything in their way, the whole building gave off a scent as fresh and earthy as a summer forest.

Yet it was not just the greenery that drew Spike’s attention, but the smells that were wafting off the flowers. Everywhere, flowers bloomed; countless shapes and sizes, all with aromas too varied to pinpoint by sight. From the small pink ones, no larger than one of his scales, all the way up to the great red ones that towered a yard above most of the other plants; it was almost like something out of a fairy tale: the kind of garden one would find in the presence of a pantheon of gods. In the background, a soft hum seemed to sound forth from every stone, as if the building, itself, was softly singing.

“Mr. Monkshood, are you in here?” The Tsarina called out as they made their way further in, which now seemed much larger than they first thought. Countless rows of flowers, fruit trees, and vegetables seemed to form endless aisles in every which way, often twisting or turning around corners, like the path of a frenzied snake.

“Back here, your highness,” a voice called, past several suspended rows of what Spike guessed were orchids. Carefully making their way past so many colorful plants, a few of which were prickly like cacti but looking rather swollen in nature, Spike and his family arrived just as a pony strode into view.

He was dressed in rather odd attire for someone who lived on the grounds of such a magnificent palace, though this was likely because he worked in the greenhouse and nowhere else. The unicorn’s horn supported a simple cap atop his short, mud-brown, and seemingly unruly mane, that was only just peeking from underneath it, while his clothes were smudged with different soils, ranging from reddish and grey to brown and black. With an average build with a slightly shorter height, he moved slowly, wiping his hands with a rag hanging from one of his many coat pockets, exposing more of his light green pelt, which seemed very at home with the greenery surrounding him. He seemed so at home with how he moved amongst the plants that it would not have been crazy to think of him as part plant.

“To what do I own the pleasure for this visit, your highness?” The unicorn asked, his strangely purple eyes seemingly looking right through Spike and his family.

“Mr. Monkshood, several guests have arrived, and we invited them to tour the gardens,” Nicholas said, his tone even but his voice just a tad louder than normal. “If you would be so kind as to give us an impromptu tour, we would be most appreciative.”

“Anything for you, your majesty,” the unicorn replied, slowly turning around as a soft glow shone from his horn. “As you can undoubtedly see, many of the flowers around us are not from this part of Russia, or, indeed, any part of our empire. Nay, many are from the more tropical parts of the world, kept in good health by the heating spells that are sheltering this building from our frigid winter. Of course, tending to them as frequently as I do, certainly helps matters.”

“What exactly do you do in here, Mr. Monkshood?” Chrysalis asked as she eyed a particularly blue flower hanging from a basket. It reminded her of the sky on a cool spring day; cloudless, and of a deep blue in the center, with the periphery slightly faded as the horizon grew closer. The center mass of the flower hard a stark yellow stalk, like a drop of sunlight cast into a mold and placed in the flower itself.

“Please, call me Campanula, most honored guests,” the unicorn replied without looking at them, his focus elsewhere. “Other than tending to the plants, many from places I can’t even pronounce correctly, I craft and care for a select variety of native plants, either as fresh food for the Tsar’s kitchens, or for reasons known only to him.”

"They can know as well," Nicholas said.

"But, your majesty, these are secret-,"

“You may show them, Campanula,” the Tsar said, gentle but firm in his tone. “They are my guests, but not for long, and I would wish for them to witness what wonders you have made.”

The stallion was silent for a few moments. “Very well, your majesty,” he replied. As they rounded a bend, he paused at what appeared to be a large section of barbed vines, their sharp ends seemingly glinting in the low light of this wall. Running his hands gently over the sharp points with practiced ease, and softly murmuring under his breath, the unicorn stepped forward right into the pointed mass of wood...

... only for it to retreat the moment his face drew near it. Spike and his two wives could only watch in awe as the vines retreated of their own accord, revealing a small wooden door. Opening it, the unicorn motioned for them to follow, and once inside this secret room, they were stunned by what they saw.

All around them were flowers, just as there were before, but only now did they realize where the thrumming noise had been coming from: the flowers around them, of all shapes and sizes, of colors and fragrances, in a vast multitude, rivalling the finest palace gardens of the world... they were the source of the humming. Each and every flower swayed in tune with the others, like one great orchestral symphony. Each petal furled and unfurled in time with the notes they let loose, living instruments in every aspect.

Off in the center of this room sat a set of chairs, including one large lounging couch, made of the sturdiest mahogany wood and fitted with finely-sewn cushions of purest wool. It looked less like a garden and more like something out of a dream.

“These are my most prized possessions, all in thanks to the Tsarina,” Campanula said softly. “I... I taught them to sing, taught them to harmonize in ways plants should not be able to.”

“I found him alone in the gardens, one day, many years ago,” Alexandra said. “He was no more than five years old, yet had somehow wandered past the guards and found refuge amongst some of the more destitute plants. The previous gardener had been afflicted with sickness, and was not able to care for them as best he could, so imagine my surprise when I arrived with a guard, only to find him singing to these formerly dead plants, and they replied as they regained their color and size. I knew such a gift could not be wasted, so brought him into our household as one of the servants under our employment.”

“After his skills became more refined, it came to my attention that he could induce eloquent music from his plants,” Nicholas added. “That is why you see these chairs, here. This is a private room, where my family and I can retreat to, when the stresses of ruling have been particularly hard on us. I could not have asked for a more diligent, or patient pony to help with our stress.”

“You have treated me with the greatest kindness one could ask for, your highnesses,” the unicorn replied, turning to them with his purple eyes. “You gave me a home when I had none, and have treated me as a friend for most of my life. I cannot see the beauty before me, but the gratefulness in your voices more than makes up for it.”

“You cannot see?” Maria asked. “What do you mean? These flowers, all around you... they are so beautiful.”

“So I have been told,” the unicorn said with a small, sad smile. “Tell me, what color are my eyes?”

“A strange shade of purple, but that is...” Asalah trailed off, realization crossing over her features.

“Yes,” Campanula said simply. “I am blind, from before I came to this place. Completely, I might add, ever since eating something I should not have when I was very young. My magic is my sight now, as without it, I would not be able to care of my plants as I do. Without it, my plants would not sing.”

“Yet, without your sight, you have managed to make something so grand and beautiful, as to be such a closely guarded secret; an accomplishment worthy of note in the history books. Thank you for sharing this with our guests, Campanula,” the Tsar said. “We will see ourselves out, but we would be honored if you would show us to the cellar. There are a few things I would like to personally retrieve, before the night is upon us.”

“Ah, of course,” the unicorn said, waiting patiently for the others to file out ahead of him. The flowers continuing their soft singing, he closed the door gently behind him, and with a slow flourish of his hand, heard the rustle of the sharp vines come down, obscuring the door from sight.

“That reminds me, Mr. Monkshood, have we had any shipments, today?” Alexandra asked.

“Not that I know of, but they usually do occur at around this time,” the blind unicorn said with a shrug as the lot of them worked their way past tall, spiraling reeds.

Spike was amazed at how the royal gardener moved. Campanula was entirely blind, yet not only was he able to use his magic to care for his flowers and make them sing, but he was able to easily get around the rather confined spaces of the greenhouse. Either his magic gave him some sort of directional sight, or he had memorized every pathway, there. Was it, perhaps, a bit of both?

Coming upon a large door, heavily reinforced, by the looks of it, the Tsar produced a key from his coat pocket. “Very few have access to this room, or, at least, few have access to it from this building,” Nicholas said as he opened it. “Those that do are sworn to secrecy, and, more often than not, have a stake in being allowed into such a place: a dependence that assures both discretion and commitment.”

The door swung open with loud groans, as if protesting the movement, and inside, they saw crates upon crates that stood stacked along shelves that lead further down into the ground than Spike would’ve thought. All of these crates held bottles of all shapes, sizes, and colors: bottles filled with vodka, beer, and other fine spirits, to which Spike made special care to stay as far away from the wine racks as he could.

“This personal store dates back to before my grandfather’s time, so there are some quality vintages in here,” the Tsar said, retrieving and dusting off a wine bottle. “Tonight’s supper was rather filling, but would any of you care to join me in my study, tomorrow night? It’s not every day that such distinguished guests visit, so breaking open a good bottle is all but essential, I should think.”

“Well, if it’s wine, I’m afraid I must decline,” Spike said, very aware of the fact that he had just rhymed. “I’ve unfortunately learned that alcohol distilled from fruits don’t mix well with dragons; other alcohols are fine, but wine... not a good idea.”

“I see,” Nicholas said. “Do you have a preference for anything else, then?”

“Hmm, I’ve always wished to try whiskey,” the dragon admitted. “Seeing that most of the the ones made where I’m from are derived from apples, I haven’t been able to try it. That, and the fact that my guardian never let me drink, nor did Luna, when I was her apprentice.”

“Ah, well then it is a good thing the whiskey here is made from grains, something we have plenty of,” the Tsar said as another door opened. Pausing, they watched as a figure came in and set down two rather sizable crates of vodka, each carried under their arm with apparent ease.

Straightening up, the figure looked at them as if they were startled, but then broke into a smile. “Ah, your excellencies! I did not expect to find you here at this hour,” she said, her delighted tone rather baritone for a female. Then again, she was nearly a foot taller than Spike, and her height was matched by her size: nearly all muscle, so much so that it almost scared him.

“Ah, Miss Talon, another delivery, right on schedule!” Alexandra said with a smile. “I take it Vladimir could not make them this time?”

“No, no, he’s been sick, as of late, and, frankly, it’s about time he started letting me do this. He nearly threw out his back last time, and we all know you can’t run a tavern and make deliveries in pain. Maybe just run a tavern for now, but eventually, he'll be too old or sick to do so.” The large griffin paused, looking over Spike and his wives. “Guests?”

“Yes, Talon, we were just showing them around for the evening,” the Tsar said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we should be getting back. Alexei will be in bed soon, and I promised to read to him of his ancestor, Peter the Great.”

“And I must help tuck the others in, as well,” Alexandra said. “Anastasia’s been having nightmares again, so I must sit by her bedside until she falls asleep.”

“It was nice to meet you, Miss Talon,” Asalah said as the Tsar and his wife left the cellar.

“It is not every day that I meet foreigners, especially such polite ones” the large griffin said with a shrug, turning to her companion as Spike and his family filed out after their hosts. “Campanula, how are your flowers?”

“Singing as beautifully as ever, Talon,” the unicorn replied. “Why do you ask?” Talon was one of the few outside of the Tsar's inner circles who knew of his flowers, all because the Tsar had invited her inside to relax one day, after she got news that her grandmother had passed away. Talon was a country girl through and through, trying to "make it big in the big city", and while she was big and tough, she didn't always act it, hence their first meeting. Since then, they had developed a casual friendship, as their lives were often a bit too busy for anything else.

“Oh, no reason; just curious, I guess,” she said with a soft smile. “I’ll be seeing you later, I guess.”

“I guess,” Campanula said, knowing that she fully knew he couldn't say the same thing. It was a little inside joke of theirs, something that made him feel less unhappy of his lost eyesight. “Good night, Talon.”

“Good night, Campy.”

The unicorn sighed as he heard her leave. “Talon, I've told you several times already, I would prefer for you to not call me that name,” he muttered under his breath. "Professionalism is not one of her strong suits, I guess."

Author's Notes:

Well, things are looking good so far. I'd just like to thank Campanula Monkshood and Sleepless Scribe for their OCs, "Campy" and Talon, and I hope I will do them justice.