Sorry for the long wait! In my absence, I've gone on TWO holidays, one on the opposite side of my country (Australia) and the other overseas.

I've also been working on a costume for a convention next year. Yes, the costume's MLP related.

But without further ado, I bring you your much anticipated chapter! Enjoy!

• Chapter Forty-five: Long Live the Prince! •

…

"You know, you're weird for a changeling."

The pegasus was bathing in the sunlight, giving a careless yawn. With fur, coated and clotted with particles of dust, they reflected the daylight's luminosity; hence she glittered like an angel. Her magnificent wings further encouraged the angelic vibe.

Her mane was short and spiky, unkempt with a multitude of greys. And her eyes were a pink-crimson, watching as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

There was a harrowing throb at the back of Soarin's brain, but it didn't matter. She was there. She is there. She is here.

He instinctively lunged forward, not wanting to lose her again, but didn't make a centimetre. There was a force keeping him bound in place.

That was when her words sunk in.

"Changeling? I'm not a..." Soarin trailed off, racking his mind for the memories of before he'd passed out.

…

They were dropping from the sky. With no time to fly from the fall, Soarin had snatched her, not to let her go, keeping her above him in their fitful descent. That way, he could be her lifeboat. He could take the ground's impact, she could be safe.

…

He'd passed out. And she's tied me to a tree- such a kind and thoughtful way of gratifying your saviour, Cinderainbow, I commend you on that. With each second, the reality of his situation doubled, and he knew that this was not the time for sarcasm.

"Cinderainbow, you have to listen to me." The words rushed from Soarin's mouth. "I'm not a changeling! I'm Soarin! Your old friend!"

Cinderainbow watched him with bored and unfocused eyes. She wasn't listening to what he was saying. She was just waiting for him to finish talking, waiting for a cue to speak herself.

After a heartbeat of silence, she rose to her hooves and lumbered closer with such unnatural nonchalance. It was as though she were a less-intelligent life form, one which wasn't smart enough to give a damn- like a plant.

"Don't waste your breathe. You changelings think you're so clever, don't you?"

"I'm not a-"

"-well here's the thing," she interrupted, persistently blasé. "Us ponies are smart too- smarter even. We're not stupid enough to fall into your traps."

"Cinderainbow!"

She plodded even closer, to the point where her nose was just inches from his. He could feel her warm breath. It smelt of cinnamon. "You read our souls. You see pictures of all the ponies that we love, or have ever loved."

Soarin could only watch as the mare turned away. For just a moment, he could catch the laziness leaving her face and being replaced by that of hurt. It disappeared so quickly that he wondered if the pain had ever been there.

"There were only four ponies I ever loved," she snapped, ignoring his lingering gaze. "My mother, my father, my sister Scootaloo, and my friend, Soarin." She gave a strangled laugh. "You chose Soarin to be your disguise, but here's the thing."

She finally met his eyes, and smiled. Her grin was not happy nor sad, nor mean nor triumphant. It was... bizarre, almost demented. "No matter what disguise you picked, I would have known that you were a changeling. Both my parents are dead. Your precious queen killed them, I hope that you're proud." The grin disappeared to give room for a snarl. Her muncles tensed up, and a skeleton bulged from beneath her mangled fur and skin. It was then that Soarin realised how painfully thin she was. "Scootaloo. She jumped after me, but her journey was intercepted by Chrysalis. So she's dead. And Soarin," she paused, halfheartedly chuckling. "Dead."

She pointed an accusing hoof into him. It mashed into his chest and stressed dangerously over his ribs, ready to pulverise them with a mere jolt. "You can't exist! You're not physically possible! Should've done your research, squirt, 'cause you ain't fooling this pony!"

"I'm not a changeling!"

She snorted, her patience wearing away like an eraser upon a page. "Name one reason why I should believe you."

But Soarin had no time to react, as the sky was pierced by a shrill whoosh. Consequently, a buffet of wind came crashing down upon the duo.

Cinderainbow didn't flinch as the gust flew through her mane, further entangling the hairs. Soarin, on the other hand, had to close his eyes as a remainder of sand and leaves came pounding into his face.

Momentarily, there was two flashes; one of blue and the other gold, before two pegasi landed on the ground with such force that they left craters in their wake.

Now that they weren't moving so fast, Soarin could get a good look at them.

They were both mares, one arctic blue while the other was a gold. The arctic blue pegasi had a tufty, windswept mane, big and white like snow. Her eyes were of a brilliant fuchsia, and her Cutie Mark symbolised a horseshoe, enclaved by reeling flames.

The other pegasi kept to a fiery colour scheme. Alongside her golden pelt, she had a flamelike mane which shimmered a bright orange. Her mane was windswept, but unlike her partner's who's mane was fluffy like cloud, her's was edged and pointy. Her eyes wore a rusty brown, and her Cutie Mark was of fire.

It didn't take a genius to know that they meant business, and the single factor brought uneasiness into Soarin's hooves. Who were they? What did they want?

Although she maintained a stoical nature, Soarin could catch the spark of irritation in her voice as Cinderainbow asked, "may I help you?"

Ignoring the question, the arctic blue pegasus hopped forward, eyeballing Cinderainbow's every movement, from the rise and fall of her chest, to the blinking of her eyes. "Was it you?"

"Pardon?"

"Were you one of those crazy pegasi who jumped into the storm?"

Cinderainbow gazed away in guilt. "Maybe..."

The visitor went silent, staring fixedly at Cinderainbow with a jaw partly dropped. Finally, she turned to her partner, who stood paces back, scrutinising the situation. "Should we call... you know, the professional?"

The golden mare gave her partner a deadpanned look, and lectured with a sarcastic tongue, "does she look mentally damaged to you, Fleetfoot?"

"I don't know! Maybe she's like... a really good actor!" The blue mare, who's name must've been Fleetfoot whipped around to Cinderainbow. "Do you act?"

"No."

"But you look so normal!" Fleetfoot, gritted her teeth, muttering a few words before pulling herself together and giving a strained grin. "You flew into the storm."

"I noticed."

"You know that it's dangerous?"

"Yep."

"You know that you could have died?"

"That, I am aware of."

"And you just... flew... into it?"

"Uh-huh."

Fleetfoot began shaking her head as though there were a beetle caught in her mane. "And let me guess. You also did the, um... boom-boom thing?"

"The Sonic Rainboom?"

"Yeah. That. Was it you?"

Gulping, the dusty pegasus gave a sheepish nod.

Fleetfoot gave a long and deep exhale. "I think I need to lie down."

"Excuse my friend," interjected the second pegasus, finally addressing Cinderainbow with words rather than the stink-eye. "What's your name, fledgling?"

"Cinderainbow."

"I'm Spitfire," responded the mare, giving a curt nod. "Now Cinderainbow. Are you out of your right mind? I don't care how good a flier you are, you shouldn't go near that storm! Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes ma'am!" Cinderainbow cheeped, straightening from her slouch and saluting. She looked none other than surprised.

"That's what I thought. Now I never want to see you, or have to deal with you ever again. Understood?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"Now tell me," Spitfire growled. "Why in Equestria is there a colt tied in that tree?"

Soarin felt a bead of sweat come running down his neck as all three ponies turned to stare at him.

Fleetfoot screamed, jumping away like a cat from water. "Holy mother of pancakes! I didn't see him there!"

"Typical. And to think you call yourself a Wonderbolt," muttered Spitfire, advancing towards the tree and inspecting Soarin with her terror-striking glare.

"Wait," Cinderainbow choked out, turning from Fleetfoot to Spitfire in shock. "You're... Wonderbolts?"

"Totally!" Fleetfoot chimed, giving the pegasus a bump on the shoulder. "Wanna' autograph?"

"Not now Fleetfoot! We need to interrogate her first!" Spitfire rubbed at her forehead, clearly suffering from a mild migraine at the least. "Now tell me, who is this pony and why is he tied up?"

"Oh, right!" Flushing, Cinderainbow bounded forward so that she stood besides the fiery Wonderbolt. She wanted to make an impression on her childhood idols. "He's actually a changeling. I know that he's a changeling because he's pretending to be a pony who's dead."

Soarin spoke up, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. "I've told you, I'm not a changeling. I'm the real Soarin."

"Soarin, hey?" Fleetfoot sniggered. "I thought he looked familiar! It's the missing prince, Spitfire! Ha!"

"Prince?" Soarin's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

If it were even possible, Spitfire's glare seemed to intensify. "You know how much ponies we get, showing up and claiming that they're the missing prince?" she didn't even wait for an answer. Rather, she reached into a saddlebag she'd been holding and pulled out a vial. "What they don't realise, is that we have technology. DNA testers, face matchers, everything! And this paste here," she continued, splattering some goop upon her hoof before rubbing the salve into Soarin's fur. "Reveals what you truly are."

"We got it from that zebra in the woods!" piped Fleetfoot, before quieting down in anticipation, eager to see what the revealer would say.

With a heart melting in relief, Soarin watched the murky-green substance as it seeped into his skin. He glanced up to savour Cinderainbow's wily expression, knowing that it'd drastically change with the ointment's revelation: pony.

"It works pretty fast," Fleetfoot snickered, her grin exceeding the boundaries of a normal smile. "In five seconds he should change into a changeling. Five. Four. Three. Two. One..."

Nothing happened.

Soarin just sat there, strung up by the ropes with his fur stained by the swamp-like goo.

Spitfire's eyes widened, the first time they weren't in a narrowed or hostile state. "Well I'll be."

Cinderainbow stifled a gasp and turned demandingly to Spitfire. "What does this mean?"

"It means that he's a real pony- it doesn't necessarily mean that he's the real Soarin, but he's definitely a pony."

"But... that can't be!" Cinderainbow froze, her fur standing on end while her eyes widened into saucepans.

"Cinders'," Soarin spoke, gazing down at her. "Remember how you asked me to prove myself before the Wonderbolts came?"

Cinderainbow met his gaze. Too shocked to answer, she gave an incredulous nod.

"What I was going to say, was that my favourite flavour of milkshake is chocolate. It was yours too. We used to go to this cafe in Cloudsdale and buy milkshakes. We'd talk a lot. That was before Chrysalis altered our destinies."

"Well let's take him back to the palace." Spitfire beckoned to Fleetfoot. "Run a DNA test. We may just have our prince back."

"Yes ma'am!" Fleetfoot responded, her hyperactivity gone as she untied Soarin from the tree.

"As for you, do you wish for anypony to escort you home?" Spitfire questioned, turning on Cinderainbow.

The pegasus shook her head. Revealing her identity as a slave was the last thing she'd want after this unorthodox day. "I can handle myself. Thanks, er... for the aid?"

"Don't mention it," Spitfire answered with a modest dip of the head. "It's what the Wonderbolts are for. Ready Flatfoot?"

The mare smirked at her dishonourable nickname, dragging Soarin behind her. "As you are, Commander."

"Then away we go!"

Soarin knew that fate was separating Cinderainbow from him, yet again, but he had a feeling that he'd see her again- and soon.

He glanced back, wanting to see her a final time. She was standing in her previous position, watching him as he departed, her eyes still clouded with disbelief.

Fleetfoot flew closer to him, smirking her vainglorious smirk. "There's no way you're the real prince."

…

"He's the real prince."

"WHAT?"

Fleetfoot was at her captain's face in nanoseconds.

Unfazed by her second in command's eccentric character, Spitfire nodded. She wore laboratory glasses, rather than her usual sunnies, and she held two cylinders in her hooves.

Fleetfoot examined the cylinders, which both contained a boggling blue liquid. Two strands of hair bubbled atop the liquid's surface, the samples of genetic code used for the experiment.

"But... but how?" Fleetfoot stammered.

"It was really simple," Spitfire said, a boastful hint in her voice. "I just took the samples of deoxyribonucleic acid, which in this case, were strands of hair. I then-"

"-Okay, okay! I get it!" Fleetfoot cried, waving her hooves in the air, before muttering, "nerd."

Spitfire's ear twitched, an early signal of warning in the animal kingdom. "I hadn't finished explaining."

"Besides that," Fleetfoot cut in, "How is this possible? For all these years, we thought he was dead. And then he just shows up, out of the blue- does he know?"

"Know what?"

"Does he know that he's the prince?"

"No. I asked him a few questions, but it appears that he can't remember. He claims that he lived in Cloudsdale for the early years of his life, but I believe these memories are false. For his first ten years, we have records of him being raised here, in Los Pegasus. I have come to a conclusion that these fake memories are ones he made up for himself as a result of amnesia."

With a guilt-ridden face, Fleetfoot lowered her head. "You should tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"Fill him in on that grey space in between- you know, the blanks of his memory. Tell him the story of his life, for all I care. I needa' go shopping."

Irritation flared up from her temporary abashment as Spitfire held up her hoof to the exiting Fleetfoot. "I never gave you permission to leave!"

"Yeah you did," Fleetfoot snorted, nearing the door.

"When?"

"In the future, after you asked me what I was shopping for."

Spitfire groaned, inches from giving herself a face-hoof. "What are you shopping for?"

"An 'I'm-Sorry,' card, for Soarin." Fleetfoot's remorsefulness changed into that of amusement. "Or shall I say... 'I'm Soar-ry'!"

Spitfire blinked. Then she felt the urge to break the pegasi's neck. "Get out! Now!"

With a series of giggles, Fleetfoot hightailed off, knowing that if she stayed a moment longer, she may find her enitre anatomy dismantled.

If there was anything Spitfire hated more than puns, it was bad puns.

…

Soarin looked up as the doors to the laboratory automatically slid open and the mare stepped inside. They closed behind her with a silent clunk.

The room was your typical solitary confinement for some kind of rehabilitation estate, from the bleached white walls to the large window which took up an entire side. Soarin couldn't see a wink of matter through the window's pitch-black surface, but he knew that on the other side, there were ponies watching.

Spitfire removed her pair of glasses and gazed suspiciously at him. She gave a sniff, and continued to wait.

Not a conversation starter, I take it? Soarin cleared his throat. "So, are you finally convinced that my name is Soarin?"

The corner of her lip twitched. "Affirmative. We're also aware that you have no apparent memory of your royalty or other roots?"

"I have no memory because it never happened!"

Spitfire rolled her eyes, sensing the incoming rant from a mile away.

"Maybe in this universe, I was some... posh, fancy monarch, but not in the universe I came from! Before Chrysalis destroyed everything, I was your everyday, run of the mill colt, with an average mum, and two siblings!"

"Okay." Spitfire took a breather. "I believe you."

He knew that she didn't, but he didn't interrupt. He wanted to hear what she had to say.

The fiery mare motioned to the chair, and he reluctantly took a seat. "I understand that... this must all be quite new and strange for you, but bear with me." She looked up. "I can tell you everything you need to know. About your history, here in this other... universe. What do you say?"

"You won't let me leave anyway, so what's the point in arguing?" Soarin gave a begrudging nod. "Speak away."

"For one, you never had two siblings." She gave a wry smile. "An only child. Your mother died when she gave birth to you. Your father's still alive though."

"That's... odd..." Soarin mumbled. He'd never met his father. As for his mother, he didn't know her so well. She'd always been too depressed or too angry to give a care about her foals. While the sound of her death did graven him, he didn't get that punch of foreboding horror like many other orphans.

"You grew up in Los Pegasus, and it has always been that way."

"Was I close to anypony? My fathe- the King? Did I have a friend?"

Spitfire thought for a moment. "No. But you liked us Wonderbolts."

"Not even the King?"

"We'll discuss the King later. Anyway, you... liked to fly."

"Well at least there's one thing I have in common with my younger me. Flying is my life!"

"Of course. Now I remember you begging for tickets to basically every Wonderbolts air show." Spitfire chuckled at the old memory before straightening up. "You were never close to me."

"Was I close to Fleetfoot?"

"She wasn't a Wonderbolt back then, no, she's a newer but promising recruit. It was more Surprise you hung around. Back to the matters, you disappeared at the age of ten, and when I say disappeared, I mean literally, you were in your room one moment and the next, you... weren't."

Soarin couldn't help the tremor which came running down his spine. "Creepy."

"Yes, your disappearing sent our countless detectives scratching their heads. It was unfathomable, a mystery. And now," Spitfire looked over him. "You're back."

Her eyes were so scrutinising. Soarin felt exposed beneath her stare, as though she had X-ray vision, and he was just another patient.

The curse was undone as there was a crash and the doors came bursting open.

A blur of blue came whizzing into the room, and within a half of a half of a second, Soarin found himself locked in Fleetfoot's embrace.

He opened his mouth to screech, but no sound came out. She'd squeezed all the breath from his lungs with her bone-crushing hug.

Spitfire lurched forward in bewilderment. "Fleetfoot! What's the meaning of this?"

"Shush, shush, can't you see that we're having a moment?" Fleetfoot gave him a final squeeze before she stepped back and shoved a card into his chest. "I got this for you, Prince! So why don't we forget all our fighting and come to realise that... we're now, like, best friends! So don't sue me, 'kay? Bye-byes!" With that, she'd left just as quickly as she'd arrived.

Soarin could imagine a tumbleweed brushing past as Spitfire and he stood in silence. Fleetfoot's dawn had brought only confusion.

He finally looked down to the bright pink card, distinguishable against the floor's plainness. "Well she's very... quirky."

He looked up in shock as a chuckle escaped Spitfire's lips. Considering she was usually so humourless and stern, it was a big surprise.

"What?"

"That's how I know that you're the real Soarin," Spitfire snorted, rubbing at her eyes before they could water up.

"Huh?"

"Because if you remembered Surprise, then you wouldn't be saying that she's quirky."

Soarin hadn't the time to digest what she'd said, as the lemon-furred mare dispersed towards the door.

Taking the card in his mouth, Soarin eagerly followed.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To meet the King."

Soarin didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. Rather, he stopped walking altogether and cried, "wait! There's a pony more quirkier than Fleetfoot?"

…

Cinderainbow didn't need all the media or gossip to know that Soarin- the real Soarin had returned.

She'd known that he was back from the moment that the salve had revealed him as a real pony. She'd been in the stages of denial, sure, but deep down she'd known that he was right and she was wrong. She hated being wrong.

And to further confirm her dreads, he'd mentioned milkshakes. Chocolate-milkshakes, to be precise.

Ignorance was bliss- it was like a child's innocence, the naivety of the world's true natures, the unknowing of war and disharmony and evil. To lose it was like losing that race you really wanted to win, the pegasus race you'd win for dignity, pride, a Cutie Mark and that little filly's sake- the one which's name she couldn't quite recall- Flutterby, maybe?

All down the drain, because of some stupid changeling apocalypse under the rule of a fiend named Chrysalis.

Maybe in another life things would be different. She'd already decided that Soarin was to be her best friend. They'd both join the Wonderbolts, and she'd become captain with Soarin as her second.

They'd fly, and perform air shows, and fly, and keep Equestria safe. And fly.

"So you decided to come back?"

Cinderainbow looked up, her daydreams wafting away like fog in the wake of a storm. They were replaced by fearful realisation. Horrible, horrible realisation as she met the eyes of a crude and narcissistic mare.

Spoiled Rich was an refined and older earth pony, with a pink coat and a mane, swirling with purples. Her eyes were of a strong opal, and her flank bore a diamond ring, complimenting her exemplary composition of attire.

While her clothing was sweet, there was nothing sweet about her; her insides were all vulgar and stained, like an oil-spill, the ocean's imperfection. She was disdainful from years upon years of pampering, morphing her into this spoilt-rotten monster of a pony's nightmares.

Cinderainbow knew that Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon were bad, but they were no match for their despicable Aunty and babysitter. One which was always over, one which looked at Cinderainbow like she were a cockroach rather than a pony.

It wasn't until a dribble of blood came running down from her lip, that Cinderainbow realised that she'd been biting into her tongue. She pressed her tongue to her mouth's roof, swallowing down the ebbing pain.

"Um... hello... your highness." She's not even Royal.

A smile slivered across the mare's face, a nice break from her usual scowl. "You're very courageous, I'll give you that."

"Why thank you. Let me just say, you look beeaa-utiful today! Is that a new mane style? It's absolutely gorgeous! Just gonna say this, but there's a little spinach wedged in your teeth, you might want to fix that." Cinderainbow began laughing, but not out of humour. She was terrified to the marrow in her bones. "Oh, this is too much! I feel so precious in your presence, as though we have this, like, spiritual connection, don't ya' feel it?"

Spoiled Rich didn't so much as blink, as her smile broadened and she said in such a perfectly pretty voice, "seize her."

"Woah, woah woah!" Cinderainbow cried as the changeling guards came from nowhere and snatched ahold of her limbs. "Don't you think murder is a little bit... overkill?" She yelped as a soldier yanked upon her wing, and she kicked her away with a buck. "I mean," she continued, as she wrestled free from the insect-pony hybrids. "I know you hate my guts and all, but all I did was break a window. Last time I read the law enforcements, the damaging of private property isn't punishable by the penalty of death!"

"Phhht! You can't even read!"

Cinderainbow gaped. Oh you did not just go there. "Well no need to hit me where it hurts. That kinda' sent a tear in my self estee- hey!"

There were too much changelings, and not enough Cinderainbows. She could beat a couple changelings, easy-peasy, but in large numbers, they were lethal. "Come on, ma'am! Do reconsider! You were young once, right? I'm only sixteen, not even eighteen yet. I'm too young to die! Murder's too extreme! It's too extravagant!"

The changelings had finally succeeded in planting her to the ground. She wasn't sure whether to glare defiantly at her 'superior,' or to stare fearfully, begging for mercy.

A chilling silence swept over them, like the aftermath to a gunfire- a deafening fortissimo, only to die into a silence, just as, if not, more terrifying.

"Hmm, you're right," Spoiled Rich admitted, turning around with the swish of a tail. "You deserve much worse! Take her to the living rooms, pronto!"

I'm really growing partial towards these cliff-hanger endings.