Next to her was a smaller, dark blue mare, about the size of a larger plains zebra. But her body was far slimmer, and feminine to an almost unreasonable degree. Her purple-bordered and ethereal blue mane was like a star-filled sky as it flowed freely in an invisible breeze, just like the white mare’s mane. Her flank bore a mark of the crescent moon atop a black background that matched the colour and theme of her peytral and crown, broken up only by her silver horseshoes. She looked forward at the approaching Princes with an impassive, regal look. But in those blue eyes was something beyond naked royal disdain: I could see a calculating intellect and a discerning wisdom smouldering behind her gaze as she looked over the Princes and the airship, and I couldn’t help the light chill that ran up my spine when her eyes briefly scanned over myself and the other prisoners. This one immediately struck me as the most dangerous.