"You don't have to be so formal about all this, you know," Twilight offered, eyeing Ember's successor.
"You're a visiting diplomat, here solely to negotiate trade between our nations," the newly crowned Dragon Lord retorted. The forced prosaism in his voice was all too audible. "I need to be formal."
"…But do you want to?"
"What I want doesn't matter, Twi— I mean, Princess. Not now."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't get me wrong, dragonkind knows Ember wanted me on the throne in case she… she ever…" He swallowed, steadying himself. "Regardless, I need to hold myself to their standards. I can't give them excuses to believe I'm just your puppet."
"So us being friends is an 'excuse'?" Twilight countered. "She entrusted you with this in the first place because she knew you could be different!"
"Twilight, please don't…"
"Spike, you're forcing yourself to be miserable! Is that really what Ember would've wanted for—"
"EMBER'S GONE, TWILIGHT!"
A stunned silence overtook both of them.
"…She's gone," Lord Spike eventually repeated, quivering, "and I'm stuck like this until everyone accepts I'm what she left behind."