Execution days are not supposed to arrive quietly.

  Yet mine came without warning.

  One moment I was still hoping for a miracle.

  The next, I was hanging upside down.

  A specialized iron bit locked my mouth shut.

  Rough fabric covered my head before I could see how many people had gathered.

  I didn’t need sight to understand.

  I could hear them.

  Cheers.

  They had come to watch the execution of Charlton’s prized horse.

  They cheered as if the fall of one animal meant the fall of a kingdom.

  As if an ally’s humiliation was entertainment.

  So, this was how they chose to honor an alliance.

  By slaughtering its symbol.

  Then, shouting erupted from the crowd.

  The rhythm of celebration fractured into confusion.

  Before I understood what was happening, the rope snapped.

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  I crashed onto the ground.

  Pain burst along my side.

  Almost immediately, steel sliced through the bindings around my legs.

  I thrashed until the last restraint gave way.

  Then I stood.

  And I ran.

  I ran from the banquet table they had prepared for me.

  Blindfolded.

  Muzzled.

  Half-choking.

  The cloth clung to my face.

  The iron crushed my jaw.

  My hooves pounded against stone and bodies alike.

  I collided with whoever stood in my path.

  “Stop that horse!”

  Soldiers shouted.

  Boots thundered.

  But no blade struck me.

  No spear pierced my flank.

  I felt pursuit.

  I heard orders.

  Yet somehow, the space behind me remained open as if someone was intercepting them.

  As if the chaos was not accidental.

  Someone had chosen this moment.

  Someone had chosen me.

  I did not look back to confirm it.

  Instinct guided me through turns and narrow gaps.

  I ran without direction, except for one.

  Sir Roland.

  Rumors said he had fallen into a coma after I fled.

  Rumors said Charlton was weakening.

  If he is in danger and he has died—

  No.

  I refused to finish that thought.

  I did not love him because the white horse in the dreams.

  Not because of fairy tales about love between horse and human.

  At first, I mistook admiration for love.

  A handsome prince in an unfamiliar world.

  It was easy to be swept away.

  But after our first race, admiration turned into something else.

  I fell for the man who stood beside me without witnesses.

  The one who was brave when it mattered.

  The one who was gentle when no one was watching.

  He never treated me like a horse.

  He treated me like someone worth trusting.

  And I—

  I ran from him.

  Not out of betrayal.

  But because the next race would not have him at my reins, but Mr. Lucien.

  Something had felt wrong long before politics revealed itself.

  That was why I fled.

  To avoid becoming a real racehorse.

  Metal clashed somewhere behind me.

  More shouting.

  More confusion.

  Still, my path remained strangely clear.

  If I can reach him—

  If he is still breathing—

  My lungs burned.

  My legs trembled.

  But I did not slow.

  This was no longer escape.

  This was return.

  Even if they call me a runaway.

  Even if they call me a traitor.

  If this is the last race of my life—

  Then I will run it toward him.

  And I ran faster.