“So you’ve doubted it, too?” he asked.

That cocky smile faltered for the briefest moment.

“More times than I can count, Cyrus. It’s a path of blood, but for whatever comfort it offers, know that I will walk it with you.”

CHAPTER 8

CYRUS

First it had been a mile, one single mile Cyrus had to run before he was allowed to eat breakfast. Stasia mocked him incessantly every moment he tried to slow down or rest. “It’s just a mile,” she’d say, as if running laps through the trees lining the estate boundary were easier than breathing. As the weeks passed and his stamina improved, that lone mile became one and a half, then two, two and a half, until Cyrus awoke knowing three miles of jogging stood between him and a decent meal to start the day.

“It’s just three miles,” he muttered as he huffed and puffed along the worn dirt path. Over the months he’d flattened a nice groove through the dogwood trees. He knew each little bump and visible root like the back of his hand. Coming up was a favorite patch, where instead of trees, a small field of flowers awaited him, always awash with butterflies, which scattered when the pair came running.

“It’s still less than the twelve miles I do on a good day,” Stasia said, overhearing his complaint. They had only started their run, and she had yet to leave him in her dust. “I usually don’t feel like I’m hitting my true form until the fifth.”

“Yes, but you’re not human,” he shot back.

“Then what am I?”

“I don’t know. A monster? A cruel, evil taskmaster meant to punish hapless princes.”

Stasia laughed at that, her pace quickening as the path sloped upward to crest the minor hill at the back of the estate. This part of the run was always the most brutal stretch of each lap. She called after him, all grins and laughter to encourage him to press on, even if fueled only by stubbornness and spite.

“Run, run, little prince, your princess is escaping and the wolves are at your heels.”

Thankfully their running path led them past a stone well dug into the field along the western side of the estate. Cyrus paused for a moment to draw himself a drink. The mansion grounds were large enough that a single trip around it was three quarters of a mile, and he was about to finish his third lap. Close, so close to done. He drank half the water in the bucket, dumped the other half atop his head to shock himself fully awake, and then resumed his run.