"Right, then." Smarmy's voice has lost its sorrowful tone completely. A shiver wracks your spine.
A high-voiced something - not a unicorn, that's for sure - answers in a language alien to you.
"No," Smarmy is saying. "We'll deal with all of that once you deal with the child."
You are afraid, then. There are a million things this could mean, and just as many that present no harm to you, but you know the truth. Smarmy wants the throne. He, or his not-horse friend, would not hesitate to off the uppity crown prince if it meant securing the kingdom. It is betrayal, and treason, and fratricide, and all you can think is that you are not even surprised. You had loved Smarmy, but perhaps you had never truly trusted him.
You run.
You gallop out of the palace, stampeding down the fiddly little steps and trampling your father's rose garden, thundering down the path to the village. You are from good racing stock - none will catch you for now. You will hide away in the forest, where you can hide in the maze of trees without fear of being caught.
It is too late. You hear your uncle pelting after you; he is bred from the same line as you. There is no escape.
You see the healer first. She is a squat little unicorn, but you change your course, plowing toward her.
A ghost melts out of the trees behind her, its red eyes burning like lava. You are terrified, but you have hit your stride now. You run faster than you ever have in your life, going straight for the ghost and the healer even as the spectral unicorn's horn glows with unholy light and unleashes a horrible heat that sears your tail and makes the ground itself quake. You look back to see your uncle rearing up, face smoking and caked with molten rock. You run into the forest, slowing so the mare and her ghost friend can fall into step.