Their Hidden Princess (Zora) novel Chapter 122

The sun rose on a new day, casting a vibrant glow over the school grounds, and the atmosphere in Basics was electric with chatter and gossip. As I emerged from the locker room and stepped into the gym, I could feel the weight of countless gazes upon me. It was as if I had entered a coliseum, and the crowd was ready to judge. Emotions flickered across faces like shadows—anger, disgust, and, for some, a raw, unfiltered hatred that pierced through the air like a knife.

“Um, Zora,” came a timid voice from my left, breaking through the cacophony of whispers. It was Loren, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

I shrugged, my voice barely a murmur as I replied, “Nothing that I haven’t already told you.” My gaze swept the gym, taking in the sea of students. One particularly tall Alpha scoffed at me, a derisive sound that echoed in my ears. The murmurs swirled around me, a buzz of negativity just beyond the reach of my human hearing.

But fortunate—or perhaps unfortunate—was my nature as a wolf. I tuned into that special frequency in my mind, the one that allowed me to catch the hushed tones that others couldn’t. As the whispers filtered in, I immediately regretted my decision.

“Did you hear she was seen leaving the gym with Maximus Wolfham after hours last night?”

“Ugh, what could he possibly want with someone as pathetic as her?”

The words struck me like a physical blow. I had known the school’s perception of me was already low, but hearing it voiced out loud felt like a punch to the gut. I tried to drown out the voices, but they continued to seep into my consciousness.

“—Princess Amara. She looks terrible. Heard it was all Smith’s fault.”

“That’s horrible to attack the heir to the throne like that! She must not have any sense of royalty in her human world. No clue how to respect them.”

Another jolt of pain coursed through me. Amara looked terrible? I hadn’t seen her since our last training session, and thankfully so. The last image etched in my mind was of her being held by Valentin, looking somewhat dazed but still intact. Clearly, I hadn’t done as much damage as they claimed.

“This isn’t the first time she’s been violent. Seems to be a habit of hers to beat the shit out of other Alphas. You remember what she did to Kairos before shifting class?”

The chatter intensified, and I could feel my patience wearing thin. There was a kernel of truth in the last comment; I had indeed roughed up Kairos a bit, but Amara? She had started it. My eyes scanned the crowd, and there she was—sitting on the sidelines, her arm in a sling and her hand swathed in a thick bandage.

She looked almost comical in that tiny training outfit, perched awkwardly on what appeared to be crutches.

I couldn’t believe it.

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