Their Hidden Princess (Zora) novel Chapter 140

I didn’t catch another glimpse of Maximus until the fateful day we gathered for training with Valentin. He maintained a deliberate distance, choosing to sit apart from Loren and me during lunch, his gaze barely brushing against mine in class. Yet, he loomed like a shadow in the corners of my life, a constant presence that I couldn’t ignore. Often, I would spot him lurking during Basics, his silhouette trailing behind me on my way home from dinner, a reminder that he was still there, even if he wasn’t close.

So, it came as a genuine surprise when I saw him show up for training that Monday evening. Thorne was there too, standing with an air of reluctance, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world. Maximus mirrored his stance, his piercing eyes darting between Valentin and me, surveying the scene with the intensity of a hawk ready to swoop down on its prey.

Valentin, the headmaster, was as composed as ever, seemingly unfazed by the tension radiating from the two younger Alphas. With his hands clasped behind his back, he observed the unfolding chaos with a dispassionate gaze. The atmosphere was electric as I lunged at Thorne, tackling him to the ground in a flurry of motion. We landed on the mat, and instinctively, I sprang up, pinning one of my knees firmly into the center of Thorne’s chest.

He grunted beneath me, his muscular arms thrashing as he attempted to throw me off. I dug one claw into the mat beside his hand, immobilizing his arm by the sleeve of his shirt. With my other hand, I grasped his wrist, twisting it at an awkward angle behind his head. I had him pinned, a rush of triumph surging through me.

“Good,” Valentin remarked, his voice steady and authoritative. “Blythwitch, tap out.”

“Not yet,” Thorne gasped, determination etched on his face. He jerked his trapped hand, trying to free himself from my grip.

“I think—”

“I said tap out, Blythwitch,” Valentin interjected, his tone sharpening with authority.

Thorne continued to squirm beneath me, his frustration palpable. He yanked again, and I felt the fabric of his sleeve begin to tear. My claw was perilously close to his skin, and I knew that if he succeeded in pulling his arm up, the sharp edge of my nails would cut through him like a hot knife through butter. He yanked once more, desperation fueling his movements.

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