Their Hidden Princess (Zora) novel Chapter 142

**Where Sleeping Rivers Dream We Follow Trails Toward Tomorrow by Evan Milesa Cade 142**

**Valentin**

*One Year Before the Outbreak of the Great War*

The sharp crack of the whip sliced through the air like a thunderclap, echoing in Valentin’s ears before the searing pain spread across his back. He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the fiery sensation that would race up his spine and explode in his mind. It arrived mere moments later, a fierce reminder of his current reality, and he couldn’t suppress a grunt that escaped his lips—a sound that only seemed to amuse the man wielding the whip.

“Faster, boy!” a voice barked from behind him, dripping with impatience. “I don’t have all day!”

Valentin clenched his jaw, the taste of iron filling his mouth as he bent down to retrieve yet another suitcase from the carriage. The blood trickling down his back soaked into the unfinished hem of his trousers, but he forced himself to ignore the pain, focusing instead on the task at hand. One more case, he told himself, just one more. With a grunt of effort, he hoisted the last suitcase out, feeling its weight shift as he loaded it onto a dolly, the wheels creaking under the burden.

The man with the whip loomed behind him like a predator, his presence suffocating. As they crossed the threshold into the castle, Valentin could feel the man’s irritation radiating off him in waves.

“Renault,” the man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “You really must be harsher with them. This one took far too long to unload my things! My servants would have completed the task in mere minutes.”

Valentin’s heart raced as he turned to face the source of that venomous voice. His gaze fell upon another figure descending the grand staircase—an apparition from his past that haunted his dreams for two long decades. The man was an unsettling shade of pale, his ghostly skin contrasting sharply with the deep crimson of his eyes, which glinted with malice beneath long, white lashes. His hair, as dark as the night, curled elegantly at his jawline, framing a face that wore a smirk that sent chills down Valentin’s spine.

Dressed in exquisite garments adorned with silver stitching, he moved with an ethereal grace, gliding down the steps as if he were floating. The high collar of his stark white shirt accentuated the sharpness of his pointed ears, making him appear even more otherworldly.

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