Their Hidden Princess (Zora) novel Chapter 186

**TITLE: Where Sleeping Rivers Dream We Follow Trails Toward Tomorrow by Eva 186**

**Chapter 186**

The librarian guided me to a dimly lit corner of the library, where the air was thick with the scent of damp leather, a smell both comforting and foreboding. The tomes surrounding me appeared ancient, their spines worn and faded, whispering secrets from a time long past—at least a century, if not more.

“I typically don’t bring students back here,” the librarian remarked, her voice echoing softly in the stillness. “However, I recently stumbled upon a lost tome and returned it to its rightful place. I believe it might serve you well.”

“Thank you,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as my gaze roamed over the countless ancient tomes. How many of these books held stories of my mother? Or my grandmother? I made a mental note to return for a leisurely read. But right now, I was on a quest.

The librarian paused at the end of a long row of tomes, her fingers dancing over the spines as she scanned the titles. A soft hum escaped her lips when she found the one she sought. With a gentle tug, she pulled the spine, and to my astonishment, it didn’t just fall into her hands—it floated, suspended in a shimmering haze of purple light. I felt my eyes widen in disbelief at the display of magiks, and she chuckled softly, clearly amused by my reaction.

“This tome has withstood both the Enslavement and the Great War,” she explained, her eyes sparkling with pride. “It would be a disservice to allow it to be handled carelessly. The magiks surrounding it preserve the book while still permitting it to be read.”

“That’s incredible,” I breathed, feeling a thrill of excitement as she guided the book toward me. As I reached out, the hazy purple shadows obeyed my unspoken command, flipping the cover open. I blinked, still trying to wrap my head around the reality of magiks. They were a novelty to me, and the librarian seemed to sense my awe.

“Your family doesn’t practice much high magiks, do they?” she inquired, her tone curious.

I shook my head, feeling a twinge of embarrassment. “Not in my presence, at least.”

The librarian hummed thoughtfully, then swiped her hand over the book. In an instant, the cryptic symbols and letters on the first page morphed into plain English. I looked up at her, my gratitude evident in my eyes, and she returned my gaze with a warm smile.

“I assume ancient wolvish isn’t within your skill set?”

“That would be correct,” I chuckled lightly. “So, this will contain information on wolves with multiple fated mates?”

“Indeed,” she nodded, her expression serious. “It should encompass all known wolves with two fated mates, and perhaps even a few with three.”

“Perfect,” I replied, a smile breaking across my face. That seemed to be the cue for her to take her leave. She turned to retrace her steps back to her desk, weaving through the labyrinth of tomes. Just before she vanished from sight, she tossed a casual wave over her shoulder.

“Focus on any of the other books, and they will come to you,” she called out. “And when you’re finished, just concentrate on returning them.”

“Thank you!” I chimed, feeling a rush of excitement. She waved once more, and then she was gone, leaving me alone in the silence of the library.

The stillness enveloped me, a heavy blanket of solitude. The only sound was a faint hum—the lingering resonance of the High Magiks that preserved the tomes. I could almost hear the rhythmic beating of my own heart, a reminder of the urgency that propelled me forward. Ignoring the sensation, I placed my hand over the book, and as if answering my call, a page flipped open, revealing erratically scrawled text. My heart raced as I began to read.

Ellis Wolferly, aged twenty-six as of 1132.

Holy hell, this book was ancient. I fought to suppress my rising panic and continued reading, my curiosity piqued despite my trepidation.

Lady Wolferly bonded with her first fated mate at the tender age of eighteen. Her second fated mate made his presence known in the summer of her twenty-fifth year. However, he had already chosen another mate, one who was not Lady Wolferly. As a result, he rejected the fated mate bond. The subsequent unraveling of both Lady Wolferly and her consort, Lord Haymitch, unfolded tragically over two long years. Both succumbed to their afflictions before reaching the age of twenty-seven.

The next section detailed their illnesses in stark, bold bullet points.

Hysteria.

Weakness.

Rage.

Pneumonia.

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