Their Hidden Princess (Zora) novel Chapter 22

**Where Sleeping Rivers Dream We Follow Trails Toward Tomorrow by Evan Milesa Cade**
**Chapter 22**

Time seemed to slip through my fingers like sand at Alpha Academy, each day blending into the next with a surreal speed.

**22:55 Vouchers**

After that grueling training session with Valentin, a chill settled between us, thick and unyielding. He became a master of distance, avoiding any form of contact as if I were a flame he feared would burn him. I noticed him donning heavy long sleeves and pants, a deliberate barrier against the world and, perhaps, against me. Yet, the tension in his jaw and the way he flinched when I inadvertently got too close told me that he was battling something deeper. It was almost as if he were in physical agony, and I couldn’t fathom why he would resist the connection that was growing between us.

A nagging thought tugged at my mind: Was it my Aunt that haunted his thoughts? Did he see her reflection in me, a ghost of the past that frightened him? The relentless questioning gnawed at me every time I stepped onto the training mat with him over the course of the next two weeks.

Beyond my sessions with Valentin, I immersed myself in a whirlwind of classes that opened my eyes to a world I had previously only imagined. We delved into attack formations, defense strategies, and interrogation techniques that felt more suited for a spy academy than a school for werewolves. It was exhilarating, yet I felt a growing sense of urgency to understand my place in this tumultuous history.

The more I attended World History lectures, the clearer the dark past of our kind became. For centuries, vampires had ruthlessly dominated wolves, suppressing them with brutality and bloodlust, turning them into mere pawns in their twisted game. It was a relentless cycle of oppression that had persisted since time immemorial—until my mother had risen against it. The more I heard about her, the more I began to reconsider my perceptions. Perhaps she had shielded me from this harsh reality to give me the chance to carve out my own identity.

During those two weeks, my friendship with Loren blossomed. She was an eclectic spirit, a bit too effervescent for my usually reserved nature, but her sincerity shone through. It was as if she genuinely craved my companionship, even pausing her own sparring sessions to cheer me on as I tackled the Run.

Twenty-three laps in forty-five minutes. Eleven and a half miles. At an astonishing four-minute pace. A feat that was practically unheard of in the human realm.

To say I was astounded would be a gross understatement.

My body was transforming before my very eyes. I felt a surge of confidence, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could best Kairos. My limbs, once spindly, had morphed into lean, muscular appendages, and my core had strengthened to the point where even a full-force jab from Valentin couldn’t topple me. My speed was on the rise, and my senses sharpened with each passing day.

Gone were the feelings of hopelessness.

Yet, despite my progress, a gnawing sense of inadequacy lingered. Especially after one of Valentin’s kicks landed squarely on my jaw.

A grunt of pain escaped my lips, and I shook my head, trying to dispel the fog of discomfort. “Don’t let the pain shake your focus,” his voice echoed in my mind. With that mantra guiding me, I sidestepped and retaliated, launching my fist into the soft flesh of his ribs.

Valentin grunted in response, mirroring my earlier sound of discomfort before pivoting with a swift motion that sent his foot crashing into my back. The impact knocked the breath out of me, and I crumpled to the ground, my face pressed against the unforgiving floor. It felt as if he had shattered one of my ribs.

Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I punched the ground in exasperation, only to feel a fresh wave of pain shoot down my spine. Suddenly, I felt Valentin’s hands grasping my armpits, pulling me upright. Hot, angry tears spilled down my cheeks, and to my surprise, he used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe them away.

“Come on now,” he said gently, his tone softening. “That was unfair of me. I’ve never used that move on you before. It was too much.”

“11:16 Tue, Dec 9 A***”

I sniffed, trying to regain my composure. “Kairos is going to pull moves twenty times worse,” I croaked, straightening my back as if my rib had miraculously realigned itself. Healing was another curious aspect of my transformation; for every bruise I should have had, I emerged unscathed.

“He may,” Valentin mused, his brow furrowing slightly. “But now you’ll be ready for it.”

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