Their Hidden Princess (Zora) novel Chapter 80

Fifty-five vouchers.

The dawn of a new day brought with it a palpable buzz that filled the air during Basics. As I emerged from the locker room, the familiar scent of sweat and polished wood wafted over me, but it was the intensity of the stares that truly struck me. The gym was alive with whispers and glances, all directed at me. The emotions reflected in those gazes were a chaotic mix: anger, disgust, and in some cases, an unabashed loathing that made my skin crawl.

“Um, Zora,” came Loren’s timid voice from beside me, barely breaking through the din. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

I sighed, my voice barely above a whisper as I replied, “Nothing that I haven’t already told you.” I cast a quick glance around the gym, feeling the weight of the scrutiny. A particularly tall Alpha scoffed at me, his disdain cutting through the noise. The murmurs surrounding me were just beyond the reach of my human hearing, but they were an unwelcome reminder of my current standing.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—I was a wolf too.

I focused on that frequency in my mind that allowed me to hear the softer sounds, and as the whispers flooded in, regret washed over me like a cold wave.

“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 sting of their words hit me hard. I was already aware of how the school viewed me, but hearing it spoken aloud was a far more brutal experience. I turned my attention back to the voices.

“-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 royal upbringing in her human world. No clue how to respect them.”

I flinched again. Amara looked terrible? I hadn’t laid eyes on her since our last training session, and thankfully so. The last image I had of her was being supported in Valentin’s arms, looking lucid and capable. Clearly, my actions hadn’t inflicted as much harm as they were suggesting.

“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 was beginning to drive me to the edge of madness. Yet, the last comment held a kernel of truth. I had indeed roughed up Kairos a bit, but Amara? She was the instigator in that scenario. My gaze swept across the sea of students, and then I spotted her.

Amara sat on the sidelines, her arm secured in a sling, her hand swathed in a thick bandage. Despite her injuries, she wore the tiniest training outfit, a stark contradiction to her supposed fragility. Crutches leaned against her side, and I couldn’t help but feel a wave of disbelief wash over me.

She had to be joking.

Without a second thought, I pivoted on my heel and marched toward her. “Amara,” I gritted out through clenched teeth.

The two girls flanking her jumped at my approach, instantly retreating behind Amara, their fear palpable as if I were the proverbial big bad wolf. I rolled my eyes, my focus narrowing back to Amara.

“What happened?” I demanded.

“What happened?!” she shrieked, her voice laced with indignation. “You know exactly what happened, you heathen!”

“Recount it for the class,” I said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “So everyone is filled in.”

Amara cast her gaze over the gathered crowd, her expression shifting to that of the delicate princess she desperately wanted them to believe she was.

“It was awful,” she nearly sobbed. “Headmaster Lunerly was training us. Zora was throwing punches far harder than what was normal for sparring. Lunerly tried to get her to stop, but she was ravenous! It must’ve been because of her resentment towards me for being her boss, you know?”

The crowd murmured in agreement, and I bit down hard on my tongue to suppress the urge to lash out. I watched as Amara scanned the crowd, seemingly searching for support. Then, she turned back to me, her eyes feigning fear. She shook her head, a mockery of innocence.

“I don’t know who taught you those moves,” she whimpered, “but they were maniacal. Truly unhinged.”

One of the girls behind Amara, a familiar face from my first day of classes—the one who had chased me—straightened up. Her blonde hair bobbed as she leaned in closer to Amara, whispering conspiratorially.

“I heard she’s been training with Maximus Wolfham after hours,” she pretended to murmur.

“That must be where she learned to snap my wrist,” Amara replied, gesturing to the bandage around her arm. Despite her so-called injury, those ridiculous long nails remained intact. Just the sight of them made me shudder, imagining the damage they could inflict. I locked eyes with Amara, feeling the tension rise.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify