Their Hidden Princess (Zora) novel Chapter 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.

“Now, now, Francois,” he said, his voice smooth yet commanding. “Valentin is my most loyal servant. He has earned the respect of everyone in this castle, including my guests. I insist that he be treated accordingly.”

“Valentin,” Renault continued, his tone returning to its previous apathy. “Please take Duke du Pont’s belongings to his room. While you’re in the East Wing, check on Aveline. Remind her that dinner will be served in an hour.”

With a deep bow, Valentin nodded, then turned to guide the dolly toward the eastern wing of the castle. As he pushed the heavy luggage along, he passed by a series of grand tapestries, each depicting fierce battles from a time long past. Yet, amidst the chaos of war, one constant remained: a pale, human-like figure clad in silver, locked in combat with a magnificent golden wolf. The two seemed eternally pitted against one another, a vivid representation of the conflict that had marred their world.

Valentin sighed heavily, the weight of history pressing down on him as he maneuvered his dolly deeper into the cavernous hall. He had not lived through the dark days when vampires enslaved the wolves, but the stories whispered by the elders echoed in his mind—tales of a time when both creatures coexisted in fragile harmony. It was only a few centuries ago that the vampires, in their insatiable greed for power, had shattered that peace, invoking ancient Dark Magiks to bind the wolves and strip them of their natural might.

As he continued on his path, Valentin couldn’t help but ponder the fate of those who had come before him, the shadows of their struggles lingering like ghosts in the corners of his mind.