Their Hidden Princess (Zora) novel Chapter 146

**Valentin**

**Two Years Into the Great War**

Valentin Lunerly, having reclaimed his surname with a sense of pride and purpose, stood in the dimly lit chamber, his gaze fixed on the council members as they entered one by one. The atmosphere was thick with an unsettling silence, broken only by the soft shuffle of their feet on the uneven stone floor. The council members settled into their seats, which were rough-hewn from stone, their edges jagged and unrefined. Shadows danced across their faces, accentuating the hollows and weariness etched into their features. Valentin couldn’t shake the feeling that he was surrounded by specters, remnants of a once-great lineage now trapped within the crumbling walls of what had once been the majestic Luna castle.

At the head of the table sat Victoria Luna, her presence commanding yet frail. She appeared more gaunt than ever, her long, fiery red curls now shorn to a practical length. The thick fur draped around her shoulders provided little warmth against the chill of despair that permeated the room. In that moment, she embodied both the decay of their lineage and the remnants of its regal past. With a strained effort, she pressed her palms into the stone table, pushing herself up as though the weight of the world rested upon her slender shoulders.

“We’re losing the war,” she declared, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it echoed through the chamber like a death knell.

Silence enveloped the room, heavy and oppressive, with only the flickering flames of the fire providing a feeble light. Not even Thanatos Blythwitch, known for his sharp tongue and quick retorts, found words to counter her proclamation. The crackling of the flames was the only response to Victoria’s grim statement. Valentin noticed the slight tremor in her hand resting on the table, a subtle indication of the turmoil raging within her. He watched as she clenched it into a fist, a small act of defiance against the despair that threatened to consume them all.

“Our efforts to find a weapon,” she murmured, her voice tinged with hopelessness, “have been utterly futile.”

Once again, silence reigned supreme.

“Though we may have broken their hold on us,” she continued, her tone still low, “we cannot match the skills they’ve honed over centuries.”

Valentin felt a surge of determination rise within him, cutting through the gloom. “So we train,” he interjected, his voice rising above the silence. Victoria’s eyes darted toward him, her chin held high, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. Clearing his throat, he rose from his seat, his resolve strengthening.

“Ten thousand and some odd ones,” Blythwitch murmured from across the table, his voice low and contemplative. Wolfham gestured dismissively toward him with the hand not occupied by the dagger.

“Ten thousand,” Wolfham reiterated, his tone dripping with disdain. “Ten thousand out of the hundred thousand wolves that exist in the Western Hemisphere. More beyond that. And yet only a mere fraction chooses to train with us. To fight alongside us. Have you ever stopped to wonder why that is?”

“Because they’re complicit,” Valentin sputtered, frustration spilling over. “They don’t realize how much better life could be for them. They’re trapped in the illusion that things are improving because the vampires have acknowledged their mistakes. As soon as this war ends, they’ll regress. Things will never change for us unless we fight—”

“They do not fight because they are afraid,” Wolfham snapped, cutting Valentin off mid-sentence. The crackle of the fire filled the silence that followed as the two men glared at each other, their mutual animosity palpable. “They do not know a world without vampire rule. They do not understand what it means to control the powers that the Ancient ones have bestowed upon them. They do not know freedom. And thus, they fear it.”