ZARA'S POV
I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that message: "One of the people you trust is lying to you."
Was it Darius? The man who'd saved me, protected me, given me shelter?
Lyanna? The girl who'd fought beside me, called me friend?
Or someone else in the Underground I hadn't even suspected yet?
I sat on the edge of the bed in Darius's quarters, watching the door. Waiting for... what? An attack? A confession? A sign telling me who the traitor was?
The door opened.
I jumped up, silver fire sparking in my palms instinctively.
Darius raised his hands. "Easy. It's just me."
"How do I know that?" I asked, hating how paranoid I sounded but unable to stop. "How do I know you're really on my side?"
Pain flashed across his face. "Because if I wanted you dead, Zara, you'd already be dead. I've had a hundred chances."
He was right. But the message had planted seeds of doubt I couldn't shake.
"Then prove it," I said. "Tell me something only my father's real friend would know."
Darius stepped closer. "Your father's favorite food was chocolate cake with raspberry filling. He ate it every year on your mother's birthday because it made her laugh. Your mother had a scar on her left shoulder from a training accident when she was sixteen. Your older brother, Adrian, was terrified of thunderstorms and would hide in your room during storms. And you..." He smiled sadly. "You had a stuffed rabbit named Mr. Hopps that you carried everywhere. Your father used to joke that Mr. Hopps was your first royal advisor."
Tears filled my eyes. I did remember Mr. Hopps. Vaguely. A gray rabbit with floppy ears.
"Where is he now?" I whispered.
"The Reeds probably destroyed him," Darius said gently. "Along with everything else from your real life."
The doubt in my chest eased slightly. But not completely.
"The message said I met the real enemy tonight," I said. "Who did I meet?"
"Too many people," Darius admitted. "The assassins. Garrett. That fake healer. Even some of my own wolves I don't know as well as I should." He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustrated. "But we can't let paranoia paralyze us. We need to focus on making you stronger. Strong enough that it doesn't matter who the traitor is—you'll be able to handle them."
"How?" I asked. "I barely know how to shift. I can't control my fire. I've never been in a real fight."
"Then we start training. Right now."
"Now? It's the middle of the night."
"The enemy won't wait for daylight," Darius said. "And you have less than twenty-four hours to figure out who the traitor is before they burn down the Underground. We don't have time to waste."
He was right. Sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford.
"Fine," I said. "Teach me."
Ten minutes later, I was flat on my back on a training mat, staring at the ceiling and trying to remember how to breathe.
"Again," Darius commanded.
"I can't," I gasped. "My ribs—"
"Your ribs will heal. Get up."
I glared at him. This was the fourth time he'd knocked me down in less than five minutes.
"This isn't training," I complained. "This is just you beating me up."
"This is me showing you what a real fight feels like," Darius corrected. "The enemy won't go easy on you because you're a princess. They'll hit hard and fast. You need to learn to take hits and keep fighting."
He offered his hand to help me up.
I took it—then yanked hard, trying to flip him like I'd seen in movies.
It didn't work. He was too strong, too balanced. Instead, he used my own momentum against me and I ended up on my back again.
"Nice try," he said, amused. "But you need more than tricks. You need real skill."
Frustration boiled inside me. I'd been powerful enough to save everyone earlier. Why couldn't I beat one man in a practice fight?
"I don't understand," I said, my voice breaking. "When I shifted, when I used my fire, I felt so strong. But now I feel useless again."
Darius knelt beside me. "Power and skill are different things. Your wolf gave you raw power—strength, magic, instinct. But fighting as a human requires technique. Strategy. Experience. Things that take time to learn."
"Time I don't have."
"Then we compress the lessons," Darius said. "Come on. One more round."
He helped me up. This time, I stayed on my feet.
"Good," he said. "Now, forget everything you think you know about fighting. Your body is small, which most people will see as weakness. But small can be an advantage. You're faster. More agile. Harder to hit."
He circled me slowly. "The key is using your opponent's strength against them. Let me show you."
He grabbed my wrist—not hard, but firm enough to simulate an attack.
"What do you do?" he asked.
I tried to pull away. His grip held.
"Wrong," he said. "Pulling away just wastes energy. Instead, you move with the grab. Step forward, rotate your wrist, use your free hand to strike a vulnerable spot."
He guided me through the movement. Suddenly, I understood. Instead of fighting the grip, I flowed with it.
"Again," he said. "Faster this time."
We practiced the same move twenty times. Thirty. Fifty. Until my muscles remembered it without thinking.
Then he taught me another move. And another.
Hours passed. My whole body ached. Sweat dripped down my face. But slowly, something clicked.
I wasn't just memorizing movements anymore. I was understanding them. Feeling them.
"Break time," Darius finally said.
I collapsed on the mat, grateful.
"You're learning faster than anyone I've ever trained," he said, handing me water. "Your royal blood gives you enhanced physical abilities. Faster healing, quicker reflexes, better muscle memory."
"Then why do I still feel so clumsy?" I asked.
"Because your mind hasn't caught up with your body yet," he explained. "You spent eighteen years being taught that you're weak. That belief is holding you back more than any physical limitation."
He was right. Every time I threw a punch, part of me expected Marcus to appear and beat me for fighting back.
"How do I stop believing it?" I asked quietly.
"By proving it wrong," Darius said. "By pushing past the fear until the only truth left is your strength."
He stood and offered his hand again. "One more round. But this time, I want you to really try to hit me. No holding back."
I took his hand and stood.
We faced each other on the mat.
"Ready?" he asked.
I nodded.
He attacked—a fast punch aimed at my shoulder.
I blocked it using the technique he'd taught me, then countered with a strike toward his ribs.
He dodged easily. "Better. But you're still hesitating. You pulled that punch."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"I'm a two-hundred-year-old Alpha," he said with a slight smile. "You can't hurt me. Stop worrying about me and focus on winning."
We circled each other. He attacked again, faster this time.
I blocked. Dodged. Struck back.
He deflected my hits effortlessly, but I was lasting longer. Learning to read his movements.
"Good," he said. "Now add some anger. Fighting isn't just technique—it's emotion. Channel your rage."
Rage. I had plenty of that.
I thought about Marcus's fists. Helena's slaps. Clarissa's cruel laughter. Garrett's disgusted face when he rejected me.
Heat flooded through me. Not silver fire—just pure, human anger.
The next time Darius attacked, I didn't just block. I grabbed his arm, twisted like he'd taught me, and used his own momentum to throw him off balance.
He stumbled—actually stumbled—and surprise flashed across his face.
"There it is," he said, grinning. "Do that again."
We fought harder. Faster. I stopped thinking and just moved, letting muscle memory and rage guide me.
A memory flashed through my mind: Marcus cornering me in the kitchen when I was fourteen. I'd dropped a glass by accident. He'd grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the counter.
I'd been too weak to fight back then.
But not anymore.
I roared and threw a combination of strikes at Darius—punch, elbow, knee—everything he'd taught me flowing together.
He blocked most of them, but I landed one. A solid punch to his ribs that actually made him grunt.
"Yes!" Lyanna's voice called from the doorway. "Go Zara!"
I glanced toward her—a rookie mistake.
Darius swept my legs and I went down hard.
"Never take your eyes off your opponent," he said, but he was smiling. "Even when your friend is cheering for you."
Lyanna walked in, carrying breakfast. "Sorry. Didn't mean to distract. But seriously, Zara, that was amazing! I've never seen anyone land a hit on Darius before."
"It was one lucky shot," Darius said, helping me up.
"It was skill," Lyanna corrected. She looked at me with genuine admiration. "You're becoming a real fighter."
Pride warmed my chest. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could become strong enough to protect myself and everyone else.
"How long have we been training?" I asked.
"Six hours," Darius said.
I gaped at him. "Six hours? It feels like twenty minutes!"
"That's adrenaline," he explained. "But your body needs rest now. Eat, sleep for a few hours, then we'll continue."
As if on cue, my stomach growled. Lyanna handed me a plate of food—real food, not scraps.
I ate ravenously, suddenly aware of how starving I was.
"So," Lyanna said casually. "Did you figure out who the traitor is yet?"
The question hit me like cold water. I'd been so focused on training I'd almost forgotten about the deadline.
"No," I admitted. "I don't know how to—"
The door burst open.
A guard ran in, his face pale. "We found another message. From the enemy."
Darius took the paper and read it. His expression went dark.
"What does it say?" I asked, dreading the answer.
He handed it to me.
"Dear Princess,
Tick tock. 14 hours left.
Since you haven't figured out who the traitor is, I'll give you a hint:
They've been with you since the beginning.
They saved you when you were at your weakest.
They've been teaching you, guiding you, earning your trust.
And when the time is right, they'll deliver you to me personally.
P.S. - The traitor is in the room with you right now."
I looked up slowly.
Darius stood to my left, holding the message.
Lyanna stood to my right, frozen mid-bite.
The guard who'd delivered the
message was backing toward the door.
One of them was the traitor. One of them had been lying to me all along.
But which one?