Prince Loses His Protector

I staggered into the command tent, my body screaming in agony with each step. Blood soaked through my uniform—some mine, some belonging to the bandits who'd paid for their mistake with their lives. My vision swam, dark spots dancing at the edges as I fought to remain upright.

Hudson and Blaire looked up from their maps, their heads bent close together in intimate consultation. For one fleeting moment, I thought I saw shock register on Hudson's face.

"Mallory?" His voice held none of the concern I'd expected—none of the frantic worry of a man who'd lost his most loyal protector.

I swayed on my feet, the arrow still protruding from my shoulder. "I made it back," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Blaire's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How... resilient of you." Her hand slid possessively over Hudson's arm, her fingers stroking his sleeve.

Hudson's gaze swept over my bloodied form, lingering briefly on the knife wound visible through my torn pants. Something flickered across his face—disgust? Pity? But it vanished so quickly I couldn't be sure.

"You're interrupting important strategic discussions," he said, straightening his shoulders. "Report to your post outside. We'll discuss your... absence later."

I stared at him, disbelief numbing me more effectively than any sedative. Seven years I'd protected this man. Seven years I'd taken arrows meant for him, fought battles at his side, loved him with every breath in my body.

And this was how he greeted my miraculous return from death?

"Outside?" I repeated, my voice hollow.

"Yes, outside," Hudson snapped, impatience edging his tone. "We have matters to discuss that don't concern you."

Blaire's smirk widened as she pressed herself closer to Hudson's side. "The prince has spoken, Mallory. Don't make him repeat himself."

I backed out of the tent, each step an exercise in will over flesh. The guards outside averted their eyes as I took my position, my blood dripping onto the ground beneath me.

Through the canvas walls, I heard Blaire's triumphant laughter and Hudson's murmured responses. The sound cut deeper than any physical wound ever could.

---

"I need to remove this arrow before infection sets in," Dr. Crawford said, her gentle hands probing the wound in my shoulder. The medical tent smelled of antiseptic herbs and clean linen—a stark contrast to the filth of the bandit camp.

I sat rigid on the examination table, biting back screams as she cut away the fabric around the arrowhead.

"Hold still," she murmured, her eyes filled with concern. "This will hurt."

The pain as she extracted the arrow was excruciating, but it paled compared to the agony in my chest. Tears burned behind my eyes, threatening to spill over.

"I heard them," I whispered as Dr. Crawford cleaned the wound. "While I was drugged... I heard them together."

Dr. Crawford's hands stilled momentarily. "Hudson and Blaire?"

I nodded, a tear finally escaping down my cheek. "He said I was like a loyal dog. That he didn't need me anymore." My voice broke. "And then I heard them... together."

Dr. Crawford's face hardened, her usual clinical detachment giving way to fury. She resumed bandaging my shoulder with perhaps more force than necessary.

"I've been investigating," she said quietly, glancing toward the tent entrance to ensure we weren't overheard. "Your disappearance wasn't random, Mallory. Blaire's men were seen carrying you away from camp."

I closed my eyes, the confirmation of what I'd suspected burning like acid. "She planned it all."

"And I suspect there's more," Dr. Crawford continued, her voice dropping even lower. "Blaire's been meeting with outsiders at night. People who aren't part of either army."

"What does she want?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Power," Dr. Crawford replied simply. "And you were in her way."

---

The entire camp gathered in the central clearing as Hudson stood on a makeshift platform. Blaire stood beside him, her hand resting protectively over her abdomen. My wounds throbbed beneath their bandages as I stood at attention, Dr. Crawford's warning to rest ignored.

"I have an announcement," Hudson called out, his voice carrying across the hushed crowd. "General Blaire Harris will be remaining with us as a strategic advisor."

Murmurs rippled through the assembled soldiers. I felt their sideways glances, saw their confusion.

"As you all know," Hudson continued, "our enemy has always been the Eastern Alliance, not individual leaders who might prove... valuable to our cause."

Blaire's smile was radiant as she gazed adoringly at Hudson.

"And," Hudson added, his voice softening as he looked at Blaire, "Dr. Crawford will provide medical care for General Harris's delicate condition."

Dr. Crawford stiffened beside me. "Delicate condition?" she muttered under her breath.

The crowd erupted in whispers as Blaire's pregnancy became clear. I felt the blood drain from my face, each beat of my heart a dull thud of pain.

Hudson's eyes swept over the assembly, passing over me without a flicker of recognition or concern. It was as if I—and the seven years I'd given him—had never existed at all.

As the crowd dispersed, I remained frozen in place, watching as Hudson gently helped Blaire down from the platform, his hand placed lovingly against her stomach.

Something inside me hardened then—a crystallization of pain into something sharper, colder, more dangerous.

Seven years of devotion meant nothing. But seven years of training? That, at least, would serve me well in the days to come.