Prince Loses His Protector

The tent flap fell closed behind me as I stepped into Hudson's private quarters. The space still smelled faintly of his cologne—the same scent I'd buried my face in countless times after battles, grateful he was alive, grateful I'd kept him safe. Now it turned my stomach.

Hudson looked up from his maps, surprise flickering across his features before settling into cool indifference.

"Mallory," he said, straightening. "I'm busy."

I moved closer, each step deliberate. The bandages beneath my uniform pulled tight against healing wounds—wounds I'd earned fighting for him.

"I need you to make me a promise," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "A promise?"

"After seven years," I continued, "after taking arrows for you, after bleeding for you, after loving you—I want your word that you'll marry only me."

The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken truths.

Hudson's expression hardened, the last traces of warmth vanishing from his eyes. "That's not possible."

"Not possible?" I repeated, disbelief clawing at my throat. "I've given you everything, Hudson. My loyalty, my body, my life—"

"And I appreciate your service," he cut in, his tone businesslike. "But I need political flexibility. Marriage is a strategic alliance, not a love match."

The words hit like physical blows. "Service," he'd called it. Seven years reduced to a transaction.

"Blaire is pregnant with my child," he continued, moving around the table toward me. "That changes things."

"And what am I supposed to be?" I demanded, refusing to step back as he approached. "Your discarded bodyguard? Your forgotten mistress?"

Hudson's hand reached for my face, but I jerked away. His fingers curled into a fist at his side.

"You're still valuable to me, Mallory. Just... not as my wife."

The rejection burned through me like wildfire, consuming everything but the cold, hard core of my rage.

---

I couldn't escape them. No matter where I went in camp, Blaire and Hudson were there—her hand in his, her other hand resting possessively on her swollen belly.

"Careful with that crate, soldier," Blaire called out to a passing guard. "We wouldn't want anything to disturb the future prince's mother."

Hudson beamed down at her, his hand covering hers on her stomach. "Our son will be strong," he murmured, loud enough for me to hear as they passed where I stood.

I kept my eyes fixed on the supply inventory I was checking, but my hands trembled with suppressed fury.

"Oh, Mallory," Blaire's voice dripped with false sweetness as she paused beside me. "Still working so hard? One might think you confuse duty with love."

Hudson chuckled, the sound slicing through me like a blade.

"Some women never understand the difference," he added, squeezing Blaire's waist. "Lucky for me, you do."

Blaire's smile widened as she leaned into him. "Some women," she agreed, her eyes locked on mine, "just don't know when to accept their place."

I forced myself to nod respectfully, though every muscle in my body screamed to lunge at her. "General Harris."

"Come, darling," she said to Hudson. "Our son needs fresh air."

As they walked away, Hudson's arm around her shoulders, I gripped the inventory list so tightly it tore in my hands.

---

The medical tent fell silent as Hudson strode in, Blaire trailing behind him with a martyred expression.

"Dr. Crawford," Hudson called out, his voice carrying across the space where my mentor was tending to wounded soldiers.

Dr. Crawford set down her instruments and approached, her face carefully neutral. "Your Highness?"

"I've received complaints about your treatment of General Harris," Hudson said coldly. "She reports that you've been... negligent in your care."

Dr. Crawford's eyes narrowed slightly. "I've provided the same standard of care I give all patients."

"Not good enough," Hudson snapped. "You will apologize to General Harris. Now."

The tent had gone completely still. Every eye was on them—on the renowned physician being publicly reprimanded by a prince who owed his life to her skills more than once.

"I apologize if my care fell short of your expectations," Dr. Crawford said finally, each word precise and controlled.

"And," Hudson continued, "you will personally attend to General Harris's meals and comfort from now on. Her pregnancy requires special attention."

Blaire's smile was triumphant as Dr. Crawford's face flushed with humiliation.

"As you wish," Dr. Crawford said, her voice barely audible.

As they turned to leave, Hudson paused beside me. "This is what happens when people forget their place," he murmured, so only I could hear.

Something crystallized inside me then—harder and colder than anything I'd ever known. Seven years of love dissolved into a single, perfect diamond of hate.

And hate, I discovered, was much easier to bear.