So here you go, I am doing a double update because I was on a roll and couldn't stop, lol. I am actually on spring break starting tomorrow, so you may have a lot of updates. Enjoy.
In that fleeting moment, Mercedes finally met his gaze through the subdued light and tear-stained face. The tears in her eyes were silent testimony to the truth Stevie had just shown him—a truth that rendered all arguments moot.
Sam's voice, barely a whisper yet filled with resolute determination, broke the tension." Stop." When no one did, he moved closer to his father. "I SAID STOP!" I cannot let you harm Mercedes, now, or ever again."
King Dwight's eyes flashed as he demanded, "And why, Samuel? Why should mercy be granted?"
Sam's reply was as deadly as it was powerful: "Because she is carrying the next Heir of Cordova."
A collective gasp rippled through the room. The entire hall was silent for a heartbeat—the weight of Sam's words hanging in the air like a challenge.
The courtiers began to murmur among themselves. Some, clutching their fans and jewelry, whispered that the revelation was too grave to ignore—that if Mercedes was indeed carrying a child conceived in defiance of royal tradition, the very future of Cordova might be at stake. Others, though, expressed sympathy. A few of the younger nobles, who had long grown disillusioned with the draconian antics of the crown, nodded slowly as if considering that perhaps the old laws were not infallible.
One elder lord, his face lined with years of experience, muttered, "The crown has always used harsh measures to keep order, but to condemn a woman who bears the next heir? this is unprecedented." Nearby, a younger noblewoman whispered to her companion, "We have lived under these oppressive laws for too long. It is time for change, for mercy."
Yet, not everyone was swayed. A staunch supporter of tradition, clad in ceremonial regalia, hissed, "The law is the law! If we allow exceptions, what will become of our customs? Treason must be punished, or our very identity as a kingdom will be lost."
Sam stepped forward without hesitation, his voice filled with a fierce certainty born of love and desperation, "As I said, Father, and I will say it again. As the future King, the current Prince, and the man who loves this woman, you will not hurt Mercedes or my child."
A stunned silence fell over the assembly. For a moment, every eye in the grand hall was fixed on Sam—the future King—whose words resonated like a challenge to centuries of tradition. The revelation, though still kept as a secret among the few who knew its truth, had turned the tide in Sam's favor. In that charged moment, his declaration was not merely a plea for mercy—it was an assertion that the future of their kingdom depended on breaking free of these archaic, ruthless edicts.
The great hall was so silent that a pin drop would have echoed.
And then—King Dwight laughed.
A cruel, hollow sound filled the space, and his lips curled in amusement.
"Oh, that's rich," he scoffed, shaking his head as if his son had just told the most ridiculous joke. "I have seen a lot of pathetic attempts at last-ditch efforts in my time, but this takes the cake. It's clear as day that this is just another stall tactic. It's desperate, Samuel. I expected better from you."
Sam clenched his fists. He wasn't backing down. Not this time. His gaze flickered to Mercedes.
She was standing tall despite the chains, despite everything she had been through. She hadn't even looked at him since he had arrived, but now…
Now, she turned to face him.
In her dark brown eyes, he saw the truth.
No words were needed. The look on her face told him everything.
She was pregnant.
His breath caught in his throat. His world tilted on its axis. He had spoken in defiance, in hope, but now? Now, it was real.
Sam's hands trembled at his sides. He turned back to Dwight, fury blazing in his veins.
"She's pregnant," he repeated, this time with absolute certainty.
Dwight let out an irritated sigh. "Oh, for God's sake. There's a simple way to solve this."
He waved his hand, and the guards stepped forward.
"Send her to the infirmary. We will run a few…tests."
The guards closed in on Mercedes, reaching for her.
Sam snapped. In a blink, he moved, blocking their path.
"Hell. No." His voice was like steel, laced with barely contained rage. "This is the mother of my child. I will take her wherever she needs to go. No one touches her but me."
The guards hesitated, glancing toward King Dwight for further instruction.
Dwight's eyes darkened. "Stand down, Samuel." His voice was sharp, filled with warning.
Sam took a step closer to his father, his presence commanding and dangerous. He knew how his father operated. He had let Mercedes down once, and he wouldn't do it again.
"If you do anything—anything—to hurt Mercedes or my child—who is of royal blood—"
Dwight cut him off.
"That child—if there even is a child—" his lips twisted into a smirk, "would be nothing more than a bastard."
The words had barely left Dwight's mouth when a deep, guttural growl rumbled from Sam's chest.
It wasn't just anger.
It was primal.
It was deadly.
A few nobles physically recoiled at the sound. Some gasped, others went silent, stunned by the raw fury emanating from their future King.
Across the room, someone whispered, "King Dwight had better watch what he says. Prince Sam looks ready to kill."
Sam's entire body was coiled tight, ready to strike. His eyes burned into his father's, and his fists shook with restraint.
"Leave. My. Family. Alone."
Silence.
The tension was so thick it was suffocating.
Dwight grew angry. "Family?" He spat. "I am your family. Stevie is your family. Quinn is your family! That woman is nothing but a stain on our name."
Sam took a slow step forward; the look on his face clearly showed his determination.
"If you try to harm Mercedes or our child, I will abdicate the throne," he said, his voice low, controlled. Deadly. "I will walk away. And you will never see me again, and we both know what that would mean for you and for Cordova."
The room exploded into whispers.
Dwight's face twitched.
For the first time, there was uncertainty in his eyes. Sam had always been the dutiful Prince. Always followed orders. Always played his part.
But now? Now, he was willing to throw it all away.
Dwight exhaled sharply, annoyed and irritated. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long groan.
"Fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes as if indulging a spoiled child.
He turned to his guards. "Let him take her. But they are to be followed. I want confirmation of this pregnancy immediately."
The guards nodded, stepping back.
Sam finally exhaled, his chest still heaving as he turned to Mercedes.
"Come on," he murmured, his voice softer now.
Mercedes hesitated. Not out of fear. But because, in that moment, she realized just how far he was willing to go for her. And for the first time since this nightmare had begun—she didn't feel alone.
Without another word, Sam placed a protective hand on her back and led her out of the great hall, toward the infirmary.
The guards trailed behind them, but Sam didn't care.
He had Mercedes.
And he was going to fight like hell to keep her.
The infirmary door clanged shut behind them, the metallic echo jarring in the tense silence. Sam pulled Mercedes closer, his arm a protective barrier against the sterile, unwelcoming space. He felt her tremble slightly, and his anger flared anew. He glared at the two guards flanking them, their impassive faces doing little to quell the storm brewing inside him.
"Uncuff her," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. It was an order, not a request.
The head guard, a burly man with a weathered face, frowned. "Prince Samuel, with all due respect, your father—"
"I don't care about my father," Sam interrupted, his voice laced with steel. "Uncuff her. Now." He met the guard's gaze, his own eyes blazing with a fire that belied his normally gentle nature.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. They were used to following orders, but this… this was different. This was the Prince, their future King, directly defying his father, the King. But the raw fury emanating from Sam was undeniable, and they knew better than to disobey. With hesitant movements, they unlocked the cuffs, the metal clinking against the bed as they fell away.
Sam immediately took Mercedes's hands in his, his thumbs gently stroking the raw skin where the cuffs had dug in. "Are you alright?" he murmured, his concern evident in his voice.
Mercedes offered a small, grateful smile. "I will be." She glanced at the guards, her eyes hardening. "Especially now that you are with me."
He helped her onto the narrow examination bed, the thin mattress offering little comfort as he held onto her. A young nurse bustled in, her face pale and drawn. She held out a plastic cup with a clinical detachment that grated on Sam's nerves.
"We need a urine sample," she stated flatly. "And then we'll need to draw some blood."
Mercedes shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flickering towards Sam. He knew this was a violation, another way for his father to assert control, to humiliate her. He wouldn't allow it.
"Get her a change of clothes," Sam demanded, his voice brooking no argument. "And some real food with something to drink. She won't be giving you anything until she's treated with basic human decency."
The nurse blinked, clearly flustered by his outburst. "Your Highness, I—"
Sam rose to his full height, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the small room. "Now," he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "I won't repeat myself."
The nurse visibly cringed, then nodded quickly and scurried out of the room. Sam turned back to Mercedes, his anger replaced by a wave of tenderness. He sat beside her on the bed, their foreheads touching.
"I won't let them treat you like this," he vowed, his voice rough with emotion. "You don't deserve it. This is all my fault."
Mercedes closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "No… it's your fathers", she whispered, a tremor running through her. "But thank you, Sam. All this is…thank you."
The wait for the nurse felt like an eternity. Sam held Mercedes in his arms, his thumb tracing soothing circles on her skin. He told her stories of his childhood, silly anecdotes that made her laugh and momentarily forget the grim reality of their situation.
Finally, the nurse returned, her arms laden with fresh clothes and a tray of steaming food. Mercedes ate slowly, savoring the soup's warmth and the simple act's normalcy. Only when she was finished did she allow the nurse to take the samples; her chin was held high, and her eyes were defiant.
Sam watched, his heart swelling with pride. This woman, this fierce, courageous woman, was his. And he would move mountains to protect her.
Mercedes lay on the bed, her head heavy in Sam's lap. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, a stark contrast to the warmth of his hand gently stroking her hair. Each pass of his fingers through her curls was a silent reassurance, a fragile anchor in the storm raging around them. She clung to his touch, drawing strength from his presence.
Sam's jaw was clenched tight, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a grim determination. He could feel the tremors running through Mercedes' body, the echoes of her fear and exhaustion. He fought the urge to crush her to him, to shield her from the cruel reality of their situation. Every tick of the clock felt like a hammer blow, each second an eternity as they waited for the verdict that would seal their fate.
The sharp rap on the door shattered the fragile peace. Two guards stood in the doorway, their faces impassive, their eyes hard. "The King has sent for you both," one announced, his voice devoid of emotion.
Mercedes' breath hitched, and Sam felt her stiffen in his arms. He helped her to her feet, his grip firm but reassuring. He wouldn't let her face this alone. As they followed the guards down the seemingly endless corridor, his mind raced, strategizing, planning, and preparing for the confrontation that awaited them.
Dwight's private office was a suffocating display of wealth and power. Dark wood paneling, heavy velvet drapes, and the imposing figure of the King himself created an atmosphere of oppressive authority. Quinn and Puck stood beside Dwight, their presence adding another layer of tension to the already charged atmosphere.
"Why are they here?" Sam demanded, his voice tight with suspicion.
Quinn's face was an unreadable mask, her arms crossed defensively. Puck, however, wore a smirk that made Sam's blood run cold. His eyes lingered on Mercedes, a predatory glint that ignited a fierce protectiveness in Sam.
"Sit," Dwight commanded, gesturing towards the chairs facing his desk.
Sam remained standing, his defiance a physical presence in the room. Mercedes mirrored his stance, her chin lifted, her eyes unwavering.
Dwight let out an exasperated sigh. "The results confirm it," he announced, his voice laced with impatience. "She is pregnant."
The words hung heavy in the air, a pronouncement of their fate. Sam felt Mercedes' hand tighten in his, her fingers digging into his palm. He squeezed back, offering silent support.
Dwight leaned forward, his eyes cold and calculating. "So, what we are going to do is pray the child takes after you. I have decided that you and Quinn will raise it as your own once it is born."
The silence that followed was deafening. Sam felt a surge of rage, a primal urge to protect his child, his mate, from this monstrous decree.
Mercedes' voice, though trembling slightly, was filled with defiance. "It will be a cold day in hell before you take my child."
"Be silent, girl!" Dwight thundered, his face contorted with fury.
"Make me old man." Mercedes spat.
Sam stepped forward, shielding Mercedes with his body. "No. That is not happening."
"You forget your place, Samuel!" Dwight roared, his voice echoing through the room.
"And you forget that this is my child," Sam retorted, his voice unwavering. "Our child. I will not let you take them from us."
Quinn shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between them. Puck, ever the instigator, let out a mocking laugh. "You act like you have a choice, Sammy," he sneered. "Your father has already made the decision."
Sam clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "You have no say in this," he growled, his eyes burning with fury. "Neither of you."
Dwight leaned back in his chair, his expression a mask of cold indifference. "This is not a negotiation, Samuel. The child will be raised as a royal, as they should be. But Mercedes..." He waved a dismissive hand. "She is expendable."
The word hung in the air like a death knell. Sam felt a surge of icy fear, a primal terror that threatened to consume him.
"Expendable?" he echoed, his voice barely a whisper.
Mercedes' hand found his arm, her touch a lifeline. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands.
Dwight's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Oh, but you are. Once the child is born, you will no longer be needed. Consider yourself fortunate, Miss Jones. I could have had you executed."
Mercedes swallowed hard, her defiance wavering. Sam felt her fear, and it fueled his own.
He took a deep breath, his voice dangerously calm. "If you try to take my child from Mercedes, I will not only abdicate the throne, I will burn everything you hold dear to the ground."
Puck whistled, feigning surprise. "Damn, Sammy. That's dramatic."
"Shut up," Sam snarled, his eyes locked on his father.
Dwight studied him, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. For the first time, he seemed to see Sam not as a son but as an adversary.
"You would throw everything away for her?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
"Without hesitation," Sam replied, his voice unwavering.
The tension in the room cracked, reaching a breaking point. And then Dwight smiled. It wasn't a smile of warmth or affection but a chilling display of power and cruelty.
"I have entertained you and your whore long enough. I am done with this," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He nodded curtly to Puck.
The door behind them swung open, and five guards marched in, their faces grim, their movements practiced. Before Sam could react, Brody Weston entered the room.