The Curvy Rogue

Chapter 8

**LORRY SPRINGSTONE / KELLY THOMPSON’S POINT OF VIEW**

As Tina, the head housekeeper, escorts me to the visibly renovated guest chamber of the palace, Jason’s words echo relentlessly in my mind, their meaning still unclear.

I settle into this luxurious refuge, but my heart churns with conflicting emotions. The opulent surroundings starkly contrast with the simple life I’ve led for the past six years, making me feel out of place, like a stranger in this world I once knew.

Yet, that’s not why I’m here. I set aside my personal feelings and stop marveling at the room’s riches. Immediately, I unpack my medical instruments and improvise a laboratory on the ornate desk. Then, despite the late hour, I begin analyzing my patient’s samples.

As I examine the initial findings, my thoughts keep drifting to the fragile heir in the royal chamber. Could he truly be my son, Eden? The timeline fits, but he’s so different from the sturdy boy I left behind.

Suddenly, a soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I wonder who it could be, expecting to be left alone until morning. Yet, I was brought here for a perilous mission: to save a gravely ill child. Perhaps that’s why I’m being disturbed, I tell myself.

Upholding my professional ethics, I pause my work for a moment. I rise from my chair and hurry to open the door, surprised to find none other than Tina, her face grave.

“Dr. Springstone, His Majesty requests your immediate presence in the royal chamber,” she says with seriousness and urgency.

“The young heir is awake and asking for you,” she adds, a hint of anxiety in her voice.

Sensing the urgency, I follow Tina through the palace’s winding corridors without question, my heart pounding with anticipation and apprehension. As we near the royal chamber, I hear the faint whimpers of a child.

We enter the dimly lit room and find Jason pacing nervously by the bedside, while the young prince writhes under the blankets. His small face is flushed with fever, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Doctor, thank the Moon Goddess you’re back,” Jason says, his voice thick with worry.

“Eden woke up calling for you. He’s complaining of terrible stomach pain,” my former mate explains, naming his son Eden—my Eden—for the first time, sending a shiver through me.

I rush to the bed, my professional mask firmly in place despite the turmoil in my heart.

“Hello, little one,” I say gently, placing a tender hand on his forehead.

“Can you show me where it hurts?” I ask, as his eyes, so familiar, lock onto mine.

“Here,” he whimpers, placing a small hand on his lower abdomen.

I reassure him: “I’m going to check you, okay? It might be a little uncomfortable, but I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

As I begin the examination, I feel Jason’s anxious gaze weighing on me. I focus on Eden, noting the stiffness in his abdomen and how he flinches at the slightest touch.

“Has he vomited?” I ask, looking up at Jason and Tina.

Tina nods before clarifying: “Twice in the last hour, Doctor.”

I frown, my mind racing through possible diagnoses.

“I need to run blood tests immediately,” I say, reaching for my medical kit.

“And we should start an IV to prevent dehydration,” I recommend next.

As I prepare to draw blood from Eden’s small arm, I notice Jason hovering far too close.

“Your Majesty,” I say softly, “it might be best if you step out for a moment. This could be hard for Eden, and…”

“No,” Jason interrupts firmly. “I’m not leaving him.”

I nod, understanding the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. As I insert the needle, Eden whimpers softly, and Jason is instantly at his side, stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort.