My Tavern Waitress Did The Unthinkable — And Saved The Alpha King
Part 1
I stood in the shadowed corner of the royal bedchamber, my fingers white-knuckling a heavy silver tray.
The greatest medical minds of the century were actively killing the Alpha King right in front of me.
The stench in the vast room was utterly suffocating.
A thick aroma of burning crimson myrrh mingled with the sharp, metallic tang of blood.
Greg, the invincible ruler of the northern reaches, lay thrashing weakly on the ruined silk sheets.
He was a man built like a fortress.
For a decade, his mere growl had brought entire rogue packs to their knees.
Now, black, spiderweb-like veins crawled up his muscular neck.
They pulsed with a toxic rhythm that defied every law of our kind.
His legendary healing factor had completely failed.
In fact, it appeared to be feeding the affliction, turning his own cells into a corrosive acid.
Brian, the commander of the royal guard, paced the periphery of the room.
His face was a tight mask of exhaustion and barely suppressed panic.
If our king fell, neighboring territories would descend upon the kingdom like starving vultures.
The delicate peace treaties would burn overnight.
Thousands would perish in the ensuing pack wars.
Brian demanded an answer, his low rumble rattling the glass vials on a nearby table.
He stepped toward the twenty-fifth physician to cross the threshold.
Dan, a man of immense wealth and supposed unparalleled intellect, wiped sweat from his brow.
His hands trembled as he dropped a pair of silver forceps onto a velvet tray.
The doctor stammered excuses, refusing to look at the massive werewolf on the bed.
He had applied leeches, moon gem powder, and ancient bloodletting techniques.
Nothing stabilized the failing monarch.
The corruption in his veins was rejecting all magic.
Dan whispered that the king’s wolf had simply decided to die.
Brian roared in absolute fury.
He grabbed the lapels of the doctor’s expensive silk coat and hoisted him off the floor.
The command to drop him came as a ragged scrape of sound from the bed.
Yet it carried the undeniable, crushing weight of an alpha.
Brian instantly complied, dropping the terrified physician.
Greg’s golden eyes flickered open, rimmed with an unnatural, heavy darkness.
He offered his loyal commander a tight, agonizing smile.
He told his friend not to waste anger on the inept.
Nobody paid a single ounce of attention to me.
My name is Megan, and I am not a lady of the court.
I am a simple waitress from a rough tavern in the lower city.
I was conscripted into service a week prior when the royal staff became overwhelmed by visiting dignitaries.
My simple linen dress stood in stark contrast to the velvet and gold worn by everyone else.
I held a tray burdened with goblets of spiced wine.
For six days, I had been a ghost in these chambers.
I watched twenty-five decorated healers parade through the doors.
Each was more arrogant than the last.
They brought bizarre contraptions, rare crystals, and foul-smelling poultices.
I watched them bleed him, burn him, and fail.
I am no scholar, but I possess an observant mind honed by surviving the brutal lower city.
My late grandmother had taught me the pragmatic wisdom of forbidden apothecary arts.
Nature operates on simple, brutal logic.
My sharp green eyes tracked the movements around the immense bed.
I noticed the king’s breathing grew shallower every time servants threw myrrh onto the hearth.
I stared at the pristine snow-white bandages wrapped tightly around his chest.
The royal physicians had brought them from the Eastern Isles.
They were treated with a special ash tree sap meant to prevent infection.
Memory slammed into me like a physical blow.
Three winters ago, a trapper stumbled into my tavern with a dying hunting dog.
The man had treated a simple scratch with that exact sap.
He sat beside a hearth burning cheap crimson myrrh.
My grandmother took one look and kicked dirt over the fire.
She scrubbed the sap from the dog’s fur with her bare hands.
She muttered about how the smoke reacted with the sap.
It creates a vaporous neurotoxin deadly to anything with heightened olfactory senses and rapid blood flow.
I looked at the heavily bandaged king.
I looked at the billowing smoke from the hearth.
They weren’t failing to cure him.
They were actively killing him.
Dan suddenly shrieked, pressing himself against the far wall.
Greg’s body arched completely off the mattress.
A horrifying, guttural roar ripped from his throat.
The sound was laced with such feral power it brought heavily armored guards to their knees.
The black veins rapidly multiplied, spidering up his jawline toward his eyes.
His claws extended, digging deep into the solid oak frame of the bed.
The wood splintered under his immense, dying grip.
Brian shouted for the guards to hold him down.
Three elite soldiers threw their combined weight over his limbs.
But a dying alpha is still an alpha.
With a flick of his wrist, Greg threw two heavily armored men across the room.
Their bodies crashed into the stone walls like discarded rag dolls.
Another elite physician declared the corruption absolute.
He urged everyone to evacuate before the beast slaughtered them all.
The room dissolved into absolute chaos.
Lords and healers scrambled for the heavy doors, shoving each other in a desperate bid to escape.
Brian alone remained, struggling desperately to restrain his king.
Tears of grief blurred the commander’s vision.
I stood frozen for exactly two seconds.
If I spoke up, they would laugh at me.
If I tried to explain the chemical reaction, he would be dead before I finished my sentence.
I didn’t have a medical degree, and I didn’t have authority.
But I had a minute.
I dropped the heavy silver tray.
The deafening crash of metal was entirely drowned out by the roaring.
I bypassed the fleeing nobles and sprinted directly into the danger zone.
Brian bellowed at me to get back.
He warned me the beast would tear me apart.
I ignored him.
I slid to my knees beside the roaring hearth.
I grabbed the heavy iron bucket of water kept for the royal hounds.
With a grunt of exertion, I hurled the water directly into the fire.
A massive hiss of steam erupted instantly.
It killed the flames and cut off the thick, suffocating smoke.
Coughing through the gray steam, I didn’t stop.
I vaulted over the shattered remains of a bedside table.
I threw myself directly onto the king’s bed.
Dan screamed from the doorway, ordering guards to seize me.
Greg’s feral gold eyes snapped toward my face.
His teeth were bared in a low, murderous growl.
His razor-sharp claws shot up, aiming directly for my throat.
Brian lunged to intercept, terrified he was about to watch a civilian die.
I didn’t flinch.
Moving with a speed born of pure adrenaline, I ducked beneath his sweeping claws.
I grabbed the edge of his pristine white bandages and pulled with all my might.
