Pregnant After One Night with the Lycan
Chapter 75

Tanya’s POV

Upon exiting Peyton’s old room, I realize that the entire palace is in chaos. Everyone is panicking over the princess’s physical state. Maids are rushing about with wet towels and water, nobles are alerting the neighboring royal families. Butlers are heading off to call the known doctors. I can see that everyone dearly cares for the princess. As do I. But my job is much different to theirs.

I hurry into one of the empty rooms, closing the door to shut out the cluster of apprehension that whiz about outside. I scrape away items off one of the tables and pull out the box, emptying the torn pieces of paper onto the workspace.

Step by step, piece by piece, like a child’s puzzle set, I connect the pages, reconnecting torn words and linking the shredded pieces. Soon I have reassembled the entire page. Satisfied, I read through it carefully, my eyes growing wider as they trail down the page.

Shock, surprise, and dread ignite in my system. I know that I have to replace Isabella immediately. I replace her also bustling about amongst the chaos. “Whatever it is that you’re doing, you need to stop. This is important. This could save her,” I establish with a firm tone, leaving little room for Isabella to question me or protest.

As we walk back to the room I elaborate on the way. “I initially thought the Princess had been poisoned instead of just being ill. I still do. But now… I really believe that she’s been poisoning herself rather than being poisoned by someone else.”

Isabella looks at me with utter disbelief. “How could you say that? My sister would never do such a thing!” she says incredulously.

“Then look at this,” I don’t need to justify myself, instead I simply point to the paper which Isabella starts to read.

By the end, she gasps. “Oh God.”

“Now look at this,” I take out Margret’s notebook, and show her the flower pattern that I have seen on the back of Peyton’s neck.

Her eyes grow wide, and the Princess whirls around. She unlocks one of the secured cupboards and begins rummaging through it haphazardly. Almost as if she isn’t wanting to replace whatever she’s looking for. Finally, she unveils a large bottle, and her face drops open upon seeing that it’s empty. She stumbles backward in utter shock.

“This was a bottle filled with poison, a rare poison that was accidentally owned by our kingdom. Peyton stole it, and now…. It’s empty…”

I have no time to comfort Isabella, I tell her that I must make the perfume immediately. I rush off in haste, heading for the old doctor’s house. But on my way, I suddenly notice a large group of people gathering by the roadside. Seeing it as they are on my way, I approach the group to simply see what is going on. But upon looking over some of the shoulders, I realize they’re crowded around a young little girl. And then my eyes widen, it is the old doctor’s granddaughter!

Tanya’s POV

Upon exiting Peyton’s old room, I realize that the entire palace is in chaos. Everyone is panicking over the princess’s physical state. Maids are rushing about with wet towels and water, nobles are alerting the neighboring royal families. Butlers are heading off to call the known doctors. I can see that everyone dearly cares for the princess. As do I. But my job is much different to theirs.

No matter the urgency of Peyton’s illness, I can’t continue on without at least seeing if I can help. I push past the people. Some of them are calling the emergency services, whilst others try and get a hold of the old doctor. I kneel down beside the young child.

She is cold to the touch, and terribly pale. Her silk blonde waves of hair cradle her sickly childish face. I check her pulse and lower my ear to her mouth. I sigh in relief, she is at least still breathing, but she is obviously unconscious. And then I realize I have seen all these symptoms before.

Although it was more than five years ago now, I still remember when Cathy collapsed at the palace ball from an allergic reaction. And just like Cathy, the doctor’s granddaughter is in a coma like state induced from the allergic reaction.

I hastily undo the satchel at my waist, and unveil my anti-allergy perfume, going ahead to spray it swiftly over the little girl.

Then, I’m left to sit and wait in apprehension, while listening to the chatter from the surrounding people. Some are confused over my actions, while others disapprove saying that perfumes with special functions are no match for actual medicine. But I ignore all of them, none of them matter right now. And eventually, the girl coughs her way back to life, eyes blinking widely as people around us gasp and cheer in utter relief.

Minutes later, the old doctor arrives, his eyes growing wide in realization that his granddaughter is alive and well again. And the surrounding wolves explain to him what I have done. He looks to me, with firmness. “Thank you, Tanya. You truly did save her life. You’ve proven that your perfume abilities can be trusted, I will give you the ingredient you need to save Princess Peyton.”

My chest heaves a sigh of relief as the doctor unveils the flower I need, wrapping it carefully in a white cloth before handing it to me. I rush back to one of the rooms in the palace where I’m given the tools to make my perfume.

I get to work right away. However, I can’t help the initial fear that sits in my stomach. Unlike the past few times when I’ve had to urgently make a perfume, this time, I even have no room for error. I can’t waste the main ingredient that I have very little of, and I also don’t have time on my side. Peyton’s situation is critical, and if I don’t get her the cure in time, all will be lost.

I pull my hair up and tie it in a ponytail, and roll up my sleeves, as my brows narrow in eager concentration. I begin the usual, cutting up each of the raw solid ingredients, and grinding them into fine powder. And I distill the liquid ingredients, so they are in their purest forms.

No matter the urgency of Peyton’s illness, I can’t continue on without at least seeing if I can help. I push past the people. Some of them are calling the emergency services, whilst others try and get a hold of the old doctor. I kneel down beside the young child.

I begin the process of boiling the base solution before I begin adding the ingredients, all throughout I notice a slight shift to my inherent talent. There is somehow a difference this time about the way I was able to craft. Something new, something strange and invigorating with the way I was working.

The same can be said with the way I can articulate the words in Margret’s notebook. Before it would take me ages to understand the wordings and techniques she used. But now, it feels like her journaled words are flowing off the page, through my soul and into my hands that work away.

I’m in utter awe as everything makes sense to me. I’m never confused over a certain step, I never replace myself doubting a certain sentence, I never even hesitate with my actions. My movements are simple and rhythmic. I can’t help but wonder on the how’s and why’s. But I know I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time to think about anything else other than creating this perfume.

Finally, on my first try, the solution swirls in perfect clarity. And without hesitation, I pour into a bottle and rush off to the Princess’s hospital ward.

I see the familiar faces of Isabella, Marco, Caspian, Peyton’s fated mate, the old doctor and even Peyton’s maid. I don’t even bother to explain my actions as I begin spritzing my perfume over Peyton’s sleeping body. After I douse her form, I stand waiting in apprehension, praying that I am not too late.

Of course, as we expected, since the perfume is a poison in itself, her body reacts negatively to the infiltration of the foreign vapor. Additionally, Peyton’s body is already very weak, and after using the perfume on her, she begins to look even worse. And the medical monitors attached to her body begin to scream loudly, alerting to something being wrong.

Something then dawns on me. Peyton had purposely poisoned herself. The only reason she has lived this long is because of her sister, which means that Peyton never really wanted to live in the first place. This is a means to an end, and subconsciously, Peyton isn’t going to fight for her life. And in turn, her body is giving up on her.

Despite the horrible nature of the tactic I have in mind, I know it’d be the only way to stimulate Peyton’s desire to fight for her life. I quietly approach her bedside, kneeling down to whisper into her ear.

“Your father is waiting for you here Peyton. I can bring him to you. I can let you see him once more.”

Although Peyton is originally unconscious, I recognize that something stirs within her, her once lifeless face has a slight fluctuation, and I turn to see the slow but evident twitch of her fingers.