Every soul aboard Jaina's flagship surged forward unconsciously, drawn to the ship's railings by an irresistible magnetism. Fresh-faced recruits who'd boarded with hearts full of glory, battle-scarred veterans who'd stared death in the face countless tis, even Jaina's elite Battle-Mages who faced the Scourge with suicidal determination—all stood transfixed by the sight of absolute power made flesh.
Jaina's eyes locked onto that achingly familiar silhouette.
Is this still the Duke I once knew?
Her heart hamred against her ribs with such violence she feared it might burst from her chest entirely. Her breathing had beco ragged without her notice, each inhalation sharp and desperate.
At the ship's prow, absolute silence reigned. Every gaze was magnetized by Duke standing sentinel on his crystalline dock, a beacon of power that made looking away physically impossible.
This wasn't re awe—this was sothing primal, magnetic, utterly inescapable.
The Alliance had never held formal rankings of strength. No tournants to crown champions, no official hierarchies of power.
But everyone knew. Everyone whispered. Everyone speculated about who truly stood at the apex.
After Quel'Thalas abandoned the Alliance, that crown had fallen naturally to Antonidas. But the old master was exactly that—OLD. Ancient. Decrepit.
His wizened face and bent fra couldn't inspire armies or set hearts racing. People respected power, but they craved beautiful power, young power, power that made them dream of impossibilities.
Ten years had passed without leaving so much as a line on Duke's face. Alexstrasza's blessing had frozen him at eighteen—all the vigor of youth wrapped in the commanding presence of a seasoned warrior. He possessed the devastating combination of boyish energy and mature confidence, topped with the blazing aura of being the strongest man alive.
Duke had accidentally beco the perfect storm of masculine appeal.
Sure, prettier faces existed. But when the world caught fire, those pampered beauties died first. After becoming undead, their perfect features rotted into moldy nightmares.
Only Duke remained. Only Duke endured. Only Duke mattered.
A revelation struck Jaina with the force of a lightning bolt.
Duke!
Only Duke!
Only Duke could offer salvation to thousands with a single command! Only Duke could rescue hundreds of thousands of refugees with a snap of his fingers! Only Duke could peer into the void and glimpse Azeroth's future!
He was everything her heart had ever truly desired.
Jaina suddenly pressed three fingers to her forehead and laughed—a sound caught between hysteria and relief. "Becoming the most powerful Archmage so I could establish my own magical school? HAH! HAHAHA! Aegwynn, I am the greatest fool who ever drew breath!"
"Hmm?" Aegwynn, disguised as a high elf advisor, tilted her head with predatory curiosity.
"I wasted the most precious decade of a woman's life trying to escape Duke's shadow. And all along, the thing I wanted most desperately WAS Duke! Tell I'm not the biggest idiot in Azeroth's history."
"Whew!" Aegwynn whistled with wicked amusent. "If you can't defeat the strongest, then seduce the strongest. Now THAT'S intelligent strategy."
"You approve?" Jaina seed genuinely shocked. In her mory, Aegwynn and Duke had maintained frigid relations ever since Duke claid divh's Karazhan, leaving the resurrected Guardian holess and bitter.
Aegwynn's eyes glittered with malicious delight. "When did I ever disapprove? I advised you to distance yourself from Duke because I wasn't certain of his feelings, and staying near him while harboring uncertainty would have destroyed you. But now—do you honestly believe this is love at first sight?"
"Love at first sight? Never! I'm not so simpering maiden. I've never truly rejected Duke since I was thirteen. I only kept my distance because I sensed hostility from him, and I refused to place my future in the hands of soone who might despise . But now? All those problems have evaporated."
"Oh?" Aegwynn's smile turned wickedly knowing. "What about Alleria, Vereesa, Ilucia, Calia, and all the rest? Are they no longer problems?"
Jaina whirled around, her expression blazing with fierce determination and dark promise. Her smile could have launched a thousand ships or started a dozen wars. "I am no innocent little girl. I never was, and I never will be. But I have my own thods. And I know Duke's greatest weakness—he absolutely cannot bear to reject genuine love."
Aegwynn's grin turned predatory. "Genuine? Can you manage genuine?"
"As long as our goals align, my devotion will be eternal! Besides, there's only one truly exceptional man in this world. We're all won here. Instead of fighting each other like feral cats, should we hide at ho weeping and hoping so perfect prince will rescue us?" Jaina's face radiated fierce joy and deadly purpose.
Seeing the ship approach the dock, she turned and descended from the bow. With a casual flick of her wrist, her concealing wizard robes underwent a spectacular transformation.
Gone was the shapeless sack that had hidden her magnificent figure. In its place appeared the fitted attire of a battle-sorceress—practical, deadly, and absolutely devastating.
Wing-shaped shoulder guards flanked her sides, while a gleaming silver breastplate cupped and displayed the arcane peaks that had driven two princes to madness in the original tiline. The armor was scandalously brief, revealing a toned midriff and—shockingly—the defined musculature of a warrior-mage. Who knew Jaina possessed the carved abs of a ranger?
Beneath her purple battle-skirt, pristine white leggings outlined every curve of her perfect legs with mathematical precision.
She looked ready for war. In truth, this heroic appearance was precisely calculated to capture Duke's heart and strangle it with desire.
When Duke witnessed Jaina descending from her ship via Levitation magic, floating down with the grace of a goddess claiming the mortal realm, his eyes went wide as dinner plates.
Jaina's gaze swept dismissively over the Lordaeron delegation behind Duke. Her attention lingered on Kael'thas for perhaps a tenth of a second—barely enough ti to register his existence. Then she smiled with the radiance of a thousand blooming flowers, executed a flawless curtsy, and spoke with crystal clarity:
"Battle-Mage Jaina Proudmoore reporting for duty, Lord Edmund Duke, Supre Commander of the Alliance!"
Her appearance was flawless. Her manners were impeccable. Most impressively, she had handled the delicate political situation with surgical precision, leaving no opening for criticism or scandal.
Technically, Jaina remained Duke's betrothed in na. Duke had actually prepared himself for tears, tantrums, or even suicide threats demanding recognition as his rightful fiancée.
Such tactics might have forced temporary concessions, but they would have earned his eternal resentnt.
Instead, she had completely abandoned her titles of princess and betrothed, presenting herself purely as a competent military asset. This unexpected professionalism actually improved Duke's opinion of her considerably.
Duke forced himself to look past the devastatingly heroic Jaina, his gaze deliberately unfocused, as if staring through her into so distant void instead of acknowledging the powerful and breathtaking sorceress before him.
"The world faces its greatest crisis in recorded history. The Alliance requires every capable warrior. Your support is... appreciated, Miss Jaina."
The formal distance in his voice was a knife wrapped in silk, but Jaina's smile never wavered. She had played her opening gambit perfectly.
The ga had begun.
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