Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 33

Chapter 33: The Wind of Kul Tiras

BOOM—!

A blinding blue light tore through the Kul Tiran palace dome, arcane energy pouring down like a tide, shattering the intricately carved naval emblems. The marble floor cracked under magical impact, small stones raining down like hail in all directions.

"Enemy attack! Protect the Lord Admiral—"

A guard's roar instantly echoed through the hall. Dozens of uniformed guards reacted on pure instinct, forming defensive ranks, spears leveled at the still-twisting portal. They moved with lightning speed, spear tips gleaming coldly in the chandelier light.

Jaina Proudmoore was first to step from the portal, golden hair crackling with residual static, her robe hem still trailing arcane sparks. The sharp scent of ozone and sea air swept through the hall, making front-row guards squint against the sudden rush of wind.

"Lower your weapons! It's the Princess!" An elderly guard recognized Jaina, hastily lowering his spear. Yet his companions maintained vigilance, for the next figure emerging from the portal was an ordinary-looking man in travel-stained clothes.

"Uh... hi?" Deren Lawson raised both hands with a nervous dry laugh.

"I said lower your weapons!" Jaina shouted with stern authority, a frost nova exploding with her at the center, freezing the guards' spears to the ground. Her voice carried unquestionable command—presence forged through years of leadership in Theramore.

At that tense moment, the portal fluctuated again with dark energy. An elegant figure gracefully emerged like death incarnate. Onyxia's black dress hem swept past those frozen weapons—steel spearheads corroded to rust upon touching her skirt edge, becoming piles of reddish-brown powder that scattered across the marble.

"Is this Kul Tiran hospitality?" The Black Dragon Princess raised an eyebrow, golden vertical pupils sweeping the scene with predatory focus. Her voice was soft as silk, yet it made everyone's blood run cold.

Guards involuntarily retreated half a step. The captain's face turned ashen, his hand already on the signal flare at his waist.

"Jaina?!"

A thunderous roar came from the throne's direction. Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore shot up from his seat, white beard trembling with fury, gold tassels on his admiral's uniform violently swaying. Lady Katherine followed, covering her chest, blue eyes filled with shock and maternal worry. Standing beside them, Derek Proudmoore reflexively reached for his waist sword—though his injured leg made the motion slower than usual.

"Father, Mother, the situation is urgent." Jaina stepped forward quickly, robe hem still bearing faint arcane sparks. Though her voice was steady, Deren could hear the hidden exhaustion within.

The Admiral's gaze swept between his daughter and Deren, finally settling on the man with eyes like he was viewing a street thug corrupting his precious child.

"You again." The Admiral's voice was like muffled thunder before storms. "What do you want this time? Warships? Cannons? Or my Kul Tiran crown?"

"It's not like that!" Jaina tried explaining desperately. Her mother pressed her shoulder gently, signaling patience, and both women withdrew from the room with meaningful glances.

Deren wiped nervous sweat from his nose. "Uh... actually, just need eighteen elite sailors? Preferably those legendary guards around you..."

The palace instantly quieted enough to hear a pin drop.

The guard captain's face turned liver-colored—the guard the stranger mentioned was Daelin's most elite personal bodyguard, Kul Tiras's legendary combat force. Constantly wearing golden armor, each worth a dozen ordinary soldiers!

"You know how to pick targets." Daelin laughed in fury, descending throne steps with deliberate slowness. Each step made Deren feel the ground shake. "Why should I part with them?"

Deren took a deep breath, suddenly turning to drag over Chromie, who'd teleported in and was stealing palace fruit. The bronze dragon-as-gnome still had half a grape in her mouth. This sudden pull sent the fruit platter clattering to the floor.

"Hey! My fruit!" Chromie protested indignantly, but Deren had already opened her pocket watch cover.

"Time Replay—Activate!"

The watch projected a holographic image: Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza standing in her sanctuary, smiling warmly as Chromie petted whelps with maternal affection.

Deren said nothing, only meaningfully looking at Daelin, then deliberately shifting his gaze to Derek's hideous scar dominating his left face—wounded by Dragonmaw clan-commanded red dragon flames in the Second War, never fully healed over the years.

The Admiral's fist clenched and then released. He glanced at his son's permanent facial scar, then at Deren's determined eyes, finally squeezing one word through gritted teeth: "Fine."

Meanwhile, behind the palace side hall's pearl curtain, Lady Katherine cupped Jaina's face with both hands, examining carefully. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting mottled rainbow shadows on them.

"You've lost weight." Katherine said softly, fingers brushing the dark circles under her daughter's eyes with concern. "How long has it been since you've had proper rest?"

Jaina smiled weakly. "Recently busy with many matters, Mother. Horde relations, black dragon negotiations, goblin trade deals, plus Dalaran correspondence—I'm constantly—"

"That man called Deren... he's very special to you?" Katherine suddenly interrupted, her voice carrying gentle but insistent probing. Her blue eyes gleamed with maternal intuition.

Jaina's ear tips instantly reddened. "Mother! We're just allies—"

"Allies? Just allies?" Katherine's fingertip lightly tapped her daughter's brow where a nearly invisible worry line had formed. "The kind that makes your eyes shine when mentioning him?"

Jaina opened her mouth, momentarily speechless. She remembered Deren helping her face her father's confrontational visits, remembered him inadvertently causing the Dustwallow Marsh explosion, remembered him helping ease conflicts with the Horde, and remembered countless small moments of unexpected support.

"He is indeed... different from others." Jaina finally admitted quietly, fingers unconsciously twisting her robe edge. "But matters are complicated, Mother. Between us there's—"

Her words stopped abruptly, glimpsing Onyxia's grim face outside the curtain—the Black Dragon Princess somehow stood there silently, golden vertical pupils glowing dangerously in shadows. Her nails had already grown into claws, leaving five deep scratches on the doorframe.

Katherine followed her daughter's gaze, brow slightly furrowing. "That lady is...?"

"Onyxia," Jaina quickly adjusted her expression, "Black Dragon Princess, a... powerful ally and business partner."

"Really?" Katherine's voice carried motherly doubt. "She doesn't look at you like an ally. More like a rival."

Jaina sighed deeply, her voice growing smaller. "It's not what you think..."

Outside the curtain, Onyxia snorted coldly with barely controlled fury, turning away sharply. Her high heels tapped dangerous rhythms on the marble floor that echoed through the hall.

Back in the palace hall, Daelin scrutinized Deren with calculating, assessing eyes. The Admiral paced before Deren, hands clasped behind his back, like a lion circling trapped prey.

"That elite guard is my most trusted unit," Daelin finally spoke, voice dangerously low. "Each man took years to train to that level. Do you understand their value?"

Deren nodded with utmost seriousness. "I understand their value completely, Lord Admiral. But we need them against extremely dangerous enemies. I guarantee minimizing casualties—I only need them to hold defensive positions briefly, ensuring civilian evacuation when necessary."

"So you barge into the palace with my daughter?" Daelin suddenly raised his voice accusingly. "Like pirates breaching the throne room? Do you know what this does to her reputation? To the dignity of this court?"

Deren smiled bitterly internally. Clearly Jaina had proposed direct teleportation—she was always like this, decisive and direct once determined. Yet in Daelin's eyes, outsiders always corrupted his precious daughter. Understandable, though—what father would admit his child was naturally a decisive "troublemaker"?

"The situation is genuinely urgent, Lord Admiral." Deren chose not to argue defensively. "Fine, we shouldn't hide the truth. We're organizing an evacuation at Silvermoon City. The high elves can't hold their defensive positions. The undead Scourge is about to break through and massacre civilians."

"Where did you acquire this intelligence?" Daelin demanded sharply.

"Prince Kael'thas personally came to Theramore begging for immediate help." Deren replied with cold honesty. "Otherwise, with high elf pride and temperament, how could they possibly humble themselves to ask for aid?"

Daelin stared at sea charts on the wall for long moments, suddenly looking up. "I can lend you the elite guard, but with strict conditions."

Deren sighed with relief. "Name them."

"First, they're my personal guard and my subjects—ensure their safety above all else." Daelin held up one finger. "Second, the guard only fights undead, with no involvement in other political disputes. Third—" He paused, eyes sharp as blades. "If any guardsman dies, you personally explain to me exactly why and how it happened."

Deren nodded solemnly. "I swear on my honor." Which I mostly made up anyway, but still.

Daelin grunted approval, turning to order the guard captain. "Assemble the elite guard with full combat arms and provisions."

When Deren and Daelin reached their agreement, Jaina and Katherine returned from the side hall. Lady Katherine's penetrating gaze immediately locked onto Deren, that probing maternal stare making him feel uncomfortably exposed.

"Settled?" Jaina asked, walking naturally to Deren's side.

Deren nodded, about to answer when he felt a sharp gaze stabbing his back. Turning, he met Katherine's thoughtful, calculating look. That gaze mixed curiosity, assessment, and something he dared not contemplate.

"Deren Lawson, that's your name, correct?" Katherine gracefully approached. "Jaina told me you're a... remarkably accomplished agricultural advisor?"

Deren smiled nervously. "Uh, you're too kind, Lady Katherine. I originally just farmed in Westfall outside Stormwind. Later I gained Princess Onyxia's recognition, enabling my service to her."

"Gaining draconic recognition is no small feat for a mortal." Katherine smiled graciously, yet her gaze swept meaningfully between her daughter and Deren. "I'm curious—a farmer, yet knowing so much about politics and warfare?"

Deren felt Jaina lightly pinch his back in warning. He coughed awkwardly. "Well, it's a long story—"

"We should depart immediately." Onyxia suddenly interrupted, voice cold as a blade. The Black Dragon Princess had somehow already materialized on Deren's other side, slender fingers resting possessively on his shoulder, nails dangerously elongating. "Your elite guard has assembled at the palace square awaiting orders."

Deren felt temperatures on both sides simultaneously drop several degrees. Left was Katherine's meaningful, knowing smile; right was Onyxia's nearly tangible killing intent, while Jaina's breathing behind him clearly quickened with tension.

"Aha... yes, time is critically short." Deren laughed nervously, retreating a strategic step, skillfully escaping the encirclement of powerful women. "We really should return to Theramore."

Daelin watched this scene with growing amusement, suddenly laughing heartily. "Seems your troubles are far greater than merely borrowing troops, young Deren."

Deren could only respond with a bitter, helpless smile.

"Let's go, Deren." The Black Dragon Princess whispered dangerously in his ear, her voice sweet as poison. "We have much... to discuss privately."

Deren swallowed nervously, bowed respectfully to the Proudmoore family, then almost fled toward the door with undignified haste. He could feel three different gazes burning into his back—Katherine's maternal inquiry, Jaina's complex emotions, and Onyxia's possessive jealousy.

This was absolutely the most dangerous romantic predicament he'd ever experienced in his entire life.