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Katrana watched with disinterest as the ocean waves lapped at the shoreline, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and freedom. Beyond the sea lied Northrend, home of the Lich King, a man that Katrana hated so intimately. They said that Northrend was merely an uninhabited wasteland, a desert of ice and snow so barren that it wasn’t even worth speaking of, but she remembered stories of people sailing to try and settle there. Had they been the first of the Cult of the Damned, or was there really something of worth in that miserable place?
She would walk its shores, one day. She would bear witness to it herself. She would know the truth, and hopefully, she would also get the chance to kill the Lich King upon his throne.
The sound of the sand shifting under weight perked her ears, and she turned her head ever so slightly towards it. It wasn’t enough movement for her to see who approached over her shoulder, but she didn’t need to see. “Are you resorting to following me, now?” she asked.
“Following you, my lady?” came the response. “I’m just ensuring your safety.”
“I can handle a few murlocs that come up to me.”
“You think that I’m referring to murlocs? My lady—” something was thrown in her direction, landing in the sand to the right of her. “I’d never insult your abilities like that.”
Katrana grimaced at the sight of an undead’s decaying head. They were disgusting and abhorrent creatures. She had half the mind to incinerate both it and her bothersome guest before she noticed stitching along one side of the face. “A forsaken scout,” she muttered under her breath.
“He seemed rather intent on taking your life,” Darion said as he approached her, standing at the other side of the rotted skull. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t let him.”
Katrana didn’t know quite what to make of Darion. He was one of the strangers that had joined the Scarlet Crusade—not known by anyone, he was perhaps a traveler, something that his strange accent reinforced, but he never told anyone from which kingdom he hailed. The most she had gotten out of him was a sly, and a touch arrogant, My home is the world. He said it like he thought it would’ve impressed her, but all Katrana did was roll her eyes at it.
He was good with a sword in his hands, but he had a problem with authority, and was somehow skirting by with little to no duties being done. It hardly felt that he was even in the Crusade, rather that he was just trying to observe what they were doing, even when that meant being deliberately in the way at times. In all honestly, it seemed that his only goal in life was to pester Katrana in one way or another. With eyes as dark as the earth deep below and a winning smile, he barely avoided coming off as annoying.
That winning smile was directed towards her now, and she raised an incredulous eyebrow in his direction. “He wouldn’t have attacked me,” Katrana said. “Their brains are rotted, but they’re not that foolish.”
“I have to disagree, my lady,” Darion said. “They’re getting bolder. I dare say that walking corpse knew who you were as well.”
“You had a conversation with him, now?”
Darion frowned ever so slightly. “Respectfully, if you think that they don’t know anything about the crusade, you’re not thinking. You’re the daughter of one of the crusade’s leaders, not to mention a powerful mage in your own right—of course they would want you, dead or otherwise.”
“And so you’re my protector now?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. “I didn’t ask for a chaperone.”
“I mean no insult to your ability to handle yourself, my lady,” he assured. “I am just one of many that would hate to see you hurt.” He pulled his sword from its sheathe and struck the rotting skull with great force, impaling the thing. He raised the head with his sword and said in a dark, serious voice, “Trust me, my lady, he suffered for his trespass, but not as much as I would’ve liked him to."
He had his uses, at least; Katrana had to grant him that. Having an undead skull waving in her face was undesirable, however, and with a wave of her hand, it ignited on Darion’s sword. Darion didn’t even blink at that. With a deliberately careful flourish, the head went flying off the sword, landing several feet from them into the sand. “You find what you were looking for out here?” Darion asked as they watched the burning head.
“I was looking for some peace.”
Darion turned and gave her a lopsided grin. “You can’t blame me for not finding that.”
The stench of burning, rotted meat began to offend the air. “Perhaps not,” she softly conceded.
“Did you find your answers?” Darion prompted, this time being more specific.
“I didn’t come here for answers,” Katrana said. “I’m thinking of what’s in Northrend.”
“The Lich King?”
“Everything,” she answered. “I hardly know anything of it.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Darion said.
Katrana looked to him. “Have you been?”
Darion just gave her his infuriating grin in return and continued, “There’s beautiful mountains that scrape against the sky, taller than anything in the Eastern Kingdoms, even in Khaz Modan. There’s some barren tundras, yes, but there’s also a large, breathtaking forest.”
“And rampaging undead,” she added.
That had Darion’s mood dampening. “They say that the Lich King slumbers now, and that his minions are busy constructing a spiraling citadel around him. I bet it’s a damned eyesore.”
Katrana let out a laughing scoff, half at Darion’s tone at his last sentence, half at the image his words evoked. “Mindless corpses shambling about, hauling rock from quarries to make a castle?”
“Gargoyles fly the ore they mine and deliver it to a large undead monster, twenty feet tall, who smiths them,” he mumbled under his breath.
Again, Katrana looked to him. “Where did you get this information?”
“Aren’t you glad to have me?” he asked instead.
“I’d be glad to have straight answers from you.”
The soft look Darion fixed her with surprised Katrana. “Perhaps one day,” he murmured to her. She stared at him, wishing she had an inquisitor’s skills to divine the thoughts and emotions of the evasive or their steel to demand the truth. Perhaps realizing his open emotion, he looked away and continued, “You know, in the center of Northrend, there is a crystalline forest. I think you’d quite like it.”
Now, Katrana just rolled her eyes. “You think me the type of woman to be enchanted by overgrown rocks?”
“You don’t understand,” Darion said, sounding a bit offended. “When I say crystalline forest, I don’t mean a forest of large, protruding crystals. I mean trees of crystal. It’s a—” he faltered, trying to find the right words. “It’s a miracle of the Light. They gleam in the cold sunlight, and when the wind blows, the leaves don’t rustle, they sing.”
“You’re making things up now,” Katrana said.
“Are you denying a miracle of the Light now, Lady Prestor?” Darion asked, his tone teasing.
“I’m denying your tall tales.”
“I can make them taller if you wish.” Yet again, Katrana rolled her eyes, and Darion, for some strange reason, took that as an invitation. “I hear dragons live there. Blue ones, their scales reflecting the sunlight like snow does.”
Taller indeed. “If that’s true, why don’t they do something about the undead?”
Darion shrugged. “They were made desolate some years back. Or so I heard. Their leader was driven mad, and lives in seclusion. Perhaps some of the few that survived are trying to limit their numbers, but who knows?”
“The orcs only had a few dragons, and they decimated in the war.”
“Oh, yes, the reds,” Darion said, his typical smile taking on a more vile shade. “They say that they represent and protect life. Then their useless queen gets enslaved by the orcs, and then they all were used as glorified mounts. Now that they are granted freedom once again—and by mortal hands, how I heard—they don’t even bother to actually protect life when the undead rage.” Katrana didn’t need to be an inquisitor to hear the contempt in his voice.
“They’re a bunch of overgrown lizards,” Katrana replied. “Expecting them to do anything of use is ridiculous.”
“Dragons have the intelligence of mortals and the wisdom matching their years alive,” Darion said. “Some of them despise the undead just as much as us, I bet.”
Katrana gestured broadly around them. “Well, if they do, they are more than welcome to come and rain fire upon Lordaeron.”
Darion gave her an open smile at that. “I’m sure if asked by a lady such as yourself, any self-respecting dragon would turn the Scourge to ash without hesitation.”
“If only they showed their cowardly tails.” Katrana turned away from Darion and the beach, beginning to make her way back up to the monastery that sat far above them on the overlook.
Darion was quick to start after her. She could feel the presence of whatever weighed on his tongue, but he said nothing, their silence almost companionable as they walked. It was annoying how much he bothered her, and yet, how much his presence brought a strange sense of comfort and solidity.
“Where have you been?” her father barked at her as soon as she crossed into the monastery. He was standing in the entry hall, arms crossed, expression dripping with annoyance and a hint of contempt.
“I wanted some air,” Katrana said, unfaltering under her father’s scowling face.
“Please tell me you aren’t actually that foolish, child,” Daval said. “Going out alone, without letting anyone know where you went? How many undead would it take to kill you? And none of us would’ve been the wiser.”
Before Katrana could offer a reply, Darion had cut in, saying, “With respect, my lord, the lady wasn’t alone, and she is quite capable in her own right.”
Both Katrana and Daval shot Darion a withering glare, silently commanding him to hold his tongue. Darion paid no mind to Katrana, keeping his gaze level on Daval. “This doesn’t concern you. Do not speak unless spoken too,” her father said, and Katrana saw the corner of Darion’s mouth twitch, likely a scowl suppressed. Turning his attention back to Katrana, he said, “You can’t be wandering like a child. You’re too important for nonsense such as that.”
There was no hint of parental care in her father’s tone. With the death of the royal family, Lord Daval Prestor was poised to take the throne once Lordaeron had been reclaimed, and that would make Katrana a princess. One thing that she had learned from her father’s engagement to Calia Menethil was that princesses were valuable political assets, and her running off meant threatening an important piece her father was waiting to play.
It wasn’t that she disliked her father for using her as a bargaining chip—honestly, she didn’t mind the arrangement. The thought of being the most important woman in a kingdom and getting the respect she deserved was one she liked. She didn’t even mind the fact that the marriage would be arranged, and that she might have to bed with someone she didn’t care for. It was a small price to pay, and besides, she did want children one day. Furthermore, the options of who she would be married to were quite limited; her father would settle for nothing beneath her station, which meant that she’d likely find herself married to Tandred Proudmoore or Galen Trollbane, both of which were close to her in age. If the reclamation dragged on, then she might be engaged to Greymane’s son, Liam, or even that young Anduin Wrynn, still but a child now. A younger man might even do her some good—they were likely easier for her to control.
No, it wasn’t that she knew her fate, but it was that she couldn’t do as she wished in the meantime. She wasn’t even doing something ridiculous—a simple walk outside was the mildest of requests she could even think of, undead outside or otherwise. “I’m an adult, father,” she said. “I can do as I wish.”
“You can do as you wish,” Daval echoed in such a sarcastic tone that it almost wrapped fully around into a delighted one. “Well, if that’s the case, then what’s even the use of fighting the Scourge? You can just prance about Tirisfal all you like, and the dead will never be able to bother you, because you’re an adult.”
“You never treat Victor like this.”
“That’s because Victor uses the thing between one’s ears called a brain. You, however, seem unable to do the same.”
From the corner of her eye, Katrana saw Darion look over her way. When she glanced to him, she saw something odd in those eyes, and it was like he was asking permission for something. Katrana couldn’t fathom for what, other than to perhaps jump to her defense again, and that was currently the last thing she wanted. She gave him another warning look, just to make sure he didn’t do something stupid. It was best to leave no room for misunderstanding when it came to men.
“If you do this again,” her father continued, “I will have you locked in your room, and you can stay in there until the world ends.”
“I was still in sight of the monastery,” Katrana protested. “I’m certain those on guard on the perimeter saw me and could do so the entire time I was gone.”
“I don’t care if people on watch saw you leave, or if your dog was with you, or any other excuse you have. Unless you’ve been assigned to, you’re not to leave the monastery. Am I understood?”
Katrana bristled, mostly at the comment about the dog. She hadn’t even wanted Darion there. He would just follow her around sometimes, heedless of if she wished for his presence or not. Just because he was at her heels like a lost puppy at times did not mean that he was her’s. Swallowing her pride, she said, “Yes, father.”
His rule was law here, there would be no going around his orders without severe punishment. With a withering glance directed Darion’s way, her father turned and left, going back into the depths of the monastery. “I don’t care for your father,” Darion muttered once he was well out of earshot, which was about the boldest thing he had ever done—quite the feat, considering who he was.
“I don’t care for you,” Katrana snapped peevishly. “You hover worse than a smothering mother. If you bother me again, I will incinerate you.”
Darion recoiled as if struck, his expression reminiscent of a kicked puppy. Katrana held him with the sharp blade of her glare, unwavering as he looked at her with distraught, hurt, and pleading eyes. He broke first, however, and with the bow of his head, he replied, “If that is what you wish, my lady.” Without another word, he left her, turning around and heading back outside. Katrana turned away, too frustrated with the man to watch him go, and began the path to her room.
She didn’t make it far, her eyes finding Victor, standing in the shadows of the candlelit hall. He had likely seen the whole thing, and the thought added to her irritation. He pushed off from where he was leaning against the wall and came to join her, with Katrana stopping to see what he wanted.
Katrana and Victor were twins, though one couldn’t tell that with a brief glance. Victor’s skin was much darker than her own, matching their grandmother rather than either parent. It marked him as an odd duck, but he always held himself well in the face of what some said about him. When they were children, Katrana had never doubted that Victor was her blood. They had the same eyes, the same nose, the same dark hair, and the same irritated scowl.
Victor was wearing his now. “Where did you run off to?” he asked, looking back to where their father had disappeared farther into the monastery.
“I was at the shoreline,” she said. “Hardly running off, but from how Father put it, you’d think I had been traipsing through Capital City.” Victor’s scowl deepened, but she had the distinct feeling that it wasn’t directed at her. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Hm?” Victor looked to her now, narrowing his eyes. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”
He had been more evasive lately, but he had always been evasive, it being a grueling task to maneuver even the simplest information from him. It was like poking a raccoon, and right now, Katrana did not care to get bit. “Fine,” she said. “I’m going to go burn something.”
To Katrana’s surprise, Darion actually did make himself scarce, and she didn’t so much as bump into him in the halls; miracle of miracles, he could follow instruction. Likely though, he was pouting in some corner of the monastery. Perhaps he even went to sulk at Hearthglen. Either way, he was out of her hair. She just wished that she didn’t feel his absence as keenly as she did. As much as he was a bother, he was also the only person who even feigned care for Katrana, and in her prison that was the monastery and her father’s strict rules, not having someone to speak with felt like a burden.
What was she to do about it now?
Thankfully, Lord Dathrohan was of the belief that people needed to work for their food, and there was only so long an accomplished mage like herself could do indoor chores before he grew annoyed. “You’re going on a patrol,” he told her one day.
Katrana folded her hands before her. “My father—”
“Will tolerate you doing some actual work for once,” Lord Dathrohan interrupted. She didn’t like being interrupted, especially by a man, but had the sense to bite her tongue about it. She gathered her orders and joined the armigers and two paladins she would be accompanying. Honestly, it was an insult to put her on a duty such as this, one that her father would not be suffering quietly. She was one of the strongest mages the Scarlet Crusade had, and yet, she was wasting her time taking a scenic trek through rotting woods.
It was unfortunate circumstance that the patrol had been ambushed, and even more unfortunate that, despite her efforts, she watched all of the incompetents she had been saddled with die to forsaken blades. The only thing that was salvageable from this was the fact that they had decided to take her prisoner, and, with blades at her throat, she was marched into one of the forsaken’s watch towers. As soon as she reached the immediate vicinity of the tower, she felt the affects of a magic suppression field, and she knew that even surviving this long would mean little.
Whatever they intend to use me for, it won’t be pleasant, she thought to herself with a grimace.
The forsaken shoved her in a cage that was too short for her to properly stand in at the top level of the tower and left her to her own devices. Without magic, she was largely useless, and so she sat and waited for her fate to reach its course.
I was supposed to be a queen, she thought, highly annoyed.
Several hours past before there were sounds of fighting, down far below her. She let out a breath of relief—of course her father would have her tracked down as soon as her patrol hadn’t returned on time. She waited, watching the stairs for the sight of him, or perhaps Victor—both would want to know immediately of her safety, and both would say some awful things to her for letting herself get in such a situation. She debated which one she didn’t want to see first when a familiar face finally bounded up the stairs.
“Darion?” Katrana asked, surprised.
The man didn’t respond, instead putting a hand to the lock of her cage. Beneath his gauntleted palm, the metal shifted color, going from a dingy gray to a glowing orange. He pulled his hand away only to smack the lock with the back of his hand, batting it away like it was an icicle hanging over a stoop rather than superheated metal. The lock caved under Darion’s hand, and he threw the door open. “We need to leave,” he said, finally acknowledging her. His eyes had an intensity to them that she had never seen before.
“Since when can you do magic?” she asked him. “And under this suppression field?”
For the first time since meeting him, Darion looked peeved at her. “Do you want to sit here and interrogate me, or do you want to get out of here?”
He had a point. She rose to her feet, knees aching in complaint. “How many are with you?”
“None,” Darion answered simply.
“None?” she parroted back.
“Dathrohan wrote you off as dead.”
Katrana was stunned by that, but this was hardly the time to digest that. “How many forsaken are still guarding the tower?” she asked as Darion waited for her at the top of the stairs.
“Hopefully, none.”
“What, you expect me to believe that you killed an entire tower of undead soldiers?”
“I don’t expect you to believe anything,” Darion said. “However, I would like it if we could leave.”
Decapitated and incinerated corpses lay strewn about the tower as they descended the steps, certainly lending credence to Darion’s words. How he managed this, all alone, she had no clue. She was still reeling from him using fire magic on the cell. Since when could he do that? She would think that he would’ve brought it up at some point with how much he loved to try and strike up conversation. That shared commonality should’ve been seen as a goldmine to him.
They reached the bottom of the tower with no less than a dozen and a half Forsaken corpses passed and fled out into the sunlight. Freedom tasted sweet for all of four seconds, then reality set in, and Darion and Katrana both came skidding to a halt when they saw the no less than thirty forsaken gathered around, armed to the teeth. “Damn,” Darion muttered under his breath. “I must have missed one.”
“We’re not making it out of here,” Katrana said. The numbers were simply too overwhelming. “If you can use magic, then you should probably burn us both alive so we aren’t raised.”
Darion scoffed and sheathed his sword. “Stay close to the tower.”
It seemed as if Darion had a plan, so Katrana trusted him, staying in place while Darion took brazen steps towards the gathered Forsaken, who all hesitated, likely waiting to see if he’d turn himself over to their mercy. With him unarmed now, it was a probable bet for them. Katrana couldn’t imagine him doing that. One of the forsaken yelled something out, their rotted tongue unintelligible to Katrana at this distance.
In a flurry of fire and ash, Darion’s body was consumed, and like a phoenix, he was reborn into something behemoth. She couldn’t believe her eyes as a creature of immense size took his place; four legged, black scales that shone an earthy brown where they caught the sun, curved and sweeping horns, a long and lashing clubbed tail, and massive wings that could blot out the sun. Katrana may have been amused by the sight of the Forsaken realizing that they had gotten more trouble than they bargained for if she hadn’t been utterly stunned by the sight herself.
Dragon.
The creature unleashed a breath of flame, incinerating all the Forsaken in front of him that hadn’t the sense to flee. All those not caught by the flames immediately turned tail, running as fast and as far as they could. After batting and crushing the few that foolishly believed they could take on such a creature, it turned to face Katrana, who had herself foolishly just sat there, gaping at the beast. With one massive forepaw, it swiped her up and took to the sky.
She didn’t know exactly how she got in this predicament, and that annoyed her incredibly, though the emotion was distant at the moment. It was hard to feel anything other than complete and utter fear as she was flown through the air. She struggled for a plan to get out of this, but nothing came. As the suppression field within the tower became nothing more than a distant memory, she considered summoning all her might and blasting what held her, but if the damned thing actually let her go, she’d plummet. For the time being, she had to be content in the hands of her captor.
It was at least being gentle with her.
Light above, she was going to die by a dragon, just like her mother did.
Light above, Darion ’s a dragon!
The thought struck her with the force of a collapsing building. That was the only explanation for what she saw, other than that some black dragon had impersonated him just to… what? Save her? Why? The Darion she knew would run out here alone to save her, dragon or not. She thought of her last conversation with him, where he spoke of Northrend and dragons, and thought of every other conversation she had with him where he would not give a straight answer about where his knowledge came from.
“I’m sure if asked by a lady such as yourself, any self-respecting dragon would turn the Scourge to ash without hesitation,”Darion had said, his smile an adoring one.
“If only they showed their cowardly tails,” Katrana had responded, growing annoyed.
She was going to die, and she will have egged on her own death.
The dragon slowed, and Katrana’s heart leapt into her throat. If she was going to die, she would die fighting, even if it would be laughable. Slowly, the dragon landed, and she was relinquished onto solid ground, which gave Katrana the chance to take off running. It took a moment for her to realize that she was running into a cave, Light knew where, and she was forced to spin on her heel and confront the dragon at the mouth of the cave. Her hands were filled with fire before she had even finished the moment.
“Don’t,” the dragon said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then why did you bring me here?” Katrana asked.
“Because descending upon the monastery like this might cause some panic.” Before her eyes, the dragon dissipated, that swirl of fire and ash showing up once more, and then Darion was before her, smart enough to stay where he was. None of this convinced Katrana to let go of her grasp on fire. “If I had wanted you dead, I would’ve just left you to the hands of the undead.”
“As if you might not have ulterior motives,” Katrana said. “You’re a dragon that’s just been hanging around, especially hovering around me, after all. Perhaps you wanted me for some purpose, and you were just waiting for the opportunity to take me.”
“If I wanted to take you, do you think anyone would’ve been able to stop me?” Darion asked. It was a question with only a mild amount of arrogance to it, but it was buried far beneath something genuine in his tone. He still didn’t cross towards her. Was he afraid of her? Could she kill him like this? Surely it wasn’t that easy, and besides, he had slaughtered a whole guard tower full of forsaken like this.
“Then why did you save me?”
“Because I—” Darion stopped himself. “I couldn’t stand aside and do nothing like everyone else was.”
“That’s not the reason,” Katrana said.
“It is,” Darion insisted.
“It’s not.” Katrana let the blaze in her hands grow. “Don’t lie to me, or I’ll blow this place—”
“I saved you because I like you,” Darion interrupted.
Katrana nearly let go of the flames. Not out of shock, her held spell harmlessly dissipating, but because it was such a stupid attempt that she should’ve blasted him for it. She sneered at him. “You honestly—” and she stopped. Because he was being serious. She could see it in his bearing, in his expression, the way he digested her initial reaction to his admission.
He did seem like the type of fool to rush a tower full of enemies out of some romantic notion of saving a damsel in distress.
Darion turned away from her, and Katrana let the fire fizzle out. She didn’t know what to say to that. A dragon was… infatuated with her? She had heard stories of dragons, but she had thought that them being intelligent creatures was in the same way that hunting dogs were intelligent, despite Darion’s stories about them. Orcs rode the beasts like mounts during the Second War—she couldn’t fathom such great beasts with an intellect greater than an orc helping them. Had Darion said they’ve been enslaved? It was neither here nor there at this moment. Darion had spoken as if those dragons were distinct from him, and from the color of his scales, he was likely speaking some truth.
In a move of questionable sense, Katrana crossed the cave back towards Darion. For the first time, she got a look of their surroundings as she reached the mouth of the cave, and noticed that they were high up, nestle within the mountains to the west of the monastery. “We’re pretty high up,” she said. “Is this your den?”
Darion shrugged. “I made it for if I needed it.”
“Quite the view,” she offered.
“I suppose you don’t often see things from up here.”
She shook her head, and they lapsed in an awkward silence. It was a good view, but Tirisfal nowadays was not worth looking at for the beauty. She loathed it here, always had. She rather be in Alterac, but that had all been ripped away from her, and she was stuck fighting against an unending army. The homesickness struck her violently, lodging in her throat and making it hard to breathe. She didn’t deserve this fate. She should be in a castle, ruling. It was her birthright.
“You know,” Katrana started once she had managed to push most of her melancholy aside. “I always heard stories of a knight saving the damsel from a dragon, never a dragon saving a damsel.”
“Dragons don’t kidnap women,” Darion said, his words sounding dejected as he seemed to miss her attempt to try and alleviate the awkwardness.
Katrana made a show of looking around. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’ll take you back to the monastery.”
“I’m not done enjoying the view.”
Darion looked to her for the first time since she joined him. “I’m sure you don’t wish to suffer my presence any longer than necessary.”
“I’ve been suffering your presence for far longer than today,” Katrana said. “Darion, you linger past sense, you insist on being near me at all times, even when I’m clearly seeking solitude, and you’re seemingly incapable of taking a hint.” She crossed her arms. “But you did save me today, and you are a decent conversationalist, and someone who has me question things I haven’t before. That’s more than anyone else is doing for me.”
Darion’s face twisted at her words. “I’m sure you hate that, that the only one who bothers in your life is a dragon.”
“Would you stop acting like a child?” she snapped. “Take the compliment.”
“That was supposed to be a compliment?” Darion asked. Despite his words, his eyes did lighten as he looked at Katrana, if only briefly.
“Why are you helping the crusade?” she asked.
Darion looked away, back out at Tirisfal. “My father,” he started, hesitating for a moment. “He’s terrified of the power of the Lich King, worried about what that power could do to dragons. I’ve taken it upon myself to ensure his defeat.” Darion gestured out to the land before them. “I came here, to the birthplace of the Scourge, to see if any solutions were being made by the survivors, or if I could find something of use among the desolation. And then I… well, I saw the Scarlet Crusade, and I met you.
“Forgive me, I’m… I’m likely making a fool of myself here, but I— you—“ Darion struggled for a moment. “I’ve never met a mortal like you. You’re intelligent, you’re cunning, you’re powerful, you have a bright fire within you, and you’re…” Darion turned to look at her. “You’re beautiful.”
Katrana searched for a proper response, Darion withering before her as he realized that his affection wasn’t reciprocated. “This is a lot to take in at once,” Katrana told him. “I mean, I was just captured, assumed I’d be killed and raised, was saved by you, found out that you were a dragon, and then found out that you’re harboring feelings for me.”
“I understand,” Darion said with a nod.
“And… you need to know, I have a responsibility to my own father,” Katrana continued. “He’s to be king once Lordaeron is to be reclaimed, and I will have my marriage arranged in order to strengthen relations with another kingdom.”
“He’ll assign you a mate?” Darion asked. “How is that fair?”
“It’s not about fairness, it’s about duty.” Darion pulled a face, and before he could say anything, Katrana continued, “I’m not arguing this with you. I just want to make it clear that I have a duty and I will fulfill it.”
“He’s not king now,” Darion observed.
“No,” Katrana agreed. Darion looked at her with big, hopeful eyes, and she ignored that. She needed to sleep on all of this. Perhaps several times over. “What was it you said about Dathrohan?”
Darion took the hint. “He declared you dead.”
“Well, shall we return to bring him the news?”
Darion smiled at her. “Shall I carry you, or would you rather ride me?”
Katrana began to channel a teleportation spell. “Don’t push it,” she told him.
The monastery was chaos when they arrived, though it wasn’t because of them. “What’s happening?” she asked Darion, watching as crusaders quickly made their way down the hall.
“I was with you,” he reminded, eyeing everyone with suspicion.
“This wasn’t happening before you left?”
“No.”
Well, there was one easy way to find out. Katrana stomped her way after everyone, her head raised high as an indignance grew in her. Lord Dathrohan declared her dead? He had some nerve—didn’t he know who she was? She was a Prestor. How dare he write her off. She shoved the door open into the large council room, gathering the attention of everyone that stood around the table—Tyrosus, Abbendis, Trueheart, her bother, Dathrohan, as well as a few other, but her attention was focused on Dathrohan as soon as she laid eyes on him. He looked back at her, briefly surprised but quickly suppressed.
“Katrana,” Victor said. “You’re alive.”
“Of course I am,” she replied, keenly aware of Darion beside her. He had the good sense to give her a proper amount of space. “Is all the drama happening on my account?”
“Katrana,” Victor repeated, his expression placid, “father’s dead.”