Lady and King

Notes at the bottom folks.

--

Royal Quarters
Undercity
Horde Territory

Areiel looked up as the Banshee Queen emerged from her private rooms. The Human King must be especially endowed and skilled, the Dark Ranger thought as she watched the Lady Sylvanas stride purposely towards her, I have not seen such satisfaction in the Queen’s body since the last time she had decided to participate in one the Dark Rangers’ revelries, many, many years past.

And, if Areiel remembered correctly, it had taken four of her sisters to satisfy their Queen so, that time.

“Areiel,” Sylvanas greeted as she joined her on the dais.

“My Queen,” Areiel bowed and moved to let Sylvanas take her proper place.

“You have been absent for long periods of time these past few days, Lady,” the Kor’kron Captain growled, “what scheme are you plotting?”

The Queen raised an imperious brow at this rudeness. “I do not answer to you, Bragor. You overstep yourself.”

Bragor scowled. “The Royal Apothecary—“

“My business has nothing to do with the Society,” Sylvanas said. “If your delicate sensibilities are so disturbed, Captain, you are welcome to relay your worries to the Warchief.”

The Orc tensed, fist gripping his war axe. The air in the room froze as they waited for his reaction.

Then the Queen sighed, impatient, waving her hand to forestall whatever he was about to say. “Oh unruffle your feathers, Orc. I sense that this unusually combative demeanor of yours is a symptom of both frustration and boredom. It has been too long since you or any of your men have found release in battle, buried as watchmen here in the Undercity.”

Sylvanas caught Areiel’s eye and inclined her head, silently asking a question. Areiel considered what her Queen was proposing. She looked at the confused, battle-scarred Orc Captain, and licked her lips. His hands looked almost monstrously large, and she imagined his tongue would feel wonderful stretching open her ass.

She turned back to the Queen and smiled. She had not seen Sylvanas in a mood like this in an age. No matter what her reservations regarding the Lady’s current pet project might be, she cannot help but be grateful for this, the lightening in the Banshee Queen’s soul.

“It is decided,” Sylvanas said again to the Orc. “Go with Areiel and she will fuck the bad temper from your blood.” Bragor’s mouth fell open in shock; it was most comical. “After, you can arrange among yourselves a rotation between your men and my Dark Rangers, who would also appreciate the opportunity to ease some of their own tedium. Do the Blood Elves desire the same agreement?” She asked the Ambassador from Silvermoon.

Sunsorrow smiled and bowed slightly. “As the Dark Lady knows, we are remarkably self-sufficient in this regard… however, I would not object to allowing my people the chance to observe—and the option to participate.”

“Done,” Sylvanas said easily. She nodded to Areiel, who understood she only had perhaps four hours, maybe less, to convince the Orc of the wisdom of such a proposition. As if I would even need that long, she thought with a smirk.

“Come, Bragor,” she said, smiling at the Orc Captain, amused at his flushed face and his involuntary arousal. “It’s time you were shown the delights of the Dark.”

She left the room, and felt the Orc reluctantly trail after her, his eyes on her swaying hips.

--

Stormwind Castle
Stormwind
Alliance Territory

Sylvanas opened her eyes to sunlight, and a large male hand trailing down her side.

“You sleep like the dead, angel,” Wrynn said, voice rough with sleep as he sprawled beside her, naked save the sheet draped lightly over his hips. Sylvanas spared an appreciative look at the hard, gladiator’s body, at the myriad of scars on his skin and the long dark hair spread over the white sheets.

She sat up, letting the sheet fall from her body, and arched her back in a luxurious stretch, yawning, raising her arms high over her head and tilting her face to the ceiling. A callused palm cupped her breast, rough finger gently rubbing the nipple. Without a word she pushed Wrynn on his back and straddled his hips, exhaling on another yawn that ended in a soft gasp as she took his morning erection inside her.

She rode him, her movements slow and unhurried, relaxed as she took her pleasure on his cock. Unlike the silly boy the previous night, the man under her knew how to let a woman ride, his hips rising to meet hers while letting her set the pace, an accommodating thumb on her clit and one hand on her hip to steady her as she undulated her body above his.

Knowing how much he liked to look, Sylvanas raised her arms and speared her fingers through the curls of her hair, arching her neck, letting Wrynn have a good show. He chuckled, low, and the two of them shared a thoroughly pleasant orgasm a few minutes later.

An acceptable way to begin the day, Sylvanas thought, as Wrynn gently lifted her off his cock. He rose from the bed, washed himself efficiently from a basin of water, and began to don his armor. On a whim Sylvanas followed him, entirely comfortable in her nakedness, and played the squire: securing the buckles of his greaves, adjusting the fit of his vambraces and gloves, making sure his pauldrons rested properly across his shoulders. She ran a curious hand over the belt of Anduin Lothar, and Wrynn put a hand under her chin, tilting her face to him.

“I did not think they would attack you,” he said, softly.

Sylvanas frowned. Do you think I would be so weak as to be felled by a single rogue? She wanted to ask. I have laid waste to entire squadrons of your men, foolish Human.

“Do not concern yourself,” she said instead. “After all, there was no harm done.”

He considered her silently for a moment, then bent his head to kiss her lips. “I suppose you would be gravely offended if I told you I will crush those who dared lay a hand on you?”

Sylvanas said the first thing on her mind. “Chivalry is an insult to any real woman. Destroy your enemies for your own reasons, King.”

He smiled at her, an odd light in his eyes, but a knock at the door pre-empted whatever he was to say next. Quickly he grabbed the robe she shed last night and swung it over her shoulders. “Enter,” he said, as Sylvanas belted the robe around her waist.

An anxious looking squire and her nervous little maid entered together, then started upon seeing her standing with the King. “Oh!” the maid exclaimed. “You’re here, my lady—I was so worried when I saw your bed empty…” the silly girl trailed off, awkwardly. Belatedly, the two servants bowed to their sovereign.

Wrynn nodded to them then said to Sylvanas, “I expect to be cloistered with my advisers all day, and they might not take so kindly to more interruptions as they did yesterday, my dear. You are free to go wherever you wish in the keep, and spend your time as you will.” He raised a brow at her, and Sylvanas nodded her understanding: she will see what she can uncover regarding the attacks… in addition to her own mission, of course. Then, he added, “I am entertaining a group of nobles tonight for dinner. It would please me for you to be my companion.”

“Certainly,” she murmured. Wrynn sketched a bow and left.

Her maid cleared her throat once the King had departed. “I will be back shortly with your dress, my lady.”

Sylvanas steeled herself to spend another day as a silly Human female. It was fortunate that Wrynn’s cock was so pleasing, or else this charade would be completely unbearable.

--

Sylvanas walked down the halls of the castle, smiling inanely at the Humans she passed, while inwardly she considered her options.

Unfortunately, her notoriety as the King’s bedmate ensured that there were too many eyes on her to have the freedom to search for the information that she needed herself. Even if Wrynn had granted her carte blanche in this place, the seat of Alliance leadership, it would be foolish of her to be noticed disappearing at suspicious intervals, or displaying interest in matters she should not. She would have to make use of other means of uncovering secrets.

There was the serving class that could be trusted to have the most gossip in both breadth and scope, and the ability to ferret out information with relative ease, but servants were tricky creatures. Like horses, one has to earn their life-long loyalty to be assured they wouldn’t turn against you at the most inopportune moment, throwing you off and leaving you broken in a ditch. Sylvanas considered the maid assigned to her, and thought that there might be possibility there, but she would have to be careful that the girl did not already owe others her allegiance.

Then there were the courtiers and nobles, and Wrynn’s own advisers, who would certainly be more amenable to the standard quid pro quo of court politics, at least those who were corrupt. Sylvanas could trade on her status as the King’s favorite… but now, after meeting a selection of them, the idea of being obliged to any of those obsequious toads did not appeal. She would watch them carefully, but will not deal with them directly if at all possible.

Of course she could easily manage to secret one of her own people in the castle to do the work… but her instincts told her it would be a dangerous gambit—after all, not all Humans were insipid and unobservant. As she had so recently learned, it would not do to underestimate your enemies, or overestimate your own subjects.

While she mulled over several possible stratagems, she passed by one of the private training areas and her ears caught the distinctive whistle of an arrow in flight. Idly Sylvanas entered the small courtyard. It was empty save for two figures making use of one of the archery targets: a tow headed boy and his instructor. Silently, she watched the boy competently nock another arrow and, after a moment, let fly.

She did not need to see the target to know that he had missed the bull’s eye by perhaps a centimeter or three, to the right.

The instructor, a male Night Elf, inspected the target and sighed. “It is certainly curious. Your form is perfect and your aim is accurate and yet your arrows always land just slightly off center.”

The boy looked down at his feet, frowning, then raised his head and nodded. “Thank you, Master Dreol, for your help.”

“Perhaps it is because you are Human,” the Night Elf continued. “You might want to consider another weapon to specialize in, perhaps a sword.”

“Thank you, sir,” the youth said again, his voice polite and very even. “But I believe I will keep practicing.”

“Very well,” the Night Elf said, bowing, then left without another word.

Sylvanas observed Wrynn’s son for several more minutes, until there was a ring of slightly off center arrows embedded in the target. When he stopped to inspect his bowstring, his shoulders slumped, she stepped into the sunlight.

“What do you see when you release your arrow?”

He started, surprised, and turned to her voice. “I beg your pardon?”

“When you release your arrow,” Sylvanas repeated, standing now where the Night Elf had just been. “What do you see?”

“I see…” the boy frowned, confused. “A target.”

Sylvanas took the bow from his hands and, automatically adjusting her stance for its unfamiliar size and weight, smoothly nocked an arrow and hit the target dead center.

She handed the bow back to the boy and said, “Your form may be perfect, and your aim true, but your arrow will always fly along the path of your heart, and with the strength of your will.” She raised a brow at his rapt face. “You do not hit your mark because you do not want to.

What do you see when you release your arrow, Anduin Wrynn?”

He stared at the bow in his hands for a long moment. Just as Sylvanas began to turn away, he said, in a rush, “It’s just—I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“Soldiers are not murderers, Prince,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. “When you face an enemy, you face a being who has accepted the burden of living—and dying—for that which he fights, just as you have. To deny him the full strength of your power is not mercy, but insult. Now,” Sylvanas ordered, “shoot again.”

The boy squared his shoulders and nodded. He nocked an arrow, staring intently at the target, and took a deep breath—

The shaft of Sylvanas’ arrow splintered into two as his split it right down the middle.

There was a moment of silence, then the Human boy began jumping and cheering, making exuberant noises. “Did you see that? Did you?” he whooped. “Wasn’t that magnificent?”

“It was adequate.”

“It was brilliant! Thank you, Lady,” he said, fervently, bowing low. “I am Anduin Wrynn—oh but you already knew that—you can call me Andy though.” He grinned. “And you are—oh! I know, you must be Lady Emma Grey, are you not?”

Sylvanas inclined her head.

“I knew it,” Andy declared. “They all said you were exceptionally beautiful, with blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“Did they?” Sylvanas said, not entirely sure how to converse with this boy. She did not normally find herself among children. The serious student-archer a few minutes ago was much less disconcerting.

“Yes. They also said…other things,” he continued, rolling his eyes. “But I have now decided those must not be true.”

Sylvanas tilted her head, considering. “I can’t imagine they would say such things to you, the Crown Prince.”

He rolled his eyes again, more extravagantly this time. “Of course not, but they never see me—unless I want them to—and even though I’m Prince they still consider me a child,” he said with a frown. “They all think I don’t know what they’re talking about, but I do.”

Sylvanas would like to know who ‘they’ were.

Then she thought: ah, of course.

“Well, it was a pleasant impromptu lesson,” she said, “I must be off now, I wish you luck in your archery.” She bowed and was only four steps away when the boy called out:

“Wait!”

Sylvanas turned, brows raised in inquiry. “Can you—You seem to be much knowledgeable in the art of the bow,” the boy said, clearing his throat. “Would you be amenable to imparting more of your knowledge? To me, I mean?” At her continued silence, he started to fidget. “I, ah, can’t offer you much in return, though…”

“I am new to the court,” Sylvanas said. “I’m afraid much of my time will be spent acquainting myself with the various minutiae of this society. It will not leave me much time for archery lessons.”

Andy chewed his lip for a second before blurting, “Well, I can help with that! What if I should tell you everything you need to know—will you teach me then?”

Sylvanas’ smile was entirely sincere. “I believe we have an agreement, Andy.”

--

Wrynn was sitting in her room, a chalice of wine in one hand, when Sylvanas’ maid ushered her in to dress for dinner.

Sylvanas had gone with the girl reluctantly, having spent a relatively agreeable several hours with the young Prince. The child was a font of information about the court, and was clearly hungry for a willing ear to listen to his stories. She would have to think carefully over the information he’d so innocently supplied before taking action.

He was also proving to be a promising archer.

For now, she was content to let the new knowledge she’d gathered lie in the back of her mind… and this dinner might prove useful in confirming some recent theories.

Sylvanas quirked a brow at Wrynn as he waved one hand lazily, eyes hooded and oddly difficult to read, motioning for the little maid to go ahead with her duties. Nervously the girl’s hands went to the laces of Sylvanas’ gown, her round face beet red the whole time. Sylvanas idly observed the man’s eyes through her dressing mirror as he watched her undress, his gaze lingering on each new patch of skin revealed.

The maid’s hands froze upon reaching to remove her underthings, panicked eyes going to the King. Save me from Human prudery, Sylvanas thought and shimmied out of the small scraps of lace herself, well aware of Wrynn’s eyes on her bent ass as she slid the drawers down her legs. Her maid squeaked.

“Leave us,” Wrynn said, putting his drink down. “I will help dress the Lady Emma.”

“But—but,” the maid stuttered as her eyes flew between Wrynn and Sylvanas who now stood naked before the open doors of her armoire deciding on what to wear that night. “Um… What about my lady’s hair?”

“I’d prefer to see it down, I think,” Wrynn said. “Go. She will have no further need of you tonight.”

The maid scurried from the room just as Sylvanas pulled out two dresses from the armoire, holding them up beside her body as she turned to face Wrynn. “The blue one,” he said after a moment. Sylvanas put away the other dress and collected the corresponding accoutrements for the blue evening gown, her mind wandering to nights long ago when she and her sisters would help each other dress for balls and soirees.

“You are in a strange mood tonight,” she said off handedly. “Have your advisers upset you? More than usual, I mean.” She had no real interest in the man’s mental well being, of course, but his answer might give her some interesting information.

“Do I look upset?” he asked and sat her down on a chair, kneeling at her feet and delicately rolling silk stockings up her legs. He had pointedly omitted new drawers; Sylvanas hooked her legs behind his neck and drew him to her. He licked at her quim.

“No,” she sighed, quivering under his tongue. “But you are.”

After her climax Wrynn stood and dressed her quickly, his hands deft and sure on the small buttons of her gown. He placed a kiss on her lips once Sylvanas was fully presentable. “I was just thinking what a cruel and capricious mistress Fate could be,” he murmured, smiling into her eyes.

And without another word he led them outside and to the company of waiting nobles.

--

The receiving room sparkled under the light of a dozen chandeliers, and well-dressed nobles conversed sedately with each other. It was all wonderfully urbane, and exceedingly false.

Phineas forced out a laugh at another one of Grey’s insipid jokes. The man had grown increasingly insufferable in the last few days since his daughter had managed to capture Wrynn’s interest. Gossip about Lady Emma Grey had run rampant from the night of the ball, and fluctuated wildly depending on who you’d ask.

Some said she was part of the assassination attempt and was locked, a prisoner, in the dungeons. No, others opined, she had learned some kind of Night Elf enchantment and had bewitched the King to establish her as his consort. (His wife was more determined than ever to have Prudence study in Darnassus.) And now there was even an absurd rumor going about that the King had secretly married her the other day!

That night found most of the nobles split almost evenly into two camps: those that wanted to see the girl removed from Wrynn’s side, and those—mainly enemies of the Carstairs—who were open to this new addition to the court. In any case there was one fact everyone here was aware of, and that was that Wrynn’s preoccupation with Emma Grey was a harbinger of change—monumental change—in their King.

The majordomo announced the King’s entrance and the assembled guests turned to the doors as they opened to admit their sovereign—and his escort.

Phineas knew he was not the only one to suck in a shocked breath. The picture they presented was disturbingly… regal.

While Wrynn looked the same as ever, their gladiator king, it was Emma Grey that drew their eyes. She fit. She looked as though she was born to stand on the right hand of the King. In a dark blue evening gown shot with gold thread, with her hand lightly resting on Wrynn’s, her face composed and her hair flowing loose down her back, she looked like a bloody Queen.

Perhaps more disturbingly, she looked like the rightful consort to the man the Orcs call Lo’Gosh.

Phineas bowed low along with his peers, and could not help but remember the days long ago before Tiffan’s death. The gentle young lady was a perfect match to an equally young and besotted King, then. Time and tragedy had hardened the boy out of Wrynn and now he couldn’t see the same kind of innocent miss holding the man’s hand or capturing his heart. But this Emma Grey, with her lush curves and her blue eyes calm and coolly knowing… by the Light she fit.

Surreptitiously Phineas glanced around as they were ushered into the dining room. Cora Carstairs looked as though she’d swallowed an entire lemon, while beside her the daughter cast increasingly worried glances at Lady Emma’s profile. Grey, he was surprised to note, looked the most unsettled out of all of them, and was hiding it badly. Phineas did not think he saw the man’s daughter look to him once, which was odd as from what he knew Grey was quite close to his daughter, spoiling her rotten at every opportunity.

Once they were seated in the long table, Phineas was relieved that as usual the King sat at one end while the Dowager Duchess Adeste—a great aunt on his mother’s side, who no one liked to speak to as the old harridan delighted in insulting everybody—sat on the opposite end. Lady Emma sat to his right.

Perhaps owing to the already tense undercurrent among the guests, conversation was muted and remained firmly on superficial topics. The King, as was his custom, kept his own counsel and mostly let the idle court chatter wash over him; it was well known that he suffered these dinners for the sake of continued relations with the House of Nobles, nothing more. Meanwhile Lady Emma, Phineas saw, was not inclined to further her own standing amongst the lords and ladies around her as he would have thought. Instead she spoke sparingly, and only when addressed directly, though occasionally she would bring Wrynn briefly into the conversation, and the nobles would draw away with charmed smiles on their faces.

Grey, who was seated near his daughter, looked more at ease now.

“My word,” Constance whispered low in his ear. “Lord Grey certainly got his money’s worth with his daughter’s mentorship with Priestess Leara, didn’t he? I do hope he honors his promise to us, even if it doesn’t seem like the girl needs our help. And it also looks as though she’s recovered completely from her accident.”

Phineas could not help but murmur agreement.

It was during the dessert course that trouble started. Lady Carstairs, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the dinner, asked Lady Emma: “My dear, I never did hear about your adventures amongst the Night Elves; was it as exciting as I’ve been told?”

All conversation halted at this, Cora’s verbal gauntlet thrown down. Eyes swung first to the King, who looked disinclined to rush to the Lady’s defense, then to the Lady herself. Who calmly took another dainty bite of her chocolate cake.

“I’m afraid you will need to be more specific, Lady Carstairs.”

“Oh my, did you have many adventures then?”

Lady Emma hummed, thoughtfully. “Not quite. I find I’ve lost the taste for playing games. It’s all so… tedious and petty, don’t you think?”

A point to the young lady, Phineas thought. Lady Carstairs tittered, thinly.

“My dear, I was only referring to your success in impressing the Night Elves. My friend in Darnassus could not say enough good things about you.”

Lady Emma said nothing, just smiled and picked at her dessert. After an awkward pause—and another point in Emma’s favor—Cora finally lost her patience.

“He said how charming it was; how interesting to have had the chance to observe a human-high elf half-breed.”

Someone gasped. Phineas thought his wife had stopped breathing altogether and down the table Grey dropped his dessert fork, the tinny noise unnaturally loud in the silent room.

Emma raised a brow and took a final bite from her cake. “Yes, and?”

Phineas’ jaw dropped at the chit’s audacity.

Cora sputtered. “And? And, young lady, I imagine you now have some explaining to do—“

“No, I do not,” the younger woman replied calmly. “Though perhaps you should consider apologizing to your King for insulting him at his own table.”

“What?!”

“Do you honestly think,” Emma said, looking directly at the red-faced matron, “that he had not already discovered everything your little spies could have told you? Moreover, the man considers a blood elf as one of his closest friends. Not only have you implied that your King is inept, but that he is also a bigot.”

Incensed Lady Carstairs jumped to her feet, her chair skittering back. “Sire! Would you allow such impudence--“

“Thank you, Lady Carstairs,” Wrynn said, finally, and Phineas almost could not believe to hear the hint of amusement in his voice. “But as Emma said, I was already aware.” Then he and Lady Emma exchanged a glance that spoke volumes… but spoke what precisely Phineas could not even begin to guess.

The silence after Wrynn’s pronouncement was profound. Then suddenly a cackle of laughter erupted from the opposite end of the table.

“It’s about time, you stupid boy,” the Dowager Duchess chortled. The old woman laughed again and pointed her fork at Emma. “You, girl, I approve of. Well done! Hah!”—her fork swung towards Lady Carstairs—“And you sit down, before you embarrass yourself more than you already have.”

Cora stiffly regained her seat, and gradually conversation around the table resumed.

Phineas noted that no one glanced at the Carstairs women even once: in one night Emma Grey had crushed and made pariahs out of two of society’s most powerful figures.

He watched as the King trailed one finger along the back of Lady Emma’s hand.

Suddenly the rumor of the secret marriage did not quite sound so absurd.

--

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Wanted more sex, but couldn't manage it, sorry guys. Oh and just as a quick note on lore: I claim 'artistic license' in cannibalizing whatever information I manage to scrounge up on wowwwiki or wherever. I'm not really writing this for lore, if you know what I mean.

wanderingaddict: Thanks for the reviews. Glad you liked chapter three :P and Sylvanas' snark. Yeah, I like her walking the bitchy line too. Feels right, ya know?

RimmerJr: Thanks man, yeah I am pretty stoked about this story. Never thought I could do it, tbh. LOL.