Duke had never been the type to assume everyone wanted to slip poison into his wine or a dagger between his ribs—at least not immediately upon meeting them.
But when someone's name echoes through history with all the subtlety of a dragon's roar, caution becomes survival. Jaina carried that kind of reputation, and Duke wasn't about to ignore centuries of whispered warnings just because she had excellent posture and devastating magical abilities.
Thank the Light she'd never rekindled her doomed romance with Arthas. When that fool prince went careening off the cliff of sanity, Jaina had the wisdom to stay firmly planted on solid ground—alone, but breathing.
More importantly, fate had shuffled the deck entirely. Instead of growing up wherever destiny had originally planned, Jaina had spent her formative years in Elwynn Forest, transforming from a gangly girl into a woman who could stop conversations mid-sentence just by entering a room. This geographical accident meant she'd never crossed paths with Kael'thas, sparing everyone involved a great deal of awkward romantic geometry.
But here's where things got brutal: Jaina had sacrificed a full decade of her prime years wearing the title of 'Edmund Duke's fiancée' like a golden chain. Ten years! In a world where women's lifespans weren't exactly generous, she'd handed over the most precious decade—eighteen to twenty-eight—when she should have been conquering hearts and kingdoms alike.
Instead of blooming in some lucky man's arms, Jaina had essentially become Duke's very attractive, very powerful, very celibate widow-in-waiting.
Whatever feelings she harbored for him, she'd proven her loyalty by not running off with some silver-tongued lordling or muscle-bound knight. No scandals, no affairs, no midnight escapes—just years of unwavering fidelity to a man who seemed determined to treat her like a particularly valuable piece of furniture.
Duke's emotions churned like a storm at sea. The situation demanded he offer Jaina something meaningful—a chance at the youth and immortality that power could provide.
Beautiful women shouldn't waste away in empty chambers, counting candles and sighs.
Brilliant minds shouldn't gather dust in libraries while the world burns outside.
Heroes shouldn't spend their days nursing wounds that will never heal.
Want power? He'd hand her keys to kingdoms.
Crave influence? He'd give her battlefields where her magic could reshape the very fabric of reality.
As long as she didn't decide to burn down the Alliance or start practicing necromancy, a little personal ambition never killed anyone—well, not anyone important.
A decade of warfare and politics had transformed Duke from an idealistic youth into something far more dangerous: a man who understood that generosity from a position of strength was the most terrifying weapon of all.
This was how leaders who carved their names into history actually behaved.
Duke thought he was testing Jaina's loyalty and ambitions. What he failed to realize was that he was accidentally seducing her so thoroughly that she was practically swooning on her feet.
Presence—that's what separated the wheat from the chaff.
Men who flinched at shadows and haggled over copper coins lived small, forgettable lives. Women might tolerate such creatures, but they'd never truly desire them.
But a man who moved through the world with the confidence of someone who'd personally told Death to wait its turn? Who could dissect a person's entire character with a few well-chosen words? That kind of man didn't just command respect—he commanded devotion.
Duke, veteran of two Dark Portal wars and currently blazing through the third with characteristic brilliance, had absolutely no clue that his aura was hitting Jaina with the force of a magical tsunami.
Something had definitely awakened in Jaina—some switch had been flipped that transformed her usual composed demeanor into something approaching religious fervor. In fifteen years of knowing her, Duke had never seen that particular expression of breathless fascination cross her face.
This wasn't about duty or politics. This was pure, undiluted obsession with the man himself.
Jaina gracefully lifted her skirt's edge and executed a curtsy so perfect it could have been used to train noble daughters for generations.
"If accepting the position of Kirin Tor Senate member and Alliance Major General would please you, then I accept with absolute delight."
The subtext practically blazed in neon: I don't give a damn about saving the world—I just want to be yours, and I'll follow you straight into the Twisting Nether if that's where you're headed.
No man alive could hear words like that without feeling every nerve ending in his body light up with satisfaction.
Unfortunately for Duke's composure, the curtsy had caused certain... architectural features... of Jaina's figure to become prominently displayed, threatening to permanently damage his supposedly legendary self-control.
"Uh." Duke's facial muscles seized up as his legendary composure cracked right down the middle.
Aegwynn was practically vibrating with suppressed laughter, while Mograine and Abendis looked like they'd just watched their carefully laid political plans catch fire and explode.
The two old political warhorses exchanged glances that spoke volumes: We are so completely doomed.
They'd harbored dreams of Queen Calia eventually marrying Duke, creating the ultimate political alliance. But those dreams were currently being cremated by the blazing chemistry between Duke and his supposedly estranged fiancée.
Problem one: Jaina remained Duke's legally betrothed, making her claim ironclad.
Problem two: Duke's taste in women ran exclusively toward the brilliant, powerful, and capable of reducing armies to ash.
They remembered his younger days, when literally hundreds of Lordaeron's most beautiful noblewomen had practically thrown themselves at his feet. Duke had stepped over them without a second glance, immune to their charms.
His only confirmed romantic entanglements? The Windrunner sisters—high elven rangers who could shoot the wings off a fly at two hundred yards.
Even Princess Calia, worshipped by the entire kingdom as a living saint, had failed to capture his interest.
According to their carefully conducted intelligence gathering through the palace's female staff, Queen Calia remained... untouched. Virgin royalty, despite every political reason to secure an heir.
Now these two master politicians were watching their carefully constructed dynastic plans dissolve in real time.
But with Arthas and his undead legions threatening everything they held dear, personal drama would have to wait.
After concluding his conversation with Jaina, Duke turned his attention to the woman calling herself a magical consultant.
"Duke, allow me to present Ms. Aegwynn Suifeng, a remarkably talented magical advisor I've recently had the fortune to discover."
(T/N : nah bro Suifeng? Now I have to watch out for this too?),
"Greetings, Sir Edmund." Aegwynn's curtsy carried just enough mockery to be interesting.
For a time-traveler with Duke's particular knowledge, spoiling someone's carefully constructed identity was almost too easy.
"Hello, Ms. 'Follow the Wind,'" Duke replied smoothly in the ancient language of wind magic that Alleria had taught him. "My gratitude for your years of guidance to Jaina, Ms. Aegwynn. And my thanks for Medivh's generous gift, though I regret that Karazhan remains beyond my immediate reach."
Aegwynn's composure flickered—just for a moment. As a former Guardian who'd survived millennia, she recovered with practiced grace. "I understand Karazhan drifts somewhere in the void. Should the opportunity arise, I'd welcome the chance to visit. For now, I'm content knowing it will truly flourish under your stewardship."
Her response eased Duke's concerns considerably.
With Medivh's resurrection, the eventual return of Karazhan could create... complications. Having Aegwynn's implicit blessing simplified matters tremendously.
"That day will come," Duke replied aloud, then added in the whispered tongue of wind magic: "Medivh has always commanded my deepest respect."
"I eagerly await that day. But I trust that Sir Edmund, having inherited the Guardian's mantle, will ensure Karazhan's eventual return serves the greater good?"
The subtext rang clear: Keep playing Guardian, and the tower stays yours.
"Without question!" Duke's grin carried the weight of absolute certainty.
Finally managing to navigate the political minefield that was Jaina and Aegwynn working in concert, Duke felt a moment of victory.
That evening, however, brought fresh complications in the form of additional reinforcements.
"Let me be absolutely clear," announced a figure with legs that seemed to stretch for miles, "from this moment forward, anyone entering or leaving Duke's tent requires my explicit permission."
Jaina's eye began to twitch with barely contained territorial fury.