Stormwind Wizard God-Chapter 627: For Queen and Country

Seeing that Calia finally became lighter than a mage's purse after buying spell components, yet carried the weight of Lordaeron's destiny like a fully-loaded siege engine, she nodded with the gravity of a paladin taking their sacred oath.

The people of Lordaeron erupted like a tavern when free ale is announced!

"FOR THE ALLIANCE!"

"LONG LIVE HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN! MAY HER REIGN BE LONGER THAN A DWARF'S GRUDGE!"

Next, of course, Mograine and the other ministers welcomed Calia to the main seat with all the ceremony of a guild master claiming the raid leader's throne.

There's a juicy subplot here that's thicker than troll blood soup. Under Calia's absolutely mind-blowing Powerful Healing Spell—seriously, this woman could resurrect a dead horse and make it win the Kentucky Derby—Melef's injuries stopped deteriorating faster than a rogue's reputation in Stormwind. Perhaps this captain of the royal guards was destined to be about as useful as a chocolate teapot in a dragon fight for the rest of his days, but at least his sorry hide was saved from becoming worm food.

And his testimony would nail down Calia's identity tighter than a gnome's death grip on their latest invention.

Duke stood at the outermost edge like a wallflower at a harvest dance, sighing deeper than Mariana's Trench.

It was indeed rougher than a badger's backside for Calia to kiss goodbye to her freedom, but maybe this was the price of having royal blood—like being born with a target painted on your back and a crown-shaped bullseye.

After all, Calia's life had taken more twists than a pretzel factory explosion.

The original timeline's Calia, after her marriage plans crashed and burned harder than the Hindenburg, got slapped into house arrest for over a decade until Arthas went full patricide mode on dear old dad. You could bet your bottom copper that even sweet-as-pie Calia wasn't exactly sending Lordaeron Christmas cards after that royal clusterfuck. That's why she went full hermit mode after escaping the capital, letting Lordaeron's remaining forces run around like headless chickens at a family reunion.

Later, when the Scourge hit Azeroth like a freight train loaded with nightmares, middle-aged Calia emerged from retirement as a Discipline Priest, probably thinking "Well, shit just got real."

Duke felt stranger than a troll in a beauty pageant seeing that Calia, despite parking her royal rear in the big chair, kept shooting him looks like a hunter tracking wounded prey: "Calia, are you basically telling Mograine that I'm the puppet master pulling your queenly strings?"

At this moment, that absolute menace Ilucia whispered with the subtlety of a cannon blast: "Duke! I'll see how you wiggle out of this mess. The people of Lordaeron will drag you to the altar faster than you can say 'I object!' I'm dying to know what Admiral Daelin thinks of his future son-in-law now."

"Daelin? What the hell does old sea-dog Daelin have to do with anything?" Duke's confusion was thicker than orc porridge.

Ilucia dropped a bombshell that hit Duke like a meteor to the face: "Duke, don't tell me you forgot! You're still engaged to Jaina Proudmoore, you magnificent bastard!"

"HOLY SHIT!?" Duke nearly jumped out of his skin!

Duke almost had a heart attack that would've killed a lesser man on the spot.

He instinctively shot out his hands and grabbed Ilucia's smooth arms tighter than a death knight's grip on his runeblade: "Ilucia, quit pulling my leg! Doesn't my so-called engagement with Jaina expire when she hits the big two-oh?"

Ilucia's smile could've powered Ironforge for a week, and her smug expression was craftier than a goblin trade agreement. For a hot second, Duke swore he was staring down a fox that had just raided the henhouse and was planning seconds.

"That WAS the plan, sugar. But women change their minds more often than a warrior changes combat stances! Ten years after the Dark Portal opened, when the Alliance officially declared you dead, King Galen Trollbane came sniffing around Jaina like a wolf in sheep's clothing. Oh! And get this—not long after you vanished into the abyss, His Majesty Thoras got himself assassinated by those Stonefist Ogres, and Prince Galen stepped up to claim the throne."

Duke's eyes blazed hotter than a mage's fireball.

Damn it all to hell, it's that backstabbing son of a bitch Galen!

Galen Trollbane might have royal blood, but compared to his father, the legendary badass Thoras, he's lower than whale shit at the bottom of the ocean. Stack him up against Danath Trollbane—who started as militia captain but was actually Thoras' nephew and a genuine hero—and Galen looks like he couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag with instructions and a map.

Others might be fooled, but how could a time-traveling mastermind like Duke miss the obvious!?

Many of Azeroth's powerhouses age like fine wine—getting stronger and meaner with every passing year. Barring any catastrophic clusterfuck, while the average lifespan plummets to the twenties thanks to constant warfare, a human juggernaut like Thoras could still rip ogres in half bare-handed well into his sixties and seventies.

What's more, the Trollbane name literally means "Troll Slayer"—it's not just for show!

If it wasn't for that traitorous piece of garbage Galen murdering his own father, Thoras would still be out there turning enemies into paste!!

"Oh ho, looks like someone's still got feelings for his little fiancée!" Ilucia purred like a cat with cream.

Duke's eye twitched like a nervous tic, then he shot back defensively: "This has jack shit to do with Jaina. I just want to throttle that worthless waste of space Galen."

"Well, I'm not exactly sending him love letters either. He turned Stromgarde and the entire Arathi Highlands into a dumpster fire. Now the once-mighty Highland Knights are about as legendary as unicorns—completely extinct."

Christ on a cracker! Losing a powerhouse like Thoras was like shooting the Alliance in both kneecaps.

Then Ilucia switched gears smoother than a rogue backstabbing: "Anyway, Jaina flat-out refused to 'remarry'—and I use that term loosely since you were supposedly feeding worms. Lucky for everyone, Admiral Daelin also told Lordaeron to take their marriage proposal and shove it where the sun don't shine. So clever little Princess Jaina used you as her human shield and declared, 'I won't marry anyone but Duke. I'm an Edmund in life and an Edmund ghost in death.'"

Ilucia's evil grin could've made demons weep: "Naturally, since the relationship between Stormwind Kingdom and Kul Tiras were tighter than bark on a tree, Regent Lord Lothar and Admiral Daelin were happier than pigs in mud with this arrangement, so they sealed the deal."

Duke literally spat blood like a broken fountain.

If someone played taps, it could've been a goddamn musical water feature.

Even if a million stampeding kodo beasts trampled through his heart, it wouldn't hurt as much as this revelation.

If anyone claimed Jaina was head-over-heels in love with him, Duke would laugh until he cried. freeweɓnøvel.com

During those two years of magical boot camp in Karazhan, Duke had laid down the law crystal clear: You can study magic with me, but don't expect wedding bells. When Jaina turns twenty, she walks away. Whether she marries a prince or a pig farmer afterward is none of his damn business.

Jaina wasn't the type to play house and bake cookies—she had bigger fish to fry.

Both sides had shaken hands on the deal.

So why was everything going to hell in a handbasket now?!

Duke wanted to murder someone with his bare hands.

"Fuck it! Instead of being chained to Jaina, I'd rather marry Calia!" Duke exploded without thinking, his mouth running faster than his brain.

Words have power, and boy did these ones pack a punch.

Over there, Calia—sitting pretty on her royal throne—perked up her ears like an alert hunting hound, while several of Mograine's grizzled veterans whipped their heads around faster than owls spotting field mice.

Calia's face turned redder than a fire elemental's backside, and her right index finger started nervously twirling the golden locks hanging near her temple like a schoolgirl with her first crush.

Of course, these battle-hardened generals of Lordaeron weren't stupid enough to call Duke out on the spot, but the seeds were planted deeper than buried treasure in their scheming minds.

Duke was more lost than a gnome in Orgrimmar.

Duke waved his hands like he was shooing away angry wasps: "Alright, alright! Enough of this soap opera bullshit! I've handed you the righteous cause you need to fight for on a silver platter. Now, facing this shitstorm that's about to sweep across the entire continent of Lordaeron like the apocalypse itself, does anyone else want to cut and run from the Alliance?"

"Hell no, sir! Unless Her Majesty the Queen herself orders us to bail, we're Alliance soldiers till our dying breath!" Mograine snapped back to attention faster than a spring-loaded trap.

Calia was naturally Duke's most loyal supporter, backing him harder than a dwarven shield wall: "We'll worry about the fancy coronation ceremony later. Right now, I'm ordering you in the name of the Queen of Lordaeron to follow Commander Edmund Duke's every command without question, hesitation, or complaint."

"AS YOU COMMAND, YOUR MAJESTY!" Mograine and his officers bowed deeper than miners in a gold rush, then Mograine turned to Duke with military precision: "Sir Anduin Lothar abandoned the Alliance Command years ago. By all rights, I should be the top military dog around these parts, but Duke Edmund, you're more qualified than a maxed-out paladin with legendary gear."

"DAMN RIGHT! Hand over the reins!" In a critical moment like this, facing the full-scale assault of the Scourge, having multiple commanders would be like bringing a knife to a dragon fight—pure suicide. Duke seized command authority like a warrior grabbing aggro.

At that exact moment, a messenger burst in with news that hit like a lightning bolt to the gut—the Scourge was laying siege to Dalaran!