Stormwind Wizard God-Chapter 626: Rule

The faces of the Lordaeron generals lit up like the Sunwell itself, practically glowing with excitement. The symphony of clanking plate mail filled the air as they dropped to one knee in perfect formation, smoother than a choreographed dance troupe in Dalaran. In one fluid motion, they pressed their right hands to their left breastplates in the ancient salute of fealty.

Led by Grand Duke Alexandros Mograine, their voices thundered in unison like the roar of a thousand gryphons: "Your Majesty Queen Calia Menethil!"

Calia was so shocked she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Talk about information overload - today had been crazier than a kobold convention in a candle factory, and it was scrambling her brain like eggs on a hot skillet.

Originally, she and her adventure team had just returned to Edmundville - formerly the humble East Valley Lumberyard, now souped up and transformed into the crown jewel capital of the Dukedom of Edmund, shinier than a freshly minted gold piece.

Out of nowhere, Miss Ilucia - who'd been her guardian angel for the past ten years, letting her live the adventurous life most nobles could only dream of - came rushing back like her hair was on fire.

Then BAM! She dropped the mother of all bombshells about the chaos erupting in Lordaeron.

Even though she hadn't laid eyes on her father in years, her heart still ached for him something fierce. Learning that he'd been murdered - and by her own beloved brother Arthas, who'd gone full death knight and embraced the darkness like some twisted villain from a nightmare - hit her harder than a giant's war hammer to the chest.

This catastrophic news nearly sent Calia's mind reeling into hell.

Losing two family members in one fell swoop was devastating enough to break anyone's spirit, but discovering that her baby brother had turned patricidal maniac? That was enough to drive a saint to madness.

The fact that she didn't collapse right there like a house of cards was testament to the steel nerves she'd forged through years of death-defying adventures and narrow escapes.

The only silver lining in this storm cloud of despair was that Duke - the man she trusted more than her own shadow - had finally returned from whatever hellish void had swallowed him up.

"Duke's back? He's asking for me?" Her heart skipped like a stone across water.

"Yes! Duke needs you! Right now! Move your royal behind! Lordaeron is going to hell and you're the only one who can save it!" Calia caught about half of Ilucia's rapid-fire explanation, her mind still reeling from the earlier revelations.

She only heard one phrase that cut through the fog: "Duke needs you!" Those three magic words made her forget her grief faster than a mage forgetting a teleport spell, and she followed Ilucia through that portal like a moth diving headfirst into a bonfire.

Then when she stepped through to the other side, she saw Mograine, Abendis, Melev, and the other familiar faces from her past - warriors who'd been like uncles to her in the old days. After hearing this thunderous chorus of battle-hardened generals hailing her as "Your Majesty the Queen," reality hit Calia like a runaway kodo beast.

"Queen!? ME?" Calia stammered like a nervous acolyte giving their first sermon, pointing at herself with a trembling finger that shook like a leaf in a hurricane.

"Absolutely! That traitorous snake Arthas has fallen to corruption darker than the depths of the Blackrock caverns. Not a single soul in Lordaeron would bow to that father-killing abomination as their king. For the survival of our kingdom, we beg you, Your Majesty Calia - claim your birthright and lead us in this desperate last stand against the forces of evil!" Mograine's words rang out like a war drum, each syllable hitting harder than a siege engine against castle walls.

Calia tried to process this information download, but she couldn't wrap her head around the fact that she - who'd been living carefree as a bird just moments ago - was suddenly expected to step up and wear the crown.

That's when something happened that nearly made Mograine and company keel over like they'd been hit with a mass sleep spell.

When Calia found herself drowning in uncertainty, she did the unthinkable... she threw herself straight into Duke's arms like a damsel in distress from some cheesy romance novel.

"Duke—" she breathed.

"Mmm," he responded, stiff as a board.

"Duke! Duke! DUKE!" she cried out like a mantra.

After her desperate litany, Duke could only run his fingers through Calia's gorgeous golden locks with a smile more pained than a warrior with a broken weapon: "I'm here, I'm back."

"Duke, they want me to be queen! What in the nine hells am I supposed to do!?" Calia wasn't just talking anymore - she was wailing like a banshee.

Mograine and Abendis went from dizzy to ready to paint the ground red with their own blood.

These devoted servants had finally found their rightful ruler, only to discover that Princess Calia wouldn't make a move without Duke's blessing - not even something as obvious as accepting her own throne!

What kind of voodoo magic had Duke worked on Calia? Had he brainwashed her like some mind-controlling warlock? Or had their destined queen already been trained by Duke to be more obedient than a loyal hunting hound?

Duke was sweating bullets!

By all that's holy, he swore on his mother's grave that he'd never laid an inappropriate hand on Calia!

Duke was redder than a blood elf's battle standard. While trying to comfort the distraught princess, he stammered, "Come on, you're a grown woman now! After thirteen years of real-world experience, shouldn't you be able to stand on your own two feet? I haven't seen you in a decade - I barely know who you've become. Even if you want my advice, I'm shooting blind here!"

"NO!" Calia suddenly lifted her head, her expression harder than dwarven steel and twice as determined: "If it weren't for you, my father would have branded me a disgrace to Lordaeron and locked me away in some tower like a fairy tale princess. Thirteen years later, even if I hadn't died from boredom, I'd be nothing but a broken, bitter shell of a woman. I never would have tasted the sweet freedom of adventure!"

Duke: "..."

Mograine and the peanut gallery: "..."

Princess Calia's words hit them like a truth bomb that left everyone speechless as statues.

Calia took a breath deeper than the Maelstrom and continued, "Duke... you're the one who gave me wings to fly! You're the one who breathed life back into my soul! If there's anyone in this world who could make me willingly trade my freedom to step back into this political prison I despise, that person can only be you - Sir Edmund Duke!"

If Mograine had been bleeding from the mouth before, now he was hemorrhaging like a stuck pig!

The princess flat-out refused to be crowned unless Duke gave his blessing, and even then she'd only rule as his puppet on strings.

From a political standpoint, this was a disaster bigger than the destruction of Dalaran for Lordaeron's independence.

But from a human perspective, Mograine and his fellow generals understood exactly why Princess Calia felt this way.

How could you compare thirteen years of soaring free as an eagle to thirteen years locked up like a caged bird?

"Duke... I'm begging you..." Mograine surrendered, his eyes pleading like a starving man asking for bread.

"Duke, we're all on our knees here," Abendis added, his pride crumbling like ancient ruins.

If Princess Calia refused the crown, then these loyal ministers would be shepherds without a flock. Even if they forced her onto the throne at sword-point, could Lordaeron still stand united? Would the kingdom have any heart left to fight?

Even knowing that Duke had more influence over Calia than a priest has over the Light, Mograine and the other Lordaeron generals had no choice but to swallow this bitter pill.

Duke felt like he was standing in the eye of a hurricane!

His scalp was crawling like it was infested with angry insects.

But Duke couldn't afford to drag this out any longer, so he spoke as gently as a father to his daughter: "Calia, this isn't about me, and it's not even about the millions of souls in Lordaeron. This is about the future of every living being on Azeroth. If Lordaeron falls, those unholy undead abominations will sweep across the continent like a plague of locusts. Humans, dwarves, gnomes, elves - every race could face extinction."

Calia bit her lip so hard it nearly drew blood, wrestling with the weight of the world on her shoulders, before finally replying: "Alright, for the sake of all the innocent people, I'll take the crown."

The moment those words left her lips, you could hear a collective sigh of relief whoosh through the tent like a gentle breeze after a thunderstorm.

But then came the kicker: "But before I put on that crown, I still need to hear what YOU think."

Sweet merciful Light! Mograine and company nearly had their souls ripped from their bodies!

A dozen pairs of eyes turned on Duke like crossbow bolts, each glare clearly saying, "Boy, you better work your magic here. You can play whatever games you want later, but first get Her Highness crowned and on that throne!" Duke's body went rigid as a statue, his scalp prickling like a pincushion, cold sweat pouring down his back like a waterfall.

Finally, Duke found his voice: "Yes! I want you to take the crown and rule."