Allen's breathing stalled for a moment.
"From today onward, you'll live in my residence. Tomorrow, you'll return with me to Lordaeron. As for now—"
She stood with her back to the moonlight outside the window, her graceful figure faintly visible within the shadows.
"Come serve me."
There's actually such a good—
No.
Wait.
Was he, Allen, the kind of man who would let lust take over his brain?
Becoming Katrana's male consort sounded pretty great—actually, it might really be great—but this was absolutely not a good thing.
This female dragon was capricious and unpredictable. Who knew if one day she'd grow bored and swallow him whole?
That was absolutely not what Allen wanted.
Absolutely!
Not!
Whatsoever!
But if he refused her… what if she flew into a rage and swallowed him whole right now?
Looks like the only option was to pretend to agree for now, then find a chance to slip away…
I'm being forced into this. I can only reluctantly enjoy it, right?
…Right?
At that moment, countless images flashed through Allen's mind—Wren, Stella, Morgan… had they escaped? Varian Wrynn, the young king who trusted him, was now of unknown fate…
Milana… Milana's promise had yet to be fulfilled.
Could the ropes binding him be undone with Knock? Would Command still work on Onyxia? Or should he just use Chain Lightning and blow her up…
He didn't even know what had come over him.
He raised his head and looked straight at Katrana before him.
Corruption begins with a single compromise…
Katrana looked at the swindler before her. His gaze had suddenly changed. She couldn't quite describe it—only that it felt… strangely calm.
"I won't."
Katrana was incredulous. She suspected she had misheard.
"What did you say?"
"I said—"
Allen's voice was calm yet firm, each word spoken clearly: "I! REFUSE!"
That smooth-talking swindler was gone.
At this moment, the man tied up tightly before her had no fear in his eyes—only something indescribable, something unsettling.
Katrana was furious. She abruptly threw on a robe, her expression cold enough to freeze over. She clapped her hands—sharp, crisp, and cold.
The door was pushed open. Several guards strode in, and Lord Malathrom followed behind, wearing a fawning expression.
Allen tensed, ready to cast, ready to fight for his life.
However, Katrana's reaction was completely unexpected.
"Take him away," she said coldly. "Throw him into Stormwind Prison."
The guards lifted Allen and dragged him out.
Allen did not struggle, nor did he speak again. Only as he was dragged out the door did he glance back.
That glance… carried an indescribable meaning.
The door slammed shut.
Malathrom remained standing there. He had overheard part of the conversation outside.
So this proud Lady Katrana—who had never favored any man in Stormwind—also had such… filthy desires.
His breathing grew heavy. That greedy gaze fell upon Katrana like a sticky tongue.
"Lady Katrana…" he dropped to his knees with a thud, crawling toward her on all fours like a dog. "I—I am willing to serve you! I will do anything for you! Anything! I'd even lick your toes if you asked!"
Katrana looked down at the writhing worm at her feet.
A trace of disgust flashed through her violet eyes.
A filthy worm dares covet me?
She raised her hand.
Dark energy coiled around her fingertips, like an invisible thread gently wrapping around Malathrom's neck.
The lord still wore that disgusting, ingratiating smile.
Then—it froze.
His eyes bulged wide. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His body began to convulse. Not long after…
Thud.
He collapsed to the ground.
Only his eyes remained wide open, staring at the ceiling.
In those unclosed eyes lingered the final moment's fear and confusion.
Katrana didn't spare him another glance.
She walked to the window, gazing out at Stormwind's nightscape.
Her mood refused to settle.
Allen Prestor.
Allen Prestor!
ALLEN PRESTOR!!!
That man—he actually dared to refuse me. He dared to refuse me!
She had lived for tens of thousands of years. She had seen countless beings grovel and tremble before her, countless humans kneel, countless so-called heroes turn into cowards in her presence.
But this swindler, this weakling, this ant tied up like a bundle—someone she could kill with a mere thought—
He said, "I won't."
He said, "I refuse."
Katrana suddenly felt she had lost interest in everything in Stormwind.
She didn't want to stay here anymore.
With a wave of her hand, a set of splendid everyday clothes appeared out of thin air and draped over her.
She pushed open the door and summoned the guards standing in the corridor—true confidants transformed by draconic magic.
"What needed to be done is done," she said, her voice returning to its usual lazy indifference. "Let's go. Back to Lordaeron."
The draconic guards bowed.
"As you command, my lady."
...
Allen woke up in an unfamiliar place.
The first thing he felt was damp, bone-chilling cold. Then the smell—rotting straw, moldy stone, and the faint stench of human waste.
He opened his eyes.
Dim light.
Rough stone walls surrounded him. Beneath his feet were wet stone slabs covered with a thin layer of blackened straw.
Stormwind Prison.
The lowest level dungeon.
He struggled to sit up, only to find his right hand shackled by an iron chain fixed to a ring in the wall.
"Yo, you're awake?"
A hoarse voice came from beside him.
Allen turned his head.
In the same cell, a scruffy prisoner was staring at him.
The man looked to be in his thirties or forties, with stubble covering his face and hair matted into a tangled mess.
He was sizing Allen up with ill intent.
"Pretty boy, new here?" he grinned, revealing several yellowed teeth. "Know the rules here? Newcomers gotta show respect to the old dogs. You look soft—probably got something worth taking. Hand it over, and I'll watch your back. Otherwise…"
He stood up, staggering as he approached, reaching out to slap Allen's face.
"Otherwise I'll show you what real misery feels—"
His voice abruptly cut off.
Allen's gaze landed on his face.
Within those eyes, shadows stirred.
As if something indescribable was peering through them, staring at this lowly prisoner.
That gaze fell upon him like a stare from the abyss.
The scruffy prisoner's hand froze midair.
His legs began to give out.
Thud.
He collapsed onto the ground, mouth open but unable to make a sound.
He watched as that "pretty boy" slowly straightened his body. The iron chain clanked against his wrist, yet it couldn't suppress the trembling rising from deep within his soul.
What was that…
What was that…
He didn't know how he crawled back into the corner.
He only knew that when those eyes finally moved away, he was already drenched in cold sweat, curled up in the corner of the cell, never daring to look up again.
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