Archive of Our Own

“You want me to what?”

Varian’s eyes gleamed. He had his teeth in it now; like a dog with a bone, he would not let go. “I want you to come to the ball.”

Valeera raised an eyebrow. Her fork clinked against the plate as she put it down. “‘I’d rather not.” 

Every year the House of Wrynn hosted a gala in celebration of Winter Veil. Gifts were presented to the royal family, large conifers from Dun Morogh decorated in twinkling lights were set up all through the castle, and nobles and ladies turned out in droves, decked in their finest jewels and regalia. It was the social event of the year, and Valeera wanted no part of it. 

Shaw had been grumbling for weeks over security; they would be joined this year by not only King and Queen Greymane but also Queen Moira Thaurissan of the Dark Iron clan. It was an assassin’s dream and a complete security nightmare. 

“Please, Val. It’s so tedious.” Varian hated parties and diplomatic events. Truthfully, he would rather spend the week leading up to Winter Veil in his pajamas, drinking and eating extravagant food with naught but Valeera and Anduin for company. He’d done so once, when Anduin was just an infant; he and Tiffin had lazed away the entire day, snuggling in their cozy bed with the baby between them. It remained among his most favorite of memories. 

“Varian.” Valeera fixed him with a pointed stare. “Even if your spymaster allowed me to run security, I can’t see how﹣”

He shook his head and cut her off. “You wouldn’t run security.”

It dawned on her half a moment later.

“No.”

“Vaaal﹣”

“No.”

He pouted. “I can’t spend the night with Lord So-and-so and Lady Whatsherface and be bored out of my mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “Perhaps if you learned their names, you wouldn’t be.”

“Please?” 

“No one will approve of my being your date, Varian.” And she said date like it was a dirty word. Varian thought it was a lie she told herself, so the impossibility would hurt less. 

He reached for his glass. “Don’t come as my date then,” he said easily. “Come as my guest.”

Shaw would have a fit; he would have to speak to the man. Shaw and Valeera didn’t get along, and Varian would hate for Valeera to show up only to have the guards turn her away at the door. She’d never made an appearance at Winter Veil before, rarely went to any social events at all. He was sure the whispers that trailed in her wake bothered her, even if she wouldn’t admit it.

Valeera looked doubtful. “That would go over about as well.” But she hadn’t said no and Varian latched onto that. 

“Oh, who cares what those stuffy nobles think,” he scoffed. “You’ve been in Stormwind long enough that they should be used to you. Even Shaw puts in appearances, Val.”

“Shaw is a public figure. I’m not.” 

He grinned. “Perhaps you should be.” Valeera scowled.

“No, thank you.” She picked up her fork again, spearing a bit of asparagus. “Besides,” she laughed, “it’s not as if my wardrobe lends itself to fancy parties.” Chuckling to herself at the thought of arriving in a set of travel leathers, she returned to her lunch, asparagus crunching softly between her teeth. Varian frowned. 

Valeera didn’t have a lot of nice clothes, really. She didn’t need them, being what she was. He knew she owned several dresses of Thalassian make but they were plain, constructed for covert operations in Horde territories. Most of what lived in her wardrobe consisted of trousers and tunics, breathable blouses, and thin undershirts for padding beneath stiff leather chestpieces. She didn’t wear makeup or jewelry, and kept her nails short and unpainted. He didn’t think she even owned a pair of footwear outside of her sturdy leather boots.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Hmm?” Valeera was watching him cautiously, like one would observe an unknown animal or an irritable spymaster. “Oh. Just thinking, is all.”

“About?”

“You.” 

And Valeera laughed. “What about me?” she teased.

He hid his grin behind another sip of wine. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He'd have something made for her then.

* * *

Several days later, Valeera returned to her chambers in a foul mood. A more sensitive mission she’d been scheduled to undertake over the holiday had been stolen from her by SI:7 and though she hadn’t particularly wanted to fuck off to the bottomless trench that was Deepholm, but she would have liked a satisfactory answer from Shaw, or even Varian for that matter, as to why it had been given to some SI:7 idiot. 

An hour or so in the inner courtyard had calmed her some. She’d been throwing daggers when Anduin had arrived with his priest tutor (“Oh! We can go somewhere else, Val, sorry!”) and, brushing off his concerns, Valeera had taken down the target, had laid it against one wall and sheathed her daggers, and listened intently as the tutor instructed Anduin in the Light. She didn’t really have any interest in religion, but there was something about Anduin ﹣ his face screwed up as he concentrated, the soft glow between his hands and how it illuminated his kind, open face ﹣ that was captivating. Anduin loved his studies, and it showed. 

“Oh, Val,” he’d said. “You’re bleeding. Come here.” 

“It’s nothing,” she’d told him. “I was careless and skinned my finger.” She’d dropped the knife in her anger, and stabbed herself when her hand shot out to catch it. It was a shallow cut, already tentatively clotted. 

But Anduin would have none of it and had held out his hand for hers. “Let me practice then,” he tried, knowing as well as she did that she would not refuse him, not when he framed it like that. 

Valeera ran her thumb over the healed cut, the too smooth sensation of Light-touched skin. It was impossible to be angry around Anduin, she thought; she wasn’t sure how Varian managed to yell at him as often as he did. She didn’t think she could bring herself to yell at Anduin at all. 

He would make a good priest once he was fully trained. He had an unthreatening voice, warm, comforting hands, and a gentle, calming presence. She’d still be hurling daggers outside with increasing viciousness if Anduin hadn’t chosen the same spot for his lesson.

Regardless, she was still irritated ﹣ this was just like Shaw, undermining her. He’d probably convinced Varian she was unfit for the job. He’d long ago given up trying to persuade Varian that she was a danger to him and the crown; Valeera liked to think Varian had finally gotten fed up and hit him. But that didn’t mean Shaw liked seeing assignments that his operatives could carry out go to her. 

In fact she was so irritated that she almost missed the box sitting on her table. It wasn’t until she clipped her shin on its corner that she looked down, swearing, and the box jumped out at her. It was a large, rectangular thing made of cardboard, the kind of thing new clothes were packed in before leaving the shop. Curious, Valeera knelt down, slid her fingers under the lid. Placed it carefully aside, and peeled back the filmy tissue paper. Drew the contents into the light.

It was a dress. A beautiful, floor length dress in periwinkle blue, embroidered delicately at the cuffs and along the plunging neckline in golden thread. It was crafted in distinctly Thalassian style, meant to hug the body and accentuate curves, but with subtle Stormwindian flare. A sheer panel covered what should have been a naked back, and the sleeves billowed at the elbows, using more fabric than was usual in that sort of style. Valeera’s breath caught in her throat as the smell hit her, a powerful, clean, magical scent that brought her right back to her childhood, before the Scourge and the bandits. To when her mother was still alive, and all the fine dresses she had once worn. 

This was manasilk, and Valeera gaped at it. Manasilk production had ceased to exist after the fall of the Sunwell, and even with its restoration, the sin’dorei simply lacked the ability to use mana as they once did. It wasn’t distilled into scents anymore, or woven into fabric, and mages rarely performed the powerful spells needed to create spontaneous mana crystals. The Wretched had seen to it that most mana byproducts were destroyed in their quest to sate their magical addictions, and what little had been saved from them had in turn been broken down by the Silvermoon elite. 

Valeera held in her hands a treasure worth more than… She couldn’t even put a number to what this must have cost. 

She didn’t know where Varian could have gotten it ﹣ because who else even possessed that much gold? ﹣ or who he could have commissioned to work on it. Humans didn’t possess the dexterity needed to adapt mana byproducts ﹣ she’d seen enough dulled and broken mana crystals in cheap jewelry to know that ﹣ and no elf would be able to resist selling such a thing or breaking it down themselves. 

For a long moment Valeera just sat there, the fabric cool and refreshing against her skin, a chilled cloth against a fevered forehead, and breathed. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see Silvermoon as it had been, wearing a fine manasilk frock of her own as her parents introduced some noble whose name she’d already forgotten to her and her brothers. For a moment she was seven years old again, home in the city of her birth, and magic hummed once more in her ears. 

* * *

Varian was antsy. He tugged at the stiff collar of his pressed shirt, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Every so often he listened for the chime of Stormwind’s great bells. Was it one hour to midnight now or two? 

Was Valeera even coming?

Mia Greymane was talking to him. With great difficulty he drew his attention back to her, tried to focus on what she was saying.

“﹣shame that Prince Anduin was unable to attend. In Gilneas, he would already be a fixture at events such as these. Tess and my late son Liam were debuted to court life by the age of six.”

“Mm.” Varian didn’t think much of Gilnean customs. Anduin was fourteen years old, and in his opinion too young to be hobnobbing with world leaders and discussing matters of state he didn’t quite understand. Varian had been forced into such a life after the death of his father, coming into his crown too early. He wanted Anduin to enjoy his childhood while he still had it, and there was nothing enjoyable about stuffy galas and being accosted on all sides by the endless stream of begging nobles. 

“There she is now,” Mia prodded, indicating her wine glass in the direction of the draenei emissary Taluun. Draenei were large, imposing, inhuman creatures, the men broad of shoulder and packed with muscle like an especially fattened cow. Taluun was no exception; he dwarfed the Gilnean princess, who was of an age with Anduin and a head taller than him. She wore a Gilnean dress, with a high collar and proper little gloves, her hair swept up into a knot atop her head. Varian remembered something Jaina had said once, the winter they had spent in Lordaeron under the guardianship of King Terenas.

Girls should wear their hair down until they are married, she’d told Arthas, a blush coloring her cheeks as the prince brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder. 

You would look so pretty with it up, the prince had murmured, to which Varian had quipped, Is she not pretty now? He’d received a rude gesture for that remark, as Jaina colored and Calia leaned over and poked her brother hard in the side. The other prince had not yet confessed his affections for the mage, and Varian had often enjoyed cajoling him whenever he caught them together. Calia no doubt had done the same to Jaina, who was shy and easily embarrassed. 

After Arthas’s descent into madness it was whispered for a time that perhaps Jaina would marry Varian, and indeed the two were very close, leaned on each other perhaps more than was proper in the aftermath. But Varian had never been interested in Jaina nor she in him, and their friendship was the pillar to which they clung in the face of Arthas’s betrayal. Not long after, Varian had married Tiffin, and Jaina had been nothing but supportive and overjoyed. 

He looked again at Tess Greymane, laughing with the draenei emissary and looking much older than her fourteen years, and frowned. He didn’t want that for Anduin. If the greatest injustice his son ever faced was not being allowed to attend a ball, then his son would lead a good life indeed. 

Every so often he scanned the room looking for Mathias Shaw. He’d mentioned in an offhand way that an invitation had been extended to Valeera this night, had watched the spymaster attempt to hide his downturned mouth beneath his meticulously groomed mustache. 

“Why would Ms Sanguinar attend?” the man had asked carefully. “She doesn’t seem fond of parties, and the House of Nobles would surely object.”

“The House of Nobles can get fucked,” Varian had snapped. “I want her to come. She is a citizen of Stormwind as well, is she not? It’s high time she was allowed to partake in court life.” 

Truthfully, Varian cared little about whether Valeera ever ingrained herself in court life or not. His motivations were truly selfish, a wish for a beautiful woman whose company he enjoyed at his side and saving him from the mundanity of it all. Perhaps the spymaster understood ﹣ he did not attempt to convince Varian to rescind his invitation, did not preach on the “badness” of the idea, did not lecture as he had a dozen times before on the dangers of Valeera Sanguinar. He’d simply chewed at the inside of his cheek before remarking that he would inform gala security. 

Perhaps Shaw was finally fed up with his and Valeera’s relationship. That was more likely than him accepting it, at any rate. 

Although if anyone could accept it, could understand it, wouldn’t it be Shaw? Shaw knew more about Varian than anyone else in the world, more even than his dear friend Jaina. Shaw had known him for most of his life, was perhaps even the same age ﹣ Mathias Shaw was not someone Varian spent a great deal of time pondering ﹣ and had known him in all his worst moments. He’d known Varian as the gloomy youth he had been, the boy who rarely smiled and found little in life worth smiling over at all. A marriage contracted before he was even born, few children his own age with whom to socialize, and the death of his mother to a long, drawn out illness had made him a withdrawn, melancholy child, prone to fits of anger and sadness in equal amounts. His best friend Bolvar Fordragon worried for him, was not able on his own to lift his spirits. 

His arranged marriage was not so terrible as Varian had always feared. He had met the girl once, when they were children. Tiffin was small and slight for her age, her House just on the cusp of aristocracy and nobility. Varian’s father had drawn up the marriage as a favor to her father, some debt to be repaid, and Varian had taken his anger at being bought like cattle out on her. He’d received a good beating from his father for his behavior that day.

In their teenage years, Tiffin had come to live at court, to acclimate to her new life as Jaina had been allowed to in Lordaeron, and it was then that Varian’s opinion of the girl changed. The looming marriage towards which he was shackled no longer seemed such a curse at all but a blessing. Tiffin was frighteningly intelligent and unfazed by his snark, and marched without fear up to him in his worst tantrums and fixed him with such a look of disappointment that Varian immediately was immediately cowed. She made him want to be better than he was, made him want to temper his rage and gain control over his sorrow. She brought light for the very first time into his life. Made it worth living. 

You know that look Arthas gets when he sees Jaina? Bolvar asked him once. You wear the same one in the presence of Tiffin.

Her death had destroyed him. 

For only a precious handful of months, Varian had everything he could ever want. A kind and beloved wife, a beautiful precious child, and a gloriously rebuilt kingdom in an era of peace. And then the riots started. The Defias. Onyxia. In the span of just a moment, everything Varian had ever worked for had been ripped away. Tiffin was dead, and with her all the happiness he’d ever felt in his life. 

He’d spent a long, long time mourning Tiffin. He hadn’t wanted to see anyone, even his infant son. He thundered and screamed until his throat was raw for the heads of the rioters, the leaders of the Defias, swore up and down he’d find them himself and shatter every bone in their traitorous bodies before ramming a pike from anus to mouth and dangling them from the city ramparts. People walked on eggshells around him, Shaw most of all. Rarely was the news delivered by the spymaster good. Something that would fill the void in his chest where his heart used to be. 

Vaguely, for a time after her death, before Onyxia and her spells, Varian was aware of the concerns of Bolvar, and Jaina, and Shaw. Aware of being watched, his friends and staff afraid that he would follow Tiffin into the Shadowlands. For a long time he’d wanted to.

Everyone had said spend time with your son and he’ll help you heal but Anduin only made things worse. As he grew he favored his mother, in both temperament and looks. He had her yellow hair and twinkling blue eyes, her mischievous smirk and upturned button nose. He had her tinkling laugh ﹣ and the boy laughed a lot. He was a happy child and rarely cried, and watching him made Varian's heart break all over again. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Anduin. Anduin was the most precious thing in all of Azeroth. But the boy adored him, and always wanted to spend time with him, and Varian just… couldn’t love him in the way Anduin deserved . All he saw was Tiffin, and his ravaged heart ached. 

He supposed he owed Onyxia, in the end. If she hadn’t kidnapped him, if she hadn’t cleaved his soul in two and sent Lo’Gosh off to die, he never would have met Valeera. 

Varian had never intended to fall in love with Valeera Sanguinar. Never thought, after Tiffin, he’d love anyone again. Never thought he would want anyone again. Hers was the only bed he had ever shared, hers the only lips he’d ever kissed. He swore on her grave with tears in his eyes that he would never remarry, that there would never be anyone but her. 

And then Valeera had appeared in his life.

He didn’t think he’d have ever looked twice at her had they met the usual way. The normal way, as nobles did. If she had walked into Stormwind Keep and introduced herself, Varian didn’t think he would have paid her any mind at all. It was the circumstances that allowed the feelings to emerge, nurtured by the privacy of nights in the Crimson Ring and the tenderness that was the raw, emotional Lo’Gosh. Love blossomed there, amidst the harshness of deadly battles and Broll’s deafening snores. Hidden away from the world, separated from his grief for his wife and guilt over his son, a bond had been forged, one that held fast after the reclamation of his kingdom and the rejoining of his other self. 

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t felt guilty, coming back to himself with Valeera in tow. That he’d never stood before Tiffin’s grave and confessed tearfully that he’d found someone. That he hoped she wouldn’t be upset or angry with him, that he’d never meant to and hadn’t planned on it. That he still loved her, above all else. Those were dark times, his first few months back in Stormwind. 

But Valeera had understood. She’d always understood him, just as Tiffin had. Knew from just a look when he was stuck in his head and spiraling, and how to bring him back down to earth. Had given him space when he needed it, to confront his conflicting feelings about her and his wife. Had not been upset, and had never complained. Had more than once listened to him, in the privacy of his own chambers, as he attempted to explain the turmoil in his own heart, the emotions he couldn’t name. 

Do you want me to go? she’d asked, more than once.

And he’d reach for her, on instinct, before he could really think about it. Lay his head on her shoulder, or his hand on her arm, or wrap an arm around her waist and pull her to him. No. Don’t leave. Stay with me.

For the first time in eight years the storm had broken. The clouds parted, and the sun peeked out; weakly at first, and then shone so strong it was blinding. The guilt and rage and melancholy he’d felt all his life disappeared when faced with Valeera and her small, soothing touches, her soft whispered words. Her eyerolls and smirks and teasing shoves. The sight of her in his bed, golden hair tumbling over his pillows and face unlined in sleep; brow furrowed in concentration as she perused some document or other; hand scritching at his stubble as he lay in her lap and she read to him when he was sick. 

You can’t love someone until you love yourself first, Bolvar had once told him. That was bullshit. Varian had never once loved himself. But Valeera?

By the Light. He loved her so much he’d forgotten what hating himself felt like. 

Through Valeera he had slowly begun reconnecting with his son. Slowly learned to separate Tiffin from Anduin, and see the boy for who he was. It was difficult and it hurt, and sometimes Varian lost patience but Valeera never did. And with Valeera to smooth over his most horrible blunders, Anduin had begun to reach out again. Had begun asking for him and trying. Varian would never have had the courage to face his son and repair the relationship he’d broken without Valeera behind him, urging him on. 

Perhaps that was why Shaw had stopped lecturing. The man had known him in mourning, had worried for him and borne the brunt of most of his outbursts. 

“You seem happier these days, Your Majesty,” the spymaster had remarked, not so long ago. 

“I suppose I am.”

“It’s a good look on you. I’m glad.” 

Shaw was an intelligent man. Surely he understood Valeera was the cause? He didn’t have to like her, but he seemed to have accepted that Varian did, that Valeera had more than proven her loyalty to him, posed no threat to him or to Anduin or Stormwind. 

But he didn’t like her, Varian knew, no matter how well he hid it. And when she arrived ﹣ if she arrived ﹣ he was sure he would see it on the spymaster’s face. 

Moira had joined them by this point, Varian noted, and again he tried to focus on the conversation. Moira was a widower, he knew, her husband killed in the raid on Blackrock Mountain years ago. She was pious and kind, and he remembered her from his days as a boy in Ironforge; they were around the same age, though he’d seen more of his mentor’s son and her uncles than her. Dwarves had strange opinions about associating with the opposite sex. Sometimes he'd thought she and Jaina would be good friends, both having grown up isolated from other children, and alone. 

She had a son about Anduin’s age, though the boy was not here. “Dagran is spending Winter Veil with my uncles,” she said lightly, and Varian understood the words woven in between. I could not part him from his family. Her father Magni had been petrified in the Cataclysm; he’d never met the boy, and Moira felt great regret over that. She would not deprive her son the opportunity to get to know Muradin and Brann as well, and their families. 

“I hear Ironforge is especially lovely this time of year,” Mia said politely. “All the snow must look very beautiful.”

“It does,” Moira agreed. “I admit I find it very odd to celebrate Winter Veil in the rain.”

It did not snow in Stormwind. Even the Cataclysm couldn’t change that. With the balmy typhoons just south in Stranglethorn and the dry, hot winds off the Burning Steppes, Elwynn was warm at the best of times and sweltering at the worst. The breeze blown off the sea helped mitigate some of the heat but the city was still humid, and it rained most of the winter. The Nazferiti River on the southern border would flood by the middle of the season, bringing with it angry murlocs and plenty of freshwater fish and crabs. The markets would be full of river seafood by the end of January.

“It rained quite often in Gilneas,” Mia went on. “But we would get snow in the winter. There’s something very idyllic about waking up on a crisp winter morning to a carpet of untouched snow.”

Varian saw Shaw out of the corner of his eye, his copper hair catching the light as he bent his head, listening intently to someone Varian couldn’t see. Probably Renzik, his second in command. The goblin was a public enough figure to secure his own invitation, if he wasn’t already on security. The spymaster heaved a great sigh and nodded, and evidently the goblin left because Shaw straightened then, and a frown creased his face. Varian followed his gaze ﹣ towards the large entryway that led into the depths of the castle, not the ornate double doors used by outside guests. 

There were too many people in the way for him to see clearly who had entered, so Varian watched as Shaw followed the person's path into the room. Wove gracefully through the crowd, and leaned in close to speak to a woman in a shimmering blue dress, her long, pointed ears studded with tiny gems, and her wavy golden tresses caught up in a shining jeweled clip. 

Valeera frowned as the spymaster approached her, and Varian couldn’t tear his eyes away.

* * *

Valeera wasn’t going to go. There was no reason she should be allowed to attend the annual ball ﹣ Shaw’s operatives didn’t unless they were security, and hadn’t she been reminded on multiple occasions that she was no better than them? That she was one of them in all but name? And she certainly wasn’t on security detail. No. She would eat a quiet dinner in her rooms and perhaps spend a few hours with Anduin, who wasn’t allowed to go, and wait for the inevitable moment Varian let himself in to bemoan that he’d missed her and she should have come. 

But the dress called to her. Valeera found herself in front of the elegantly carved double doors of her wardrobe, running her fingers over the fine silk. Her skin tingled where it touched her, the residual magic in the fabric singing to her and reaching for her. 

She had no reason to wear such a ridiculous piece of clothing, and yet there she was, stepping out of her clothes and pulling the delicate piece over her head, smoothing it over her hips. The skirt flared in unison with the sleeves, not quite as wide as a Stormwindian court dress and not made to be worn with layers of petticoats and underpinnings. Thalassian fashion was meant to lay close to the skin, a single garment between oneself and the open air. Varian had been enthralled the first time he’d ever seen her in Thalassian dress. It hadn’t stayed on long. 

Genn Greymane, she recalled, had been scandalized. The look on his face the day they’d met, she returning from her biannual pilgrimage to the Sunwell and still clad in red and gold, made her laugh to this day. He'd reacted as if she’d strode into the castle stark naked.

Maybe she would go, she thought, studying her reflection. The neckline plunged deep between her breasts, and though a sheer panel of fabric covered her from collarbone to cleavage, a good deal of her chest was bare, visible through the translucent silk just a shade lighter than the manasilk itself. 

Idly, Valeera wondered if it had come like that or if Varian had commissioned it that way. 

She spent more time than she would ever admit in front of the mirror. Valeera hadn’t owned anything so fine since she was a little girl, and the prim little dresses worn by a seven year old were vastly different to the gowns worn by an adult woman. The woman in the mirror was sexy and alluring, a description to which Valeera wasn’t necessarily opposed but which she’d never exactly applied to herself. She’d never dressed up with the intent of looking like this. 

Valeera did not own a lot of fine, frivolous things. A rogue had no need for jewelry unless to pawn it, but she did possess one or two pieces nice enough to be seen with such a dress. A pair of white sapphires dangled from her ears, a gift from Anduin she had never found an opportunity to wear. He’d told her when she opened them, “When I was at the Exodar I learned that the Sunwell was restored by the Holy Light. These made me think of that story.” They were brilliant little round gems, with a sharp, blinding star almost dead center. The shining Light in the midst of the holy waters of the Sunwell. 

A little smile curved along her lips as she turned her head this way and that, Anduin’s earrings sparkling in the light. They looked very pretty paired with the color of her dress. It was a shame the boy would not be there to see her wear them. 

Around her neck she fastened a simple gold chain, one of her own she had worn several times when the occasion called for it. It nestled enticingly in the valley of her breasts, the barest gleam of gold against the glimmer of silk. 

Her hair she twisted into a sophisticated chignon, held in place with a golden clip. The clip had been a gift from Varian, though it hadn’t come with the dress. No, he’d given her the ornament long ago. It was shaped like a pair of phoenix wings, the feathers alternating in strips of gold and white gems. It took a moment to get it centered, and she liked the effect it made against her hair. At the final touches ﹣ a dab of rosy lipstick and matching fancy heels ﹣ she hesitated. Applying them, finishing the look, would make this real. She would have to go if she put them on. 

Did she even want to?

Valeera thought of all the uptight nobles who frequented high society events. The disdainful glances they threw her way, the way they whispered behind their hands as though she couldn’t hear them. She thought of Genn Greymane, who would be horrified at her appearance, and Shaw, who would be furious. She didn’t really want to see them, no matter how badly she enjoyed needling the spymaster.

But. 

She pictured Varian, in his lavish suit. The tails of his jacket and the tie bowed around his neck. She’d seen Varian dressed up before. He was devastatingly handsome, charming and even a little debonair. Hadn’t she, at least once, wished to walk beside him at one of those fancy events, in defiance of all those who opposed her very being in Stormwind at all? What would they say, to see a sin’dorei cozied up to their king? What would they say when they saw how he treated her, the kindness and respect and attention he showered on her? 

What would Varian say, if he saw her like this? 

She sat in front of the mirror and pondered. 

It surprised her not at all to find Mathias Shaw at her elbow from nearly the moment she entered the room. 

“Good evening, Ms Sanguinar,” he said quietly. 

“No need to sound so disappointed, Shaw,” she replied cheerily. “I know I’m not your favorite guest but it is a party, after all. Try and have some fun.”

The spymaster clenched his jaw. “My least favorite guest is not you,” he admitted after a moment. “Though I will say, I still don’t think it… appropriate for you to be here.”

“Oh, that makes two of us.” Valeera eyed him. Shaw cleaned up nicely. “Are you a guest of His Majesty too?” she teased. “Or on duty?”

“I’m always on duty.” And then, “Why did you come then?”

Valeera would not tell Shaw it was because of Varian. The look in his eyes when he’d asked, the soft, thoughtful face as he imagined it. She wanted to give in to him, wanted to make him happy, and that was a part of herself she would never show the likes of Mathias Shaw. Varian smiled at her like she was something special, a smile he showed no one else, and if this ﹣ slipping into a fancy dress and attending a party ﹣ made him smile like that, she would do it a hundred times over. 

And she knew, in the back of her mind, that seeing her done up like this would be absolute torture, and it delighted her to think of how long Varian would be able to stand it until he was finally able to rip her clothes off. 

“Perhaps I just enjoy the affronted look on your face whenever I do something you don’t like.” She grinned at him, and Shaw scowled. One day, she thought, she would work him up so thoroughly he would hit her. She couldn’t wait for his façade to crack. 

“Are you my chaperone this evening?” she asked mildly, and if the spymaster was any less cultured he might have snorted.

“Hardly,” he scoffed. But he didn’t answer her further, his bottle green eyes sweeping the room. Regardless of what he said, he clearly was there for her. Valeera didn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved. 

She knew most of the people in the hall, of course. Nearly all of them lived in Stormwind, after all, and most had met her at one time or another. Most of the House of Nobles was present, with their spouses and adult children. The emissaries and other ambassadors from the Alliance, and the high elf Auric Sunchaser, representing the quel’dorei. Valeera made a face; she didn’t know why he’d been invited. The Sunchasers were a prominent quel’dorei family, one of the last great Houses, and every single one of them was stuck up and rude. Valeera made a note of his attire, the better to avoid him. 

Auric Sunchaser also made frequent trips to Quel’Thalas, and it would not do for him to be too familiar with her face. 

There were no Horde ambassadors this year. There was always at least one, but Valeera supposed the bombing of Theramore had purged them from the cities. It was almost sad, because they provided great entertainment. There was nothing funnier than a tauren crammed into a suit clearly not made for such a creature, tugging at his collar and cuffs and tail twitching irritably.

The sight of a blood elf in the castle, not well known and already the subject of rumors, was not likely to be a welcome sight. With Shaw by her side, not as an antagonist but a conversational partner, it would ease the minds of curious onlookers, be less likely to incite a negative reaction from the masses.

“Enjoying the party, spymaster?” she asked casually.

“I dislike parties,” he said shortly. 

“Not drinking, I see. You’d loosen up if you did.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Ah.” Valeera nodded sagely. “And that, Shaw, is precisely why I could never join SI:7. I like my alcohol too much.” Unfortunately she didn’t have any, or she would have punctuated her words with a drink. 

Shaw rolled his eyes. Pulled a pocketwatch out and checked it. Seemingly satisfied, he put it back and said, “Try not to cause any trouble, Ms Sanguinar. It’s been relatively peaceful tonight.”

“I would never give you trouble, Master Shaw.”

Mustache twitching in annoyance, Shaw left her then, and Valeera stifled a laugh. 

“Must you antagonize him?”

“I must. You know I can’t help myself.” She couldn’t help but grin as Varian came into view, two goblets of wine in hand. He handed her one, eyes raking over her. Valeera thought he liked what he saw.

“He’ll have you thrown out,” the king warned. 

“Maybe.” She sipped delicately at her wine. “And you’d follow.”

His mouth softened; not quite the predatory smirk but now a gentle smile. “Yes,” he murmured, “I would.” 

There were many people at the ball despite the late hour, perhaps still a hundred or more, but in that moment they all fell away, leaving Varian and Valeera the only two people in the world. 

“You look nice,” he said softly, clutching at his wine glass hard. He wanted so badly to touch her. Run his fingers over the line of sheer fabric, grab a handful of silk in his fist. He hadn’t seen the dress before having it sent off. Hadn’t known it would look like this. He didn’t know if it was the expensive fabric ﹣ and it was expensive, more gold than he could quite justify to an angry Shaw ﹣ or the Thalassian cut, but it did things to him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The manasilk shimmered in the myriad of little golden lights decorating the hall, the swell of her breasts visible beneath the sheer panel in the front, and he wanted nothing more than to seize her by that taunting necklace and take her right there, before the House of Nobles and all the ambassadors and guild heads and Stormwind herself. 

He managed to keep his hands to himself, however. No matter how badly he wished to reach behind her and unclip her hair ﹣ and he’d never seen her with her hair up, pulled back so skillfully ﹣ tangle his fingers in it as he hiked up her skirt and pressed his free hand between her legs. 

Pink dusted Valeera’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she mumbled. “But it’s mostly thanks to this obscene bribe you sent me.” She gestured down at herself, and Varian chuckled.

“Not a bribe.” Oh, it was so hard not to touch her. “Merely a gift from me to you.”

And Valeera laughed too. “Varian, do you even… Where did you find enough manasilk for this?”

“I know someone,” he said cryptically, and would not elaborate. That had been difficult. Valeera had mentioned to him once that before the fall of the Sunwell, elves used to make all sorts of things out of mana ﹣ silks and jewels and scents and even foods. When he’d asked why they’d stopped, she’d told him We don’t have that kind of power anymore. He wasn’t a mage, or an elf; didn’t understand quite what she meant. The quel’dorei seamster he’d contracted had been able to explain it a little better.

Mana is a life force, Your Majesty. It takes an exceptionally powerful mage to distill it into something tangible and usable for some other purpose. There are no quel’dorei with such an ability anymore, and the mana used by the sin’dorei is tainted by evil fel magics. 

Varian was sure Shaw had found the bolt of manasilk on the black market. Most mana byproducts were destroyed following the fall of the Well, Your Majesty, to pull the mana back out of them.  

He wasn’t a mage, and his sensitivity to magic was poor, but Valeera’s wasn’t. Even if such an extravagance wasn’t her style, she clearly was pleased with his gift, and that was all Varian had really wanted. He’d worried, when he’d had it commissioned, that she wouldn’t like it. He was not known for grand gestures and his gift giving was subpar at best. He was worried it would say too much, that in combination with the Winter Veil gala would send a message Valeera did not want and neither of them were ready for. 

She fingered the end of one of the sleeves, running her thumb over the tiny, neat stitching. “Thank you,” she said again, peering at him beneath her lashes. “It’s beautiful.”

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned close, so loud he was sure it would drown out the words he whispered in her ear. “Not as beautiful as you.”

Valeera stopped breathing. She felt warm all over, flushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She held her wine goblet with both hands, lest she be overcome with the need to pull him to her, to press her body against his and slide her hands under his suit jacket and kiss him until she was dizzy. 

She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she murmured, “Where will His Majesty be in twenty minutes, do you think?”

Varian groaned low in his throat. Fully sheathed in her warm cunt, he hoped. “Hmm.” He thought for a moment, no easy feat with so little blood left in his brain. “I think I’ll fancy a stroll down the eastern corridor. The one with the window overlooking the pond.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there. I might want to take a walk of my own.”

* * *

They didn’t reach the corridor. Twenty minutes was agony, Varian thought. He hadn’t heard a word Genn had said, or Lord Wishock. Had nodded dumbly as Lady Lescovar said something that might have been a joke, and excused himself at seventeen minutes exactly. He didn’t remember what he’d said. He couldn’t wait any longer.

He caught Valeera as she was turning a corner, seizing her arm a little more roughly than he'd intended, and she went willingly, her lips already on his as he pushed her into the cold stone of the wall. 

“Such a tease,” he murmured into her mouth, running his hand up her side, covering her breast with his palm and just holding before kneading gently.

“It’s your own fault,” she gasped, arching into the touch. Her own hand cupped his neck, stealing slowly down to just under his collar. He felt the pull as she met the resistance of his tie, as she growled into his lips and her other hand shot up, ripping the bow apart and casting it aside.

“It is, it is,” he agreed, kissing along her jaw. He was already hard ﹣ he thought he’d been hard since she’d first appeared ﹣ and the friction of his stiff, starched pants against his dick was good but not nearly good enough. “Seems you’re just as eager.”

“Always eager for you.” She keened when Varian reached her ear, sucked the lobe into his mouth, and her hips jerked forward in response, as though the two sensations were related. Maybe they were. He groaned as she brushed against his straining cock. 

He flicked his thumb over her nipple, already pebbling under the thin silk. Was she wearing anything beneath this dress? The thought only made him more ravenous. He was going to devour her, take her back to that hall so thoroughly fucked out that there would be no question of who she belonged to. She melted into him as he licked the line of her ear ﹣ elf ears were so usefully sensitive, he’d learned ﹣ stifling a moan behind her bitten lip. 

His shirt was undone. He didn’t know when that had happened, but he didn’t question it as he felt Valeera’s hands on him, over his firm chest and pinching his own nipples.

“Tease,” he groaned again. 

“You love it.”

“I do, I do.” I love you.  

He left wet kisses down her neck, the thin chain in the way and in his haste he yanked on it, heard a small snap. Oh well. He replaced the hand on her breast with his lips, uncaring if he left a mark on the fabric. Moved his hand to the other one, the neglected nipple there.

“Rip it,” she hissed.

She didn’t have to tell him twice. 

The sheer panel came away easily and he pushed the thicker manasilk aside, freeing her breast to the chill night air. Soon they were both exposed and Varian laved at them lovingly with his tongue, sucking hard enough to bruise, as Valeera held his head in place and pushed back against him. 

Light, he wanted to rip the whole damn thing off.

Dimly, he wondered if anyone would miss them, if they didn’t come back.

Valeera had freed his shirt from his pants, his belt clattering loudly as she unbuckled it. She was so, so close to where he desperately needed her, and he exhaled heavily into her chest. “Val…”

“This what you want?” And then she was stroking him through his pants, firm and sure, and he saw stars. 

“Careful,” he growled against her skin, grabbing great handfuls of her skirt and hiking it up. “This’ll be quick if you don’t stop.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She squeezed then, her palm cupping the head of his dick, and he keened. No, no he wouldn’t. He couldn’t come before she did. 

The silk was slippery in his hands and he cursed it. A poor choice of fabric, maybe, but so, so worth it. “Beautiful,” he breathed, kissing along her clavicle, hand between her legs. Pressed his thigh between hers, keeping them spread for him. “So beautiful.”

He felt more than saw her blush in the dim light. “Didn’t you know?” He licked a stripe up her slender neck. “Val, you are so beautiful like this.”

Her hand faltered on his dick. “Vari﹣”

“Don’t fight it.” He nibbled at her jaw. “Beautiful.” Kissed the corner of her mouth. “Always so…” Nibbled her bottom lip, and pulled away just a little when she kissed back. Knew she was trying to swallow his words. “So beautiful for me.” He wouldn’t let her. 

She was dripping when he touched her, and wore no panties. Gently, almost reverently he slipped a finger between her slick folds, watched her eyes close. “Light, Val, do you even…” Groaned. She was so hot, so soft, so wet. “Do you know what you do to me?” Do you know how much I love you?

“Varian…” She bit her lip, trying not to cry out. She could take him easily, he thought, dragging two fingers along her entrance, and though his cock ached for it, he didn’t yet. He wanted to make her feel good, wanted her to beg for it. He did not enter her, instead stroking the inside of her folds with purpose. 

“It’s alright,” he soothed. “Tell me. I want to hear you.” They were pressed so close together it was difficult to move, but he took his time. Her clit throbbed when he finally touched it, and his cock strained against his pants in response, and Valeera gripped him so hard her nails dug into his skin. 

“Fuck!” she exhaled, one leg wrapping around his hip to give him better access. “Varian, just…”

He kissed her. “Just?”

“Fuck me.”

Varian knew her body well. Knew the little nub was too sensitive, and knew it was the quickest way to take her apart. Sliding two fingers along her slit, dragging them down the bundle of nerves, he circled her entrance gently. Bit back the smirk as she thrust her hips against him. “Like this?” Plunged into her.

“No!” she hissed, but even as she said it she fucked herself on his fingers. He wished he could lay her out on the stone floor, right there in the hall, and bury his face between her legs, caressing at her with his tongue and stroking her silky walls until she came. Considered doing it anyway. 

His dick was so hard it hurt and with the hand not fucking her he reached down, clumsily pulled apart the laces of his trousers and took himself out. An impatient noise escaped as his fist closed around the shaft, and he gave himself a few quick strokes for relief.

“Do not.” Valeera’s voice was sharp, and curling his fingers inside her erased the air of command that had come over her.

“I wasn’t,” he chuckled darkly. “You know I’ll always save myself for you.” 

The leg around his hips became insistent, pushing him forward, pushing his now naked and aching cock closer to her wanting cunt. “Fuck me,” Valeera demanded, the breathiness of her voice making it no less an order. 

“I am.” And to prove his point he pressed his palm against her mound and rubbed her clit with his thumb as he drove his fingers into her relentlessly.

He felt one hand in his hair, and he knew she was getting close. Elves had some issue with their hair, he’d learned. It meant she was coming apart, if she was touching his. His cock gave an interested twitch, desperate to be inside her already.

With one hand between her legs and the other supporting her against the wall, Varian was unable to stop her arm snaking between them, the fingers wrapping around his cock. He grunted when she touched him, and it took every ounce of self control to ignore her, to not thrust into her hand. 

He kissed her again. “Almost there, beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re doing so good. Just a little more and I’ll give you what you want.” He could tell in the way her breath caught that she was close. “Come for me. I’ll be good for you if you come for me.”

She did. As though waiting for him to ask she did as she was bid, pulsing deliciously around his fingers, clit throbbing against his thumb. Her eyes fluttered closed and he gave her a moment to savor it, drinking her in, before he removed his hand abruptly and allowed her to guide his cock into her. 

It was glorious, the feeling of her shuddering walls against his straining dick and he almost lost himself in sensation. Almost. He thrust in shallowly as he wrapped her leg more firmly around him, her thigh hot in his hand, and fucked her through her orgasm. This was how he liked best to love her, passionate and gentle, as she fell apart against him, too blissed to even form words. 

He cupped the back of her head, protecting it from the stone as he built a rhythm, punctuated by her quiet gasps and his own unfettered keens. His mouth found hers and he kissed her as he pushed into her, enjoying the easy in and out slide of his cock in her slick. Fucking her felt like coming home. 

“Are you alright?” he whispered.

After a moment she responded, “Yes. Go faster.” Squeezed around him encouragingly. “Please. Light. Go faster.”

And his control snapped. 

Bracing her against the wall he pounded into her, her thigh bruising readily under his hand. She was so hot and tight and wet around his cock, clenching her core and squeezing him so deliciously his vision went fuzzy. 

It happened quickly, the heat building in his belly, the electricity shooting up his spine. His skin erupted in gooseflesh as it overcame him, and with a low moan he spilled into her, shuddering with pleasure. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and bit, tasting the sweetness of her skin and the tang of her sweat, and continued to fuck into her. She couldn’t come twice, he didn’t think, not in this position, but he would make it up to her later. Right now, the exquisite slide of his throbbing, overstimulated cock in her warm cunt, this was just for him. 

In this very moment, pressed against the wall with her leg around him and his hand tangled in her hair, they were the only two people in the world. 

After an eternity and yet all too soon, he felt her calf slide down against his ass. Carefully he pulled out of her, and let go of her thigh, rubbing gently along the inside of the strained muscle as she placed her foot back on the floor. 

“Good?” he asked, and she didn’t answer him for a moment, eyes closed, enjoying the gentle touch on her skin. 

Finally she nodded and he withdrew. Smoothed her dress back down. There was slick on his hand ﹣ some of it his own ﹣ and he licked it clean absentmindedly. Not as good as the real thing but it would have to do, at least until the end of the night and they could tumble into bed together. 

Valeera had lost her shoe at some point and Varian knelt to help her slip it back on. The necklace he'd pulled off lay broken close by and he pocketed it. She balanced one hand on his shoulder, combed her fingers through his disheveled hair. 

“You look a mess,” she murmured, and without asking she unwound the tie holding his hair up and set to work fixing it, smoothing the strands back easily and gathering it all again in one hand. “Is this mine?” she commented mildly, the ribbon he’d stolen from her dark enough to be invisible against his brown locks. 

“Yes,” he said, unabashedly. “I wanted blue, but you don’t have any blue ones.”

She laughed softly. “I don’t wear much blue.” 

“You should. It looks good on you.” He kissed her as he came back up, slow and gentle. “It looks very good on you.”

“I couldn’t tell,” she teased. Removing the clip from her own ruined hair, she passed it to him as she let down the golden mane, and then deftly twisted it back into something vaguely resembling the style it had been in. 

“How do you do that?” he wondered, as she turned for him to pin the clip back in place. 

“We elves are very serious about our hair.” She grinned at him over her shoulder. “How does it look?”

“Beautiful, as always.” 

Her dress was ripped, and even after covering her breasts again there was no hiding that. Brow furrowed in concentration, Varian carefully tucked the sheer fabric beneath the neckline, and Valeera, with a good natured eyeroll, pinched them together at the seams. Before his eyes the fabric knit together, and the damp spots he’d licked faded away.

“I see you’re a woman of many talents.”

Valeera waved him off. “It won’t hold,” she warned. “Just a very simple glamour. Anyone could do it.”

Varian doubted that very much. Maybe it was an elf thing. 

Valeera took her time tidying him, tucking him away with a loving squeeze before tying the laces of his trousers and rebuckling his belt. Varian buttoned his shirt and tucked it back in as Valeera hunted for his tie, which she found some ways away, and Varian turned his collar up so she could loop it around his neck.

“Why blue?” she asked curiously, her slender fingers making quick work of the bow that had taken him several long minutes earlier that night. She straightened his collar, smoothed his shirt against his chest.

“To match your dress.” He said it like it was obvious, and Valeera started.

That was a bold statement, she thought. That was something couples did. Husbands and wives, matching clothes. Gently, she ran a finger along the silk tie. It wasn’t quite the right shade ﹣ nothing was quite the same color as manasilk ﹣ but it was a pale blueish grey that looked very similar. If they stood together, anyone observing would think they’d planned it. 

The warm feeling was back, and it had nothing to do with the sex they’d just had. 

Varian smiled at her, and in the dim light she saw spots of lipstick along his cheek. She wondered if there was any left now on her face. “Wait,” she giggled, “I can’t let you leave like this.” She wiped the smudges with her fingers, sucked on them to clean them. 

“Light, why do you have to be like this?” he groaned, pulling her close again. “Can we just go to bed?”

Valeera allowed herself a moment just to hold him. To feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest and hear the calming beat of his heart. “I don’t think the king is allowed to leave so early.”

Varian snorted. “The king can do whatever he wants.”

Valeera’s hands slid down, smacked his ass lightly. “I think you’d get an earful in the morning.”

“Probably.” Reluctantly he tore himself from her. “Being king is such a bother.”

“I agree.” She reached for him again, entwining their fingers. Pulled him gently in the direction of the ball. “If you abdicated I could teach you how to live like a normal person.”

“You, normal?” Varian laughed, and after a moment’s resistance he followed her. “Aren’t you a lord’s daughter?”

“Haven’t been since I was nine.” 

“Pity.” He shoved his free hand in his pocket for want of something to do, fingers curling around the broken chain. If he didn’t stop himself, he’d scoop her up in his arms and steal her away to his chambers right then and there. “If you’d been raised right, perhaps you’d attend more parties.”

Valeera rolled her eyes. “If I came to more of these ridiculous things your subjects would never see you.”

He supposed she had a point. 

They stopped once the sounds of the gala started drifting in. They weren’t terribly far from the grand hall. Valeera dropped his hand. 

“Go on,” she urged. “I’m sure everyone’s missed you.”

Everyone could go to hell. The only person who mattered was standing right here. 

“Are you coming back?”

Valeera hesitated. And Varian knew these things weren’t something she especially enjoyed. Knew that all Valeera desired was a simple and anonymous life, something she could never and would never get at court. That her life revolved around being unseen, walking through the world silent as a shadow. But he so desperately wanted to be seen with her. He wanted her to know he saw her. 

“Come back,” he coaxed gently. Reached for her hand again, and squeezed it. “Stay with me.” 

It was as simple as that. All he had to do was ask, and she would do anything for him. It had always been this way, from the first night she’d helped him sleep in the Crimson Ring. All he had to do was ask and she would give him the world.

A soft smile played on her lips. “I guess I can’t leave you with those people.”

He felt the corners of his mouth pull back in their own smile. “I would be so terribly bored.” He brushed his lips against her knuckles, not in the empty, formal way he’d been taught as a boy but something deeper, more meaningful. A promise from him to her. “I’ll see you in there?”

Valeera nodded. “A few minutes,” she promised. And grinning, Varian shoved his hands in his pockets and strode back into the hall, and steadfastly avoided the spymaster’s disapproving glare.