Chapter 696

Chapter 696: Grace

The throne room fell silent for a moment. Terenas II lifted his head, looking at the nobles on the high terrace with a hint of anger. "Your tone makes me think *you* were the ones who entered Grim Batol. This discussion ended long ago. Dragging it out further is nothing but a waste of time."

After speaking, he took a breath, glanced at the golden-haired boy beside him, and smiled softly. "Arthas."

Arthas nodded and descended the steps. The King continued, "Forgive me for not leaving this seat to personally present Lordaeron’s gifts. At my age, one is plagued by many troubles. Between those self-important souls up high and my own ailments, it’s hard to say which vexes me more."

"Lady Vereesa Windrunner, I grew up hearing tales of you and your sisters since I was very young," Arthas said, accepting a small box from an attendant. He opened it to reveal a silver ring set with a deep blue gem.

Vereesa accepted the ring expressionlessly but did not put it on. Instead, she clenched it in her hand.

The King coughed twice and signaled a nearby attendant, who announced: "This is the seal of the Knights of Lordaeron. Wearing this ring grants you many privileges within the kingdom. None in the royal city will bar your passage anywhere. It signifies His Majesty’s absolute trust in heroes."

Arthas approached Jesse, reciting like a lesson: "Mr. Jesse Seso, I hope you’ll find time to tell me more of Grim Batol’s tale. I believe the true events were far more thrilling and complex than what others described…"

"I hope for that chance, Your Highness," Jesse said softly, taking the two rings from Arthas and sliding one onto his finger. The King added, "And of course, Mr. Greed Thunderfist. Pity he couldn’t join us in the royal city today, but he is not forgotten. Lordaeron eagerly anticipates strengthening its alliance with the Wildhammer dwarves."

"I’ll deliver this ring to him, Your Majesty," Jesse said.

The King nodded slowly. "Furthermore, I’ve written to Archbishop Alonsus Faol, requesting he accept you into the Church for study. In time, you may join the Silver Hand Knights."

The prince shot an envious look their way. Jesse hesitated. "I fear my faith in the Holy Light isn’t yet—"

"That matters little," the King interrupted. "You are a young, kind-hearted warrior, Jesse Seso. Many who now stand as Paladins began with less conviction for justice than you possess."

"His Majesty speaks true," remarked a black-haired Paladin in silver armor nearby.

Jesse understood. To Terenas II and these nobles, a hero who saved the Alliance through dark means was utterly unacceptable.

They saw sending him to the Church as "healing," a "cleansing," a *grace*—helping him become the true hero the kingdom’s subjects deserved.

Vereesa understood too. Jesse could feel her anger simmering, barely contained. She was an elf, not human, with no need to endure noble condescension.

Just as she seemed ready to unleash her fury, Jesse spoke quickly: "My parents will rejoice at this news, Your Majesty. They are devout followers of the Holy Light."

At these words, Vereesa seemed to freeze, her expression softening instantly.

The King nodded, pleased. The surrounding nobles instantly turned amiable, easing the throne room’s atmosphere. Jesse even fancied the sunlight streaming through the windows grew brighter. Was the Holy Light welcoming him?

During the feast, the Lordaeron knight’s emblem on Jesse’s finger felt like a shackle, heavier by far than the Chain of Will around his neck—a constant discomfort.

Vereesa kept eating the priciest dishes at the banquet, scorning every attempt at conversation. The poised Quel’Thalas noblewoman image she’d maintained since entering the palace vanished. Seemingly with no other outlet for her rage, she appeared determined to devour the royal family’s wealth in one night.

But the Menethil dynasty was no Stormwind royalty. Her feast alone wouldn’t make a dent.

Amid the clatter of plates, Jesse caught whispers of "a prodigal’s return" and "turning from darkness." Soon, he spotted a golden-haired girl in a white gown beside the King—Calia Menethil, Arthas’s sister, Princess of Lordaeron.

She looked much as when Jesse last saw her at the Cathedral, far more recognizable than Arthas.

He recalled Andromath’s jest in the Mage Tower: "The King of Lordaeron should wed his daughter to you." *This* princess.

She spoke with the King, glancing their way occasionally, her troubled expression clashing with the banquet’s gaiety.

Of course, Terenas II would never wed his daughter to some ignorant lad from Old Town’s muddy lanes.

Not even if that lad blew up a Pit Lord or schemed the world-destroyer Deathwing out of the sky.

Jesse doubted anyone here truly grasped what Deathwing *was*, though each had seen Lord Dalaran Prestor himself.

Calia Menethil’s future husband would be Alterac’s King—whoever that might be—Lordaeron’s bulwark against Gilneas and Stromgarde.

Unless Jesse were Medivh reborn, able to wipe Stromgarde or Gilneas from the map with a word, the King of Lordaeron wouldn’t be so generous.

Anyway, Jesse held no interest for that Holy Light-touched girl. He only had eyes for silver-haired, pointy-eared elves.

"Vereesa."

"Hmm?"

She turned, cream smudged on her lips, holding out an unfamiliar pastry. "Try this? It’s good."

Jesse took her hand and kissed her, tasting the sweetness of her mouth until Vereesa’s eyes fluttered shut. She tossed the pastry perfectly onto a plate behind her and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

Nobles burst into applause and gasps around them. Someone even cried, "Long live Quel’Thalas and Lordaeron’s friendship!" *These people,* Jesse thought, *really know how to fill the silence.*