But if his magic had imprisoned Tyrande utterly, Archimonde had failed in his ultimate intention. There had been no doubt as to his desire to torture her, to bend her to his will and, thus, to that of his own master. At his hand, Archimonde had not only had his own terrifying imagination, but the dire skills of the Highborne and the sadistic satyrs.

Yet, the moment that the demon had attempted to harm her physically, a faint aura the color of moonlight had draped around Elune’s acolyte. Nothing Archimonde or his minions could do could penetrate it. Against such evil effort, the plated armor surrounding her lithe form would have proven as useful as the thin, silver cloak that they had ripped from her early on, but the transparent aura acted like an iron wall a mile thick. Archimonde had battered himself against it time and time again to no avail. In his rage, the giant, tattooed figure had finally seized an unsuspecting fel guard by the neck, crushing in the other demon’s throat without the least effort.

Since then, they had left her alone, their efforts to eradicate the night elf host more important than a lone priestess. That did not mean that they did not have future intentions for her, for the satyrs who had carried her through the magical portal at the battle site had informed their master that she was close to one whom Archimonde had marked… Malfurion. At the very least, they would use Tyrande against him, and that was the basis for much of her present fear. Tyrande did not want to be the cause of Malfurion’s downfall.

Marching feet alerted her to newcomers in the dungeon corridors. She glanced up in apprehension just as someone unlocked the door. As it swung open, a figure she dreaded at least as much as Archimonde stepped inside. The scarred officer wore armor of a glittering emerald green with a bright pattern of golden sunbursts across the chest. Behind him fluttered a flowing cape that matched the sunbursts in color. His narrow eyes never seemed to blink and when they alighted on her, their intensity was such that Tyrande could not look directly into them.

“She is conscious,” Captain Varo’then remarked to someone behind him.

“Then, by all means,” responded a languid, feminine voice. “Let us see what Lord Archimonde so prizes…”

With a bow, Varo’then swept aside for the speaker. Tyrande bit back a gasp, even though she had expected who it was.

Queen Azshara was as beautiful, as perfect, as the storytellers said. Luxurious silver hair cascaded down her back. Her eyes were golden and half-veiled, her lips full and seductive. She wore a silken gown that matched her hair, one so thin that it gave ample hint of the sleek form beneath. Jeweled bracelets hung on each wrist and matching earrings hung almost all the way to her exquisite, bare shoulders. The arched tiara in her hair held a ruby that reflected the dull light from the torch a guard carried to almost blinding effect.

Behind her followed another female, one who would have also been considered quite beautiful, but who, in the presence of Azshara, paled in comparison. The handmaiden dressed in garments similar to her mistress, save that their quality was more than a step below. She also wore her hair as much like the queen as possible, although the silver in it had clearly come from a dye and did not even approach the intensity of Azshara’s mane. In truth, the only thing that stood out were her eyes — silver as with most night elves, but with an exotic, feline curve to them.

“This is her?” the queen asked with unconcealed disappointment as she studied the captive.

In truth, in Azshara’s presence, Tyrande felt even mousier than the handmaiden. She wanted to at least wipe the grime and blood away from her face and form, but could not. Even aware that the queen had betrayed her people, the priestess felt the desire to kneel at Azshara’s slim, sandaled feet, so charismatic was the monarch.

“She’s not to be underestimated, Light of Lights,” the captain replied. When his eyes fixed upon Azshara, they did so with burning desire. “She appears favored by Elune.”

The queen did not find this at all impressive. Perfect nose wrinkling, she asked, “What is Elune to the great Sargeras?”

“Spoken so wisely, your majesty.”

Azshara approached closely. Even her least movement appeared calculated for maximum impact on her audience. Tyrande again felt the urge to kneel before her.

“Pretty, in a coarse way,” the silver-tressed figure added offhandedly. “Perhaps worthy to be a handmaiden. Would you like that — what was her name again, captain?”

“Tyrande,” Varo’then replied with a brief bow.

“Tyrande… would you like to be my handmaiden? Live in the palace? Be a favored of mine and my lord? Mmm?”

The other female started at this suggestion, the feline eyes seeming to flay the priestess. There was no attempt to hide intense jealousy.

Gritting her teeth, the young night elf gasped, “I am sworn to the Mother Moon, my life and my heart hers…”

The queen’s beauty was suddenly marred by a brief look that rivaled Captain Varo’then’s for its evil. “Ungrateful little trollop! And such a liar, too! Your heart you actually give rather easily, don’t you? First to one brother, then another brother! Are there others besides?” When Tyrande did not respond, Azshara continued, “Are males not delightful to play with? It is so fun to have lovers fight over you, isn’t it? So tasty to see them draw blood in your name! Actually, I must commend you! Brothers — especially twins — are such a splendid touch! Peeling away their familial bonds until they wish to rip out each other’s throats, betray each other… all for your favor!”

Varo’then chuckled. The handmaiden smiled darkly. Tyrande felt a tear slip from her eye and silently cursed her emotions.

“Oh, dear! Have I brought up tender subjects? I do apologize! Poor Malfurion and Illidan… those were their names, weren’t they? Poor Illidan, most of all. Such a tragedy, what happened to him. Small wonder he chose to do what he did!”

Despite herself, Tyrande blurted, “What about Illidan? What do you mean?”

But Azshara had turned back to Varo’then and the handmaiden. “She needs her rest, don’t you agree, captain? Come, Lady Vashj! Let us see if there is any progress on the portal! I want to be ready when Sargeras crosses over…” The queen practically preened at mention of the demon’s name. “I want to look my best for him…”

The guards stepped aside as Captain Varo’then led Azshara and the Lady Vashj to the door. Just out in the hall, the ruler of the night elves glanced over her shoulder at the captive priestess. “You really should reconsider whether to be my handmaiden, dear girl! You could have had both of them alive and yours to play with… after I’d grown tired of them, of course.”

The slamming of the iron door echoed the dying of Tyrande’s hopes. She saw in her mind both Malfurion and Illidan. Malfurion had been there when she had been kidnapped and Tyrande knew that he was grief-stricken by his failure to protect her. She feared that such emotions would make him reckless, an easy target for the demons.

And then there was Illidan. Just before the last battle, he had discovered which direction her feelings lay and had not taken it well. Although Azshara’s remarks had certainly been designed to further cut down her resolve, Tyrande could not help put some credence to them. She knew Illidan well and knew how wild he could become. Had that streak, fueled by her rejection, made him do something terrible?

“Elune, Mother Moon, watch over them both,” she whispered. Tyrande could not deny that she was concerned most of all for Malfurion, but she still cared for his twin. The priestess also knew how horrible Malfurion would feel if anything befell his brother.

Thinking of that, Tyrande added, “Mother Moon, whatever fate should take me, please save Illidan, at least for Malfurion! Give them one another! Let not Illidan — ”