"So. You are the prince of the Alliance."
Anduin Wrynn was surprised to see his addresser smiling, though the smile held nothing reassuring in it. It was a hungry smile, one he'd come to recognize on the faces of Black Iron Dwarves during his captivity in Ironforge. Outwardly, the smile seemed friendly, but it didn't reach his addresser's red eyes, and the human prince could almost see the workings of the mind opposite his and hear the silent question: how can I use you to my advantage?
It was unnerving.
Still, Anduin met the smile with one of his own, one that did reach his eyes. Diplomacy wasn't for the easily unnerved, after all. "Anduin," he confirmed softly. "And you are Wrathion, the Black Prince."
This amused Wrathion, who chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "And so here we are," he remarked. "The Black Prince and- well, I suppose you could almost be called the White Prince for how pale you are. Pasty, almost."
Anduin raised an eyebrow, but Wrathion said nothing further, still smiling that unnerving grin of his. "If you've nothing further, I've a long journey ahead of me," Anduin said, rising from his chair. Behind Wrathion, the prince's guards (whom Anduin had learned were called "Left" and "Right"-the Black Prince was nothing if not excellent with names) put their hands to their weapons, but Wrathion waved them off.
"Sit," he requested, and when Anduin had done so, he leaned forward. The human prince caught the faint scent of spices. "You and I want the same thing, White Prince," Wrathion began, the grin mostly gone from his face, though the corner of his lips still twitched. "We both want this war over, and I believe you know exactly why."
"This world can't afford to have us all fighting against each other," Anduin supplied, and Wrathion nodded. "There are bigger threats. The Burning Legion is more of a threat to this world than the Horde ever has been or ever will be."
"Exactly!" Wrathion's grin returned, though this time, it almost reached his eyes. "Exactly, O Prince." His grin widened mockingly as he addressed Anduin. "This world is on a collision course with horrors it's never even seen, but instead of regrouping and pulling themselves together after nearly losing everything, the mortal races squabble like children amongst themselves. Hellscream and-forgive me, O Prince-your father see little but the immediate future. They don't plan for what hells may be unleashed on this world while they're busy arguing over whose prick's the larger." Wrathion paused and frowned. "That is the phrase, is it not?"
His coarseness took Anduin off guard, and the human prince felt his cheeks coloring, though he held Wrathion's gaze. "I've heard it called that, yes."
"Ha!" Wrathion's smug exterior broke a moment as he threw a triumphant grin back at Left, who remained stoic as ever. "So with that in mind, O Prince," his gaze returned to Anduin, lifting into its earlier smarmy form, "you can see we're in accord."
"No," Anduin interrupted, holding up his hands, and Wrathion frowned. "The last time I listened to the advice of one of your kind-albeit unknowingly-my kingdom suffered greatly for it. We still haven't recovered completely from what your sister caused. You'll forgive me if I don't rush to join your side of things, whatever side that may be." He shook his head and stood. "Whatever machinations you're working right now, I want no part of them. My loyalty is to Stormwind and the Alliance, not to you."
Wrathion leapt onto the table with a swiftness that stunned Anduin, enough that he didn't jerk back when the Black Prince darted a hand forward and caught him by the chin, pulling him closer. Anduin staggered and inhaled sharply as the claw of Wrathion's thumb grazed his cheek, cutting forth a trickle of blood. Their proximity made the dragon's grin all the more unnerving, but Anduin forced a flat expression, hands clasped behind his back in an almost military pose. He met Wrathion's eyes and refused to look away, forcing back his own discomfort.
They remained that way for several minutes, Anduin's nose twitching at the overwhelming scent of spices and smoke that clung to Wrathion's skin, and Wrathion's head tilting this way and that as he inspected the prince. The dragon finally broke their gaze, eyes trailing briefly to Anduin's lips before he pushed the prince away, claws opening another cut on Anduin's chin.
"We'll see where your loyalties lie, O Prince," he answered, though he no longer watched Anduin, now intent on the drink he'd upset in his approach. "For now, you may go."
Anduin smirked and gave a mocking bow. "Thank you, then, for the conversation." He turned and walked away, only relaxing once he'd returned to his room and locked the door behind him. Before his hand even left the doorknob, he realized he was shivering. Something like lead had settled in the pit of his stomach, and he sank to the bed, running his hands through his hair.
Anduin Wrynn had been kidnapped more times than anyone he could imagine. He'd faced down Twilight cultists, the Horde, and all manner of evil. He thought himself brave, but something about Wrathion unsettled him in a strange way that had him on the alert every time that spice-and-smoke scent permeated the air.