** DOUBLE AWARD WINNER IN THE PROSE FICTION AWARDS 2017**
Imagine finding yourself in Azeroth for real, a parallel universe of the game World of Warcraft and knowing of certain events about to occur. What would you do? Who would you trust? And would...
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It was mid morning when Sarah was woken by the distant sound of engines. She sprang out of bed and rushed to the window.
"Oh no!" she breathed. The King's gunship was hovering over the harbour, heavily damaged on the port side. This could only mean one thing. It had all went as depicted in the game. The King was dead.
A loud knock came to her door causing her to jump. Her heart hit the floor. She knew she was being summoned.
Facing the Prince would be agonising. Not only because of the heart-break she would see in his eyes, but he was bound to realise that she had known of the outcome all along. All at court would now be baying for her blood. They would no doubt blame her for this tragedy. She could hear their accusations in her head. "Why did you not forewarn us of this?" "We could have prevented it if you had told us.""Ah, but you didn't believe me did you?" she imagined herself replying. "You thought I was lying, making it up. Mad!" She shook her head. There was not a chance of her being sassy at such a desperately sorrowful time. Almost trying not to think of it, however, her mind said one last thing - "I told Khadgar. He knew." She clasped a hand to her mouth. That was verging on blame and most definitely a betrayal of the man she had come to care for very deeply. Those were words she would never utter for fear of them being misconstrued.
She envisioned Anduin's face as he sat on the throne awaiting her to speak up in her defense. The pain in his eyes would be unbearable to witness. Guilt engulfed her. It made matters all the worse to think she spent the day before enjoying the Prince's hospitality pretending that such an execrable event was not looming.
The knock came again, more forceful this time. She could not evade this. There was no point trying to drag it out.
Opening the door, she was met by one of the King's Guard. "You are required in the throne room, Miss Metcalfe." That was all he said before turning and standing to wait at her door.
She struggled to get dressed, her limbs feeling heavy as if they were physically burdened by the guilt she bore. Her stomach lurched, her head pounded, her heart ached. This was excruciating. Witnessing the brutal murder of King Varian on-line had been horrific enough. Now she had met the man in person, had befriended his son and accepted royal hospitality - and she had shamefully let him die for real. Wracking sobs grated her throat. She desperately tried not to dwell on how he died. A reality version of the video game would be too gruesome.
