That was... there aren't any words for what that was.

A travesty. A humiliation. Perhaps that's a good place to start. 

Arthos swore he'd have her prepared, that she would play her part. And yet she made a mockery of the ritual and my crown.

Now he's locked in the stocks. She's housed in my old room. And my reign is even more precarious than ever.

I should have slit her throat the moment she cast that spell. I wanted to. I wanted to slash that sorcerer arrogance right out of her.

But I couldn't.

Even now I can feel her two storeys down. Her blood sings to me. It beckons and cajoles.

"I am for you," it whispers up through the ducts, and I know before day's end I'll sink my fangs into her again.

I briefly wonder how she will feel about that, then I realize I don't care. I'm a tarnished king who she only tarnished further.

And there's a price to pay for everything. 

For all of us. Forever.

Fate might just be the harshest mistress of all.

Right after the bond, that is.