"Very unheard." He agreed. They made their way through the stone hallways of the palace, bare of decoration and life. There were few living servants in the palace, most duties performed by skeleton and zombie servants, or higher forms of undead. Mostly just the cooking was done by the living, as that wasn't a task you could really assign to the undead and still want to eat the product. And art wasn't a priority in the palace, under her father's reign. Not that he didn't have an appreciation for art, and he did have a gallery in the palace with some of the best examples of Golden Age Necrotic Art left intact in the world, but he considered lining hallways with decorations to be garish and gauche. 

Finally, they reached the Grand Hall. There was a man standing there, waiting. He wore black armor, full plate, but not overly bulky either - perfectly fit to provide maximum protection without impeding maneuverability or increasing the target size. Rather than being made of steel, the plate armor was made of mithril, an expensive extravagance, but one that her father had no issues paying.

The man had a black cape hanging from the shoulders of the armor, and a bland, featureless helmet on his head, covering his face - in the ranks of battle, identity didn't matter, only the uniformity of attack. He was standing stock straight.

"Amara, your new guard." Lyrus gestured to the Death Knight, then turned and left the hall.