Chapter 3: What If Emma Ruled the World?
She stalked me like a lioness. Over there on the other side of room, there she was again, flute of champagne at her lips and her eyes brushing up and down my body. Her hair shined unnaturally, the blonde a little too blonde. I immediately found myself wondering what kind of dye she used, but then again, in this day and age of mutants, anything was possible. Actually, with my own unique hair color, I was probably the last one to talk.
That’s when I shuddered uneasily. While dignitaries and entrepreneurs worked up a sweat to garner my attention, this enigma in white leather had me glued to her just by staring...
Staring and stalking.
“Quentin,” I whispered into the disguised communicator on my shoulder, “Who is woman at my two o’clock?”
My earpiece squawked before my info-man answered. “That’s Emma Frost, owner of Frost Enterprises.”
“Any relation to Winston Frost?”
“Si senorita, she’s daddy’s little girl, but get this-”
“The elder Frost doesn’t have a subsidiary named Frost Enterprises.”
“Bingo. Good memory, chief.”
“How did she get her invitation?”
I heard him tap away on his keyboard. “Apparently, she tagged along with the Hellfire Club.”
“And the Hellfire Club has more than a passing interest in Symkaria.”
“Passing interest? Try unhealthy obsession. I’ve ID’ed at least eight members milling around the embassy.”
Eight? “I only remember two being on the guest list.”
“Well, you try turning down multi-billionaires when they show up at your doorstep.”
Shit. If etiquette would permit me, I’d bark a profanity or ten into Quentin’s ear and then demand to see the diplomat in charge of this fiasco, but no. Already my quiet mutterings had garnered too much attention and all I could manage was a “Sable out” before resuming the oh-so-pleasant task of fending off balding, middle-aged men looking to bed me.
If that weren’t enough, I was suppose to be providing security for my country’s ambassadors, and not only that, I was also on the look out for potential clients who’d offer lucrative deals to my mercenary team, the Wild Pack.
God as my witness, I loved my country, but sometimes, it asked too much of me. Was it not enough that I support most of the nation through my life threatening exploits? Was it not enough that I be its public image? Was it not enough that I brought it renown at heavy costs to myself?
And through my moment of weakness, those eyes kept themselves on me. They were like physical forces, testing my reactions and gauging my abilities. I considered telling Quentin to watch her, but doing so would be admitting a measure of failure.
I knew she watched me. She knew I watched her back. A third player would upset our game: one brought in by me would make me seem beaten and no one beat me. Ever since that dark day long ago when my mother died before my eyes, I promised myself no one would ever beat me at anything again.
Loss wasn’t an option.
So Winston’s daughter wanted to play? I had no love for the old man and I sure as hell wasn’t extending any to his daughter. The mogul built his fortune and subsequent reputation through ruthless tactics and underhanded maneuvers. I dealt with him once before and never wished to deal with him again. If this woman was a tenth of the miserly shark her father was, I’d be in for a long night.
That’s when the realization hit me... again. What was I thinking? Everyone in here fit the mold of miserly shark. With Symkaria finally opening its borders to foreign investors, many of them salivated at having their way with my country. They viewed it as a potential refuge, a place tied to the first world but far enough removed to get away with questionable business practices.
The proposed “global partnership” was one which I vehemently opposed. The oft quoted counterpoint to my stance? “Even Silver Sable cannot support us forever.” The sentence encapsulated many voices, some power hungry, some simply looking out for my own welfare. Whatever the purpose, I hated it and the support it garnered from the population.
“Quentin?”
“Loud n’ clear, chief.”
“Have Mia cover for me.”
“Where are you going?” he asked, surprised.
“Out for some fresh air.”
Before he could protest, I muted my comm-unit and excused myself from the inane conversation my Uncle Morty dragged me into. Ignoring his protests, I slipped into the many hallways of the Symkaria embassy, confident my intimate knowledge of the building would give me the privacy I needed. My feet went on autopilot as Uncle Morty’s voice became more distant. Soon, the only noise around me was the tapping of my heels on the marble floor.
Through the silence, I heard my earpiece beeping, signs that someone wanted to contact me. At first, I ignored them, but the beeping became incessant and annoying. With a satisfying crunch, I ground the device into a million little pieces under my left shoe.
Finally, peace and quiet.
I opened the roof-access door which rewarded me with a cold chill and inky darkness of night. No moon tonight, and somehow, I liked it that way. By no means was I dressed for the freezing weather, but this solitude outstripped the monotony inside. I’d rather be shivering and dotted with goose bumps than suffering through the slow downfall of Symkaria.
Make no mistake about it: should my country fall into ruin, it wouldn’t be my fault. I worked and bled for it and this was how it repaid me, by opening its borders to foreigners who wanted to milk us for all we were worth.
Great. Excellent. Fantastic. Did my father’s legacy mean anything to these people? Did I mean anything to these people?
“You look stressed.”
The sudden, unanticipated voice threw me for a loop, prompting me to whip around and almost send my fist into her face. Yes, her, as in Emma Frost. Somehow, I knew her voice despite having never heard it. Nothing about her reminded me of her father; had I not asked Quentin, I would’ve discarded the connection immediately.
How did she get up here? Did she follow me? The knowing smirk she wore bothered me, as if she knew something I didn’t. Shoring up my defenses, I reigned in my racing pulse and relaxed my arms to my side. I watched her gloved hand pull out a gold cigarette box from the inside pocket of her white mink coat. The oversized vestment parted just enough to reveal her generous bust held in check by strategically placed lengths of white leather.
She flipped open the container. “Would you like one?”
“Yes,” I reflexively answered. Only when she moved to light my stick of menthol tobacco did I remember I didn’t smoke. Too little too late though--the first stings of cooling smoke entering my lungs made me cough, enough to chaff my throat. I yanked the insidious little thing away, and when I looked up, I saw her raising a brow at me, cigarette between her middle and index fingers, wisps of smoke hugging her face like a faint dream.
Blue eyes burrowed into my being. My breath shortened, and in that split second, I felt icy talons sinking into my soul.
Or it might’ve been the menthol cigarette.
“I’m an admirer of yours,” she said between drags of smoke, “There aren’t many strong women in the business world today, and certainly in your particular line of business, there are even fewer. Your determination is inspiring.”
The lure of sleep dizzied me. My cigarette escaped from my limp fingers and crashed onto the ground, lit ashes stumbling from its tip. “Thank you,” I softly replied as my head swam in the choking haze.
Tired... needed to sleep. My knees weakened and caused me to stumble. If not for the lightning quickness of a warm, leather bound arm, I would’ve dropped like a fool. Something moved against my midback and unclasped the buckle on my bra.
She exhaled another ploom of smoke as she steadied me. “You must be exhausted. Must be draining trying to support a home that so easily cast you aside.”
“Exhausting and frustrating,” I mumbled. Anger usually spurred me on, but tonight, I couldn’t bring myself to fight away my fatigue. How embarrassing: literally falling asleep on this other woman’s feet. “I’m sorry. I’m just... so... so...”
“Yes?”
So... what was I thinking about? Where was I? What time was it? I glanced down at my watch but I wasn’t wearing one.
Her hand pressed against the front of my shoulder. The base of her palm skimmed over the top of my breast and electrified me. My mouth gasped on its own while my eyes sewed shut. Felt like a knife cut through parts of my mind and left behind only what it wanted.
“Mmmm,” she groaned, “What do we have here?”
A finger dipped under my shoulder straps and peeled them away. Cold air rushed unabated against more of my skin. I forced my eyes open into tiny slits and got hit by another smoky puff. Her hand cupped my left breast, and wasn’t I wearing a bra? Where did it go?
The hand became brave and kneaded, the sudden shock in my tender regions tingling in response. Blood rushed to every place in my body and caused my still clothed right breast to strain against the cloth. “You’re generously gifted, Ms. Sable, or can I call you Silver?”
Before I knew it, my back thudded against an icy wall. Luxuriously full lips claimed mine and warmed my cooling body. A wet tongue lashed away in my mouth: I relaxed myself to let it explore. Unsupported, the right side of my dress slipped off as I heaved against the excitement welling below my stomach.
She tasted sweet, sweeter than anything I’d tasted before. I strained for more of her and she broke away.
“Greedy little thing,” she laughed, cupping my chin. “Who knew Symkaria’s breadwinner was such a slut?”
I missed the constant touch. I needed to come now. I moaned as my own hands squeezed and fondled my breasts. A thin layer of sweat crept onto my skin, my fingers slipping against my smooth flesh. I could almost feel my clitoris protruding from my sex. I was so close, so wet, but my body refused to hurl itself over the edge.
“You can’t come unless I let you.”
My eyes shot open. With no regard for decency, I begged. “Please,” I rasped out, “please...”
“On one condition, Silver. Do you want to hear it?”
Her hand snaked around to my back and slowly pulled down the zipper holding my drooping dress up. The fleeting contact and paralyzing anticipation dominated my mind. I forgot what trouble soured my mood. A constant euphoria engulfed me like nothing else.
I’d never felt so alive. She pulled the front of my dress down and exposed my stomach. All I could do was mew in pleasure.
“If I let you come, you will be mine. You’ll exist for no one else. Is that fine with you, Silver?”
She reached under my panties and toyed with the hairs I’d meticulously trimmed.
“Do you want it that way, Silver?”
Something grazed over my damp slit.
“What’s your answer, Silver?”
With a rip, she tore my dress and panties away. The expensive and now ruined material clung to my ankles as I screamed at the top of my lungs, “YES!”
“Well then,” she smiled triumphantly, “We don’t want to keep you waiting any longer now, do we?”
Mercilessly, she pinched my clit. The sharp contrast of heady arousal and unadulterated pain destroyed the last of my thoughts. I shuddered as rapidly cooling wetness rolled down my inner thighs. The slippery penetration of her digits filled me, the unique sensation of pumping, glossy leather making me come and come and come and come and come until my legs gave out.
I collapsed onto all fours, the fire in my sex still burning but my weak body too tired to go on. She grabbed my silvery mane of hair and pulled me up so I kneeled before her. I automatically met her eyes and trembled at the commanding presence they exuded.
“Who am I?”
Was that even a question? “My everything. My Queen.”
“What are you?”
“Your belonging. Your subject.”
The answer made Her smile and Her smile made me wet.
“Tell me, when will the rest of your Wild Pack be looking for you?”
I delved into somewhere a lifetime ago. My Queen needed information and I existed to provide it no matter what the cost. This Silver Sable woman trained her people well and instilled them with instincts for trouble and a fierce loyalty. Her disappearance for any prolonged length of time would make them suspicious.
“They should be looking for Silver Sable right now.”
She cursed under Her breath and I shrank at Her rage. Did I answer wrong? “Where is your room?” She demanded.
“Third floor. I know a way to get there without others noticing.”
My gamble to predict what She wanted paid off. Pleased, She tiled my head up and licked my lips. “Get your dress and lead me there.”
I walked back into the Symkaria embassy a changed woman. Where I once knew only anger and bitterness, I now had a purpose. Where I once slaved for an ungrateful country, I now worshipped Her. She took away my suffering and gave me fulfillment; to repay her, I’d do anything. With the torn remains of my dress in arm and two cigarette butts left on the roof, I guided Her into the inner sanctums of the building and hoped for Her approval.
Nothing else mattered.
*****************
Three weeks later at the Shaw Estate...
“I’m impressed, Emma.” Sebastian swirled the brandy in his glass as he paced around his study. “I thought our White King had the Symkarians eating out of his hand. What happened?”
Reclining on one of the sofas, Emma arched her back and purred. “I have my ways, Sebastian. Edward Buckman is impressive but not infallible.”
He left the sly, self-praising words alone. That was his budding ally though, all talk, attitude, and killer instinct but few resources to see her grandiose plans through. That’s why she needed the Hellfire Club; that’s why she needed him. The woman had potential and Sebastian Shaw respected potential.
“The Sentinel Program will be moved into Symkaria by the end of this week. Make sure your contacts know and can begin production as soon as possible.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said with a smirk, “Production has already begun.”
And that’s when the ground shook. Sebastian, caught flat-footed by the tremor, didn’t quite believe it at first. The loud sound of thrusters blew out the windows and sent the mountain of a man ducking for cover. Oblivious to the destruction and sudden appearance of the soon-to-be feared, gigantic, purple hand, Emma writhed about as if being serviced by one of the Hellfire Club’s many servants.
Never one to take punishment lying down, the aspiring Black King rose to his feet and roared at the woman. “Traitor!” he bellowed, “You kept the Sentinels for your own!”
“It’s only the tip of the iceberg, Sebastian. Why don’t you have a look outside?”
The Sentinel’s hand opened and fired out a blast similar to Iron Man’s repulsor rays. Though his body soaked up the kinetic force and made him stronger, the attack threw Sebastian through his study’s door. Out in the foyer, he watched as a mildly familiar woman dressed in a shiny, silver, full-bodied, skin-tight outfit hoist up her submachine gun and fire.
Sebastian followed the woman’s deadly line of sight and saw her targets: his love, Lourdes Chantel, and his closest friend, Harry Leland. His two stalwart supporters focused on the Sentinels peeling the ceiling back and didn’t notice this woman. Before he could shout a warning, the gun discharged in rapid succession and bullets pierced their skulls, thin jets of blood spraying from the exit wounds.
The silver haired woman wasted no time either, immediately training her weapon on him and letting fly another hail of projectiles. Aided by his rush of enhanced strength and speed, Sebastian lunged behind a pillar, bullets chasing him every step of the way. From one of the guest rooms down the hall, the current White King and White Queen--Edward Buckman and Paris Seville--came running out, both of them half dressed.
Laying eyes on the hulking monstrosities, the White King’s face twisted with rage. “Stop!” he yelled, his fist raised and his feet moving him toward the machines. “This wasn’t part of the plan! I’m not suppose to be here when it happens! Stop!”
One of the Sentinels cocked its head at the furious man and his screaming, terrified woman. It didn’t like the decibels emanating from the combined might of those two sets of lungs, so it raised a hand and brought it down on the couple with a crackling smack.
When its servo-operated appendage retracted, all that remained was a pool of intermingling red.
Seeing the woman distracted, Sebastian dashed from his hiding place and threw his most powerful punch into her gut. Instead of crashing into her soft flesh, his fist met nothing but air as she dropped down as agile as a cat and swept his legs out from under him. Recovering before him, she removed a crescent-like throwing star--one of many strapped to her thighs and upper arms--and hurled it between Sebastian’s eyes. By the skin of his teeth did he get his arms up in time to block the strike, and combined with his earlier absorption of so much kinetic energy, the weapon harmlessly bounced away.
Sebastian grinned at the startled look on the woman’s face and sneered, “My turn.”
A thunderous hit to her sternum hurled her end over end into the dining table and sent her gun skipping and sliding to the side. Consumed by thoughts of vengeance, Sebastian forgot about the Sentinels as he moved to finish off this cold hearted killer.
His ignorance almost cost him his life.
Two repulsor blasts knocked him through a wall and into Tessa’s quarters. His aide sat on her bed, stoic and focused.
“What are you waiting for?” demanded Sebastian as his body metabolized more of the kinetic energy. “Get out of here! Can’t you see we’re under attack?”
Tessa shivered, and all of a sudden, blood gushed from her nose. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, coinciding with her body toppling over. She coughed once, twice, and on the third time, a coagulated mess erupted, choking her.
In a matter of seconds, she lay so very still.
No... Tessa.... Harry... Lourdes...
Sebastian turned around to see a smug looking Emma Frost staring back at him.
“How could you?” the man spat, “Why did you do this to us, you traitorous harpy?”
“Because I could, Sebastian. You’re an arrogant fool, an inviting target, and I’m not the only one taking the shot. What? You thought Edward’s Sentinels were only to hunt down the X-Men? No, they were to be his private army of mutant destroyers and he had us as prime targets. You thought your Tessa was loyal to you? I rifled through her mind before I fried it: she is one of Xavier’s spies. Everyone’s using you, Sebastian. You’re like a virgin looking for a husband at the docks. Sooner or later, someone was going to fuck you and leave you.”
She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and blew him a kiss. “We had a good time, lover boy, and I’m glad I beat everyone else to virgin.” She snapped her fingers. “Sable?”
The woman in silver stepped out behind Emma, menacing looking handgun aimed at his head.
“Finish him.”
He tried to move again but Emma held him in place with her telepathic powers. And though his body toughened from the kinetic energy he’d been shot with, skin and bone alone couldn’t stop three fifty caliber bullets from burrowing into his forehead.
*****************
Newsweek: “Mutant Threat Met...”
MANHATTAN, NEW YORK--Months ago, few heard about the fledgling investment firm, Frost Enterprises. Today, the company is one which inspires great pride in humanity’s fight against mutants. After coming from nowhere to secure an exclusive development contract with the munitions wizards at Silver Sable International, Emma Grace Frost--founder of Frost Enterprises--unveiled the Sentinel, a three story tall machine geared toward detecting and eliminating subversive mutants like Magneto and those of the terrorist group, the Mutant Liberation Front or M.L.F. Manufactured at Silver Sable International’s headquarters in Symkaria, this behemoth represents the best and brightest of humanity, integrating ingenuity and space-aged technology in one mutant combating package.
Some people like mutants rights activist Charles Xavier and Avengers leader Captain America have expressed doubts over the ethical usage of the Sentinels. However, much of the criticism died down when two Sentinels killed noted mutant criminals Pyro and Blob while the duo attempted a bank robbery. In light of the recent success, the United Nations is prepared to look into deploying these robots in times of a global mutant crisis.
*****************
The Daily Bugle: “Good Riddance to Spiderman...”
SYMKARIA EMBASSEY, NEW YORK--After having terrorized the streets for over four years, the menace known as Spiderman will finally be leaving the Big Apple. Silver Sable International, a questionable outfit of mercenaries who employ “superhumans,” has hired the spandex clad webslinger on a permanent basis. Given the “International” part of Silver Sable International, the innocents of New York can only hope and pray that this means Spiderman will be sent out on international exploits, thereby leaving the rest of the mere mortals in peace.
Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four made the following comment over Spiderman’s new state of employment.
“I always viewed Spiderman as an altruistic individual who didn’t charge for his services. Well, I guess things change.”
Indeed they do, Mr. Richards. It’s called money and not having any puts a crimp on anyone’s day. Maybe the webhead got wise and decided to whore out his talents. I hear Silver Sable International has him available for bridal showers and bat mitzvahs on weekends.
*****************
CNN’s Evening News...
“And in business news today, Frost Enterprises has acquired Worthington Industries in a hostile takeover. This comes directly after noted inventor Tony Stark agreed to work with another Frost affiliate, Silver Sable International, on enhancing the new iteration of the wildly popular Sentinels. Shares of technology and military firms have risen sharply to meet the growing demands of this sudden boom. In fact, many experts credit the shrewd moves of CEO Emma Frost with revitalizing a weakened economy. Mutant rights activists are currently staging protests, proclaiming that Frost Enterprises is making its fortune off of genocide...”
*****************
The Los Angeles Times: “MAGNETO KILLED!”
GENOSHA, SOUTH AFRICA--The headline is true: the infamous Master of Magnetism has been killed after his week long stand-off with international authorities. Distressed at what he called “a united attempt to eradicate the homo superior,” Magneto and his allies, the self-proclaimed Acolytes, took the island nation of Genosha which Frost Enterprises used as a testing facility for much of its Sentinel project. The madmen stormed the grounds and freed many outlaw mutants who then used their powers to either escape captivity or aid their rescuers. The X-Men responded to the area first, but amidst the chaos, some of their number turned to support Magneto. With their combined powers, they overwhelmed the few Sentinels and issued a challenge to their creator, Emma Frost, one who they called “their fellow mutant sister.”
After a tense stand-off with United Nations forces, the ever reclusive Emma Frost arrived with a crack team of mercenaries and a squadron of Sentinels. Aided by the likes of Iron Man and the Hulk, Emma Frost was able to use herself as bait and rely on her support to quell the largest mutant uprising in history.
“We’re pleased,” said Silver Sable, owner of Silver Sable International, managing partner at Frost Enterprises, and commander of the Wild Pack, “The conflict ended with minimal causalities and humanity’s greatest threat has been eliminated. Our thoughts and prayers go out to those who lost family and friends in this senseless act, but rest assured, their sacrifice was not in vein.”
While the world applauds Emma Frost’s bravery, increasingly derided mutant activists lament the “wholesale massacre of oppressed individuals.” They continue to insist that the Sentinels contain hidden subroutines which allow them to target anyone, not just “high risk” mutants. Even in the face of all her support, Emma Frost has invited experts, even mutant experts like Doctor Henry McCoy, to comb over her life’s work and try to find a hint of improperness.
*****************
Playboy Magazine: “Happy Birthday, Emma Frost...”
FROST ENTERPRISES HEADQUARTERS, MANHATTAN--You shouldn’t ask a woman her age so we’ll just say a little fluttery voice told us: the statuesque beauty who has stolen our hearts, eased our minds, and become sickeningly rich while doing it has turned the big three-five. Yeah, that’s right, the woman who launched a million wet dreams with her ample assets is old enough to be yo momma...
Or President of the U.S. of A.
Ever since Hilary Clinton got politically decimated, there hasn’t been a woman to fill the void, but that all changes as this issue goes to the presses. Trust us: not only does she have the funds to campaign, she has the brains and the backing. Come on! Maker of the Sentinel? Employer of millions? Protector of humanity from the scum of mutants? And that body! Oh God almighty that body! But seriously, over the years, she’s been nothing but a media darling, saying all the right things and converting even her staunchest opponents.
Hey, if mutant extraordinaire Charles Xavier can be convinced of Emma’s greatness, anyone can be. She has Tony Stark’s vote of confidence and Captain America’s seal of approval. She threw the first pitch at last year’s World Series and employs the Fantastic Four. She’s an active lobbyist and the owner of the world’s best rack.
Did I write about that body yet? Sigh...
Anyways, what’s not to love about Emma Grace Frost for President? The woman can’t be bribed because she has so much freakin’ money. Special interests groups giving her problems? She can cut them a big fat check and tell them to go screw themselves. Terrorists want to do something to the country? Hell, not on her watch. I’d be afraid of any woman who can bring legions of towering Sentinels on my head at a moment’s notice. I mean, through her subsidiaries, it’s been calculated that she has enough firepower to blow a small country out of existence.
Yeah, you read right, a small country. Something small like Canada.
Happy birthday, Emma Frost. We here at Playboy salute you and your huge, fabulous, and hypnotizing brea... breakfast buns.
*****************
Excerpt from David Letterman’s “Top Ten Reason Why Emma Frost Shouldn’t be President...”
“Coming in at number three: Her time could be better spent on Maxim’s centerfold!”
(Audience laughter.)
“Whoa, yowzah. Hey Paul, doesn’t she own CBS now?”
“I’m afraid she does.”
“Well, there goes my job.”
(Audience laughter and crash symbol.)
“Ok, ok, number two: Blondes can’t be President!”
(Audience laughter.)
“Hear that? That’s the sound of my retirement fund going down the drain. Since we’re there already, let’s finish it! And number one: Owning the country is much easier than running it!”
*****************
Excerpt from President Frost’s victory speech...
“.. forward and concern ourselves with not only today’s problems but tomorrow’s as well. As President, I vow to make our future a safe one, one which our children will be glad to inherit. I will hold myself accountable for yesterday’s wrongs and work diligently to correct them. You have my promise that this great nation has my attention above and beyond Frost Enterprises.
“Contrary to David Letterman’s words, a blonde can be President, and today, I hope I’ve proven that anyone--and I do mean anyone--can be President if they work hard enough. The glass ceiling has been shattered and here’s to it never coming back.”
(Applause.)
“Oh, and David? You’re fired.”
(Audience laughter.)
*****************
I walked by the security detail patrolling the halls. Both of them were Wild Pack members, each specially trained by myself to conform to Her highest expectations. They served Her well through the years, well enough to be awarded this task of protecting Her in Her new home.
“Chief,” said the leader as he spotted me.
I looked at my watch. “When is the next team coming to relieve you?”
“Five minutes,” he responded crisply, suddenly realizing that this was indeed a test.
“Who is in the next team?”
“Sanders, Nelson, Pratt, and Dyani.”
“Where is Madame President?”
“In residential wing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Good,” I complimented. “Make sure She is not disturbed for the remainder of the night. Redirect all calls except emergencies and even then to my cell phone. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am.”
I continued into Her dwelling, past the door guards, past the living room, through the den, past the first couple doors, and directly into the presidential suite. She wore an ensemble of Her trademark white and well-tailored pantsuit. Resting in Her hand, an unlit menthol cigarette. She moved two of the chairs in front of the bulletproof and tinted window overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue. The hustle and bustle gleamed at Her from the comfort and privacy of Her domain.
Unacknowledged, I stood where I was and tried my hardest not to disturb Her. Deep, long breaths hounded the silence away, and by experience, I knew She was contemplating something enormous.
“Sit,” She said, gesturing to the extra chair before Her.
I did as I was told. As I sat, She watched me, Her eyes scouring deep within my soul and looking for something only She could fathom. She watched me like that more and more often, yet despite no orders of the sort from Her, the beginnings of moisture never failed to creep over my slit when She examined me closely.
Though I tried not to, I always ended up gauging Her thoughts. My perception was a by-product of my battle prowess, a talent which I honed to the best of my meager ability. More often than not, I found myself pleasing Her greatly when I guessed right. The rewards for my astuteness far outweighed the punishment for my presumptuous thought, so I continued to read Her.
It wasn’t right but I still did it.
Tonight, She watched me with an unidentifiable passion. Another might’ve called the gaze hollow, but I knew better: She only made Herself impassive when confronted by an emotional choice. What the choice was I couldn’t get a handle on. Was that longing in Her eyes? Maybe sadness?
My heart ached at the very thought.
“Are you... happy, Silver?”
“Yes.” Why wouldn’t I be? My Queen was here and my life did not need anything else.
She flicked Her cigarette into a nearby trashcan. Her velvety palm brushed my neck and wove into my long hair, playing with it like only She could. “I mean, do you want to be here?”
The questions scared me. “Yes,” I answered again, this time quicker. Had I displeased Her in some way? I’d seen this exact scenario play out, My Queen pretending to be vulnerable but only waiting for Her prey to ease before She sprung something on them. I’d seen it too many times to count and this scared me.
No, not because of the grizzle fate usually reserved for those She loathed but because I might’ve failed her.
“Of course,” She laughed humorlessly, “Of course you want to be here. Of course you’re happy. I made you that way, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
Something in Her broke and I could see the tears building behind the bastion of strength. Right then and there, I knew my answer was wrong.
She bolted out of Her chair and stomped to the king sized bed.
The dagger in my chest twisted. “No!” I said, my hand extending but my body refusing to get up because She didn’t will it.
Upon hearing my revised answer, Her back stiffened. Slowly, She turned to face me. A small part of me remarked that I looked like a frightened child but I didn’t care. Something trouble My Queen and I had to fix it.
“Look at me, Silver.”
I brought my hand down and looked.
“I. Rule. The. World.” Her arms spread out toward the sky. “I own everything! I am the highest deity to these simpletons! I can ruin entire countries with a word. I can make or break fortunes if I want to. Tomorrow when I get up, I will have 87% of the nation working for me or a corporation I control. No one can touch me; no one can deny me. If I can’t buy someone, I’ll brainwash them. If I can’t brainwash them, I’ll kill them. I rule this entire mud ball, and guess what? It’s not fun anymore.
“I spent my whole life trying to be powerful, and now that I’m more powerful than God, I have nothing to live for. Everyday, I watch the world watch me, waiting to jump when I tell it to. Nothing’s hard anymore, and I can’t stand it. I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t stand people groveling before me. I can’t stand how everyone wants to kiss my feet. I can’t stand how my very presence gets me what I want. I can’t stand how there are no more mountains to climb.”
She brought Her face close to mine. “I can’t stand how you look at me with those empty eyes and say what I want you to say. I can’t stand how I love you. I can’t stand how you’ve been my only constant since I began this mad dash to power. I can’t stand how I’ll never know if you’d really love me if I hadn’t tampered with your mind that fateful night.”
She bit my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. “And most of all,” She whispered between the tears, “I can’t stand losing you. I want to love you, I want you as my equal, I want to rule the world with you, but I’m afraid. Silver Sable would never let me get away with what I’ve done to you and the rest of the world. I know she’s still there somewhere, locked away in your mind. I know she can hear me and I know I want her, but at the same time, I’m terrified of her.”
I’d never seen Her like this before. Despite the years under Her, I had no idea what to say back. With such adversity crowding me, my mind backpedaled and resorted to an undeniable truth. “You’re My Queen. My everything. I love you.”
She kissed my forehead while tears ran down her cheeks. “I know...”
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Breaking news on NBC affiliate, WRC 4...
“This just in: a gunshot has been reported in the residential wing of the White House. We don’t know who was shot, but reports indicate at least one fatality. Again, gunfire in the White House. The area has been cordoned off by the Secret Service. We’ll have more of this breaking story as it develops...”
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- The next tale awaits...
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